The protagonist of Yoav Rosen’s story as if confesses his sin in a single sentence: “My family was merely background noise.” On the face of it, the plot that unfolds in the story is as extreme as it is cryptic; however, it is the background that stands at the forefront: the suburb as an infinite, sprawling background that pulls every foreground into its silent routine. Rosen skillfully depicts this background with only a few strokes, in a story that is both a reflection on the passionate, instinctual life under the surface of suburbia and a contemplation of the common, desperate suburban fantasy that this mysterious life stimulates. But in a world in which every passion reveals itself as a background to the passion in its own background, and every story already exists within the stories it wishes to contain, we move from background to background, trapped in a structural loop: even if we disappear for a hundred years, we will return—alas—in time for the dinner we have just finished.
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