Economist David Zetland at The one-handed economist blog offers up another interesting book review detailing life in Ukraine during the nineties. David Zetland, The One Arm Economist’s Book Review: “Death and the Penguin“ This 1996 novel by Andrei Kurkov tells the story of a failing writer who suddenly finds himself with a full-time job writing obituaries. He also has a penguin, Misha, who he “rescues” from Kyiv’s Zoo when they run out of money to feed their animals. The book’s most interesting “contribution” is its description of the weirdnesses of 1990s Ukraine. It was hard for anyone to count on anything, as the Soviet world turned upside down. You’d have to read it, but here are some characteristic passages: “Am I ill?” he
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Economist David Zetland at The one-handed economist blog offers up another interesting book review detailing life in Ukraine during the nineties.
David Zetland, The One Arm Economist’s Book Review: “Death and the Penguin“
This 1996 novel by Andrei Kurkov tells the story of a failing writer who suddenly finds himself with a full-time job writing obituaries. He also has a penguin, Misha, who he “rescues” from Kyiv’s Zoo when they run out of money to feed their animals.
The book’s most interesting “contribution” is its description of the weirdnesses of 1990s Ukraine. It was hard for anyone to count on anything, as the Soviet world turned upside down.
You’d have to read it, but here are some characteristic passages:
- “Am I ill?” he wondered, staring at the blank paper protruding from the typewriter. “No, I must, must, sometimes at least, make myself write short stories, or else I’ll go mad.” He fell to thinking of Sonya’s funny little freckled face, her red ponytail with its elastic band. Odd times to be a child in. An odd country, an odd life which he had no desire to make sense of. To endure, full stop, that was all he wanted.
- For lunch Viktor gave Misha fish, while he and Sonya had fried potatoes. “I’ll buy a bit more food tomorrow,” he promised. “This’ll do me,” she said, taking the larger plate
- “So no need to worry. Look at me [Viktor’s editor], serene as a tank, even though they’ve just murdered my driver! Believe me, life’s not something to be concerned about.”
- Those who merited obituaries had usually achieved things, fought for their ideals, and when locked in battle, it wasn’t easy to remain entirely honest and upright. Today’s battles were all for material gain, anyway. The crazy idealist was extinct – survived by the crazy pragmatist …
- Viktor made coffee, rejoicing in the peace of the flat… A peace which enabled him to sit down with a cup of coffee and calmly think it all over. A peace which made it possible to sit without thinking even, just drinking coffee, dwelling on its flavour, keeping at arm’s length thoughts capable of disturbing equanimity.
- And there was another, the Principal Friend perhaps, that someone whose bold, sweeping signature approved Viktor’s obelisks [obituaries]. Though whether it was the text he approved or the subject, was now not at all clear. And then there were the dates, obviously determining the day of publication, but clearly predetermined during the subject’s lifetime! Death as planned economy!
- Something was wrong with this life, he thought, walking with downcast eyes. Or life itself had changed, and was as it used to be – simple, comprehensible – only on the outside. Inside, it was as if the mechanism was broken, and now there was no knowing what to expect of a familiar object – be it a loaf of Ukrainian bread or a street pay telephone. Beneath every surface, inside every tree, every person, lurked an invisible alien something. The seeming reality of everything was only a relic of childhood.
FOUR STARS.