We know what it's like for a butterfly when its wings stick together. It sags and waits for them to dry. The title of Lainšček's novel almost doesn't need a story, it's so meaningful and comprehensive. But since it is a story, we can attribute to the title a metaphor for everything that happens in it: rough dialogues in a barracks in the suburbs of Belgrade, the reality of a divided country, the love between Ljilja and Marko, so full of ants at first, towards the end only a helpless butterfly whose wings don't dry, all the way to the end, which hurts to the point of stupor. If the last page of the book stuck to the cover, we could still hope for a better ending, but we remain, like Lainšček, hungry for a new story, which might be happier.