Centrifugal, pensive, often elusive stories by the one of the greatest living Russian writers (and leading anti-Putinist).
“After breaking up with her latest lover, Martha committed suicide in an indecently literary manner: having gone to the hairdresser and manicurist, she threw herself under a train.” So Ulitskaya, hitherto known in English for her novels, dispenses with the high-living mother of a pensioner who’s determined to take a quieter route out of the mortal world than her mother took decades earlier; instead, Alisa determines that she’s going to stock up on pills and depart on her own terms. The trouble is, she needs a doctor to write a prescription, something easier said than done, and a proposition packed with tragedy all on its own. In another story, lesbian lovers marry in Amsterdam, “the most tolerant city in the world,” though when their family comes from Azerbaijan and Armenia to find two women at the altar, they intolerantly turn around and fly home, “having thereby refused to participate in the forthcoming blasphemy.” The couple is happy all the same—until, that is, death intervenes, as it so often does in Ulitskaya’s stories. Punctuated with a handful of portentous intervening poems (“I’m entering the final episode, / and whether it’s sweet or sour matters not, / so long as it formulates the ultimate meaning”), the stories have a sometimes surreal edge, as with an evocative ghost story in which a pathologist is visited by the spirit of a young man on whom he has just performed an autopsy. The stories are, beg pardon, haunting, though marked by occasional odd turns of phrase that would seem to be direct renderings of idiomatic expressions that don’t quite travel well in English: “Normal men with appropriate sexual attributes never struck root in this family.” “ ‘He’s a student of mathematics, not a dog’s prick!’ ” Even so, the stories are marvels of economy and the unexpected twist, each a memorable tour de force.
A welcome introduction to the short fiction of an essential writer.