A Review of The Golden Calf by Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov (translated by Konstantin Gurevich and Helen Anderson)

The Golden Calf
4 out of 5: The Golden Calf, a classic Russian novel now available in a new English translation published by Open Letter Books, is an exuberant road trip story, a financial thriller, an examination of the criminal underworld, and a social commentary, all rolled into one package. The story spans the era of Lenin’s New Economic Policy, under which private enterprises coexisted with state entities, to the time of Stalin’s rigid program of collectivization. Set against this backdrop of significant social upheaval, Ostap Bender, facetiously nicknamed the Grand Strategist, devises a plan to swindle an “underground millionaire,” named Koreiko, out of a million rubbles. Bender, along with a colorful band of fellow thieves, tracks Koreiko through multiple cities via camels, trains, and automobiles (and even attempts, unsuccessfully, to board an airplane). In the meantime, Koreiko, who disguises himself as a lowly clerk to avoid detection, hoards his past earnings from dubious deals while “saving himself for capitalism.”

In a brief note from the authors preceding the novel, Ilf and Petrov resolve “to make the novel as funny as possible,” and they have succeeded. Some of the humor is playfully absurd: “It was that time, between five and six in the morning, when … the city is light, clean, and quiet, like a state bank. At moments like this, one feels like crying and wants to believe that yogurt is indeed tastier and healthier than vodka.” Other passages carry more subversive meanings: “The cathedral was enormous. Thorny and sharp, it ripped into the sky like a fish bone. It stuck in your throat.” Throughout, The Golden Calf wears its political and social messages lightly, never forgetting that a good story is more entertaining (and more likely to escape censorship) than a political statement.

Some of The Golden Calf’s masterfully constructed set pieces have little connection to the novel’s primary action, and, when necessary to keep momentum high, Ilf and Petrov have no qualms about glossing over the finer details holding the plot together. While resulting in a somewhat chaotic narrative, this unapologetic disregard for relevance and order contributes to The Golden Calf’s undeniable charm. Wouldn’t you rather read about the escape of one of Bender’s inept colleagues from the clutches of two spell-casting priests than about how Bender managed to collect the necessary details about Koreiko’s past exploits? I certainly would. For a hilarious and utterly unique reading experience, pick up a copy of The Golden Calf. Then, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

A Review of Brooklyn by Colm Toibin

Brooklyn: A Novel
4 out of 5: In Colm Toibin’s latest novel, Brooklyn, young Eilis Lacey leaves the struggling economy of her small hometown in southeast Ireland to forge a new life in Brooklyn, New York. In unadorned prose, Toibin describes the daily struggles and triumphs of Eilis’s life in the unfamiliar, and often inhospitable, urban environment of her new home. In many ways, Eilis’s story is a small, insignificant one, but it’s one that was repeated thousands of times in the 1940s and 50s. The backdrop of these repetitions, coupled with Toibin’s deft use of just the right amount of historical detail, lends resonance to Eilis’s journey. The question at the root of Brooklyn, and the one that drives much of the action, is whether it’s possible to truly leave home.

This is not a book filled with impressive literary effects. The chronology is simple and the story is familiar. Nevertheless, Toibin’s gift for storytelling maintains the momentum, particularly in the last third of the book when Eilis is faced with a difficult decision. Eilis rarely takes initiative, instead merely reacting to what happens around her, including the overtly manipulative actions of stronger characters. Some readers will find Eilis’s passivity annoying, but this trait seems a natural result of her sheltered upbringing. A more hard-charging personality wouldn’t ring as true. Overall, Brooklyn is an emotionally rich story about leaving home and starting over.

A Review of The Patience Stone by Atiq Rahimi (translated by Polly McLean)

The Patience Stone

4 out of 5: In this slim novel, an unnamed woman ministers to her comatose husband in a small back room of their house in war-torn Afghanistan. The man, wounded by a bullet in his neck, lies inert on a dirty mattress, indifferent to the action unfolding around him, from gunshots in the street to a fly exploring his mouth. Over time, the woman is driven by the stress of her life of constant danger to reveal increasingly dramatic secrets to “the man who may or may not hear her.” She becomes close to him in a way that was not possible when he was conscious:

How strange this all is! I’ve never felt as close to you as I do right now. We’ve been married ten years. Ten years! And it’s only these last three weeks that I’m finally sharing something with you.

The most striking aspect of The Patience Stone is Rahimi’s use of an unusual narrative device—a strictly limited perspective. The perspective of the story never leaves the room where the man lies unconscious, and the narrator functions as the proverbial fly on the wall. The woman, her two children, and a few other unnamed characters come and go, but the perspective never moves beyond the single room. This daring construct presents a unique view of the strains of war on everyday existence, a view that is so satisfyingly subtle because it is so constrained geographically. Rater than a novel, The Patience Stone—with its limited scope and its concise 142 pages—is more akin to a fable, which, I’m sure, is exactly what Rahimi intended.

A Review of Shadow Tag by Louise Erdrich

Shadow Tag: A Novel

3.5 out of 5: This bleak novel tracks the slow destruction of a marriage and, ultimately, a family. Irene, a failed historian, and her husband Gil, an artist who’s grown famous off of his revealing portraits of Irene, are the parents of three precocious children, including a math genius and a budding artist. While the love between Irene and Gil is undoubtedly powerful, the couple’s self-destructive, co-dependent tendencies result in constant friction. At the start of the novel, this marriage has already descended into an unhealthy state, and Louise Erdrich masterfully captures Irene’s and Gil’s shared sicknesses without crossing the line into melodrama. The couple’s deliberate ripping apart of their family is unpleasant to witness but profoundly moving nonetheless.

I really wanted to love this book, and is has many wonderful aspects: poetic language, powerful imagery, psychological depth, and the haunting (and surprising) ending, to name just a few. The novel’s harmony, unfortunately, is unsettled by some distracting flaws. Although most of the story is told through Irene’s point of view, Erdrich chooses to switch points of view periodically, and seemingly at random, introducing a jarring incoherence into an otherwise well-structured narrative. The children, even the youngest, say and do things that are absurdly adult. Despite that annoyance, I still found myself empathizing with the improbably wise children, rather than with Irene or Gil, who are intended to be at the emotional center of the story but who are too contemptible to elicit much empathy. Despite these flaws, Shadow Tag nevertheless succeeds as a suspenseful and memorable read.