For the first time I learned about Vladimir Danikhnov from the review of the linguist Maxim Krongauz on his book "Lullaby", it was so good that I mentally placed the novel in my vish-list, which at that time existed only in my head. Naturally, after some time, the name of an unknown author flew out of there, and my attempts to find a book based on the description were unsuccessful.
I was brought together with Danikhnov again by reposts: he became one of the writers who needed funds for cancer treatment, the second relapse in two years. The third time was the sum of the two previous terms - creativity and cancer: Danikhnov, who was known as a gloomy science fiction writer, wrote the book "A Creature the size of a Ferris Wheel", which, despite the images of giant monsters present in it, was dubbed "realistic".
Before reading the novel, I read the abstract five times, and it still seems to me that it is difficult to compose a more incomprehensible text with an attempt to explain what kind of book it is. But the problem lies not in the tongue-tied employees of the publishing house "EKSMO", but in the work of Danikhnov himself, who not only crossed documentary prose with fiction, but also at the same time tried to tell both about his struggle with cancer and the fear that had been living inside him for years, and turned out to be stronger than the disease.
Actually, the main idea of the work, on which the whole narrative rests: there are people who just need something to devour them from the inside, and if it's not cancer, which is perceived as something alien, then it will be their own fear, which they themselves create and feed. That's just the majority of people are fighting cancer to the last, while our personally created monsters rarely get a decent rebuff.
Oncology is not a pleasant topic, I fully understand and accept the point of view of those people who will refuse to read the book solely because of one of its topics: it is not particularly pleasant to read about diseases at all, and when almost everyone somehow encounters malignant neoplasms, when there is someone in every family who won, could not win or is in the process, then everything is perceived even more painfully.
It becomes even sadder when you realize that what is described in "Creatures the size of ..." is far from the end, that the author, who has already become, if not a friend, then at least an acquaintance, is a good guy with two children, married to a primary school teacher, living in Rostov and wearing a pirate eyepatch, is still standing on the edge, struggling with his fears, illness, that oncologists still operate with concepts of three-five-year survival.
To be honest, it's even difficult for me to somehow evaluate what I've read, because it's just embarrassing to say something like "well, the composition is not quite successful, it was better to build a line related to treatment linearly, otherwise the reader gets confused in time, and the story jumps back and forth."
Strangely enough, but for me in the "Creature the size of a Ferris wheel" it was the line related to the disease and treatment that was of the greatest interest: maybe the fact is that I am a noble hypochondriac and I can write hospital stories in batches myself, maybe just because I am not interested in abandonments and I do not believe in monsters made of bones, skin and flesh, but just to find out the story of how a person who does not have a lot of money and connections, who is not an adept of the doctrine that our diseases - this is a punishment, and not radiating optimism and confidence in the coming of tomorrow, as those who usually undertake to write memoirs about their own healing, find solutions to their problems, on which their life and health depend, was interesting.
Danikhnov on the pages of his book does not become an adept leading forward at all, moreover, his novel is not at all a kind of therapy for cancer patients, but he notices those things that may simply be invisible to those who do not have a fatal diagnosis, and these things are very different, concerning the level of medicine, the reaction of acquaintances to information about the diagnosis, and even the unity of strangers via the Internet when someone needs help (everyone who is not lazy complains about the callousness of others, but both small and large tragedies of people unite, they "expose" the willingness to help even strangers, it is impossible not to notice.
I am somewhat repelled by the author's attitude to "writing for myself", which is not only openly spoken several times, but is also generally noticeable when reading the text. Danikhnov is not a soul for plowing, not a universal friend, this is understandable, and quite normal, there are few cheerful extroverts among writers, but no one writes even a diary "for himself", all our words recorded on paper are intended for Another, and if after writing "Creatures..." the author reread it, keeping in mind the question "what do I want to say to Another, in addition to retelling a set of facts", I am sure the book would be slightly revised and acquired a lot, would outgrow its main idea, for which in fact in fact, just one sentence is enough, and it would already be irreducible to it.
390.637 SRY