iPhuck 10.
For twenty years, he has been writing the same book with different words, usually in the fall.
Even Leo Tolstoy would quickly get bored with this, but our Victor Olegovich is not Leo.
True, the book (well, this one, the one he's been writing for twenty years) is generally good...
But reading for the hundredth time how one illusion explains to another, over five pages, that it doesn't exist, and even "doesn't exist" also doesn't exist, and "also doesn't exist" also doesn't exist, and that you need to get rid of karma and escape samsara, but karma and samsara also don't exist, and that's precisely the whole point, which also doesn't exist...
Well, let's just say that it's not as impressive as it was the first to ninety-ninth time.
The author even rants about this for two pages (apparently, he thinks he's joking) – that he's writing at least one book his whole life, while you're not writing any, so you should be quiet and keep your hands at your sides.
But we, Victor Olegovich, we are quiet.
We forgive you for "The Prince of the Gosplan," "Life of Insects," "Chapayev," and your early stories, and we will continue to forgive you, although it's getting harder every year.
You'll have to explain all this later to your Avalokiteshvara in your Bardo, and that will be interesting.
There's also some topical political satire, which will become outdated in about a year, when your next book comes out.
And yes, Sorokin's "Telluria" did it better – both with the Eurocaliphate, and with the three bald kings, and with everything else, including Victor Olegovich himself, devouring his own tail with Chinese sauce.
In a white wreath of roses, ahead is the ouroboros (quote).
So, Sorokin can remain silent and work (or whatever he does) for years, while our unknown father of Russian postmodernism is now doomed to continuously write one novel/collection of stories and novellas per year for the rest of eternity.
That's what real samsara is, no bardo is needed.
Life is tough. But yes. (also a quote)