«She had kept some of his shirts and a jacket or two. At night, she would put her arms around one of them and would surrender to a delirium of tenderness. Should she forget everything, she could never forget the sweetness in her mouth. She had never said this to anyone and she had never heard anyone say it. When he touched her, and held her, her mouth would fill with a sweetness that rose from deep inside her. When the sweetness flowed, it was unbearable and she would swallow it again and again to send it back deep inside her. She choked, she lost the word around her. His clothes offered her only faded traces of that sweetness. In moments like this she intensely, totally, felt his absence. In her anguish, the only words she could utter that would culminate her feelings for him were: "Oh, God!" "Oh, God! God! God!"
She was silent and shielded herself when involved with people. It was only when she heard of some other man who had cancer - and she often heard such news, being a widow - she was still hopeful, he might live, she couldn't help saying. "Let's wait and see, we don't know yet"...»
"Dimitriou is neither afraid of the theme, the length nor of the improvisation of the text. Whatever he writes, has the mark of a man who at some point had a deep dream and has not forgotten about it.
In whichever phrase one looks at: " He was exposed. As if no layer of skin separated him form the others, his soul would flutter at the smallest intimation, at the slightest glance." The reference to this fact, is foreign to us, as though the narrator fills the sentences with his own fabricated lie detector. No one today uses the terms " a woman who is lithe, neither young nor outdated" and yet our minds are prepared for such words. There isn't a reader who will read this book and not feel that Dimitriou has God as his uncle."
magazine Athinorama 19/2/1999