A review by Cristina Ribeiro

I'm talking about Brazil. This book came as one of the best gifts I've ever received from a good friend for the challenge of reading it in English and my English is still not the best, but that encouraged me even more, because it's not just a book, it served me as a source of knowledge of other cultures, politics, religion and how to deal with one's own loneliness. From the first pages, when D. talks about the old dream of crossing Russia by train, I felt something familiar: that restlessness that is not about leaving, but about needing to understand who you are when you are on the move. The physical journey soon turns out to be something else - an internal displacement, deep, sometimes uncomfortable, always honest. The rhythm of the book is the rhythm of the train. It doesn't accelerate to please. What made me even more unravel each sentence.. He observes. And it touched me deeply. In many moments, I felt sitting next to the author, looking out the window, letting thoughts arise and disappear along with the infinite landscape. Between the encounters along the way, N stays with me in a special way. Not because he says a lot - but precisely because he says little. N is presence, not explanation. It's one of those characters that seem almost blurred, like someone who passes through the corridor of the wagon and, without knowing why, changes the weather of the day. There is something in him that is not fully revealed, and maybe it should never. He represents these people we meet on a trip - or in life - who do not stay, but leave a silent and lasting mark. Although in my particular opinion it is a love someone very special for Daniel. Daniel writes with a rare vulnerability. He doesn't try to look brave all the time, nor wise all the time. He allows himself to be tired, confused, small in the face of the vastness of Russia and its own existence. In several passages, I closed the book and was deeply moved and reflective, feeling that soft tightness in my chest that only the truth provokes. The train ceases to be just scenery and becomes a constant metaphor. Each stop seems to ask the reader something. Each match seems to teach that not everything needs closure. The feeling of crossing the country from East to West is also that of crossing internal layers - memories, expectations, identities that no longer serve. When the book approaches the end, there is a kind of melancholy that is not sadness. It's recognition. The author arrives at the destination, but it is clear that "home" is no longer a fixed point on the map. Home is this internal state that is built when we learn to be with ourselves, even on the move. I finished the book differently from when I started. Quieter. More attentive. Wanting to travel, yes - but, above all, wanting to listen better to the world and myself. This is not a book for those who just want to get to know Russia. It is a book for those who have already felt the call of the road, even without leaving the place. For those who understand that some trips don't take us far - They take us inside. And some books, like this one, don't end. They just follow us.

Post Views : 10