Narod, lyubov' k narodu, sama Lyubov' - kak legko, pokhodya my proiznosim eti slova, zachastuyu ne zadumyvayas' nad ikh smyslom... poka vdrug ne okazhemsya, k primeru, v pustoy derevushke, gde net nikogo i nichego, kak i pokazalos' geroyam nashego romana, zanimavshikhsya obychnoy vybornoy sotsiologiey, statistikoy etikh ponyatiy, pokazavshikhsya im pri stolknovenii s nimi nekoy zaokonnoy mistikoy, no takoy nepreodolimoy sily...

My posle 400 let bez vybora: 300 let krepostnichestva, 70 let part-komy, vdrug reshili vybirat'? A byl li u nas kogda-to etot vybor? I on li glavnyy? Eto politicheskiy, misticheskiy roman, no o zhutkoy sud'be nas s vami i vpolne real'nogo, kak i my, Kladbishchenskogo storozha, okhranyayushchego nas ot etogo... I ot Demokratorov, predstaviteley obshchemirovogo De.. No ikh v zhizni net - est' tol'ko storozha i my s vami, budushchie mertvye, komu vse po...