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he shouted, munching. 'Yes,' the young writer agreed, 'the language is a bit poor.'
The journalists said nothing but nodded sympathetically and drank. The ladies
didn't even nod, said nothing, refused the port specially bought for them and ...
chorused the people round the end of the table. 'The language . . .' the guitarist's
brother began to say, but the elderly man interrupted him. 'To hell with the
language,' he shouted, heaping salad on to his plate. 'The language is not the
shouted the elderly man. 'You're a bit of a Dostoevsky, aren't you! Yes you are. All
right, you don't like me. God forgive you for it, I don't mind. But we all sincerely like
you and wish you nothing but good.' Here he pointed to the guitarist's brother ...
Wat mensen zeggen - Een review schrijven
LibraryThing ReviewGebruikersrecensie - nosajeel - LibraryThing
It is not only a reflection on me that I managed to read 30 or 40 pages of this book before realizing that I had read it before, more than fifteen years ago, translated under the title Black Snow. It is inconceivable that something similar could happen with even the first two paragraphs Volledige review lezen
LibraryThing ReviewGebruikersrecensie - HadriantheBlind - LibraryThing
Bulgakov knows how to write a fine novel - this one all about the hilariously bizarre and frustrating world of stage plays. It ends very abruptly, but the author was about to die. A shame, but it can be more than excused. A wonderfully funny book. Volledige review lezen