‘…This writing [by Ravil Bukharaev] is at the limits of the Russian language as it was with Nabokov and Brodsky; it is constant listening, constant awareness à la Proust of the self, continuous attention towards every infinitesimal facet of Life; relentless chasing of the soul, perpetual astonishment of the fact that one exists, that the world is created for you – you only have to understand it and fall in love with it, and it will reveal itself. And every word runs and hurries, hastens – as if it is a kind of music, or a kind of Arachna’s web… It seems to be already a form of writing beyond Speech, some precious Islamic pattern, a dazzling calligraphy, an ornament circumventing the entire world…’
VALENTIN KURBATOV Literary critic and Secretary of the Board of the Russian Union of Writers