In this book, the reader will find many answers to questions they’ve asked more than once—though, of course, not really expecting that someone would suddenly, right away—bam!—tell everything honestly. And even more answers to questions that never even occurred to the reader or the author. Unless, perhaps, to certain, especially meticulous characters. And after that, everything will finally become as unclear as necessary to turn into truth—one that is inexpressible.
The author’s direct speech:
In my view, this is the scariest story about literature that can possibly be imagined. And about literary criticism as well. And mind you, I’m not joking. Personally, I’m still unsettled, and you—whatever you like.
In general, all the books in this “green” series are, to one degree or another, answers to questions. Questions that almost all readers have. And yet these are answers that not every reader is ready to hear. But “The Gift of Shavanakhola,” against that background, even looks like one continuous answer to a nearly endless number of questions. Such an answer that it keeps sounding even if you plug your ears. However, for an ordinary reader who doesn’t dig very deep, all the above is nonsense—the book is one solid “bubogashenka,” as usual—so there’s no need to worry.