I read this book in the belief it was non-fiction, and felt real pain for the grandma of the narrator, a Russian lady living in the centre of Moscow, hit by dementia and gentrification. Her nephew is the son of Russian emigrants to the States (like the author), and moves in her apartment to take care of her whilst applying for an academic job in Russian literature. He is self-deprecating and disillusioned about academia, full of conflicting emotions about Russia and Moscow, and the best way to act as a decent, political human being. The city is another character: inhospitable, but how to dismiss it when one has not manage to get to know her and make oneself acceptable? I related to those bits a lot, thinking of Hong Kong and a bit of Santiago...everything is harder than it should, but isn't it really my fault? The ending is a bit disheartening: the protagonist gives in on his ideals, the granny is moved to a cheaper flat and the attention if a carer, and the machine of Russian corrupted, violent neoliberalism triumphes.