This is a draught of a travelling novel in the eyes of an alcoholic.
Particularly indicated for methodical boozers or alternatively to dedicated followers of pretty much subterranean Russian literature during the last communist years. If you're both, well this book may suit you best. Please, serve your own drink and follow me as far as you can get.
I praise Erofeev. He finally made me learn the importance of choosing the right vodka among hundreds. Thumbs up for Venedikt! Now I know I was wrong and superficial. Yet, unfortunately I still don't like vodka that much.
In a wide range of soliloquies of the tramp protagonist with some astonishing dialogues among a bunch of allegorical, often stray-like characters there is even room for cocktails recipes. Just don't try these cocktails at home. You may have some problems in obtaining the right ingredients and then in mixing them up without causing a blast in your guts. May I suggest you to serve another plain drink of your own?
Well done folks.
Ol' Venedikt would appreciate this identification a lot.
And now it's time for a final sober account. Venedikt Erofeev certainly knew what he was writing and where he was going (end of the line, Petuski!), but for the reader who doesn't manage to find a comfortable place in the author's train it may be hard to follow the same trip on paper. Cheers!