Anika Mekanikuri’s short stories resemble the evenings tasting like tangerines, floating on the water with your eyes closed on a sunny day, also a dream fish or a dream bird; at times they resemble sinewy hands, weathered from holding a gun, a toy decorated with a deer slipped secretly into the pocket or a wish revived by burying a dandelion into the ground,  a mother’s expectations, crying under the tree resembling a father, glowing oranges...

Grandmothers, young mothers, young girls in colorful dresses and ants climbing up the kids with eyes of an older person, sugary-roasted apples, fragrance of warm milk, mint tea, black burka, sometimes a pistol filled with sea water – all of these are connected in her world. How do you want to handle it?

I’ll give you a piece of simple advice: forget the strict rules of grammar, say no to stylistic frames, be patient, measure your stride, walk with your head down, hiding your dreamy eyes from others; don’t be afraid of a dark ascent, don’t think that somebody will wind the road on their hand or pull you off your feet. This is how Anika behaves: she believes that everything is a dream and that only this sunny day, life of ants and holding hands is real. She doesn’t know yet that she belongs to the ground from head to toes, she’ll become aware of it later.

If you want to domesticate homes, you should read Anika. Afterwards, when you smell the fragrance of the sea and tangerines while reading, assume that everything is fine. (Maka Ldokonen)