They shoot driven horses, don't they? The characters in Dmitry Stakhov’s new novel are condemned to “a life in which, in addition to fear and cynicism, an incomprehensible, overflowing rage is added.” This rage is a consequence of the loss of guidelines, internal bonds; without them, the reality of today's Russia seems infernal and absurd. But, having believed half to death, a person still clings to any opportunity to believe again. His longing for the ideal is becoming more and more piercing, the weight is insatiable. And one day the farce turns into tragedy, disgust into compassion. The grace of an Arabian horse flashes in a wretched, muscular nag.