Swedish writers have been pleasantly surprising me lately. Not that I’ve read a lot of them, but first Fredrik Backman became an insanely “tasty” discovery for me a few years ago, and now Jonas Jonasson. There’s something about these Swedes. They seem to write about life, yet they do it lightly, beautifully, and with touches of humor.
For many years Jonas Jonasson worked as a journalist and television producer (just like my wife), and then suddenly decided to drastically change his life and write a book. And that book sold like crazy—first in Sweden, and then around the world.
The book titled The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared really does begin with the main character, the old man Allan—whose 100th birthday is literally minutes away from being celebrated at the retirement home—deciding to escape through the window. And to get far away before anyone notices he’s gone. What follows is a chain of unforeseen events, in which the old man almost immediately finds himself in possession of a suitcase with a million, a whole group of companions, and a small trail of bodies behind him.
Ah, it’s hard to write about such a classic, one that has been known to everyone for many decades. But I still decided to give it a try.
The thing is, Monday Starts on Saturday was the very first book by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky that I ever read. And that was back in my distant childhood. I remember laughing out loud at some episodes, trying hard not to show it, since I had to read some of them in a clinic while waiting my turn for physiotherapy.
Since then, the book has retained a sense of eternal joy and a smile for me, and that is why in my adult years I was very afraid to reread the story: what if I perceived it completely differently, and those childhood impressions faded? Nevertheless, the second time I also enjoyed it, and now I have read it for the third time. But this time I had a specific goal — to think about what had changed in my feelings and perception of the story compared to childhood, and also after so many years separating the everyday life of the book’s characters from today’s realities.
The book tells about the work of a programmer in an institute of sorcery and magic. Nothing less. Complete with all the trappings of Soviet research institutes of the 1960s–70s.
I thought I would write about the second book of The Battles for Lukomorye a bit later, but then the media started saying that we need to talk more about the heroes of Russian fairy tales — about the likes of Dobrynya and Muromets. Well then, let’s write. Though in reality, the heroes were not nearly as noble as they appear in the tales.
I read the first part of this cycle a year ago and at that time also wrote down my thoughts about the book.
The Battle for Lukomorye is a fictional cycle set in the world of Tales of Old Rus’, which originally began as more of an art project by Roman Papsuev. The last time I thought it was a novel in two parts (since there was already word about plans for a second book). In fact, it turned out that the story does not end with the second volume.
I have already written about this world before, so I will not repeat myself in detail. In short, it is a world built on the motifs of Slavic fairy tales and folklore. The book The Battle for Lukomorye tells of events when the dark forces once again attempt to break into Rus’, while brave Rusichi (and other inhabitants of Belosvetie) strive to resist the followers of Chernobog, remembering how hard the struggle had been the last time, when only at great cost were they able to drive back the hordes of Koschei the Deathless.
The Puppet Master is a novella that was meant to begin the Daradda cycle, but as of today it has remained the only one in it, which is why it is available online under the title Daradda. The Puppet Master. The author, Danil Nesterenko, is not a professional writer; he works in game development, with particular attention to narrative.
And the love of narrative can be felt in the text. Daniil clearly thought through his world and wanted to make it alive and rich. However, the novella contains far too much that the narrator immediately pours onto the reader. You don’t have time to immerse yourself in the world and understand its rules, because right from the start you are almost buried under a huge mass of unfamiliar names, titles, geographic locations, and races. Moreover, as the story unfolds, you realize that the described world is not the only one in this universe — and this realization doesn’t make things any easier. Because you simply cannot grasp the entire layer of information that you are asked to hold in your head. Because of this, it is also not so easy to empathize with the hero’s actions, since the rules of the game in this world, filled also with magic, remain unknown and unclear to you.
At the same time, the novella is written in very beautiful and vivid language. That cannot be taken away from the author. And the book cover is simply excellent (though judging a book by its cover illustration is not the best idea).
However, the story did not turn out coherent. It is a kind of investigative tale, where the main character must figure out what happened to his liege lord’s son. And then it suddenly turns out that this hero is not even human. To the abundance of terminology and races is added a large number of secondary characters. It is clear that the author wants to introduce us to the world, but all these “guns” never fire and only distract. And much about the main character is unclear. Other than the fact that he is a demon and can do all sorts of things… where did he come from? Why? Why does he serve humans? What exactly are his abilities? Why was the assassination attempt plotted? Why did his friend and patron so easily dismiss him after the case was solved? Who are all these people and groups weaving intrigues? There are more questions than answers.
It is clear that this was meant as groundwork for a larger cycle or a novel, but it came out far too concentrated. And on top of that, there is an inexplicable reference to the Witchers, as if there weren’t already enough questions.
You can feel that a vast world with its own rules lives in the author’s mind, but introducing an unprepared reader into it should have been done in smaller portions. And although I cannot say that I really liked the novella, after reading it I realized that I would like to learn more about the hero. Perhaps Danil Nesterenko will eventually finish and rework the cycle so that it becomes easier for the reader to follow the twists and turns. Time will tell.
With the release of the novel As He Was Leaving, He Asked, Boris Akunin has fully completed his historical cycle, in which he simultaneously told the history of the Russian state and accompanied it with works of fiction set in the corresponding historical period.
Boris Akunin concluded the history of the Russian Empire with the reign of the last tsar of the Romanov dynasty — Nicholas II. Beyond that point, in the author’s view, it was no longer the history of an empire (though recent events show that imperial history seems unwilling to let Russia go).
The fictional cycle, as I have written many times before, is essentially the story of a completely different dynasty, one that managed to traverse the entire path from the Varangian era to the Revolution of 1917. And if in the earlier works of the cycle representatives of this dynasty played a rather prominent role — sometimes even stepping directly into the spotlight (as in the novel The Fortunate Adventures and Reflections of Lucius Catin) — then in the penultimate The Road to Kitezh it was the events of the era that came to the fore, rather than one of the heirs with the telltale birthmark on the forehead. The final novel, titled As He Was Leaving, He Asked, is likewise far less focused on the last heiress of the family in the cycle.
I feel like by the ninth book in the “As*troheds” series by Olga Gromyko, I’m starting to repeat myself in my reviews. Yes, Karma is the ninth installment of the series that Olga Gromyko began with Andrei Ulanov 11 years ago. Though Ulanov co-wrote only the first novel with Olga, the rest of the series has been written by her alone.
In short, the series takes place in the not-too-distant future, where humanity has ventured into space, colonized numerous planets, established diplomatic and trade relations with other races, and — importantly for the series — started producing cyborgs by growing living bodies and implanting them with electronics and cybernetic enhancements.
Essentially, the entire series revolves around the theme of sentient cyborgs — their plight running like a white thread through the otherwise reckless and humorous adventures of the book’s characters.
The earlier books told the story of the crew of the starship The Space Brain-Eater, although at times separate stories and novellas featured different protagonists. Eventually, Olga stepped away from the original crew and focused more on parallel events. The result, in my opinion, was mixed. The Cyborg and His Forester was interesting, but I liked it less than the others. The follow-up, See You on Cassandra!, was much more enjoyable, largely thanks to the colorful avshur character, Sarah.
Where the previous book was a sort of ensemble piece, bringing together heroes from various novels, novellas, and stories, the new novel titled Karma sees Olga Gromyko once again focusing on a small group. The main character is the cyborg Kai, who was “adopted” by a former soldier nicknamed Shooter — a story told in one of the cycle’s short stories. Kai has grown up (by cyborg standards) and no longer sees himself as a child. He’s left Cassandra and works as a mercenary. However, he does this with a measure of contempt for regular humans, who still see cyborgs as soulless machines, despite the ongoing movement for cyborg rights. Slowly, though, Kai begins to change his attitude toward the team that hired him — especially as his childhood friend (and secret love) joins the mission. Especially since her father’s life is at stake.
Earlier, I wrote that I had decided to reread the duology about Ostap Bender, which I had previously read only as a teenager. After finishing the “most complete” version of The Twelve Chairs, I picked up a similar edition of the second novel, The Golden Calf. This one is also presented as “The complete version of the novel without omissions or cuts.”
According to legend, the authors hadn’t planned to write a second novel—the first was self-contained, and Ostap Bender dies at the end. The authors even claimed they flipped a coin to decide whether he would live or die. But after the wild success of the first book, it would have been odd if they hadn’t gone ahead with a sequel. Although there is an opinion that the continuation had been planned much earlier, and the rest is just a neat and officially supported legend.
In the first novel, there were two main characters—Kisa Vorobyaninov and Ostap Bender himself. But it was clear who was playing the first violin, who was the thinker and driving force in the duo. Without Ostap, Kisa likely wouldn’t have recovered a single chair. That’s why the second book has no connection to the “leader of the Russian nobility” and instead puts the resurrected Ostap fully in the spotlight, now accompanied by new helpers who are significantly more useful (though still no match for him). As for his death, Ostap mentions it only in passing: someone did try to kill him, but brave Soviet medicine managed to save his life. The only reminder is a clearly visible scar from a razor cut on his neck.
It’s quite difficult to write about the “Rescuers” collection since this is not just a book but a project to help Ukraine, which is suffering from war. Nevertheless, I’ll still try.
After the war with Ukraine began, many Ukrainians were forced to leave their homes, many suffered, and many, unfortunately, died. Like other cities, for more than six months now, one of the most Russian-speaking cities of Ukraine, Kharkiv, has been subjected to daily bombings. And for me, Kharkiv has always been the capital of Ukrainian science fiction, because it was there that one of the most famous and most prestigious science fiction festivals — “Star Bridge” — was held for many years, organized by Kharkiv residents whom I deeply respect — writers Dmitry Gromov and Oleg Ladyzhensky, better known to readers under the pseudonym Henry Lion Oldie.
It was Oldie who decided to publish the book “Rescuers,” a collection of Ukrainian science fiction of 2022. The title “Rescuers” has a double meaning. First of all, almost all works in the collection are somehow connected with those who help, who save. Secondly, the purpose of this collection is to help Ukraine fight; all money from the sale of this book “will go to help Ukrainians affected by the hostilities in the war unleashed by Russia.” This is the clear position of the authors.
But besides this noble purpose, I still wanted to get acquainted with what modern Ukrainian science fiction represents today, even if in short form. I’ve known and loved Oldie for a long time, but I don’t always have time to follow new and less well-known authors.
The first time I read the books about Ostap Bender was in my teenage years. I don’t think that’s the best age for such reading, but the book was on our shelf, I had heard a lot about it, and I already liked the film version of The Twelve Chairs directed by Mark Zakharov. Probably because of the songs — but still, I liked it.
I remember that I read both The Twelve Chairs and The Little Golden Calf back to back. I really enjoyed the first book, while the sequel left me with a feeling of melancholy. That impression of the duology stayed with me for years. However, I recently decided to reread them as an adult, to see how my perception might have changed.
Looking at the editions currently available, I came across an expanded version titled “the most complete edition.” That piqued my interest, so I chose to read that one.
In case someone out there either doesn’t remember or has never heard of this book (which would be hard to believe), here’s a brief summary. The setting is the 1920s. A former nobleman, Ippolit Matveyevich Vorobyaninov, lives a modest life as a registry office clerk when he suddenly learns that during the revolution, his mother-in-law hid the family jewels inside one of the chairs from their noble furniture set. He throws himself into a frantic search — and is unexpectedly joined by a stranger, Ostap Bender. In reality, it’s Ostap who takes the lead in the hunt. Thanks to his wit and the skill of a “great schemer,” he masterfully navigates even the trickiest situations. Poor Ippolit Matveyevich is hardly a match for him.
A comic book about the genocide of Jews? Sounds unusual, but why not? The important thing is to convey knowledge, and the method is secondary. Some people read books, some only watch movies, and some consume information exclusively through comics. And it’s long been foolish to think that comics are just for kids or the unintelligent. As the history of manga shows (see my review of Frederik L. Schodt’s “Manga! Manga!: The World of Japanese Comics”), sometimes comics can convey more knowledge than a specialized encyclopedia.
So the existence of such a comic didn’t surprise me at all. What did make me slightly wary, though, was the prestigious award it received. I have this odd quirk—I tend not to trust overly hyped or award-winning works. It seems to me that these awards often follow their own internal logic, which doesn’t always correlate with actual quality.
Maus by Art Spiegelman is “the only comic book to win a Pulitzer Prize,” as proudly stated on the cover. And it tells the story of a Polish Jew, Vladek Spiegelman, who struggled to survive after Nazi has occupied Poland but ultimately ended up in a concentration camp with his wife.
