An atypical book about searching for a truth that no longer interests anybody, about books that no one reads anymore and about the freedom to invent a story, improbable to happen.
Crop Circles is not a book about what it seems to be. It is not about crop circles and not about death metal either. By reading it, you can might learn more about juggling, chronic failures of faces or transplants. Ye it is not about those things either. It it is, in fact, about the truth. But if truth exists in such a way, does it even have anything in common with truth itself? You will not discover any definitive truth in this book either. Because the truth is like crop circles. We cannot see them from the Earth and we are unable to understand them looking at them from above either. No one truly understands what they are. No one is even interested in them anymore.
The same goes for books. Their moment of glory has passed. There is no reason to assume that someone would is still interested in them. In essence, what matters is a single sentence, everything else is fluff. Finally, you realize that books are not about truth but about fantasy. They are about the freedom to view things as they could happen after you fail to see with your own eyes. Most importantly, they must be about writing itself.