"A story from a forgotten childhood: hardly anyone writes like this anymore—with such tenderness, such love, and such a delicate sensitivity to fragility. The fragility of everything, but above all, the fragile fabric of time. And it truly is fragile.
Sometimes we come across objects from the past whose purpose we have to rediscover (I can say this as an antiquarian). Sometimes these encounters pass almost unnoticed, and sometimes they change a life entirely.
This novella is both a gentle story and a whole world—not merely the world of childhood, but the world of one particular little boy growing up. A thoughtful, curious, kind child who is, at the same time, learning what it means to grow older. It is a world observed through a loving and attentive gaze, and at the same time a work of endlessly beautiful fantasy (or perhaps not fantasy at all?) reminiscent of the stories of Kir Bulychev—his stories in particular, which are wonderful.
I would put it this way: the ability to sense subtle things belongs to almost everyone. We all feel them, but children—one can hardly begin to describe just how differently and intensely they experience the world. Very few people are able to notice and truly hear those feelings amid the rush of everyday life. And to write about them, if you ask me, is something only a handful of people can do.
I also find myself admiring the details the author noticed and chose to share. Grandfather's clock. The wheel with a hole in it. The African elephants, which are, of course, larger than the Indian ones.
The author writes with extraordinary beauty. Thank you."
Marsa Romanski, Cannes
Antiquarian, former journalist, blogger
I read “Rosa on the Wall” on the recommendation of old friends, and now I am eagerly looking forward to reading more of Tatiana's work.
Perhaps this is something I should mention at the end, but I will say it right away: what delighted me most was the extraordinary aftertaste the book leaves behind.
The plot itself is simple. A family with children moves into the house where their mother's childhood was spent.And there we enter a magical world of objects inseparably connected to that home: grandmother's coffee grinder, the clock, the old telephone. It is a world bound to memory, to that poignant feeling of belonging.
The characters feel completely real. You get the sense that you're reading about people you know-your friends, neighbors, or even your own parents.It is a deeply touching story about family, growing up, friendship, and the things that matter most.
Viktor Broitman, Israel
Philologist, bibliophile
“Rosa on the Wall” is a wonderful book.
To me, it is a story about something never truly lost. It brings back what may be the most important feeling of childhood: that miracles are always happening, everywhere. Wonderful miracles waiting around the corner, beyond the turn, behind the wall. In the next room. And miracles are always kind—otherwise, what kind of miracles would they be?It is a profound feeling of the soul, one that continues to warm us throughout adult life despite all the worries, sorrows, and fears that come with being grown-up. And then, suddenly, there is that feeling—“Ah!”—somewhere deep in your solar plexus. And yes, that's it exactly: magic has been hiding here all along.Magic comes in many forms.There is the kind we find in fairy tales: wizards, spells, and all sorts of extraordinary and impossible things.
You close a book like that, return from its enchanted universe, and realize that all of it remains very, very far away—in the realm of imagination. Extraordinary. Impossible.
But there is another kind of magic altogether.I would call it magic without magic.In a world very much like our own, what feels magical is not spell books or flying on broomsticks. What feels magical are childhood memories suddenly coming back to life. A friendship just beginning to blossom. Warm and genuine human relationships.
To feel the gentle power of this kind of magic, all you need to do is slow down a little, look around, perhaps even give new names to things you have known for years. There is no need to escape into impossible worlds. Quite the opposite—you need to land at last. To see, to hear, and to feel the magic of ordinary things. Connection.
“Rosa on the Wall” is filled with a sense of connection. It brings us back from a technological world woven together by networks, satellites, and signals that can so easily be blocked, interrupted, or lost, to a world where people spoke to one another on landline telephones once a week or once a day, arranged to meet a month in advance, and remained connected simply because they remembered one another and kept each other in their thoughts. There is something almost impossibly precious about that in today's world. And something deeply heartfelt.Read this book to your children—and be sure to read it to the child within you who still believes in kind miracles.They did happen in childhood, didn't they?Well then, they will keep happening.
Maksim Kirichenko, Berlin
Psychotherapist, former media journalist and editor
We often find ourselves recalling vivid moments from childhood. Deep within us lie those small yet profoundly warm and emotionally meaningful experiences that shaped—or even changed—the way we see life.
With remarkable delicacy and precision, the author brings us back to feelings we have unwittingly stored away in the farthest corners of memory.Through such vivid and heartfelt storytelling, those memories awaken. A sense of warmth fills you, and you cannot help but smile.
Back then, almost every home had a clock: some with weights hanging from long chains, others with a cuckoo. And immediately, memories surface of the people who shared that room with us: a grandmother knitting, parents discussing family matters, a little brother or sister, still so small and vulnerable.
The episode with the telephone number stands apart. Today, among our endless lists of contacts, there is no longer that one special home number—the number of that house where life felt carefree, joyful, and safe. The author immerses us in a state where long-hidden feelings rise to the surface, illuminating our thoughts and actions.
Thank you for helping us rediscover this deep and long-forgotten path back to our own souls.
Natalia Stanislavovna,
The author's mother
Teacher of Russian Language and Literature