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A review by buddhafish
Sevastopol by Emilio Fraia
3.0
121st book of 2022.
This is a slim, very smoothly written book in translation from Brazilian writer Emilio Fraia. The structure is taken right from Tolstoy's Sebastopol Sketches, which I actually read earlier this year, using the three timeframes, December, May and August. I was drawn to Tolstoy's book, and subsequently, this book, because my great-grandfather was captured in Sevastopol in the Second World War. Beginning the book, it's easy to be confused and curious: why did Fraia use Tolstoy's book as his inspiration? The first of the three stories is about a woman's obsession with climbing Everset, the second about a missing person and the last deals with a stage play set in Sevastopol (at last). It's one of those short story collections that gets away with being a 'novel' because of unifying themes and less than discernible connections. What struck me on finishing is the failed ambition, loneliness and quiet sense of despair in all three parts, though I didn't feel as if this was enough to satisfyingly unify them. However, I did enjoy reading them, and it was short enough to read in a few hours throughout the day, half before Sunday dinner out in the town and the other half once I was home, a little sleepy and tipsy.
This is a slim, very smoothly written book in translation from Brazilian writer Emilio Fraia. The structure is taken right from Tolstoy's Sebastopol Sketches, which I actually read earlier this year, using the three timeframes, December, May and August. I was drawn to Tolstoy's book, and subsequently, this book, because my great-grandfather was captured in Sevastopol in the Second World War. Beginning the book, it's easy to be confused and curious: why did Fraia use Tolstoy's book as his inspiration? The first of the three stories is about a woman's obsession with climbing Everset, the second about a missing person and the last deals with a stage play set in Sevastopol (at last). It's one of those short story collections that gets away with being a 'novel' because of unifying themes and less than discernible connections. What struck me on finishing is the failed ambition, loneliness and quiet sense of despair in all three parts, though I didn't feel as if this was enough to satisfyingly unify them. However, I did enjoy reading them, and it was short enough to read in a few hours throughout the day, half before Sunday dinner out in the town and the other half once I was home, a little sleepy and tipsy.