The novel, in form and language, belongs to Russian realistic literature and carries a great humanistic charge of philanthropy and filial devotion to the people of a bygone era, who did life as they knew how, with mistakes, victories and failures. But there were still more victories. One of which freed the world from the horror of fascism. So the “scoops,” as representatives of today’s power structures like to call Soviet people, silently did their job both out of fear and out of conscience. The genre of the novel is a saga, Russian family chronicles of typical representatives of their people, with their flaws and nobility, with faith in everything winning “Maybe”, and recklessness towards one’s own fate. The saga begins with a short philosophical reflection on the tragedy of everything in this world. Everything is subject to the inexorable movement of time: both grass and people are one and the same. Then follows the very movement through the life of a rural Russian guy born at the beginning of the century and therefore already doomed to become its victim. But that's not true. Or no, not like that at all. Life's collisions did not break the cheerful, unlucky character of a man who managed to overcome this twentieth century and come to his final end, cleared of everything that prevented him from looking straight into the eyes of death. With zero education, he was able to work as the head of the cultural department in his district, the military conflicts that happened to him on the front line, many curious, essentially absurd cases befell him. In a word, the life of the hero of the proposed saga is filled with surprises. The author, with filial love and sadness, talks about the ordinary fate of a Central Russian man of the last century. As one poem by Vladimir Sokolov says: “I am tired of the twentieth century, of its bloody rivers. And I don’t need human rights. I have not been human for a long time.”