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People who are always with me Narine Abgaryan

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Title: People who are always with me

About the book "People who are always with me" Narine Abgaryan

The talented writer Narine Abgaryan began her career with the publication of her story in LiveJournal. The author's soulful, sunny works were noticed by critics and opened the way to the writer's Olympus. The novel "People who are always with me" tells about a close-knit family, about the support of loved ones, about the happy moments of childhood.

It is not so often that you come across books that give you goosebumps, lulling with a leisurely narration of the simplest things that surround us every day. The novel "People who are always with me" is just that, giving a positive charge and faith in the best.

In fact, Narine Abgaryan wrote an autobiography - a story about a little Girl, next to whom there is a large family, close-knit, ready to support and hide from adversity, to point the right way.

The novel "People who are always with me" is a world, through the eyes of a child, unclouded by problems and hardships, colorful and bright. This child already knows what life and death are, but perceives it as regularities, knows how cruel human rumor can be, which can easily lead to hatred. But the Girl is in no hurry, because the whole world belongs to her and offers her thousands of roads.

Narine Abgaryan draws cute pictures from childhood: a trip to the mountains, a wedding, admonitions from adults. All these incidents are viewed through the prism of the child's worldview, conclusions are drawn, remembered in order to one day be in demand in a future life.

The narrative sometimes jumps from place to place, returns to continue what was started, but this does not prevent the reader from absorbing the beautiful and warm story of the Girl's life. It is good to read such a novel on a rainy autumn evening, wrapped in a blanket, but to feel another warmth - the warmth of Narine Abgaryan's soul, the warmth of a long-gone childhood.

This book is infinitely comfortable, able to heal mental wounds, relax and pacify. Such works must be read in order to remember what spiritual beauty is, what the beauty of the world around us is, which we begin to forget in our endless haste and pursuit of ghosts.

Stop for a moment and plunge into the world of childhood with the novel People Who Are Always With Me. It is addressed to a wide audience of readers, regardless of age and literary preferences.

On our site about books, you can download the site for free or read the online book "People who are always with me" by Narine Abgaryan in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, find out the biography of your favorite authors. For novice writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary skills.

Quotes from the book "People who are always with me" Narine Abgaryan

So they sat, embracing. And hearts were pounding against each other ...

Outside the window is a large courtyard. Behind the courtyard is a white road. Draw on it what you want, everything will come true.
One end of the road runs into a wicket, and the other - to the end of the world.

Life is where we are loved. Life is where they are waiting for us.

I can distinguish air by smell and taste. In the spring it smells like a cold spring, a woken up forest, a blooming apple tree, and also young nettles. In summer, the air smells of tomatoes heated in the sun, bees buzzing, a hot attic roof and blooming mallow bushes. In the fall - rough peach juice, freshly baked homemade bread and the sweetish spirit of baked chestnuts. And also - spicy and salty.
And in winter, the air smells so bad that you don't want to grow up.

Dad says - you are at the beginning of the path. Behind your shoulders your departed ancestors multiply and multiply. Behind the left shoulder - along the line of the mother. For the right - on the father's side. They are your wings, Dad says. They are your strength. Keep them always behind your back, and no one can ever hurt you. Because as long as you remember about the wings, you are invulnerable.
And you stand at the window, invulnerable, overshadowed by the presence of those who left, but stayed with you forever - and watch the snow.

Nani Tamar said: love is everything. This is something worth living for. You are small, you don't know anything yet. Then you will understand me. For now, just remember: love is something worth living for.

... As long as the name lives, the person lives.

Let me hug you, fidget. You know, when I hug you, my life is extended.

Free download the book "People who are always with me" Narine Abgaryan

Narine Abgaryan

People who are always with me

© Narine Abgaryan, text, 2014

© Sona Abgaryan, illustrations, 2014

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2014

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet and corporate networks, for private and public use without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Foreword

The Armenian highland has seen many beautiful things in its lifetime: pagan temples - with sacrificial round dances, priests and priestesses with henna-dyed palms facing the sun; sharp-domed apostolic churches - in poor decoration, ascetic, silent, but unbent during the years of alien dominion; homespun carpets - silk or heavy woolen yarn, huge, with vortan karmira carmine stains; soul-tearing chants - the song of the plowman, the song of the dawn, the song of the harvest, the song of those who see them off to the war, the song of those who meet them from the war. A soothing song and an awakening song. A healing song and a mourning song ...

The Armenian Highlands are soaked through with blood and tears. It has seen a lot of grief in its lifetime: endless wars - exhausting, unfair, cruel; civil strife - fratricidal, tearing the country apart. Each conqueror, be it Sassanian Persia, Mongol-Tatars or Ottoman Turkey, invariably adhered to the same tactics - having conquered the country, resettled the local population to new territories - the people deprived of historical roots assimilate faster and lose their national identity. The deserted lands were settled by Turkic nomadic tribes.

It was especially hard during the reign of the Persian Shah Abbas I. According to historians, Abbas I drove almost the entire population of Armenia deep into Persia, and simply wiped out large Armenian cities from the face of the earth. He was a prudent ruler and understood that people would always return if there was somewhere to return.

The only people who did not obey the Shah's decree were the Armenians of Karabakh. The Karabakh meliks - princes - having gathered their people, went to the inaccessible mountains and organized such a powerful resistance that the Persian Shah waved his hand - the shaitan is with them, let them live in their rocky gorges, they will die of hunger anyway.

The people of Karabakh did not die from the cold. After some time, they left the gorges, descended into the lowlands and organized the Karabakh Khanate - five principalities united in the Khamsa. The Karabakh Khamsa turned out to be too tough for the nomads - they stormed the inaccessible lands over and over again and with great losses, relentlessly, retreated. Gradually, the Armenians began to flock to the rebellious land, who, fleeing the invasion, hid in the highlands - Tavush and Lori. Squeezed by the raids of the Turkic tribes, they were drawn to the only unconquered bastion - the eastern fragment of the once huge and mighty Great Armenia - Nagorno-Karabakh. They were received with open arms, provided with housing, food and weapons.

On Vdin, a chilly February day, from the north, from the gorge of Mount Murguz, a wagon train arrived loaded with simple belongings - eighteen large carts. Four Tavush clans - Melkumyans, Melikians, Atoyans and Melikbekians - came to ask for shelter. Of the one hundred and fifty people, eighty-seven made it to the place, the rest died from cold, hunger and disease - the crossing over the ice pass turned out to be long and painful. For two centuries, Karabakh was their haven - until the troops of the Russian Empire invaded Transcaucasia and recaptured a significant part of it from Persia. The arrival of the Russians marked the end of centuries of humiliating slavery.

At the beginning of the 19th century, His Imperial Majesty Alexander I, and then his son Nicholas I, in an attempt to make the underbelly of the Russian Empire predictable and manageable, started a grandiose project - the ethnic demarcation and resettlement of the Transcaucasian peoples from the places of their so-called forced residence to historical places. With the first wave of immigrants, the descendants of those four Tavush clans returned home. They brought with them the Karabakh dialect, cuisine and traditions. Under the ruins of the old fortress, they erected their new sakli - the old ones were destroyed by the nomads. And transparent smoky strands stretched from the stone furnaces to the heavens, and the roosters started their victory song of the dawn, and the heavy hammers of the blacksmiths knocked - the men of the Melikyan clan from time immemorial were good armourers, the best in Tavush. And woolen yarn was intertwined in a fancy pattern - women of the Melkumyan clan created noble carpets "tekhnahunj", bright yellow throughout the field and dark patterned in the center, with endless weaving of signs and symbols along the edges decorated with silk fringes.

And once again appeared in the palm of the world the town of Berd, once erased to its foundations, named after the old dilapidated fortress that stood on top of the red mountain. For "fortress" in Armenian is "berd".

Reluctantly, the morning haze receded: clinging to the thorny branches of the raspberry-tree, swirling with a tattered gauze blanket over the crooked wooden palisade, it lay low above the ground and, doomedly retreating to the gorge, dissolved forever, leaving wet short-lived traces on the gentle stones.

A cow moaned thickly - it was the neighbor Vardik who brought her Marishka out of the dark barn. Marishka, as usual, will reach for the fence, push the gate with her forehead, go out into the street and wander along the uneven narrow road towards the river. Down there, on the old low bridge, a small herd had already gathered. An ancient shepherd, sitting at a distance on a large stone sticking out among the wildly blooming mallet, puffs with a cigarette. A humped nose hangs over a gray mustache, yellowed from tobacco smoke, eyes that have faded with age peep out from under bushy eyebrows, a dry head is covered with a warm woolen hat. The rosary stones roll with a quiet rustle in the hardened fingers - shur-shur, shur-shur. Thirty-three half-worn oblong stones and a strict cross hanging from the very edge.

Marishka will slowly walk to the cliff, turn off the rocky road to the edge and carefully descend along the goat path. An old shepherd, chewing a cigarette, will calmly observe its slow motion. At some moment, at a sharp stone turn, Marishka will stumble, stop and helplessly moan. The herd will become overwhelmed, go in restless ripples and anxiously hum in response.

Then, lying at the feet of the shepherd, the huge Caucasian shepherd dog Naida with a human sigh will rise on its paws and trot up the path. She will bark shortly, reach Marishka in two long jumps, gently pick up the rope hanging from her neck with her teeth, and demandingly pull down. Marishka will once again moan and obediently follow Nayda, stepping along the very edge of the path and walking hard with steep sides.

- You are a hornless brute, that's who you are, Marishka. - The old man will rise, shake off his knees, straighten his back with difficulty. - You stumble on the same ledge, eh! Tso! Tso! - he invitingly claps the flock and slowly goes to sunrise - past the ruins of an old fortress, past a vineyard, past a large wheat field, to where endless fields stretch like silk under the rays of the awakening sun. The herd will faithfully walk side by side, sometimes go ahead and reluctantly make way, letting the rare morning cars pass.

- Hello, mouth of Ambo! - the drivers will greet, respectfully braking nearby. - How is your health?

- Hello and good luck to you, - the old man will answer them importantly, - I suppose to work?

- To work, but of course!

- Here we go to work. - And the shepherd, leaning heavily on a gnarled stick, wanders on. Towards him the sky is already turning pink with might and main, shimmering along the very edge with a golden surface, a little more - and the fiery side of the sun will appear. Slowly, as if reluctantly, it rolls out over the horizon, for a second freezes on the round shoulder of the hill, and then jerkily rises high, emanating from the salutary warmth.

- Ohaaaa-ay, - the old man will stop, cover his eyes with his palm, - ohaaay! May Your glory be eternal, Lord jan! - And he will repeat again, already in a whisper, like a spell: - May your glory be eternal!

And the Lord will answer him, turning into a bird chirp, a gentle wind, a ringing wave of a river running among the stones:

- May your glory be eternal, Ambo-jan.

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People who are always with me details

• Publisher: AST
• Date of publication:
• Cover: Hard cover
• Language: Russian
• ISBN-10:
• ISBN-13: 978-5-17-083150-0
• Dimensions in binding: 130x200 mm (medium format)
• Weight in paper form:
• Pages:
• Series:
• Class:
• Age: 16+

One piece of advice for those who are especially sensitive - do not read at night)))) Not only did I break down in tears, I also tried to call at five in the morning ...

For me, Narine Abgaryan is a great reading happiness. I love "Manyunya", recognize my own in "Come in large numbers" and suffer from the shortness of "Semyon Andreich".
I have been waiting for this book since September, I read some passages in LJ Narine. The review is short - the book is beautiful. And after it you want to become better, even if you are already deeply over ten.
One piece of advice for those who are especially sensitive - do not read at night)))) Not only did I cry, I also tried to call all my relatives at five in the morning to tell them how I love them all and how dear they are to me.

There are many kind people in the world. There are talented and gifted people. There are geniuses. There are Teachers. A beautiful and young woman - Narine Abgaryan - Teacher. By education (I found out that by education she is a teacher of the Russian language and literature). And by vocation. Because with her books, she carries away a variety of people with her. Because she is always kind and tactful, even when she talks about the sick and the bitter - she teaches KINDNESS and TACT. Because she is artistic - the landscape is incredibly beautiful ...

There are many kind people in the world. There are talented and gifted people. There are geniuses. There are Teachers. A beautiful and young woman - Narine Abgaryan - Teacher. By education (I found out that by education she is a teacher of the Russian language and literature). And by vocation. Because with her books, she carries away a variety of people with her. Because she is always kind and tactful, even when she talks about the sick and the bitter - she teaches KINDNESS and TACT. Because she is artistic - the landscape sketches are incredibly beautiful. It always seemed to me that no matter how gifted the writer was - you can't put it in words - the artist's painting is better. Read Narine! And you will not only see Karabakh, you will smell it, you will hear the sound of a cow bell and the cries of an old shepherd. Even if you have never heard Armenian speech, you will recognize its accent. Because she is a psychologist-hypnologist - her unique works affect all your representational systems. Unlike the trilogy about Manyunya, over which I laughed all winter holidays in spite of everything in the mournful hour of my life, I spent a sad, mournful night over this last book of her, which is and is not connected with Manyunya. Nobody wrote this about Karabakh. Nobody wrote about him SO. I am not an Armenian (but a Russian-Ukrainian-Polish-Serbian native Muscovite) and have never been to Armenia. But this country, its beauty, its pain, the sound of its duduk, the smell of its herbs, the guttural speech and the beauty of the mountains and the blue of the sky, thanks to Narine, became my native country. And, you know, if Narine wanted to become president, then, leaving all my affairs (school, studying Polish language, arts), I would go to her as a TRUSTEE. Because "talents need to be helped" ...