In 2017 the writer told publisher Xavier Barral of his wish to make a book of photographs, an impossible-to-find book composed of his own images. They arrived in a suitcase on Barral’s desk; Barral then died, but the publishing house carried on and the suitcase went with it. The images, stored in kraft paper, now open into a visual and intuitive story: the photographs of a novelist, taken without a plan over years of travel.