ÒWhen I think about Zoubovsky Boulevard something clicks inside me, and I canÕt find the best words to describe this feeling. ÒZoubovsky Boulevard, house number seventeenÓ is nearly a third of my life, far and near, long gone and forever present, light and dark. ItÕs my childhood, youth and growth, my marriage and motherhoodÉÓ
This is not another story of the deprivation and horrors of the USSR. They certainly did impinge on NataliyaÕs life, but this is HER story. To another Russian it is a nostalgic view of a shared reality. To a Briton it is an unusual glimpse into what for most Muscovites was normal. We can identify with the human emotion while finding the realities of ÒnormalÓ life so alien to our own experience.