Status Updates From Кульбабове Вино

Chapter 11— "Yes, sir. That's happiness." Yes, he thought to make a contraption that, in spite of wet feet, sinus trouble, rumpled beds, and those three in the morning hours when monsters ate your soul, would manufacture happiness. Like that magic salt mill that, thrown in the ocean, made salt forever and turned the sea to brine.”— a novel, to remind you and, more importantly, me, of the poetry of prose.

This is beautiful but I have no idea what it is about.

Just reading the opening pages, I was struck by how much it echoes the style and resonance of the opening of A Single Man. I discussed this with someone else and pointed out that, if this were music, Bradbury would have the same claim as Queen against Vanilla Ice for ripping off Under Pressure.