Lundoga. There were fairy tales

“We lived there as a basket,” said one old man about the world of Lundogi.
- to bring down the forest - do not raise bread, - added another, watching how the concepts of zone and logging crushed the village under the net of their unpretentious categories.
This book about the memory of a genuine life is only written not from the blocks, but from under the logging. The book is sad and funny, tragic and joyful, sharp to rudeness and very delicate. You haven"t read similarly. In fairy tales and the past, the lungs genres smoothly flow into each other: from idyll to a funny anti -utopia, from a gloomy fairy tale to a poetic essay, from accurate memories of surreal warms and observations.
The author of the book always considered himself a peasant rather than a writer. The collection of his stories is homemade, family, but many will be able to accept them close to their hearts - those who someday begin to feel Russia as their ruined, but legal and precious inheritance