"Pleasure at the Temple" reads like a kaleidoscopic first-person narrative, a black-and-white fiction with protagonists comprising all the living and inanimate inhabitants of the fantastical world.

Writers and wanderers, familiar and unknown, abundant beings and blissful melancholics, typewriters that never fall silent and alluring cigarettes that flicker on every page of the book testify to strange coincidences, sacred aspirations, unfulfilled desires, and therefore, imperishable.

Deaths—often passionate loves, riddles, and secrets revealed by time, the very author who concealed them. Fragments of a confession exuding mist and shadows like a genuine fairy tale, with stories that were written in the pyre and sometimes in its ashes.