Alright, so what follows is a right ol' spoiler.
I've spent the day building Ikea furniture, pining after my love and trying to keep hold of a temper. It is bleakly cold outside and very dark.
Standing up so that I could read beneath the one remaining spot light in my loft I read the final chapter of Cancer Ward. He ties it up like a essayist under time restrictions, accelerating the narrative and taking hold of every passing minute of the story. Oleg goes to the zoo.
Solzhenitsyn concludes with thoughts of responsibility which Oleg doesn't quite have, or at least, doesn't take up. When a hoodlum tries to jump a queue for a train the ragged excile with cancer confronts him. He ensures his own comfort on the train but remarks that the only people whom he has allowed a place on the train are curriors of vegatables. Of this he makes no judgement.
It's strange that after my sartori and moves toward conservativism, the book concludes with my resolution, one that's apt for a depressive and a drug addict.
I've spent the day building Ikea furniture, pining after my love and trying to keep hold of a temper. It is bleakly cold outside and very dark.
Standing up so that I could read beneath the one remaining spot light in my loft I read the final chapter of Cancer Ward. He ties it up like a essayist under time restrictions, accelerating the narrative and taking hold of every passing minute of the story. Oleg goes to the zoo.
Solzhenitsyn concludes with thoughts of responsibility which Oleg doesn't quite have, or at least, doesn't take up. When a hoodlum tries to jump a queue for a train the ragged excile with cancer confronts him. He ensures his own comfort on the train but remarks that the only people whom he has allowed a place on the train are curriors of vegatables. Of this he makes no judgement.
It's strange that after my sartori and moves toward conservativism, the book concludes with my resolution, one that's apt for a depressive and a drug addict.