A young woman returns to Europe looking for her parents. Who were they? Who is she? She gropes through a dissolving world. The maps are out of date, paper torn and blistered, the key codes lost. Through the cracks of the shattered story emerges, to the accompaniment of creaking laughter, what - a sort of burp? Yurp: problematic past, bumbling present, hazy future... but still open for business. Yet she doesn't lose faith, apparently. She seems to believe - but in what, exactly? Herself? In Yurp? The story is a trap. It is only in the end that she finds out where she has been going. With her is the reader. The last laugh will be on both of them. A Bildungsroman - or rather two of them, one embedded in the other. The reader is embedded in both - not set outside and above what is and has been going on, giving it all retrospectively the structure of a history, but left inside its palpitations - struggling in turn to surf the waves of the narration. Or like a patient, waking up from ether on a table.