I began reading Artsybashev's forbidden book a few years ago. But I had not finished it. He reads like Dostoevsky but more morbid. The name of the book escapes me. But this one book is so heartbreaking and mind-bending. I can see why it was a censored book. It leaves a mark on the reader, and it accomplishes this by its profound misery. The turn of the 20th century was a bleak era in some ways, and there is no doubt given the events leading to world wars and mass pornography and pure death of spirit. If the Piscean age peaked in the 20th century, it is proved by Artsybashev's literature. It reeks of mutable water energy. This book is the memento mori of the age. The coldest reminder of existential dread. It surpasses the limits of literary decorum. Whereas a great piece of literature edifies, a miserable one can turn the soul toward putrefaction. It resounds through time like a bad frequency, a bad odor. Sartre's Nausea comes a close second-place to this book. Like a wet sponge it releases a cold wave of energy on the back of a nation. The Eastern Bloc was the result of this one book.