Alexander Kanevsky
Russia, 1921. The old man, Matvey, has died, leaving on earth his daughter and grandson.
Yury, the grandson, starts his journey through life in the twentieth century, the precarious life of an extremely sensitive person, the undiscovered artist, the victim of Stalin's regime, the hero and the prisoner of World War II, and climaxes in modern America in glamorous discovery of his talent.
Matvey starts his journey through his new life, the afterworld. He travels backward through history discovering real places and images unchanged, excising in another dimension as they used to exist in experience of real life.
Matvey finds his wife, Lisa, on a cranberry meadow. He also finds his parents living in thirteenth century Germany. His father - is his grandson, Yury. His mother - is Yuri's future wife.
Matvey and Yury touch each other through dimensions, disguise, reincarnation, kisses of dreams and reality, natural and supernatural. Matvey meets God. God appreciates Matvey care about those left on earth, encouraging Matvey to go on. And, he does.
Don't you, living on earth, think that you're omnipotent. God will send somebody in your dream, and your constructions crushed. Or you are the hero. But remember, only God distributes.
This is an acute social drama tangled into an exuberant personal one. Formally, the remaining pivotal characters are: scoundrel and beast inside of the omnipotent communistic leader, (Duamel); the life prostitute inside of the Soviet singing superstar, (Elena); the vicarious soul in Nazi prosecutor, (Claire); Stalin's cult victim, the poet inside of the engineer, (Dmitry). Let the reader judge them.
Philosophy of life, love, death and destiny is explored in this historical and psychological epic with unexpected dramatic ending.
Alexander Kanevsky exploits his creative ideas by means of two medias-the canvas and the paper.
As a painter he is well known to the world today.
As a writer he has written eleven books, eight of which are novels, and the other three are short stories, poetry, and essays.
He was born in Russia, is about to hit forty and is residing in Connecticut.
He was flying in a sky caressed by it's black and gold flows of air. He knew that each moment was inevitably bringing him farther and farther from the place he left.
A fish with expressionless eyes and multicolored scale was the only companion in his flight through the fire, the stone and the mirror. As he touched the water the fish disappeared.
The contours of city's buildings, railway trestles, and small sleepy houses percolated through the water. There was only one man on the streets. His eyes were bulging in frenzy from the orbits. He was barefoot. His chest, dissected in the middle, appeared scarlet red, unveiling the pounding heart. 'Why are you flying above me? The man expostulated. Why don't you settle down here so I could recite my verses to you. I can even read Mandelstam, as I did forty years ago in Moscow before my imprisonment, remember?' 'Who are you?' he wondered. 'Me?' - Man with the hiatal heart exclaimed in astonishment. 'You don't recognize me? I am he, whom you once called your best friend. Killed by Stalin. I am a murdered poet.' He still could not recognize the man, whose features nevertheless looked so familiar that it suddenly brought a severe pain to his chest.
Once again the water engulfed him. Suddenly a white swan appeared. 'I am your love eternal, which brought about your art. Come with me.' Enticed by the invitation and certain that he knew the swan very well, he obediently followed.
They appeared in the art museum. He saw himself sitting in the middle of a shimmering gallery with his own paintings hung. People were soundlessly moving about him. He was gazing at himself floating above in the company of swan. No one else seemed to notice them. 'Why don't you make love to the swan?' His sitting self asked.' 'How can I?' He replied. - 'Simply as you used to.' - His sitting self pointed. He asked. 'But who are you?' 'I am an artist, - his sitting self responded. All my life I was painting, amidst constant struggle. I was meant to be killed by war, prison, poverty and deprivation, but I survived. Because I always had faith in my work. 'Why does this man look like me?' he asked the swan. 'Who knows...' swan answered with a smile, then shrugged and soared away.
He strained to catch the swan but instead caught a dog. It was a gigantic German Shepherd, splashing spittle with it's big red tongue as it breathed heavily. 'What? You?! - he protested pushing the dog away. 'You must have heard me talking about prosecutions and prisons, that's why you're here? The Shepherd barked in agreement. 'You sent those troubles to me, didn't you?' Again the dog barked in agreement.' Are you not the one, whom my wife tried to kill in the thirteenth century?' The Shepherd barked in agreement. 'Stop your barking and tell me more!' He roared in agitation. Instead of the dog, the water responded with a squalling wave that swallowed him.
He realized himself in a small murky apartment floating under it's ceiling. Beneath him was a disheveled bed, where an old woman with a wig was screaming and panting for life as a young man was choking her. The moment came when her struggle ended, her wheezing for mercy turned silent.
'Why did you do that?' he cried as he floated above.' It's too late!' declared young murderer. 'This has already happened eight years ago. And after this I came to take your mother's life, remember?' 'Mother!' - he roared in a frenzy, 'No!'
