37 years old somebody wakes up in an old, abandoned train station. He is alone and scared of his own voice. He has his grandfather’s old jacket on his shoulders. He recalls only some fragments of where he comes from, who he loves or who has loved him throughout the years. He remembers the names of his children. He can hear  strange voices in his head, some mysterious creatures call him, sing to him, shout to him that he has to survive. 

 

Reading Davit Kashiashvili’s debut book is like building a puzzle but his word pictures are too intense for a game: Princess Diana broken in pieces…  or a father who had “shrunk so small that we rested his corpse in our childhood  violine case”. 

 

It is hard to tell what one is more captivated by in this book – the story or the language. The author seems to be present but he often tries to abandon us to the dramatic stories of the characters. The author invites us: “Come, let’s sit down,  make some delicious coffee, wrap the god escaped from the dreams around our shoulders, put our feet up on the banisters and wait for the sign that… “ – you can find out the rest in the book.