I have found another genre of books to enjoy: vampire novels. (Don’t judge me.) I’m currently reading Blood Brothers (original title: Кровные братья) in Russian. I originally read it in its magnificent English translation, Twilight Forever Rising. One thing that’s really sad is the book barely made a splash here in the US. The translation is beautiful and if you like fantasy, I’d highly recommend the book. It’s about different clans of vampires living in a European city (in the original, it’s Moscow; in the translation, all mentions related to Moscow were removed, but it still seemed so obviously like Moscow to me when I read it). The main character, Darel, is an empath, which means he can read other people’s feelings.
If you don’t believe me about the beautiful prose of this book, read this quote. It’s from one of my favorite scenes, when a vampire from a clan that collects beautiful and artistically talented people tells the protagonist of her intention to turn a mutual human friend into a vampire:
This was a family that consumed attractive, talented people. Its aim was to preserve beauty and genius through the centuries. For all eternity. To bottle up the spark of magic that flares up in the soul of an artist, to preserve in wax the pain that is born in the heart of an actor, to dry and store the subtle, shifting images that hover above the head of a writer.
Madness. They didn’t realize it was impossible. As the years pass by, feelings and emotions are blunted. And thousands of years of life kill all feelings. The soul becomes cold. It can’t burn anymore. The farys took away from humans the one thing that I sought and valued in them most of all—their bright, vital feelings.
That’s from page 83. Maybe it’s a bit out of context if you haven’t read the book, but isn’t that beautiful?