Deft, precise words and an ever-so-dry humor charting the contours of a fantastic embedded in the quotidian, equal parts Gogol and Borges but with a philosophical, even metaphysical density that may exceed either. So so great, and highly original, especially for its time and place (Stalinist Russia). So much so that Krzhizhanovsky didn't even attempt to publish these very-non-socialist-realist stories, and they languished in a vault until the 70s. Thankfully they survived and are starting to come into translation. Excitingly, these are only seven of his hundred or so stories and novellas (and there're apparently a handful of novels out there as well).

Jesse has written much more on this already, so I'll defer further description to his review.