In Rozental’s dystopic novel, one man descends into madness—or possibly finds transcendence—as he struggles to distinguish between reality, hallucinations, and AI virtual worlds.

Set in a near future in which Venice and other coastal cities are underwater, Paris has been incinerated in a nuclear blast, and surviving cities like Moscow are plagued by permanent rolling blackouts, the vast majority of humanity finds escape in the Flow, a virtual-reality simulation of the world that’s powered by users’ subconscious desires. The story follows Nikolai Vasilyev, who’s a shadow of the man he used to be. Once a renowned actor, he’s now a down-and-out alcoholic struggling to come to grips with the death of his wife, who died years earlier. Essentially begging for some vegetables and a bottle of vodka at a store in an impoverished Moscow neighborhood, Nikolai agrees to deliver a gift (a wooden case containing two glass beakers filled with a transparent liquid) to the store proprietor’s cousin. But the simple deed goes awry as Nikolai questions whether he’s hallucinating, institutionalized in a mental hospital, stuck inside the Flow, or a spy in a secret program run by an AI research institute. With what might be the spirit of his dead wife leading him through a surreal dreamscape, Nikolai finally discovers the mind-blowing truth. Powered by an unreliable narrator and set in an all-too-plausible future inhabited by zombified VR users who have lost touch with the real world, the mind-bending narrative works so well in large part because of the author’s utterly compelling prose style. Rozental’s use of darkly lyrical imagery throughout is an undeniable strength: Old apple trees loom in the darkness as “huge spiders,” a woman’s wrinkled hands and crooked fingers resemble “the branches of a rain-starved tree,” and a white church melts into the darkness “like a lump of sugar in a cup of hot coffee.”

A thought-provoking SF tale recalling the heady works of William Gibson and Philip K. Dick.