Second book by my father. Written in specific genre somewhere between private diary, public blog and personal archive excerpts. A storm of thoughts and images that comes into mind before we fall asleep. I enjoyed this book a lot because I see father on every single page - how he doesn't lie and has a talent to describe his inner world in a way that is interesting for other people. His first book was written in the same way, but it was 6 years ago and "Птичий язык" shows the direction where interests of the author has drifted - from estetic and philosophical concepts to political issues and conflict between Orthodox Church and liberal crowd.
The book is closing with a script, which he has no hope to stage, but a very cool one, that shows Moscow as some kind of mythological space where private lifes of very strange people are interconnecting in a very tricky way.
5 stars, I can't give this book anything else, you understand :)