We rolled your sun
24.99 €
In stock
We rolled your sun
24.99 €
A poet in Russia is more than a poet. This throwaway phrase by Yevgeny Yevtushenko is repeated by anyone who feels like it when the conversation turns to poetry. For some reason, they don't talk about science fiction writers like that. It's unfair. A science fiction writer in Russia is more than a science fiction writer. Sometimes he is even more than science fiction itself. Not everyone, of course. The circle of such writers is small. Ivan Efremov, the Strugatsky brothers, Vladislav Krapivin, Kir Bulychev, Boris Stern, Mikhail Uspensky...
Yevgeny Lukin rightfully belongs to this rare minority. Science fiction for him is a device like Leskov's melkoscope: look through its peephole and you'll see that there's also a key lying next to the flea on the tray. Reading the writer Lukin is a joy and pleasure. Joy from the quality of his prose, pleasure from the buffoonish atmosphere in which his characters live. You read it and suddenly you see Gogol winking slyly at you from the page, or Saltykov-Shchedrin twirling his finger at his temple, or the tail of the cat Behemoth wagging somewhere between the chapters.
Yevgeny Lukin rightfully belongs to this rare minority. Science fiction for him is a device like Leskov's melkoscope: look through its peephole and you'll see that there's also a key lying next to the flea on the tray. Reading the writer Lukin is a joy and pleasure. Joy from the quality of his prose, pleasure from the buffoonish atmosphere in which his characters live. You read it and suddenly you see Gogol winking slyly at you from the page, or Saltykov-Shchedrin twirling his finger at his temple, or the tail of the cat Behemoth wagging somewhere between the chapters.
See also:
- All books by the publisher
- All books by the author
- All books in the series Science Fiction and Fantasy. Big Books