World. Moskvina I.Yu.

Irina’s prose by a Muscovite is like a living bird flying into a living room.

She is closely the space of familiar things and interiors, she tries to strength (and lays into parts) the most familiar images of everyday life. Turning even a home (and even more vagrant) cat into an object of art and research.

A, for example, the life of an aging romantic tenant - in a Rabezian tale about a lost woman in an eternal search for love.

Moskvin's style is practically the plot and the very substance of its works.

The exceptional case when “how” is inextricable from “what”. And even autumn in the city seems part of the summer.