Putin had long felt like a Daoist. Back in the two-thousand year, a friend told him about Daoism—and about the fact that he, Putin, is a spontaneous Daoist. “The sea stands below everything and takes no action, yet all rivers and streams give it their water,” the friend said. Putin liked how this “Gеbе” art of fitting in, mimicking, and twisting things was interpreted so loftily by that very fool. He wanted to know, more precisely, what kind of Daoist he really was. The novel “In the Memory of Putin,” in which Chechens seize a nuclear power plant, Americans bring troops into Moscow, and power is taken by the National Bolsheviks led by Limonov. All these wails and fears come from the aggrieved and disappointed “political killer” Sergey Dorenko, famous for his brilliant TV sting targeting the order to eliminate Luzhkov—and now, in turn, pushed out of the world of the socially living. What to do? That’s the job. Did the deed—go and walk wherever you want in all four directions. Dorenko isn’t willing to go. And so he wrote a novel.