"Then Shukhov asked his wife to explain to him how he, who'd never been able to draw in his life, was going to become a painter".
What does it say about my week at work that spending time in a Stalinist era prison would be a welcome escape from everything else that was going on? Stodgy stew, or the lack of it, bread crust spoons, this is quite literally a day in the life.
Like Orange is the new black but without the girl on girl romps.
I don't know but I had put off reading this for quite some time, thinking it might be a little depressing, as it turns out this was the week to crack the spine. Nothing like a little dose of misery to make one's own dramas seem easy to deal with.
The contrast between the cold requiring special knee high boots versus the lovely weather we are having at present, made it all the more bearable.
4 out of 5 prisoners lead a pretty horrid existence.