The new novel starts…
Alexander Pushkin had fallen asleep at his desk his head pressed against papers ridden with verses and scribbles, a few drawings, some sweat, and a bit of slobber. Sleep had not come easily to him these days, he preferred to work until the vodka graced him with the warmth to greet his dreams. As heavy as his heart was with disgust, confusion, and hatred, the creeping sunlight that shone between the drawn draperies could not cheer his complex situation. With his back to the draperies, a small slit of light crept along the desk surface until it finally struck Alexander’s worn face. He felt the heat and flinched at its brightness, then opened his large candid blood-shot blue eyes. His head pounded as he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and wished – like the hundreds of times before – that his dreams would absorb him, and he would not have to awaken. For only in his dream world was there enough luster and effervescence to make him want to breathe in deeply every molecule of air to fill his lungs and make him eagerly breathe again. In his dreams, he was a free man, truly free, free from a depostic government, and free from hollow laws, free to go where and when his will wished it. Instead he lifted his head slowly from the solid oak desk and opened himself to the vacuous vortex of life in Russia in 1837, welcoming the wood of the desk and the chair that held him in place.
Book Released !
A new novel about Russia’s celebrated poet Alexander Pushkin
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