Lana Stasek speaks the way memory actually sounds — jagged, funny, furious, tender. What began as a neat family tree detonated into a living record: the pulse behind the names, the shadows behind the dates. From Soviet stairwells that smelled of aftershave and boiled cabbage to American lawns and midnight kitchens, this is a voice refusing to go quiet while it can still remember.

There’s no lace-trimmed nostalgia here. Only truth — the kind that sometimes slams the table to be heard. Women fading into forgetfulness. Inherited silence mistaken for fate. A daughter breaking the pattern by writing it down — loud, messy, human.

In the world where she grew up, you always took your shoes off before entering someone’s home — not just out of habit, but respect. You didn’t question elders, didn’t raise your voice, didn’t air family business beyond the door. Everything private stayed behind the curtains — polished on the surface, bruised underneath.

This book kicks that door open.

If you want tidy arcs and soft lessons, skip it. If you want something that feels like 1 a.m. kitchen talk — unfiltered, unpretty, absolutely alive — come in. Shoes off.

This isn’t for likes. It’s for remembering. For saying: We were here. And for anyone who’s ever wondered if they’re carrying more than one life in their chest — you’re not imagining it.

Голос Ланы Стэйсек звучит так, как звучит память — неровно, честно, с иронией и болью. Здесь нет ностальгии с кружевами. Есть правда — громкая, резкая, настоящая. Женщины, теряющие память, молчание, принятое за судьбу, и дочь, решившая разорвать этот круг, пока ещё помнит.

Если ищете уют и морали — проходите мимо. Если хотите услышать жизнь без прикрас — заходите.

Неблагополучные семьи