There are ghosts, parnees, Forrest gods, a road that has more than a million of bodies who died into and all of it feels squandered as we view it all through a foreigner to Siberia with a guilt complex. There was no magic in this and the writing felt paint by numbers. What does it tell you when in the middle of it I was like I don‘t want to read this anymore. So what are you gonna do, Reg? Dishes? And then I went and did dishes. It was meh.