A Dragonfly Enlarged to the Size of a Dog

• Slavnikova's writing features gorgeous Russian prose—distinctive and original, not devoid of embellishment yet entirely harmonious. It is lyricism in prose, though genuinely challenging to read: difficult to hold the entire chain of associative images in mind without losing the thread of action. Reading 'Dragonfly', I detached from the plot, focusing on the linguistic fabric and the pervasive atmosphere of decay and grit.

• An astonishing book. What it's about is left to each reader brave enough to finish it, braving the 'quiet horror' of the prose. Overcoming and rethinking, shaking off the vile cobwebs of this painted world while being irresistibly pulled into its alleys. The plot is simple: Daughter and Mother, the Soviet Urals, a one-room flat, manlessness, estrangement, the oppressive air of their daily grind and peculiar souls. Realism shifting into the magical and back—a mesmerizing interplay.

• This novel perhaps most vividly illustrates the unique style of Slavnikova's prose. Its defining hallmark is extreme visualization: for Slavnikova, to see is to understand. Her chief expressive devices are tropes—comparisons and similes. Here, a slotted fence with last year's withered grass resembles a comb with strands of hair, while bony women's legs in black stockings evoke X-ray scans.

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