conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about Ali, Nino, Azerbaijan entitled Ali and Nino.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ali and Nino: Ali and Nino is the story of a Muslim youth who falls in love with a Georgian princess.\nEssentially, the book is a quest for truth and reconciliation in a world of contradictory beliefs and practices – Islam and Christianity, East and West, age and youth, male and female.\nMuch of the novel is set in Baku\'s Old City (Ichari Shahar) on the eve of the Bolshevik Revolution beginning around 1917–1918.\nThe novel was first published in Austria in 1937 in the German language, by Lev Nussimbaum using the pseudonym Kurban Said.\nAli Khan Shirvanshir, a descendant of a noble Muslim family, is educated in a Russian high school for boys.\nWhile his father is still culturally Asian, Ali is exposed to Western values in school and through his love of Georgian princess Nino Kipiani, who has been brought up in a Christian tradition and belongs more to the European world.\nThe book describes the love of Ali for Nino, with excursions to mountain villages in Daghestan, Shusha in Azerbaijan, Tbilisi, Georgia, and Persia.\nUpon graduating from high school, Ali determines to marry Nino.\nAt first she hesitates, until Ali promises that he will not make her wear the veil, or be part of a harem.\nAli\'s father, despite his traditional Muslim view of women, supports the marriage while trying to postpone it.\nThe book takes a dramatic turn when a (Christian) Armenian, Melik Nachararyan, whom Ali thought was a friend, kidnaps Nino.\nIn retaliation, Ali pursues him on horseback, overtakes his "lacquered box" car and stabs him to death with a dagger.\nContrary to the tradition of honor killing urged by Ali\'s friend Mehmed Haidar, Ali spares Nino\'s life.\nAfter many months, Nino finds Ali in a simple hilltown in the mountains near Makhachkala.\nThe two marry on the spot and spend a few months in blissful poverty.\nAs turmoil follows the Russian Revolution, Ali Khan makes some tough ideological decisions.\nWhen the Ottoman Army moves closer to his native Baku, Ali Khan watches the developments closely.\nThe Bolsheviks recapture Baku, and Ali and Nino flee to Iran (Persia).\nIn Tehran, Ali is reminded of his Muslim roots, while Nino is fundamentally unhappy in the confinement of the harem.\nUpon establishment of the Azerbaijan Democratic Republic, Ali and Nino return and become cultural ambassadors of their new country.\nAli is offered a post as ambassador to France – an idea Nino had arranged – but Ali declines, because he fears he will be unhappy in Paris.\nWhen the Red Army descends on Ganja, Azerbaijan, Ali takes up arms to defend his country.\nNino flees to Georgia with their child, while Ali Khan dies in battle as the Bolsheviks take the country.\n(The Bolshevik victory led to the establishment of Soviet domination of Azerbaijan from 1920 to 1991 and the end of the short-lived Azerbaijan Democratic Republic, which lasted from May 1918 to April 1920.\n).
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about \nAli, Daghestan, Nachararyan\'s.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ali and Nino: Ali and Nino is the story of a Muslim youth who falls in love with a Georgian princess. \nEssentially, the book is a quest for truth and reconciliation in a world of contradictory beliefs and practices – Islam and Christianity, East and West, age and youth, male and female. \nMuch of the novel is set in Baku\'s Old City (Ichari Shahar) on the eve of the Bolshevik Revolution beginning around 1917–1918. \nThe novel was first published in Austria in 1937 in the German language, by Lev Nussimbaum using the pseudonym Kurban Said. \nAli Khan Shirvanshir, a descendant of a noble Muslim family, is educated in a Russian high school for boys. \nWhile his father is still culturally Asian, Ali is exposed to Western values in school and through his love of Georgian princess Nino Kipiani, who has been brought up in a Christian tradition and belongs more to the European world. \nThe book describes the love of Ali for Nino, with excursions to mountain villages in Daghestan, Shusha in Azerbaijan, Tbilisi, Georgia, and Persia. \nUpon graduating from high school, Ali determines to marry Nino. \nAt first she hesitates, until Ali promises that he will not make her wear the veil, or be part of a harem. \nAli\'s father, despite his traditional Muslim view of women, supports the marriage while trying to postpone it. \nThe book takes a dramatic turn when a (Christian) Armenian, Melik Nachararyan, whom Ali thought was a friend, kidnaps Nino. \nIn retaliation, Ali pursues him on horseback, overtakes his "lacquered box" car and stabs him to death with a dagger. \nContrary to the tradition of honor killing urged by Ali\'s friend Mehmed Haidar, Ali spares Nino\'s life. \nAli then flees to Daghestan to escape the vengeance of Nachararyan\'s family. \nAfter many months, Nino finds Ali in a simple hilltown in the mountains near Makhachkala. \nThe two marry on the spot and spend a few months in blissful poverty. \nAs turmoil follows the Russian Revolution, Ali Khan makes some tough ideological decisions. \nWhen the Ottoman Army moves closer to his native Baku, Ali Khan watches the developments closely. \nThe Bolsheviks recapture Baku, and Ali and Nino flee to Iran (Persia). \nIn Tehran, Ali is reminded of his Muslim roots, while Nino is fundamentally unhappy in the confinement of the harem. \nUpon establishment of the Azerbaijan Democratic Republic, Ali and Nino return and become cultural ambassadors of their new country. \nAli is offered a post as ambassador to France – an idea Nino had arranged – but Ali declines, because he fears he will be unhappy in Paris. \nWhen the Red Army descends on Ganja, Azerbaijan, Ali takes up arms to defend his country. \nNino flees to Georgia with their child, while Ali Khan dies in battle as the Bolsheviks take the country. \n(The Bolshevik victory led to the establishment of Soviet domination of Azerbaijan from 1920 to 1991 and the end of the short-lived Azerbaijan Democratic Republic, which lasted from May 1918 to April 1920. \n).
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ali and Nino
  Ali Khan Shirvanshir, youngest son of a proud house, is a native of the desert. As the wise greybeard Dadiani says to him:
  Ali Khan assents to this. He formulates it in his own way. When, in that same scene, the sophisticated Armenian Nachararyan asks him, 'Eagles come from the mountains, tigers come from the jungle. What comes from the desert?', he answers, 'Lions and Warriors'. This is true, and also character-revealing, for a lion and a warrior are the same thing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ali and Nino
  Ali Khan Shirvanshir, youngest son of a proud house, is a native of the desert. As the wise greybeard Dadiani says to him:
  Ali Khan assents to this. He formulates it in his own way. When, in that same scene, the sophisticated Armenian Nachararyan asks him, 'Eagles come from the mountains, tigers come from the jungle. What comes from the desert?', he answers, 'Lions and Warriors'.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The man who had met us, who turned out to be the masseur, came in, wearing only his turban. I was made to lie on my stomach. With his naked feet he jumped on my back, and trampled on me, light as a dancer on a carpet. Then his fingers tore into my flesh as if they were sharp hooks. He disjointed my arms, and I heard my bones crack. My cousins were standing around, giving advice: 'Turn his arms out once more, Mekisse, he's very ill.'
  I suppose it should have hurt very much, but I did not feel any pain. I was just lying there, covered with white soapy foam, relaxed under Mekisse's hard elastic blows, and the only thing I felt was that all my muscles were becoming wonderfully loose and relaxed.
  I came back, swathed in a white sheet. The cousins and Mekisse looked at me expectantly. 'Hunger,' I said with great dignity, and sat down crosslegged on one of the benches.
  We lay down in the anteroom and had a banquet. I forgot that I had ever been weak or tired. The taste of sulphur was chased away by the red fragrant flesh of the ice-cold water-melon. The cousins sipped their white Napareuli wine. 'Well, there you are,' said Dodiko, but did not finish his sentence, for this really meant everything: his pride of the native sulphur bath, pity for the foreigner, who broke down under Georgian hospitality, and the friendly cousinly assurance that he, Dodiko understood and excused his Mohammedan cousin's weakness. Our circle expanded. Neighbours came, naked, carrying wine bottles. Princes, and their creditors, hangers-on, servants, sages, poets, and estate owners from the mountains sat peacefully together, a gay picture of Georgian equality. It was not a bath any more, it was a club, a coffee house or just a meeting of happy naked people, their eyes carefree and laughing. But here and there I heard serious words, filled with dark foreboding. 'The Osman is coming,' said a man with small eyes. 'The Grand Duke will take Stamboul. I have heard that a German general has built a cannon there. When that goes off it will hit exactly the Zion's Dome in Tiflis.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: '. I was made to lie on my stomach. With his naked feet he jumped on my back, and trampled on me, light as a dancer on a carpet. Then his fingers tore into my flesh as if they were sharp hooks. He disjointed my arms, and I heard my bones crack. My cousins were standing around, giving advice: 'Turn his arms out once more, Mekisse, he's very ill.'
  I suppose it should have hurt very much, but I did not feel any pain. I was just lying there, covered with white soapy foam, relaxed under Mekisse's hard elastic blows, and the only thing I felt was that all my muscles were becoming wonderfully loose and relaxed.
  I came back, swathed in a white sheet. The cousins and Mekisse looked at me expectantly. 'Hunger,' I said with great dignity, and sat down crosslegged on one of the benches.
  We lay down in the anteroom and had a banquet. I forgot that I had ever been weak or tired. The taste of sulphur was chased away by the red fragrant flesh of the ice-cold water-melon. The cousins sipped their white Napareuli wine. 'Well, there you are,' said Dodiko, but did not finish his sentence, for this really meant everything: his pride of the native sulphur bath, pity for the foreigner, who broke down under Georgian hospitality, and the friendly cousinly assurance that he, Dodiko understood and excused his Mohammedan cousin's weakness. Our circle expanded. Neighbours came, naked, carrying wine bottles. Princes, and their creditors, hangers-on, servants, sages, poets, and estate owners from the mountains sat peacefully together, a gay picture of Georgian equality. It was not a bath any more, it was a club, a coffee house or just a meeting of happy naked people, their eyes carefree and laughing. But here and there I heard serious words, filled with dark foreboding. 'The Osman is coming,' said a man with small eyes. 'The Grand Duke will take Stamboul. I have heard that a German general has built a cannon there. When that goes off it will hit exactly the Zion's Dome in Tiflis.The man who had met us, who turned out to be the masseur, came in, wearing only his turban.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She smiled, and her eyes were like soft velvet. I just stood there on the platform, unable to move, as if nailed to the hard asphalt. Iljas Beg took her into the compartment. She looked out of the window, quiet and lost, like a little frightened bird. When the train started to move she waved, and Iljas Beg jumped off.
  We drove to town, and the town was like a carnival. Farmers from the outlying villages came and brought the machine-guns they had been hiding, and ammunition. From the other side of the river, in the Armenian quarter, we heard a few shots. Over there was already Russian territory. The Red Army Cavalry flooded the land, and in town a man suddenly appeared who had bushy eyebrows, a hooked nose, and deep-set eyes: Prince Mansur Mirza Kadjar. No one knew who he was and where he came from, only that his House was that of the Imperial Kadjars, and on his cap glistened the Silver Lion. He took the leadership in the manner born as one of Aga Mohammed's heirs. Russian battalions were concentrating towards Gandsha, and the town became crowded with refugees from Baku. They told of executed Ministers, of imprisoned Parliamentarians, and of corpses, weighted with stones, sunk into the deep Caspian Sea. 'The Mosque of Taza Pir is now a club, and when Seyd Mustafa came to pray at the wall the Russians beat him up. They bound him and put pork into his mouth. Later he managed to flee to Persia, to his uncle in Meshed. The Russians had murdered his father.' It was Arslan Aga who brought this news. He stood in front of me, looking at the weapons I was distributing.
  From afar we heard the metal call of the trumpet. We were now lying behind a street corner, shooting blindly at the Armenian houses. During the night we crept back over the bridge, where Iljas Beg was sitting, festooned with cartridges, putting up machine-guns. We went into the mosque's court-yard, and by the light of the stars Iljas Beg told me how, once, when he was a boy he had nearly been drowned. He had been swimming in the sea, and had been gripped by a current. Then we ate soup and peaches. Arslan Aga was crouching in front of us, bleeding gaps in his teeth. During the night he crept across to me, trembling all over.
  Arslan Aga cried out, high and plaintive, like a baby. I looked across to him. He was lying on the bridge, blood pouring from his mouth. I pressed the button of my machine-gun. A rain of fire fell on the Russians, and their trumpet sounded the attack again. My cap fell into the river, maybe it was shot away, maybe blown away by the wind in my face. I tore open my collar and coat. Arslan Aga's body was lying between me and the enemy. So a man could be a coward and yet die a hero's death for his country. Over there the trumpet sounded the retreat, the machine-gun fell silent, and I was sitting on the bridge covered in sweat, hungry and waiting for relief.
  And now I'm sitting here in the shade of the mosque wall, eating soup. Over there, at the entrance of the mosque, Prince Mansur is standing, and Iljas Beg is bending over a map. In a couple of hours I will again be standing on the bridge. The Republic of Azerbeidshan has only a few more days to live. Enough. I will sleep till the trumpet calls me to the river again, where my ancestor Ibrahim Khan Shirvanshir laid down his life for the freedom of his people.