Flower is a book of realistic confessions, likes, dislikes, memories and no-brainer observations. It treats personal truth as unavailable, something that must be made up and convincing. If the value of sharing personal stories is the successful solicitation of empathy, Flower attempts to synthesise such empathy through seemingly private anecdotes auto-generated by a believable automaton. Written in a poor style over one continuous text block, Flower equivocates between inanity and divinity, ease and pain, sentimentality and sterility.