Status Updates From Pienių vynas

And then, just like that, five people are dead in the span of thirty pages.

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.