This summer I have again immersed myself in literature. To be exact, in Modernist Polish literature. I have been reading it for sentimental reasons and to refresh and look anew at some of the books I had once covered in school. The process of restoring these novels has been fascinating, but suddenly books of the past began soaking me in, too deep, too far from today. And then, a friend popped up and gave me a helping hand. She proposed I read something miles apart – a contemporary British novel by Deborah Levy entitled Swimming Home (2011).