All the men appear to be deep-boned drunk and a pretty adolescent girl
pretends not to know the way when I ask her the direction to the town centre. Eventually a farmer points the way across the
railway track.
In the town I charm the receptionist at the town's only - unashamedly Soviet - hotel. There's a toilet
on the landing, a black-and-white TV, and a view over a frosty park of silver birch trees.
Where's Dostoevsky's?
Only to say that I've just read this book and been absolutely astonished by its contents. (Reader's review,
amazon.co.uk)
