It is, in actual fact, the only thing that one generation hands on to the next. When a sufficient number of people see this steppe, this grass and feel this summer wind, then we are able to experience it all together with them. But no matter what forms might be prescribed for us by the past, in reality what each of us sees in life is still only a reflection of his own spirit. At other times, it borrows heavily from Buddhism, and plays with mystifying symbols and contradiction. But I am absolutely free when I do not know.
Absolute emptiness is the homeland, the mother is the unborn.
And, indeed, while each piece draws the reader in, like interconnected short stories, the overall effect is more poetic and philosophical than novelistic. You are left with indelible images and puzzles rather than the quick fix of a plot that neatly ties up all the narrative issues at the end.