Описание книги
About the product He was born in Taganka, and grew up in the Garden. Bauman. The rhythm of his life was built in accordance with the proportions of the concert L’amoroso by Antonio Vivaldi. At breakfast, he learned the news from the newspapers, and was named after the 3% cottage cheese that his mother loved so much. The main character in the novel by Gregory Sluzhitel is the cat Savely. Here he is fascinated by the old rattling tram, frozen on the rails. And now she gallops at full speed to visit Aunt Madeleine, who lives in an old washing machine, to listen to stories about the good old days, when their big feline family lived together and happily. So the events that took place long before the birth of Savely become part of his time. Soon, the kitten’s carefree childhood also becomes history. As Savely himself notes, fate always scratches cats against the grain, and he had too many reasons to be convinced of this by his bitter experience. «Days of Savely» is a book of wanderings and losses, a chronicle of meetings and partings of cats and people who suffer and dream, solve philosophical dilemmas and accept life in all its diversity. However, the difference between the one and the other in the novel is, of course, conditional. The multicolored, voluminous language of the author of «The Days of Savely», his attention to the most unexpected details in the appearance and life of cats and people, as well as soft humor create a special atmosphere of the world of Savely. The novel by Gregory Sluzhitel is both a respectful nod towards the classics, and an extremely tenacious — artistic — look at the surrounding reality, and the depth of philosophical reflections. Reading «The Days of Savely», I caught myself thinking that in this novel the author had become a full-fledged cat. An occupation for a capital resident is uncharacteristic, one might say — exotic, but for a writer it is very important. With his novel, he proved that from now on he can be reincarnated as anyone, and we, sitting in the stalls, will watch his transformations with bated breath. Let’s cry and laugh. And rejoice that such a Savely has appeared in our literature. Well, and such a Grigory, of course … Evgeny Vodolazkin Quotes from the book Yes, I remember everyone’s hands. Both the right and the left. My memory covers the distance from the fingertips to the bends of the elbows, then everything gets in the way. Hands that smelled of unhappiness, the warm hands of old women who refuse to put up with the loneliness to which they are doomed. Children’s hands, not knowing experience, time — these were especially rude to me. For them, I was an appendage to that obsessive tenderness and sugary care that they were surrounded by in their early days. In contrast, the hands of strong, healthy men turned out to be much more courteous to me. Because I was what they lacked. These workers, guards, police officers, beggars and vagabonds fed me to the slaughter. They recognized themselves in me. Those themselves as they remained inside, but as they were strictly forbidden to remain in adulthood. These men rebelled. They could not bear responsibility and duty, which were burdened by the right of someone’s lot, but they had to play according to the rules. They had to carry out their duties to the end. They dragged behind them a deaf piano the size of a five-story building, packed with setbacks, unspent strength, resentment and anger. Therefore, they were especially kind to me. Golden sand at the bottom of a mountain stream, which we have no need to fish out of the water and sift through a sieve. This is our memory of each other. Memory is a strange thing. This is a misalliance of eternity and our temporary warmth. Small but priceless wealth. This is the rubbing of the eyes against the starry sky. My love. My only love. You are my only memory. And she reached out to me. When Greta and I silently looked out the window and saw around a quiet white landscape, it seemed to us that the whole vast world had collapsed and only this small patch of land remained on Pokrovsky Boulevard. And everyone gathered here, and beyond the edge there was nothing else left. Everything has disappeared. Perhaps it was so. And so it was. I wanted to return to Shelaputinsky, as the Spanish galleon returns to its native port, laden with gold, spices and slaves. People go to the army, cats go to the city. This is the way things are. I was waiting. Yes, it was this and it was. There was hunger and frost. There was moderate violence and boundless affection. Overall, luck was on my side. Despite the pressing work, I left myself time to think that, you see, in my wild conditions, a great luxury. Annotation .
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