This dichotomy lies at the heart of the novel, The Eve of November 7, in which two realities clash: the utterly false, morally hollow, grotesquely ugly Soviet reality and the world of the protagonist, fighting for his spiritual survival. In this collision, the dramatic events that the author himself experienced are bizarrely refracted. The novel’s action takes place in the course of one night and unwinds like a powerful spring, continuously impelling one to follow the story’s plot. Love, betrayal, changes of masks, flip-flop images, ghostly guests who care about the future, surreal characters and scenes as well as Kafkaesque psychology–all are imbued with the author’s erudite, insightful and lively prose.
