Taras Prokhas‘ko. NeprOsti. (mp3). (NoTsimple)

There is quite a special sort of books: those that one wants to read again. Among them, there happen such that really should be re-read. And there happen such that one wants and should re-read several times. At that, sometimes, having just turned the last page, you open the first one – and start, and all the same it is already quite different, though it might seem familiar. To my mind, Taras Prohasko writes just such, endless stories – even if physically some of them take only a half of a printed page. Well, and the more so – if they take more. This would be easy enough if his stories just had an open end. If. Instead, they have open – opened? – virtually every turn, every phrase. That is why, in fact, we can hardly speak about an end as such – development of the plot is alternative, one of many, and not the main flow. The starting point is attention, the only condition – to see with one's heart. You come into this water, as in birth, and every separate story is another river. But all rivers, as known, carry their waters to the ocean. And whichever Prohasko's story you might take – all the same you get into this bowl, in which there is everything written and unwritten by him, felt, forgotten, invented, guessed, given... I am, sure, absolutely subjective – because I live. And it is for this reason that I am in the position to share the opinion by Sergiy Zhadan that he expressed in one of interviews. He then mentioned something like that Ukraine right now already has a writer who can be immediately nominated for the Nobel Prize in the domain of literature. And this writer is Taras Prohasko. Amen. That is, I agree.