Rather casually, Bittner, great writer and charismatic, mentions that he has a grown-up daughter. How can it be, thinks Karl, his admirer and designated biographer, that he didn't know anything about it? He almost believes that he is one step ahead of the master this time when he locates Bittner's daughter, visits her under a pretext in her Berlin gallery, spends the evening with her - and then the night. What the immediately in love does not know: It is he himself who is subject to deception, and not without consequences. In his literary debut, which is as cleverly arranged as it is cryptically told, Michael Maar combines the smallest details and twists with great questions of meaning, lust and lightness with the deepest seriousness. For what begins as a cheerful game of charades and mix-ups leads unexpectedly - Bittner's health is worse than it first appears, and finally doubts begin to come to the otherwise self-confident writer - to an exploration of the last things: love, aging, death and the question of what remains of a work and of a life.