"The landscape set burning"

Atxaga's Obabakoak is obsessed with its own backdrop.  I found this fragment lurking in my notes this evening:

Naturally my friend didn't know who I meant and so I settled down to the eleventh memory of the night--too many perhaps for one journey, too many, even, for one book.  But that night my memory was like dry tender which the heat generated by the landscape set burning.  (203)

This passage was epiphanic for me this summer.  Tonight I remember why.