A collection of rather bleak, rather morbid fairy tales from a rather famous Russian author. I rather adored it. They read
like fairy tales, very oral and sparse on detail, except when the details are important. They felt like stories that could be told around a very depressing campfire.
Even with all the bleakness (and there really is no better word for them than bleak - sort of that lonely, naked tree in the middle of a muddy, slush-filled field), there is that spark of hope, that little something that keeps them from being unbearable. I don't know how the author maintains that balance, but it's a fabulous one.