But wait, I already felt being crushed by the weight of set magnificent. Inside a tiny Sufi shrine in Mangystau's canyons when I felt my lungs were punctured and I couldn't breathe. Then we went to the desert where I almost got bitten by a scorpion. "It's a curse," our local guide said in disbelief.

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I thought of this "Archive" of his for years. Now looking at World Literature lists not citing a single Asian author I'm thinking, what if the story can be rewritten and the scientist finds not just an archive but a hidden library? and then it crushes him by its weight and magic of the prose.

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That only proves how Magauin was a genius. He told me: Once you turn 40, write your first serious novel and once you do it, don't ever stop. Six months on average for drafting a book. I am drafting but I am also drifting and drowning.

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It's a fine Sunday in my apartment, & I am thinking where do I start with writing that keeps on building up without getting published for the last (how many?) years. Short stories, essays get published but don't count towards promotion (as they should) and serious theory is still [pressure]cooking

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when I worked in the archives for my first book, "Rewriting the Nation in Modern Kazakh literature" (that turns 10 in January), one story touched me deeply. Magauin's "Archive" was about a scientist who kept on hoarding more material without ever publishing it. Fears aside, I am this scientist now

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