The author tells about "Arkanum":
"In the dark era of Brezhnev, I went into internal emigration. I wrote my works, encrypting them for translations from Arkanum. I invented the country of Arkanum, invented the authors who seemed to live and work there.
And slowly Arkanum began to make its way into my dreams. I lived in Arkanum, dreams of Arkanum flooded me. I waited for the night to live. There was no day of life. It was scary during the day.
People from Arkanum were waiting for me. If I lingered, messengers were sent on horseback and knocked on my window. Knocking rings on fingers, sword hilts, knocking branches and wind, knocking birds and beetles, calling with all tongues and voices.
I got up and went to the window. It cracked open, and Arkanum drew me in, sucked me in and organized my life.
Arkanum's language broke through mine like grass stalks through the sand, broke memory, merged with mine. I stopped distinguishing where my language was and where it was Arkanum.
I felt safe in Arkanum. "
