If I ever had preconceptions about any type of books, it’s those in the Spiritual or Self-Help section, and the SF section. It must be all the tacky covers, the covert language, the whole sense of obfuscation. But recently I began distinguishing the good from the kitsch. I’m keen on reading more Science Fiction because of films. So Tarkovsky is to blame for this one...

“Roadside Picnic” is an eery metaphor used in the book by a scientist no less, expressing all that pessimistic existentialism during a time of nuclear threats. Was it the first time in the history of humanity we realised we could end all life by ourselves?

I loved the open ending, the fuzzy delineations between human and alien ("grass had grown in cracks. but that was still our human grass”), the filmic nature of certain passages, and the Hitchcock-like way of disclosing meaning.

I got used pretty quickly to the jargon, and it was, as expected, a good read.