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knittyreader's review against another edition
4.0
I received a free copy through Netgalley in return for an honest review.
Wonderful prose, weaving a bleak atmosphere. It is not easy to relate to the 'why's' of liking this book. At points I certainly did not, but that was okay somehow.
Wonderful prose, weaving a bleak atmosphere. It is not easy to relate to the 'why's' of liking this book. At points I certainly did not, but that was okay somehow.
bags_and_bookz's review
2.0
Thank you NetGalley and Columbia University Press for this ARC in return for my honest review.
Well, being Russian, I was very optimistic about this book. I am very interested in contemporary Russian literature, and it was a great opportunity to explore translated Slavnikova.
I did not enjoy it as I expected. Russian writers love to create long sentences trying to put everything in and overcomplicating it. I don’t believe it works well in Russian and I think it was terrible in translation. Some sentences last whole paragraph and I was lost when I finally reached the dot. I had to come back and re-read breaking it up in few part to get the sense.
I also felt like there was no real plot and no real character development. I was frustrated reading it, as I didn’t understand what the novel was about and who? Was it poor Marina struggling to find her place under the sun? Was it veteran Kharitonov as synopsis says? Was it about corrupted elections? Was in tumbled Russia in those horrible 90s? There are more questions than answers.
I was pushing myself to finish it in search of at least one answer.
Nope. Nothing.
Well, being Russian, I was very optimistic about this book. I am very interested in contemporary Russian literature, and it was a great opportunity to explore translated Slavnikova.
I did not enjoy it as I expected. Russian writers love to create long sentences trying to put everything in and overcomplicating it. I don’t believe it works well in Russian and I think it was terrible in translation. Some sentences last whole paragraph and I was lost when I finally reached the dot. I had to come back and re-read breaking it up in few part to get the sense.
I also felt like there was no real plot and no real character development. I was frustrated reading it, as I didn’t understand what the novel was about and who? Was it poor Marina struggling to find her place under the sun? Was it veteran Kharitonov as synopsis says? Was it about corrupted elections? Was in tumbled Russia in those horrible 90s? There are more questions than answers.
I was pushing myself to finish it in search of at least one answer.
Nope. Nothing.
black_girl_reading's review against another edition
2.0
I could not get through this book and stopped around the 40% mark. I found it too bleak, without character development I could appreciate. I think for a reader with only superficial understanding of Russian politics, it was difficult to understand the specifics of what was being hidden, and what was being misrepresented in a way that was engaging to the reader.
rhubarb1608's review against another edition
emotional
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
2.5
fearandtrembling's review
4.0
3.75 stars, rounded up.
A bleak and biting social critique and satire that the Russians always manage to elevate into art. Deftly translated by Marian Schwartz, this is the story of the wife and daughter of a paralysed veteran—the man who couldn't die. Surviving on his pension, they try to prolong his life in a temporal suspended reality where the Soviet Union still exists. In doing so, the author spins a stark tale of ennui, corruption, and the failed promises of democratic capitalism with black humour and a clear-eyed ruthlessness that sugarcoats nothing about the human experience.
A bleak and biting social critique and satire that the Russians always manage to elevate into art. Deftly translated by Marian Schwartz, this is the story of the wife and daughter of a paralysed veteran—the man who couldn't die. Surviving on his pension, they try to prolong his life in a temporal suspended reality where the Soviet Union still exists. In doing so, the author spins a stark tale of ennui, corruption, and the failed promises of democratic capitalism with black humour and a clear-eyed ruthlessness that sugarcoats nothing about the human experience.
zachkuhn's review
4.0
I love Russian novels about the pre-Soviet world. I tend to love post-Soviet novels as well. I struggle with novels from the Soviet era. I'm not sure why.. Something about the inherent absurdity of the system prevents me from reading about its absurdities. So The Man Who Couldn't Die is a strange hybrid of all of these. Post-Soviet but with the comic sensibilities of Dostoevsky. Contemporary but relying on the narrative styles of Gogol. Very interesting book.
leda's review
4.0
The Man Who Couldn’t Die: The Tale of an Authentic Human Being is not a casual reading. It is a deeply introspective and slow to grasp book, and as such it is not for everyone. But a meticulous reader will discover that it is a book that worth the time and the effort.
It is early 1990s and a time of high uncertainty. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the accompanying economic upheaval, triggered a national identity crisis, confusion and disorientation. People had the feeling that the world was collapsing around them. Survival, especially for those who had a bleak job situation and "no marketable skills" depended on making new adjustments; sometimes people had to balance between being flexible and staying true to whatever your personal convictions are; sometimes they had to make a hard choice between the two.
Olga Slavnikova tells the story of two women, wife and stepdaughter of a paralyzed veteran in the early 1990s. In the chaos of post-Soviet society and in order to continue to receive his pension, which was their main source of income, they try to prolong the life of the old man by creating a world that doesn’t change. The Soviet Union has never collapsed and Leonid Brezhnev is still the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. But the old man, and life, have other plans.
“One way or another, Marina prohibited anything that might arouse negative emotions (in this sense, her stagnation had achieved perfection).”
After the fall of the Soviet Union, a few powerful and well-connected people snatched, with the help of a “loans-for-shares”program, introduced by Yeltsin, critical enterprises and the media, reaping incredible wealth in the process. At the same time, these oligarchs attempted to shape the country politically. Using their newly acquired wealth they helped finance Yeltsin’s election campaign. Failing health and internal pressure forced Yeltsin to resign on December 31, 1999. His chosen successor was the then-Prime Minister Vladimir Putin.
It was in this climate, of cronyism and corruption, of fraud and deception, that Marina caught up in a local election campaign that gets out of hand.
The prose in The Man Who Couldn’t Die is fantastic. Dense and lengthy, it reminded me of Péter Nádas’ stylistic technique. The psychological intimate acuity of Slavnikova’s descriptions are imbued with a profound emotional depth.
Finally, I would like to say a few words about the translation. A translation is a door to a new world, not accessible, unless you speak the language, any other way. The Man Who Couldn’t Die: The Tale of an Authentic Human Being, is masterfully translated by Marian Schwartz, an established and award-wining translator of Russian fiction. Schwartz has translated Ivan Goncharov, Mikhail Bulgakov, Venedikt Erofeev, and many others. Her translation of the Russian classic Anna Karenina is genius.
Thank you to Columbia University Press, Marian Swartz and NetGalley for the opportunity to read this wonderful book.
It is early 1990s and a time of high uncertainty. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the accompanying economic upheaval, triggered a national identity crisis, confusion and disorientation. People had the feeling that the world was collapsing around them. Survival, especially for those who had a bleak job situation and "no marketable skills" depended on making new adjustments; sometimes people had to balance between being flexible and staying true to whatever your personal convictions are; sometimes they had to make a hard choice between the two.
Olga Slavnikova tells the story of two women, wife and stepdaughter of a paralyzed veteran in the early 1990s. In the chaos of post-Soviet society and in order to continue to receive his pension, which was their main source of income, they try to prolong the life of the old man by creating a world that doesn’t change. The Soviet Union has never collapsed and Leonid Brezhnev is still the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. But the old man, and life, have other plans.
“One way or another, Marina prohibited anything that might arouse negative emotions (in this sense, her stagnation had achieved perfection).”
After the fall of the Soviet Union, a few powerful and well-connected people snatched, with the help of a “loans-for-shares”program, introduced by Yeltsin, critical enterprises and the media, reaping incredible wealth in the process. At the same time, these oligarchs attempted to shape the country politically. Using their newly acquired wealth they helped finance Yeltsin’s election campaign. Failing health and internal pressure forced Yeltsin to resign on December 31, 1999. His chosen successor was the then-Prime Minister Vladimir Putin.
It was in this climate, of cronyism and corruption, of fraud and deception, that Marina caught up in a local election campaign that gets out of hand.
The prose in The Man Who Couldn’t Die is fantastic. Dense and lengthy, it reminded me of Péter Nádas’ stylistic technique. The psychological intimate acuity of Slavnikova’s descriptions are imbued with a profound emotional depth.
Finally, I would like to say a few words about the translation. A translation is a door to a new world, not accessible, unless you speak the language, any other way. The Man Who Couldn’t Die: The Tale of an Authentic Human Being, is masterfully translated by Marian Schwartz, an established and award-wining translator of Russian fiction. Schwartz has translated Ivan Goncharov, Mikhail Bulgakov, Venedikt Erofeev, and many others. Her translation of the Russian classic Anna Karenina is genius.
Thank you to Columbia University Press, Marian Swartz and NetGalley for the opportunity to read this wonderful book.
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