A special place in the fiction of the 60–90s of the 19th century belongs to A. K. Scheller-Mikhailov. He was one of those who, for 40 years, tried to remain faithful to the “sixties”—a troubling time of reforms, spiritual upsurge, hopes, and bright faith in the future. Once, according to a memoirist, there took place a very meaningful and eloquent dialogue between Scheller-Mikhailov and one of his acquaintances. The acquaintance asked:
— And do you, Alexander Konstantinovich, still bend your back in the name of the sixties?
— Yes, I’m still as before an honest man—Scheler answered angrily.
Contemporaries of Scheller-Mikhailov devoured his works. Many of Scheller’s novels were translated into foreign languages almost immediately after publication.