The word “producer” entered our everyday vocabulary in the former USSR around the 1990s. For many, it was associated both with a person who could turn any idea into a product and any person into a star, and at the same time with something shady. Apparently this was because many people back then had a lingering sense that any business was tied up with some kind of crime or vulgarity.
Later, however, the word no longer felt foreign in the language. In film it replaced the position of “film director” (in the sense of production management), and in many other industries the role finally came to mean what it should — someone who helps organize production as a whole, and who enables the team to create the product.
In the game industry, to which I have already devoted many years, this role exists as well. Yet to this day, few could really explain to you what exactly a producer does on a team. People still do not understand the meaning of a producer’s work, and some consider producers to be arrogant, overpaid idlers and budget-burners.
Dan Irish is an experienced game producer (the legendary Myst series was created with his participation, starting from the third installment). In 2005 he wrote the book The Game Producer’s Handbook, which is still often recommended to novice (and not only novice) producers.
I thought I would write about the second book of The Battles for Lukomorye a bit later, but then the media started saying that we need to talk more about the heroes of Russian fairy tales — about the likes of Dobrynya and Muromets. Well then, let’s write. Though in reality, the heroes were not nearly as noble as they appear in the tales.
I read the first part of this cycle a year ago and at that time also wrote down my thoughts about the book.
The Battle for Lukomorye is a fictional cycle set in the world of Tales of Old Rus’, which originally began as more of an art project by Roman Papsuev. The last time I thought it was a novel in two parts (since there was already word about plans for a second book). In fact, it turned out that the story does not end with the second volume.
I have already written about this world before, so I will not repeat myself in detail. In short, it is a world built on the motifs of Slavic fairy tales and folklore. The book The Battle for Lukomorye tells of events when the dark forces once again attempt to break into Rus’, while brave Rusichi (and other inhabitants of Belosvetie) strive to resist the followers of Chernobog, remembering how hard the struggle had been the last time, when only at great cost were they able to drive back the hordes of Koschei the Deathless.
The Puppet Master is a novella that was meant to begin the Daradda cycle, but as of today it has remained the only one in it, which is why it is available online under the title Daradda. The Puppet Master. The author, Danil Nesterenko, is not a professional writer; he works in game development, with particular attention to narrative.
And the love of narrative can be felt in the text. Daniil clearly thought through his world and wanted to make it alive and rich. However, the novella contains far too much that the narrator immediately pours onto the reader. You don’t have time to immerse yourself in the world and understand its rules, because right from the start you are almost buried under a huge mass of unfamiliar names, titles, geographic locations, and races. Moreover, as the story unfolds, you realize that the described world is not the only one in this universe — and this realization doesn’t make things any easier. Because you simply cannot grasp the entire layer of information that you are asked to hold in your head. Because of this, it is also not so easy to empathize with the hero’s actions, since the rules of the game in this world, filled also with magic, remain unknown and unclear to you.
At the same time, the novella is written in very beautiful and vivid language. That cannot be taken away from the author. And the book cover is simply excellent (though judging a book by its cover illustration is not the best idea).
However, the story did not turn out coherent. It is a kind of investigative tale, where the main character must figure out what happened to his liege lord’s son. And then it suddenly turns out that this hero is not even human. To the abundance of terminology and races is added a large number of secondary characters. It is clear that the author wants to introduce us to the world, but all these “guns” never fire and only distract. And much about the main character is unclear. Other than the fact that he is a demon and can do all sorts of things… where did he come from? Why? Why does he serve humans? What exactly are his abilities? Why was the assassination attempt plotted? Why did his friend and patron so easily dismiss him after the case was solved? Who are all these people and groups weaving intrigues? There are more questions than answers.
It is clear that this was meant as groundwork for a larger cycle or a novel, but it came out far too concentrated. And on top of that, there is an inexplicable reference to the Witchers, as if there weren’t already enough questions.
You can feel that a vast world with its own rules lives in the author’s mind, but introducing an unprepared reader into it should have been done in smaller portions. And although I cannot say that I really liked the novella, after reading it I realized that I would like to learn more about the hero. Perhaps Danil Nesterenko will eventually finish and rework the cycle so that it becomes easier for the reader to follow the twists and turns. Time will tell.
With the release of the novel As He Was Leaving, He Asked, Boris Akunin has fully completed his historical cycle, in which he simultaneously told the history of the Russian state and accompanied it with works of fiction set in the corresponding historical period.
Boris Akunin concluded the history of the Russian Empire with the reign of the last tsar of the Romanov dynasty — Nicholas II. Beyond that point, in the author’s view, it was no longer the history of an empire (though recent events show that imperial history seems unwilling to let Russia go).
The fictional cycle, as I have written many times before, is essentially the story of a completely different dynasty, one that managed to traverse the entire path from the Varangian era to the Revolution of 1917. And if in the earlier works of the cycle representatives of this dynasty played a rather prominent role — sometimes even stepping directly into the spotlight (as in the novel The Fortunate Adventures and Reflections of Lucius Catin) — then in the penultimate The Road to Kitezh it was the events of the era that came to the fore, rather than one of the heirs with the telltale birthmark on the forehead. The final novel, titled As He Was Leaving, He Asked, is likewise far less focused on the last heiress of the family in the cycle.
A few days ago marked two years since the death of Raman Bandarenka — a man who became one of the symbols of the 2020 protests in Belarus and, sadly, one of its victims. Raman was one of the residents of a Minsk courtyard at the intersection of Chervyakova Street, Kakhovskaya Street, and Smarhonski Tract, which during the protests became known as “Square of Changes.” Another resident of this “square,” Stsiapan Latypau, who handed out flowers to protesting women and actively took part in the life of his courtyard-“square,” was detained, attempted suicide several times during his trial, and ultimately received 8.5 years in a high-security prison.
In today’s world, we often know very little about our neighbors, especially when living in the huge “ant hills” of residential districts. But this courtyard became known to all concerned Belarusians. It appeared in many news reports, tea gatherings and even concerts were held there. Residents hung white-red-white ribbons on the fences, painted a mural on a transformer booth, and fought to preserve it. And it was for this reason that it received its own name — “Square of Changes.”
This courtyard, this phenomenon, has already been forever inscribed in the history of modern Belarus. And in 2022, Yauheni Otsietski decided to publish a photo album about this “square.”
I feel like by the ninth book in the “As*troheds” series by Olga Gromyko, I’m starting to repeat myself in my reviews. Yes, Karma is the ninth installment of the series that Olga Gromyko began with Andrei Ulanov 11 years ago. Though Ulanov co-wrote only the first novel with Olga, the rest of the series has been written by her alone.
In short, the series takes place in the not-too-distant future, where humanity has ventured into space, colonized numerous planets, established diplomatic and trade relations with other races, and — importantly for the series — started producing cyborgs by growing living bodies and implanting them with electronics and cybernetic enhancements.
Essentially, the entire series revolves around the theme of sentient cyborgs — their plight running like a white thread through the otherwise reckless and humorous adventures of the book’s characters.
The earlier books told the story of the crew of the starship The Space Brain-Eater, although at times separate stories and novellas featured different protagonists. Eventually, Olga stepped away from the original crew and focused more on parallel events. The result, in my opinion, was mixed. The Cyborg and His Forester was interesting, but I liked it less than the others. The follow-up, See You on Cassandra!, was much more enjoyable, largely thanks to the colorful avshur character, Sarah.
Where the previous book was a sort of ensemble piece, bringing together heroes from various novels, novellas, and stories, the new novel titled Karma sees Olga Gromyko once again focusing on a small group. The main character is the cyborg Kai, who was “adopted” by a former soldier nicknamed Shooter — a story told in one of the cycle’s short stories. Kai has grown up (by cyborg standards) and no longer sees himself as a child. He’s left Cassandra and works as a mercenary. However, he does this with a measure of contempt for regular humans, who still see cyborgs as soulless machines, despite the ongoing movement for cyborg rights. Slowly, though, Kai begins to change his attitude toward the team that hired him — especially as his childhood friend (and secret love) joins the mission. Especially since her father’s life is at stake.
Ah, who doesn’t know d’Artagnan?! Every boy should know him from childhood! I also saw my first Three Musketeers film when I was just a little kid — it was some foreign, black-and-white, almost silent movie. And shortly after that, they showed the Musketeers on TV again — I happily sat down to watch, and then — bam! — disappointment, it was a completely different movie. But one that I came to love for many, many years. It was D’Artagnan and the Three Musketeers by Georgi Yungvald-Khilkevich. And even though it probably strayed further from Dumas’ original novel than any other version, its swashbuckling adventures and brilliant songs did their job.
I dreamed of being the Gascon, I wanted to be like him. And in third grade, I confessed this to a classmate who sat next to me at the same desk — and she decided to mock me and loudly revealed my secret to the entire class!
A bit later, when I was around 13, one of my classmates asked if I had listened to Kino (movie). Of course, he meant the band Kino, but I took it as a joke, even laughed — but when I got home, I turned that joke into reality. I bought a reel of magnetic audio tape at a store, and the next time my favorite three-part film was on, I recorded it using a reel-to-reel tape recorder. That way I could enjoy the songs I loved, and even the movie itself (I knew it by heart, so the sound alone was enough for me) anytime I wanted. That was a huge leap forward in those days.
Earlier, I wrote that I had decided to reread the duology about Ostap Bender, which I had previously read only as a teenager. After finishing the “most complete” version of The Twelve Chairs, I picked up a similar edition of the second novel, The Golden Calf. This one is also presented as “The complete version of the novel without omissions or cuts.”
According to legend, the authors hadn’t planned to write a second novel—the first was self-contained, and Ostap Bender dies at the end. The authors even claimed they flipped a coin to decide whether he would live or die. But after the wild success of the first book, it would have been odd if they hadn’t gone ahead with a sequel. Although there is an opinion that the continuation had been planned much earlier, and the rest is just a neat and officially supported legend.
In the first novel, there were two main characters—Kisa Vorobyaninov and Ostap Bender himself. But it was clear who was playing the first violin, who was the thinker and driving force in the duo. Without Ostap, Kisa likely wouldn’t have recovered a single chair. That’s why the second book has no connection to the “leader of the Russian nobility” and instead puts the resurrected Ostap fully in the spotlight, now accompanied by new helpers who are significantly more useful (though still no match for him). As for his death, Ostap mentions it only in passing: someone did try to kill him, but brave Soviet medicine managed to save his life. The only reminder is a clearly visible scar from a razor cut on his neck.
Many media outlets wrote about Pavel Filatyev’s book, as it offered a view of the war in Ukraine through the eyes of a professional Russian soldier who found himself there from the very first days.
Pavel Filatyev is a junior sergeant in the Russian Airborne Forces and comes from a military family. His father was also a paratrooper, and Pavel essentially grew up on a military base—where he would later return to serve. A real military lineage, much like in the Soviet film Officers, where they serve because “there is such a profession — to defend the Motherland.”
Moreover, both his father and Pavel himself were not just stationed idly at their units—they had real combat experience. Pavel fought in Chechnya. However, over time, the army became increasingly irrelevant, and he left for civilian life, where he spent nearly 10 years doing work unrelated to the military. But after a failed business venture and financial difficulties, he began considering a return to the army under a contract. He specifically wanted to join the same unit he’d known since childhood—though by then, it had already been restructured and relocated from his hometown to Feodosia, in Crimea, which had by that point been annexed.
It’s quite difficult to write about the “Rescuers” collection since this is not just a book but a project to help Ukraine, which is suffering from war. Nevertheless, I’ll still try.
After the war with Ukraine began, many Ukrainians were forced to leave their homes, many suffered, and many, unfortunately, died. Like other cities, for more than six months now, one of the most Russian-speaking cities of Ukraine, Kharkiv, has been subjected to daily bombings. And for me, Kharkiv has always been the capital of Ukrainian science fiction, because it was there that one of the most famous and most prestigious science fiction festivals — “Star Bridge” — was held for many years, organized by Kharkiv residents whom I deeply respect — writers Dmitry Gromov and Oleg Ladyzhensky, better known to readers under the pseudonym Henry Lion Oldie.
It was Oldie who decided to publish the book “Rescuers,” a collection of Ukrainian science fiction of 2022. The title “Rescuers” has a double meaning. First of all, almost all works in the collection are somehow connected with those who help, who save. Secondly, the purpose of this collection is to help Ukraine fight; all money from the sale of this book “will go to help Ukrainians affected by the hostilities in the war unleashed by Russia.” This is the clear position of the authors.
But besides this noble purpose, I still wanted to get acquainted with what modern Ukrainian science fiction represents today, even if in short form. I’ve known and loved Oldie for a long time, but I don’t always have time to follow new and less well-known authors.
