But of course, that’s not at all how things turn out. You plan to ski, drink, drink, ski, drink, and read. You decide to vacation alone at a mountain inn where you won’t know anyone and where you won’t have to think about all the annoyances that come with being a police inspector. Imagine that you’re burned out from work and everyday stress, and you need to get away from it all. I had no idea what to expect from these giants of Russian sci-fi, but now I know why they’ll be read as long as books exist. My efforts to read as much contemporary and newly-released sci-fi in translation as I possibly can, though, led me to The Dead Mountaineer’s Inn, translated into English for the first time since its original publication. No Roadside Picnic, no Hard to be a God, nothing. Before I write anything else, I must first confess that I had never before read a Strugatsky novel.
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