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108 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1984

”Понякога си мисля, че нищо не може да бъде толкова опасно, колкото думите, koumo ръсим около себе си. Ежедневните действия са в някакьв смисъл по-чисти: […]- но думите могат да бьдат изстреляни, за да потънат или може би само за да одраскат или да опарят, така че след това човек дори не е сигурен от какво го е заболяло току-що, не може да си спомни, да прецизира, и е безпомощен в гнева си. ЯзВителната дума може да има хиляда форми, никой не знае точно коя дума е била изстреляна и се е забила kamo куршум - нито този, който я е изстрелял, нито онзи, който е бил уцелен от нея”.
"Понякога жестокостта може би не опира до това каво правиш, а какво пропускаш да направиш."


Sometimes words postpone the final reckoning, and when it finally arrives, it no longer matters at all.
The melancholy of an encapsulated, futile, and never truly confronted life exudes very softly and very tangibly in this short novella by Tove Jansson. Not a single word too many, not a single word too few.
The Stone Field, with its moss-covered stones dug up by who knows whom, who knows why, and who knows when, describes an entire worldview. Never arranging themselves into an explicit structure, they are like words cast to the wind or perhaps never spoken. They are the small steps toward failure, loneliness and meaninglessness. And ultimately, toward cruelty—both toward others and toward oneself—which self-deception cannot mask forever.
Retired journalist Jonas, with his formalism and hollow incomprehension of the essence of words (and deeds!), is an exceptionally sharp portrait, chiseled down to the finest detail.
There is something very pure, very luminous, very piercing and at the same time delicate, very merciless, and very sensory-concrete in Tove Jansson's style. Something that strains the reader's senses to their absolute limit—images flow in on their own, yet precisely in the moment when they seem about to form yet another distinct picture, they scatter like the clouds that old Jonas observes without ever truly seeing. For words are vision, and few are those who truly possess it.