The book written by Mariam Petrosyan, “The House in Which...” is voluminous, but read in one sitting. Readers are completely immersed in the atmosphere of the book, which is especially attractive, as if something magical and inexplicable is in the air. Not everyone is close to this style of storytelling; skeptics may say that they lack details and explanations of some points. However, this is the peculiarity of magical realism that the book needs to be felt rather than analyzed, although this cannot be done without it.

The main character of the novel is the House itself. This is a place where children with certain disabilities live; their parents abandoned them or gave them up for upbringing for some time. Some of the guys have no arms or legs, while others seem to be completely intact, as the heroes of this book would say. Only external integrity does not mean the absence of internal problems.

Home is a special place. It is old and dingy in many places, but people living on the outside have no idea what really lies behind its walls. There is a special world here that needs to be accepted. The house seems to be alive, and it is not ready to let everyone in. You must either live by its laws or leave. For many children this place means everything; they are not ready to forget everything that happened here. There are so many incomprehensible and mysterious things here, each room has its own rules, its own atmosphere. Here they love and hate, help or are even ready to kill... Here they know what it means to never be alone and at the same time to be alone. All the guys living here are not at all like ordinary people. Consider the wise Sphinx, the mysterious Black, the cheerful but mysterious Tabaki, Lord and Macedonian... and many, many others living in a House that does not let them go, with which they become one.

On our website you can download the book “The House in Which...” Mariam Petrosyan for free and without registration in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format, read the book online or buy the book in the online store.

Mariam Petrosyan

A house in which...

BOOK ONE

Smoker

The house is located on the outskirts of the city. In a place called Combs. The long high-rise buildings here are built in jagged rows with intervals of square concrete courtyards - the supposed playgrounds of young "combers". The teeth are white, many-eyed and similar to one another. Where they have not yet grown are vacant lots surrounded by fences. The crumbs of demolished houses, nests of rats and stray dogs are much more interesting to young “combers” than their own yards - the intervals between the teeth.

On neutral territory between two worlds - battlements and wastelands - stands the House. They call him Gray. He is old and closer in age to the wastelands - the burial places of his peers. It is lonely - other houses avoid it - and does not look like a cog because it does not stretch upward. It has three floors, the façade faces the highway, and it also has a courtyard - a long rectangle surrounded by a grid. He was once white. Now it is gray in front and yellow on the inside, courtyard side. It bristles with antennas and wires, crumbles with chalk and bursts with cracks. Garages and outbuildings, garbage cans and dog kennels are crowded together. All this from the yard. The facade is bare and gloomy, as it should be.

They don't like Gray House. No one will say it out loud, but the residents of Combs would prefer not to have him around. They would prefer it not to exist at all.

SMOKER

Some benefits of sports shoes

It all started with red sneakers. I found them at the bottom of the bag. A bag for storing personal belongings - that's what it's called. But there are no personal things there. A couple of waffle towels, a stack of handkerchiefs and dirty laundry. Everything is like everyone else. All bags, towels, socks and underpants are the same, so that no one is offended.

I found the sneakers by accident; I had long forgotten about them. An old gift, I can’t remember whose, from past life. Bright red, packaged in a shiny bag, with a candy-striped sole. I tore open the packaging, stroked the fiery laces and quickly changed my shoes. The legs took on a strange appearance. Some kind of unusual walker. I forgot they could be like that.

That same day after class, Gene pulled me aside and told me that he didn’t like the way I was acting. He pointed to the sneakers and told me to take them off. I shouldn't have asked why this was necessary, but I asked anyway.

They attract attention,” he said.

For Jin, this is normal - this is the explanation.

So what? - I asked. - Let them attract themselves.

He didn't answer. He straightened the lace on his glasses, smiled and left. And in the evening I received a note. Just two words: “Shoe discussion.” And I realized that I was caught.

While shaving the fluff off my cheeks, I cut myself and broke a toothbrush glass. The reflection looking back from the mirror looked scared to death, but in reality I was almost not afraid. That is, I was afraid, of course, but at the same time I didn’t care. I didn't even bother taking off my sneakers.

The meeting was held in the classroom. On the board they wrote: “Discussion of shoes.” Circus and insanity, but I was not laughing, because I was tired of these games, of the clever players and of this place itself. I was so tired that I had almost forgotten how to laugh.

I was seated at the board so that everyone could see the subject of discussion. To the left, Jin sat at the table and sucked on a pen. On the right, Long Whale was chasing a ball with a crash through the corridors of a plastic labyrinth until they looked at him disapprovingly.

Who wants to speak? - asked Jin.

Many people wanted to speak out. Almost all. To begin with, Sip was given the floor. Probably to get off quickly.

It turned out that every person trying to attract attention to himself is a narcissistic and bad person, capable of anything and imagining who knows what about himself, while in reality he is simply a dummy. In borrowed plumes. Or something like that. Sip read a fable about a raven. Then poems about a donkey that fell into a lake and drowned due to its own stupidity. Then he wanted to sing something else on the same topic, but no one listened to him. Sip puffed out his cheeks, burst into tears and fell silent. They said thank you, handed him a handkerchief, covered him with a textbook and gave the floor to Gul.

Gul spoke barely audibly, without raising his head, as if he was reading text from the surface of the table, although there was nothing there except scratched plastic. His white bangs got into his eyes, and he straightened them with the tip of his finger, moistened with saliva. His finger fixed a colorless strand on his forehead, but as soon as he let go, it immediately slid back into his eye. To look at Gul for a long time, you need to have nerves of steel. That's why I didn't look at him. My nerves were already just scraps, there was no need to torment them again.

What is the person being discussed trying to draw attention to? To your shoes, it would seem. Actually this is not true. Through his shoes he draws attention to his feet. That is, he advertises his shortcomings and pokes them in the eyes of others. By this, he seems to emphasize our common misfortune, without regard for us and our opinion. In a sense, he is mocking us in his own way...

He smeared this mess for a long time. The finger moved up and down the bridge of the nose, the whites became filled with blood. I knew by heart everything he could say - everything that is generally said in such cases. All the words that came out of Gul were as colorless and dry as he himself, his finger and fingernail.

Then Top spoke. About the same thing and just as boring. Then Nif, Nuf and Naf. Triplets with pig names. They spoke at the same time, interrupting each other, and I just looked at them with great interest, because I did not expect that they would participate in the discussion. They probably didn't like the way I looked at them, or they were embarrassed, and that only made things worse, but I got the worst of them. They recalled my habit of folding the pages of books (and I’m not the only one who reads books), the fact that I did not donate my handkerchiefs to the public fund (although I’m not the only one with a growing nose), that I sat in the bath longer than expected (twenty-eight minutes instead of twenty), I push with the wheels when driving (but you have to take care of the wheels!), and finally we got to the main thing - that I smoke. Unless, of course, a person who smokes one cigarette for three days can be called a smoker.

People have asked me if I know what harm nicotine causes to the health of others. Of course I knew. Not only did I know, I myself could easily give lectures on this topic, because in six months I was fed so many brochures, articles and statements about the dangers of smoking that there would be enough for twenty people and still left in reserve. I was told about lung cancer. Then separately about cancer. Then about cardiovascular diseases. Then about some other terrible diseases, but I didn’t listen to that anymore. They could talk about such things for hours. Horrified, shuddering, with eyes glowing with excitement, like decrepit gossips discussing murders and accidents and drooling with delight. Neat boys in clean shirts, serious and positive. Under their faces were hidden the faces of old women, eaten away by poison. This was not the first time I guessed them and I was no longer surprised. I was so tired of them that I wanted to poison everyone and everyone separately with nicotine. Unfortunately, this was not possible. I smoked my unfortunate three-day cigarette secretly in the teacher's toilet. Not even in ours, God forbid! And if he poisoned anyone, it was only cockroaches, because no one except cockroaches visited there.

Mariam Petrosyan

A house in which...

BOOK ONE

Smoker

The house is located on the outskirts of the city. In a place called Combs. The long high-rise buildings here are built in jagged rows with intervals of square concrete courtyards - the supposed playgrounds of young "combers". The teeth are white, many-eyed and similar to one another. Where they have not yet grown are vacant lots surrounded by fences. The crumbs of demolished houses, nests of rats and stray dogs are much more interesting to young “combers” than their own yards - the intervals between the teeth.

On neutral territory between two worlds - battlements and wastelands - stands the House. They call him Gray. He is old and closer in age to the wastelands - the burial places of his peers. It is lonely - other houses avoid it - and does not look like a cog because it does not stretch upward. It has three floors, the façade faces the highway, and it also has a courtyard - a long rectangle surrounded by a grid. He was once white. Now it is gray in front and yellow on the inside, courtyard side. It bristles with antennas and wires, crumbles with chalk and bursts with cracks. Garages and outbuildings, garbage cans and dog kennels are crowded together. All this from the yard. The facade is bare and gloomy, as it should be.

They don't like Gray House. No one will say it out loud, but the residents of Combs would prefer not to have him around. They would prefer it not to exist at all.

SMOKER

Some benefits of sports shoes

It all started with red sneakers. I found them at the bottom of the bag. A bag for storing personal belongings - that's what it's called. But there are no personal things there. A couple of waffle towels, a stack of handkerchiefs and dirty laundry. Everything is like everyone else. All bags, towels, socks and underpants are the same, so that no one is offended.

I found the sneakers by accident; I had long forgotten about them. An old gift, I can’t remember whose, from a past life. Bright red, packaged in a shiny bag, with a candy-striped sole. I tore open the packaging, stroked the fiery laces and quickly changed my shoes. The legs took on a strange appearance. Some kind of unusual walker. I forgot they could be like that.

That same day after class, Gene pulled me aside and told me that he didn’t like the way I was acting. He pointed to the sneakers and told me to take them off. I shouldn't have asked why this was necessary, but I asked anyway.

They attract attention,” he said.

For Jin, this is normal - this is the explanation.

So what? - I asked. - Let them attract themselves.

He didn't answer. He straightened the lace on his glasses, smiled and left. And in the evening I received a note. Just two words: “Shoe discussion.” And I realized that I was caught.

While shaving the fluff off my cheeks, I cut myself and broke a toothbrush glass. The reflection looking back from the mirror looked scared to death, but in reality I was almost not afraid. That is, I was afraid, of course, but at the same time I didn’t care. I didn't even bother taking off my sneakers.

The meeting was held in the classroom. On the board they wrote: “Discussion of shoes.” Circus and insanity, but I was not laughing, because I was tired of these games, of the clever players and of this place itself. I was so tired that I had almost forgotten how to laugh.

I was seated at the board so that everyone could see the subject of discussion. To the left, Jin sat at the table and sucked on a pen. On the right, Long Whale was chasing a ball with a crash through the corridors of a plastic labyrinth until they looked at him disapprovingly.

Who wants to speak? - asked Jin.

Many people wanted to speak out. Almost all. To begin with, Sip was given the floor. Probably to get off quickly.

It turned out that every person trying to attract attention to himself is a narcissistic and bad person, capable of anything and imagining who knows what about himself, while in reality he is simply a dummy. In borrowed plumes. Or something like that. Sip read a fable about a raven. Then poems about a donkey that fell into a lake and drowned due to its own stupidity. Then he wanted to sing something else on the same topic, but no one listened to him. Sip puffed out his cheeks, burst into tears and fell silent. They said thank you, handed him a handkerchief, covered him with a textbook and gave the floor to Gul.

Gul spoke barely audibly, without raising his head, as if he was reading text from the surface of the table, although there was nothing there except scratched plastic. His white bangs got into his eyes, and he straightened them with the tip of his finger, moistened with saliva. His finger fixed a colorless strand on his forehead, but as soon as he let go, it immediately slid back into his eye. To look at Gul for a long time, you need to have nerves of steel. That's why I didn't look at him. My nerves were already just scraps, there was no need to torment them again.

What is the person being discussed trying to draw attention to? To your shoes, it would seem. Actually this is not true. Through his shoes he draws attention to his feet. That is, he advertises his shortcomings and pokes them in the eyes of others. By this, he seems to emphasize our common misfortune, without regard for us and our opinion. In a sense, he is mocking us in his own way...

He smeared this mess for a long time. The finger moved up and down the bridge of the nose, the whites became filled with blood. I knew by heart everything he could say - everything that is generally said in such cases. All the words that came out of Gul were as colorless and dry as he himself, his finger and fingernail.

Then Top spoke. About the same thing and just as boring. Then Nif, Nuf and Naf. Triplets with pig names. They spoke at the same time, interrupting each other, and I just looked at them with great interest, because I did not expect that they would participate in the discussion. They probably didn't like the way I looked at them, or they were embarrassed, and that only made things worse, but I got the worst of them. They recalled my habit of folding the pages of books (and I’m not the only one who reads books), the fact that I did not donate my handkerchiefs to the public fund (although I’m not the only one with a growing nose), that I sat in the bath longer than expected (twenty-eight minutes instead of twenty), I push with the wheels when driving (but you have to take care of the wheels!), and finally we got to the main thing - that I smoke. Unless, of course, a person who smokes one cigarette for three days can be called a smoker.

People have asked me if I know what harm nicotine causes to the health of others. Of course I knew. Not only did I know, I myself could easily give lectures on this topic, because in six months I was fed so many brochures, articles and statements about the dangers of smoking that there would be enough for twenty people and still left in reserve. I was told about lung cancer. Then separately about cancer. Then about cardiovascular diseases. Then about some other terrible diseases, but I didn’t listen to that anymore. They could talk about such things for hours. Horrified, shuddering, with eyes glowing with excitement, like decrepit gossips discussing murders and accidents and drooling with delight. Neat boys in clean shirts, serious and positive. Under their faces were hidden the faces of old women, eaten away by poison. This was not the first time I guessed them and I was no longer surprised. I was so tired of them that I wanted to poison everyone and everyone separately with nicotine. Unfortunately, this was not possible. I smoked my unfortunate three-day cigarette secretly in the teacher's toilet. Not even in ours, God forbid! And if he poisoned anyone, it was only cockroaches, because no one except cockroaches visited there.

They threw stones at me for half an hour, then Gene tapped the table with his pen and announced that the discussion of my shoes was over. By that time, everyone had forgotten what they were discussing, so the reminder came in very handy. People stared at the unfortunate sneakers. They condemned them silently, with dignity, despising my immaturity and lack of taste. Fifteen pairs of soft brown loafers, versus one bright red pair of sneakers. The longer they looked at them, the brighter they became. By the end, everyone in the class had turned gray except them.

I was just admiring them when I was given the floor.

And... I don’t know how it happened, but for the first time in my life I told the Pheasants everything I thought about them. He said that this entire class with everyone in it is not worth one pair of such chic sneakers. That's what I told them all. Even poor frightened Top, even the Pig Brothers. I really felt that way at that moment, because I don’t tolerate traitors and cowards, and they were just traitors and cowards.

They must have thought I was crazy with fright. Only Jin was not surprised.

So you told us what you thought,” he wiped his glasses and pointed his finger at his sneakers. - It wasn't about them at all. It was about you.

Keith waited at the blackboard with chalk in hand. But the discussion ended. I sat with my eyes closed until they parted. And he sat there for a long time, left alone. Fatigue slowly flowed out of me. I did something out of line. Behaved like normal person. Stopped adjusting to others. And no matter how it all ended, I knew that I would never regret it.

(estimates: 2 , average: 3,50 out of 5)

Title: The House Where...

About the book “The House in Which...” Mariam Petrosyan

Mariam Petrosyan’s book “The House in Which...” is the author’s debut, which brought her fame and awards such as “Russian Prize”, “Big Book”, “Portal”, “Wanderer” and others. The work was published in 2009, and then the unknown writer woke up famous. After her stunning success, she continues to delight fans with high-quality works, which in the blink of an eye become sales leaders, and quotes from them are posted on thematic forums and quickly go “out into the world.”

Mariam Petrosyan’s book “The House in Which...” talks about a completely standard building that does not attract anything and is located on a quiet street. But very strange creatures live in it, among them the Sphinx, Tobacco, the Blind, the Lord, the Macedonian, the Black and others. The most mysterious character in the Gray House is the Lord, who tells everyone that he comes from the Dragon family, so you need to listen to him, respect him and not disturb him over trifles, otherwise he will seriously punish him. Sphinx is another one interesting hero, he is very wise, so you can turn to him for advice. Each resident of the Gray House has his own nickname, which suits him very well. But the most interesting thing is the place where the characters live. In fact, the House is a living organism and has its own consciousness, logic, which is unknown to anyone. He can either accept residents or reject them. At one time there are so many of them that any other building would simply burst, but the Gray House, to spite everyone, stands safe and sound.

Few people know that this building holds a huge number of secrets that are very difficult to unravel, so no one even tries to do it. Moreover, each resident leaves behind new secrets and skeletons in their closets. As a result, the Gray House gradually turns into a living organism or another universe, where other laws apply, by which it is very difficult to live, but the guests simply have no other choice, they have nowhere else to go.

The book “The House in Which...” is like a fantastic work, but at the same time it is essentially a society, along with a house. Our world is closely interconnected with society. Everyone has secrets, secrets, problems, and all this is stored in the memory of other people. When you read a novel, it is difficult at first to understand its meaning. And only over time everything falls into place. Besides, this is the world of children, and children live by different laws. If you dig deeper, you will be truly surprised.

Mariam Petrosyan’s book “The House in Which...” is a work that cannot be called unambiguous. The author describes an ordinary boarding school for children, but in a veiled form. With each new page, the reader will be interested in learning about the characters, their secrets, dreams, so he will definitely read the book to the end, and then will return to it more than once.

On our website about books you can download the site for free without registration or read online book“The House in Which...” Mariam Petrosyan in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. Buy full version you can from our partner. Also, here you will find last news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

Quotes from the book “The House in Which...” Mariam Petrosyan

Music is a wonderful way to erase thoughts, bad and not so good, the best and oldest.

What the Lord sees in the mirror is not at all like what you see when you look at him. And this is just one example of how strange reflections sometimes behave.

The wind carried the leaves in circles, they stopped, falling into puddles, there their dance ended, and everything ended. They will get wet and turn into mud. Just like people.

He will love you. Only you. And you will be the whole damn world to him.

It's hard to give up on a dream. It is easier to complicate the path to it than to believe that your plans will not come true.

He smiles. Like a maniac. Or a lover. Which, in general, is the same thing.

There is only tenderness in the question, I understand it too well. I understand what it's like not to tame, if you love, when they love you, if you gain younger brothers, for whom you are responsible until the end of your days, if you turn into a seagull, write love letters to the blind man on the walls, letters that he will never read. If, despite your confidence in your own ugliness, someone manages to fall in love with you... if you pick up stray dogs and cats and chicks that have fallen from their nests, if you light fires for those who did not ask for it at all...

When you dream of a miracle, sometimes you risk getting it and being left with nothing.

It is better to kill a person than to make him a slave to your desires.

The most unpleasant silence is where many people are silent.

If you weren't so focused on the fact that no one understands you, maybe you would have the strength to understand others.

words that are spoken mean something, even if you didn't mean anything by it.

We must face the facts. Be able to bow to circumstances without losing your dignity.

- He will love you. Only you. And you will be the whole damn world to him.

One day you get so tired of it that you stop feeling anything at all. And suddenly, in addition, you are left without prostheses. You solemnly say goodbye to them and realize that you’ve had enough. That it’s time to start saying hello to at least something.

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The house is located on the outskirts of the city. In a place called Combs. The long high-rise buildings here are built in jagged rows with intervals of square concrete courtyards - the supposed playgrounds of young "combers". The teeth are white, many-eyed and similar to one another. Where they have not yet grown are vacant lots surrounded by fences. The crumbs of demolished houses, nests of rats and stray dogs are much more interesting to young “combers” than their own yards - the intervals between the teeth.

On neutral territory between two worlds - battlements and wastelands - stands the House. They call him Gray. He is old and closer in age to the wastelands - the burial places of his peers. It is lonely - other houses avoid it - and does not look like a cog because it does not stretch upward. It has three floors, the façade faces the highway, and it also has a courtyard - a long rectangle surrounded by a grid. He was once white. Now it is gray in front and yellow on the inside, courtyard side. It bristles with antennas and wires, crumbles with chalk and bursts with cracks. Garages and outbuildings, garbage cans and dog kennels are crowded together. All this from the yard. The facade is bare and gloomy, as it should be.

They don't like Gray House. No one will say it out loud, but the residents of Combs would prefer not to have him around. They would prefer it not to exist at all.

SMOKER
Some benefits of sports shoes

It all started with red sneakers. I found them at the bottom of the bag. A bag for storing personal belongings - that's what it's called. But there are no personal things there. A couple of waffle towels, a stack of handkerchiefs and dirty laundry. Everything is like everyone else. All bags, towels, socks and underpants are the same, so that no one is offended.

I found the sneakers by accident; I had long forgotten about them. An old gift, I can’t remember whose, from a past life. Bright red, packaged in a shiny bag, with a candy-striped sole. I tore open the packaging, stroked the fiery laces and quickly changed my shoes. The legs took on a strange appearance. Some kind of unusual walker. I forgot they could be like that.

That same day after class, Gene pulled me aside and told me that he didn’t like the way I was acting. He pointed to the sneakers and told me to take them off. I shouldn't have asked why this was necessary, but I asked anyway.

They attract attention,” he said.

For Jin, this is normal - this is the explanation.

So what? - I asked. - Let them attract themselves.

He didn't answer. He straightened the lace on his glasses, smiled and left. And in the evening I received a note. Just two words: “Shoe discussion.” And I realized that I was caught.

While shaving the fluff off my cheeks, I cut myself and broke a toothbrush glass. The reflection looking back from the mirror looked scared to death, but in reality I was almost not afraid. That is, I was afraid, of course, but at the same time I didn’t care. I didn't even bother taking off my sneakers.

The meeting was held in the classroom. On the board they wrote: “Discussion of shoes.” Circus and insanity, but I was not laughing, because I was tired of these games, of the clever players and of this place itself. I was so tired that I had almost forgotten how to laugh.

I was seated at the board so that everyone could see the subject of discussion. To the left, Jin sat at the table and sucked on a pen. On the right, Long Whale was chasing a ball with a crash through the corridors of a plastic labyrinth until they looked at him disapprovingly.

Who wants to speak? - asked Jin.

Many people wanted to speak out. Almost all. To begin with, Sip was given the floor. Probably to get off quickly.

It turned out that every person trying to attract attention to himself is a narcissistic and bad person, capable of anything and imagining who knows what about himself, while in reality he is simply a dummy. In borrowed plumes. Or something like that. Sip read a fable about a raven. Then poems about a donkey that fell into a lake and drowned due to its own stupidity. Then he wanted to sing something else on the same topic, but no one listened to him. Sip puffed out his cheeks, burst into tears and fell silent. They said thank you, handed him a handkerchief, covered him with a textbook and gave the floor to Gul.

Gul spoke barely audibly, without raising his head, as if he was reading text from the surface of the table, although there was nothing there except scratched plastic. His white bangs got into his eyes, and he straightened them with the tip of his finger, moistened with saliva. His finger fixed a colorless strand on his forehead, but as soon as he let go, it immediately slid back into his eye. To look at Gul for a long time, you need to have nerves of steel. That's why I didn't look at him. My nerves were already just scraps, there was no need to torment them again.

What is the person being discussed trying to draw attention to? To your shoes, it would seem. Actually this is not true. Through his shoes he draws attention to his feet. That is, he advertises his shortcomings and pokes them in the eyes of others. By this, he seems to emphasize our common misfortune, without regard for us and our opinion. In a sense, he is mocking us in his own way...

He smeared this mess for a long time. The finger moved up and down the bridge of the nose, the whites became filled with blood. I knew by heart everything he could say - everything that is generally said in such cases. All the words that came out of Gul were as colorless and dry as he himself, his finger and fingernail.

Then Top spoke. About the same thing and just as boring. Then Nif, Nuf and Naf. Triplets with pig names. They spoke at the same time, interrupting each other, and I just looked at them with great interest, because I did not expect that they would participate in the discussion. They probably didn't like the way I looked at them, or they were embarrassed, and that only made things worse, but I got the worst of them. They recalled my habit of folding the pages of books (and I’m not the only one who reads books), the fact that I did not donate my handkerchiefs to the public fund (although I’m not the only one with a growing nose), that I sat in the bath longer than expected (twenty-eight minutes instead of twenty), I push with the wheels when driving (but you have to take care of the wheels!), and finally we got to the main thing - that I smoke. Unless, of course, a person who smokes one cigarette for three days can be called a smoker.