A kafkaesque take on the average day in Cold War-era Ukraine.
Reva pits a likeable Daniil Ivanovich Blinov against council bureaucracy, workplace management, and even family, in battles most readers can identify with.
She flipped through the book, licking her finger every few pages. she flipped and flipped, consulted an index, flipped once more, then shut the book and folded her arms across it. “That building does not exist, Citizen.”
Anyone who has ever lived or travelled in Eastern Europe will appreciate Daniil Ivanovich Blinov’s woes: they’re all too common.
[The story would serve well to address symbolism, parallelism, and allegory.]