The earthly USSR was a crude, imperfect body, but in the hearts of old romantics and the children of happy cities, its artistic ideal existed apart: the Celestial Union.
With the disappearance of mental spaces, the inanimate geographical body had died as well

.
The dissolution of the Soviet Union was not merely a shattering political and institutional phenomenon; it inflicted a deep psychological and cultural laceration upon the collective consciousness.
In present-day Russia, small communities attempt to recover an identity by reading the works of a deceased writer.
There are six books which, read exclusively in their original editions, are capable of transmitting positive feelings and energies.
These groups—the smaller ones known as reading rooms, the larger ones as libraries—fight among themselves to defend their own volumes and seize others.
The battles, invariably brutal, are waged according to the customs and rules of medieval armies, reminiscent of the feudal lords who held sway in pre-Tsarist Russia.
Aleksej, a disoriented young man lacking any clear perspective for his future, finds himself drawn, against his will, into the bloody conflicts between the rival communities, inheriting the role of Librarian upon the death of his uncle, who held this position in a small reading room.
Aleksej is hardly a warrior at heart, yet he must acquire the courage and resolve necessary to lead his faction in clashes with other gangs.
In truth, the book is an unrelenting succession of combats, painstakingly detailed by the author.
The most significant of these, and the decisive one for the protagonist's future, unfolds in a forest.
Aleksej’s small reading room takes refuge in a now-abandoned village, specifically in the Village Council building—where the council of elders once gathered in Tsarist Russia and the soviet convened during the Soviet era.
Here, numerous gangs, led by a malevolent old crone, attack Aleksej’s group while singing hymns lauding the heroic deeds of Soviet Russia’s soldiers and workers.
The depiction of the battle evokes the Iliad: a valiant few hold off hundreds of assailants, only to be slaughtered in the end, save for Aleksej.
The young man is captured and taken to a retirement home that has been seized by its elderly female residents, invigorated by reading the six books after massacring the staff. The protagonist is locked in a cell to read, and reread, all six books.
And it is then that Aleksej's destiny is fulfilled: to be the living icon, the eternal repository of the soul of Great Mother Russia.

If the Motherland is free, its borders inviolable, it means that the librarian Aleksej Vjazincev stubbornly stands guard in the underground bunker, tirelessly weaving the thread of the protective veil of the Intercession cast over the Country.
In defense against enemies visible and invisible

The idea of small communities dedicated to safeguarding a country’s historical heritage and the appeal to the power of books to awaken and fortify human consciousness are truly two brilliant premises.
In a fragmented and violent world, what remains to us if not the solidarity of comrades and the defense of the past? Yet might this not lead to a new Middle Ages? The problem is that well over half the book’s pages are devoted to describing savage clashes and bloody combat, while a modest—and decidedly insufficient—space is allotted to the characters' personal stories and their relationship with the books.
The narrative arc suffers heavily as a result, growing verbose, tedious, and redundant.
The conclusion feels weary and muddled, leaving the reader exhausted by an excess of battles.
In short, it is a missed opportunity.

Why not read it? If one has no fondness for battle scenes, it is better left unread.

The Librarian