Those who have known me for a long time remember that the Holocaust holds a special place on my list of important subjects. I read about it myself, and I tell my children what happened and how it happened. Such things must be remembered. So, not a year goes by without me reading a book on the topic or watching a related film.
No one recommended The Tattooist of Auschwitz to me; I happened upon it on a bookstore shelf, and then my wife read it before I did. Although it’s a novel, it is based on the real-life memories of Lale (Ludwig) Sokolov, who worked as a tattooist in Auschwitz for several years during the war, survived, and eventually moved to Australia.
Heather Morris, the author, merely recorded his memories and turned them into a novel. Before this book, she wasn’t well known, working in a hospital and trying her hand at screenwriting. Then she was introduced to Lale…
Once upon a time, there was a writer. She was both famous and incredibly mysterious. In all her interviews, she never gave a truthful answer about herself or her family. Instead, she would tell a new, wonderful story each time. Just before her death, she invites biographer Margaret Lea to visit, promising to tell the true story of her life.
And she does tell it. It’s a tale as intricate as the plots of her other books, perhaps even surpassing them.
It’s a rather dark story, reminiscent of Jane Eyre (a book mentioned several times in the novel) and Consuelo. Yet it’s told in such a way that one cannot doubt it could have truly happened. Margaret Lea, and therefore the reader, has no reason to doubt.
The story ends, the lives of all the characters are recounted, and the mysteries are revealed. Only two questions remain unanswered. The old writer herself didn’t know the answer to the first. The second question isn’t even a question, but rather a small box filled with childhood treasures. Its appearance at the end of the book could signify something simple, or it could suggest that everything told was just another fairy tale and nothing more. But we’ll never know the answer—the writer has passed away.
The book is often described as a new Gothic novel and a revival of classic English literature from the Brontë era. I think the book will appeal to those who love the atmosphere of mysteries and secrets in decaying English estates, where both servants and masters have their own secrets, hidden safely within the old mansion, and the story spans multiple generations.
A film adaptation was released in 2013. I only saw the trailer, which captures the novel’s spirit well. However, I had pictured Margaret Lea as much younger.
Kirill Yeskov is a paleontologist, and writing science fiction and speculative literature is a hobby for him. The Gospel of Afranius is his first work, written in 1995, for which he received the “Big Zilant” award in Kazan. However, he became widely known to science fiction fans in 1999 with the release of The Last Ringbearer, which completely reinterprets the events of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. I would argue that Yeskov laid the groundwork for this approach in The Gospel of Afranius.
This book is an attempt to view the death and ascension of Christ through the lens of cold logic. The “novella” essentially consists of two parts. In the first, the author tries to assess the known facts and inconsistencies in the story as we know it from surviving sources and the Bible, making it more of an analytical essay.
I’m somewhat hesitant to read all of Fredrik Backman’s books at once, even though his first two really resonated with me, more than I expected. Maybe that’s exactly why I’m hesitant. Additionally, both of the books I’ve read left a lasting impression, and I feel the need to give myself time to process those emotions and let them settle.
That’s probably why, instead of jumping into his third novel, I decided to start with three short novellas that were recently published in Russian under the “unexpected” title—Three Novellas.
These are really just three very short stories, more like sketches. And all of them are quite sad. I’ve heard some readers refer to them as “stories about illnesses,” and in a way, that’s true.
The first one is about cancer and a little girl. And it’s quite unsettling how Backman, with such brevity and simplicity, conveys the inevitability of death, while also evoking a certain calm acceptance.
The As*trobiologists series by Olga Gromyko, which started off with a bang, gradually began to grow dull over time. The last novel, in which the main characters of the series didn’t participate at all, was a particularly tough read for me. However, I generally enjoy Olga’s books, so I decided not to give up on the series, even though, to be honest, I was afraid that this eighth book would be a real slog. But the novel See You on Cassandra! turned out to be livelier and more fun than the previous one. With this book, Olga has taken a few experimental steps.
First of all, the book was released only in digital format and hasn’t been printed on paper yet.
Secondly, in this novel, she seems to have decided to bring together practically all the characters previously mentioned in the series—both from the novels and the short stories.
The main focus, however, is not on the primary heroes, the crew of The Space Brain-Eater, but on the organization protecting cyborgs, which was gifted an entire planet—Cassandra—in one of the earlier books. The plot revolves around this very gift, as many are eager to share in such a fortune. So, at the center of the story are the guardians of the sentient cyborgs and their intelligent (and not-so-intelligent) wards, who find themselves embroiled in legal and other shenanigans to defend their property and good name. All the other characters either lend a hand or drop by for a visit.
The two-volume novel Diomedes, Son of Tydeus by Andrey Valentinov is formally considered the second in Valentinov’s Mycenaean cycle. However, it doesn’t have much connection with the first book, The Grey Kite. In fact, there’s not much about Mycenae in this book either—Mycenae is just another city-state here. It could just as easily be called part of a Trojan cycle since most of the story focuses on Troy.
What does connect it, though, is the parallels with H. L. Oldie’s Odysseus, Son of Laertes. Both books were written at the same time, with the authors collaborating during the writing process. The events overlap significantly, though in Valentinov’s novel, they are shown through the perspective of a different hero, Diomedes.
Both novels also share a similar narrative style. They begin with the heroes’ childhoods and trace their lives through their coming of age and the crucible of the Trojan War. Both books are a bit more challenging to read compared to other works by these authors.
Diomedes as a Greek hero is much less well-known compared to other figures. He didn’t perform any grand feats, so why should anyone remember him? He wasn’t Perseus, the slayer of Medusa. He wasn’t Heracles with his twelve labors. He wasn’t Theseus, the conqueror of the Minotaur. And he wasn’t Odysseus, who spent ten years returning to his beloved Penelope while encountering numerous adventures. Diomedes was just one of the many participants in the Trojan War.
It’s no secret that H.L. Oldie wrote their Achaean cycle in parallel with Andrey Valentinov’s Mycenaean cycle, which is why some characters migrate from one book to another. Of course, all of them come from real mythology, but in the books, they appear specifically in the interpretations of Oldie/Valentinov. Diomedes, Son of Tydeus is considered the second novel of the cycle, and it generally tells of events parallel to the book Odysseus, Son of Laertes by H.L. Oldie, sometimes offering an alternative perspective on the same events. However, the novel The Grey Kite stands apart, telling the story of Mycenae long before the events of the Trojan War.
And while I read the second novel about Diomedes many years ago, I somehow avoided The Grey Kite. Now, having plunged once again into the history of Ancient Greece, I decided to complete the marathon in full.
This is the story of a mercenary from Babylon who, by a twist of fate, becomes the ruler of Mycenae. The locals aren’t particularly fond of having an outsider on the throne, but things are not that simple. Even the protagonist himself starts to wonder — is he really an impostor?
Boris Akunin is gradually approaching modern times in his works on the history of Russia. He has already covered the era of the empresses, followed by a novel about the most famous one—Catherine the Great. The reign of this remarkable woman has long attracted creative minds. In fact, the third season of a TV series about her is currently airing. And indeed, many fascinating events took place during those years as Russia underwent rapid changes. Naturally, this novel was expected to be filled with intrigue, adventure, and honorable duels—the typical swashbuckling flair.
However, even the title of the latest novel, The Fortunate Adventures and Reflections of Lucius Catin, seemed a bit disconcerting. It didn’t have the adventurous spirit one might expect. In his previous book about the era of Peter the Great, Akunin skillfully portrayed the times without delving too deeply into the specifics. Yet, while I devoured that book, this one was more of a gradual read, something I had to return to in bursts.
Well, after reading The Grandson of Perseus and A Hero Must Be Alone, it was finally time to reread the third book in Henry Lion Oldie‘s Achaean cycle, Odysseus, Son of Laertes. This book chronologically concludes the story of the Heroes, descendants of the Olympian gods, although it was written second, long before The Grandson of Perseus. And in my opinion, it differs significantly from the other two books in how the authors approached the narrative.
As much as I enjoy A Hero Must Be Alone, this book, both the first time I read it many years ago and now, turned out to be challenging to get through. Especially in the beginning, I found myself frequently pausing and then forcing myself to continue. For me, there were too many metaphors, too much emphasis on beautifully crafted language and unspoken meanings, to the point where I started losing track of the main plot. And the plot itself is quite fragmented here, constantly interspersed with flashbacks and memories from other times.
To understand certain things, you need to have a solid knowledge of both mythology and the story of Odysseus (outside of this book). Only then can you compare and grasp some of the nuances in the narrative. Otherwise, you’re left with even more questions. Some parts are direct references to A Hero Must Be Alone, not just to the myths about Heracles but specifically to their interpretation in the previous book of the cycle. Of course, as the book says, “answers are the killers of questions.” But it feels unsettling when you have more questions than understanding. I know many people love Oldie for these hidden meanings, but for me, this was more of a drawback.
Odysseus is primarily known for his role in the Trojan War and the long story of his return home from that war (ten years is no joke). However, we see almost nothing of that famous journey here. Instead, we are shown how the war began in the first place, why everyone became so fixated on Helen of Troy, and why the gods needed the war in the first place.
“A Hero Must Be Alone” was the very first book I read from the works of Henry Lion Oldie. Probably because I’ve loved Greek mythology since childhood. I remember how this novel opened up a new author for me back then. Soon after, I read the next book in the “Achaean Cycle,” but I didn’t get to the third one until many years later. Although “The Grandson of Perseus” is the third book in the cycle, it’s the first one chronologically, as it tells the story of Amphitryon, the mortal father of the legendary Heracles.
After reading it, I decided it was time to go back to the beginning and reread “A Hero Must Be Alone“, the book I loved so much in my younger years. This year marks a special anniversary for the novel—25 years since its first publication. A solid milestone for a test of time. I’ll admit, I was a bit apprehensive because I’ve been burned a few times when rereading novels I had the fondest memories of, only to realize that each book has its time, and now it no longer resonates with me as it once did.
