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December 20, 2004


Venichka never loses his train of thought, and skillfully sustains the reader's attention by describing imaginary cocktails made from cheap perfume and antifreeze.

If he thinks those are imaginary, he hasn't known many drunks.

Moskva-Petushki is one of my favorite modern Russian novels, and I can't imagine its being successfully translated (I've only read the "...to the End of the Line" version, which is weak and leaves out the hard passages).

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