This book is the only thing that has ever made me want to learn French. Written by Andrei Makine, "Dreams of my Russian Summers" was orriginaly written in french, and of course I read a translation. If the prose was this brilliant and chilling and wonderfull and joyus, after translation, I simply can't comprehned how good it must be in French.
I would suggest this book to absolutly any thinking, or feeling (or some combination thereof) person in existence.
I have a tendency to over praise books, this is not an exemplification of that tendency.
I don't use the term genius lightly.
this book is genius.
go buy it
(if you take whatever I say with a grain of salt, maybe you'll like it that much more when you're surprised to find that I'm totaly right.)