Michel Butor, in his skillfully written Matière de rêves III, carefully constructs content and form. But here, much more than [in the two previous volumes of the series], he proves himself the master of minute realism as well as of burgeoning fantasy. His work suggests qualities of painting and music. He composes a gigantic canvas on which distant horizons rapidly alternate with the tiniest of shapes, and analogies to reality succeed images of fantasy. In fuguelike counterpoint, philosophical contemplation follows stark satire, the birth of constellations in the night sky comes after the disgusting observation of putrified matter. Yet beyond such polarities lies original unity; death and decomposition are seen within the universal order of life. There is no longer a break between opposites, as in his early works, but a perception of the cyclical nature of matter and man. (p. 70)

Although Butor divides the book into five dreams, which have a certain topical coherence, innumerable threads run through the whole fictional fabric. Intertextuality prevails, as it did in earlier works. Changing perspectives, moods and stylistic and structural devices, repeated thematic fragments and evocative words appear in all five dreams. Words such as germinate, grow, become, burn and decompose reveal the life-death cycle. Echoing Heraclitus. Butor perceives the universe in constant flux. It is change and multiplicity that he wishes to study, not only in the material world but also in the gestalt of man…. Butor moves from a highly limited to an unlimited, totally open, world-embracing perspective. He also moves from the Western emphasis on the individual to the Eastern concept of original oneness.

There is constant oscillation between opposite poles: darklight, soft-hard, ancient-modern, dead-alive, growing-diminishing, moving-immobile, reality-dream…. [Humor] and wordplay inject satire and alternate moods. On every page there are stylistic audacities, unexpected revelations, key words in repetition, great erudition, humor, pertinent allusion, poetic beauty, eloquence and daring visions.

In the last paragraph of the book the narrator states that "you" wish to "capture the total reality" of the world, of which only a small part is known. If this be so, the final word, traces, points back to the beginning of the book, when the narrator was afraid of losing his way—a Way, it seems, that strongly resembles the Tao. (pp. 70-1)