Сердца четырёх

by Vladimir Sorokin

- Én mégis gyűlölöm Sztálint - Staube kiitta a konyakját -, következetlen volt, puhány, nem volt mersze határozni a legfontosabb kérdésekben, az értelmiség és a parasztság szövetségét játszotta ki a proletariátus ellen... szarházi, kibaszott egy szarházi! Az a legundorítóbb, amikor egy zseniális ember képtelen jól sáfárkodni a tehetségével. A Vörös Hadsereg lefejezése a harmincas évek elején a legnagyobb jótétemény lett volna, de 37-ben és 40-ben a legnagyobb bűn volt! Az elhájasodott parasztság likvidálása, a parasztgazdaságok kirablása, a kolhoztized bevezetése mind-mind zseniális lépés, nagyszerű, de...

Egy féllábú veterán, aki átélte Leningrád blokádját (vagy mégse?), egy szexterápiát gyakorló országos bajnok sportlövőnő, egy sztahanovista funkcionárius és egy kisfiú (akinek nemzedéke talán még "megmentheti Oroszországot"): ők a négyek. A négyek terveznek és szerveznek valamit, valami fontos, talányos és titkos, talán megváltó tettre készülnek. Ennek érdekében gyilkolnak, kínoznak, őket kínozzák, az emberi lelemény legvégső határait feszegető kegyetlenséggel. Gyötrelmek és kínok árán haladnak a cél felé, és jutnak el a távoli... hová is?
Vlagyimir Szorokin regénye a szovjethatalom alatt született, annak a végnapjaiban. Talán annak a totális diktatúrának akarta megadni a kegyelemdöfést.
Hová juthat el az ember erőszakkal és kegyetlenséggel?
A kérdés nyitott. És félő, hogy a válasz napjainkban fog megérkezni.

Genres: Fiction, Russia, Russian Literature, Literature, Science Fiction, Ebooks, Contemporary

355 pages, Hardcover

First published May 14, 1997

About the author

Vladimir Sorokin (Владимир Сорокин, Vlagyimir Szorokin) was born in a small town outside of Moscow in 1955. He trained as an engineer at the Moscow Institute of Oil and Gas, but turned to art and writing, becoming a major presence in the Moscow underground of the 1980s. His work was banned in the Soviet Union, and his first novel, The Queue, was published by the famed émigré dissident Andrei Sinyavsky in France in 1983. In 1992, Sorokin’s Collected Stories was nominated for the Russian Booker Prize; in 1999, the publication of the controversial novel Blue Lard, which included a sex scene between clones of Stalin and Khrushchev, led to public demonstrations against the book and to demands that Sorokin be prosecuted as a pornographer; in 2001, he received the Andrei Biely Award for outstanding contributions to Russian literature. Sorokin is also the author of the screenplays for the movies Moscow, The Kopeck, and 4, and of the libretto for Leonid Desyatnikov’s Rosenthal’s Children, the first new opera to be commissioned by the Bolshoi Theater since the 1970s. He has written numerous plays and short stories, and his work has been translated throughout the world. Among his most recent books are Sugar Kremlin and Day of the Oprichnik. He lives in Moscow.

Reviews

[♑︎♑︎♑︎ ♑︎♑︎♑︎ · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm sorry, yes, I need to apologize for loving this grotesque upsetting novel.

I'm also rolling around the idea in my head that I may be guilty of accepting this level of disgusting writing more from a man than a woman bec. I just gave Lapvona 1 star and how is this any different?

Ok now I'll explain to myself why it's different. Every single sentence felt inspired. The language cultivated admiration in me and I was never bored. The violence and repulsiveness never lets up--and yet I somehow feel great humanity and sympathy for these characters who all seem like thinking, feeling people even when they are surrounded by a flurry of sadomasochistic happenings.

After i finished reading, I spent a fairly long time just opening the pages and reading sentences at random and each time what I read exhilarated me, or shocked or surprised me. It's an incredible feat. It's a bracing thudding assault of language that never lets up. It's an alchemistic mixing of the minds between Sorokin and his translator Max Lawton and it invited me to participate in a one-of-a-kind reading experience.

"Ha-HA!" Shtaube yelled, bit into a lemon, and started to chew.

"She croaked, Buttercup," Mikola blew his nose loudly and wiped his hand off on his short sheepskin coat.

While waiting for desert, Olga began to play Napoleon's Tomb solitaire on the table, Rebrove smoked while looking out the window, Seryozha fiddled with his Rubik's cube, and Shtaube read out loud from Alexey Tolstoy's The Silver Prince.

Such a pummeling of semantic vigor elevated the absurd violence into a kind of ecstatic prayer.

Or maybe it's just me.

[Chris Via]

Video about this and other Sorokin works: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edtVH...

[Kuszma · Rating 4 out of 5]

Gyengéim az informatív utószavak, különösen ha a fordító követi el őket. Ez a kötet pedig tényleg kívánja, hogy egyet-mást megvilágítsunk vele kapcsolatban. Például miért haragudott Hetényi Zsuzsa Szorokinra tíz éven keresztül? De főleg: miért blokkolta eme ifjúkori zsenge kiadását a szerző oly sokáig?

Nos, a második kérdésre (félig) válaszolva (az elsőt hagyom lebegni): nem azért, mert rossz. Mert "A négyek szíve" egyáltalán nem rossz, sőt: egyenesen remekmű, ha a remekmű ismérve, hogy dermesztő konzekvenciával (és az ehhez elengedhetetlen írói profizmussal) építi fel a saját világát. Sajna ez nem feltétlenül jár együtt azzal, hogy a kötet élvezetet okoz - eleven példa erre a tényre ez a mű. Mert "A négyek szíve" bizonyos tekintetben olvashatatlan, brutális és céltalan erőszakosságával mintha egyenesen ki akarná taszítani magából az olvasót. De ez nem puszta provokáció és polgárpukkasztás, nem arról van szó, hogy Szorokinnak nincs más eszköze az ingerküszöb birizgálására, mint a Sade márkit megidéző (és meghaladó) szadizmus irodalomba emelése. Ez ugyanis egy rétegzett regény: van a már említett szadista vonal, az kimondhatatlan borzalmak* naturális, émelyítő leírása. De ezek mellett, ezzel organikusan egybeépülve ott találjuk az orosz/szovjet irodalmi hagyomány egyéb elemeit is. A szöveg megdöbbentő mesterségbeli tudással intonálja hol a realista klasszikusok hangját, hol a szocreál termelési regényeket, emelkedetten filozofál vagy lírai érzékenységgel operál - és amikor elhisszük neki, hogy ezt is tudja, megnyílik talpunk alatt a csapóajtó, és belezuhanunk egy aprólékosan ábrázolt rettenetbe. Ez a kontraszt, a nemzeti irodalom hagyományainak kifordítása (ami elképzelhetetlen ezen hagyományok ismerete és - szerintem - szeretete nélkül) az egész konstrukció motorja.

De nem csak a kontraszt tesz róla, hogy a regény nagyot üssön. Hanem az erőszak értelmetlensége, céltalansága is. Szorokin "hősei" persze nem "csak úgy" ölnek és kínoznak, hanem egy magasztos terv érdekében. Csak épp ez a terv felfoghatatlan az olvasó számára, ha utal is rá az író, hát nem létező szavak és értelmetlen számsorok mantrázásával teszi. Ezzel pedig a szöveg hideg űrré válik, amiben ösztönösen keresnénk ugyan a választ a "miért?" kérdésre, de közben pontosan tudjuk, hogy ettől a választól meg vagyunk fosztva. Ha van is valamiféle konklúzió, azt nehezen veszi be a gyomrunk: hogy ilyen az ember. Szellemesen társalog, egyesekkel kedves, másokat kegyetlenül megöl, és közben eszébe sem jut, hogy ő rossz volna. Erkölcsi univerzuma kettős, az egyikben gonosz, a másikban jó, és nem fogja fel e mesterséges kettéosztás totális abszurdumát. Ezért lehetséges a holokauszt, a gulág, vagy épp Bucsa.

* Megjegyzem, Szorokin legállatiasabb kínzásai sem mások, mint bevett orosz káromkodások szó szerinti megvalósításai. Tehát igazából nem is kimondhatatlanok (nagyon is kimondjuk őket), az író csak megadja nekik a megfelelő súlyt azzal, hogy aprólékosan ábrázolja, mit is jelentenek valójában.

[Paul Dembina · Rating 1 out of 5]

Utterly revolting, I couldn't stomach any more of the senseless violence and depravity. I get that it might be commenting on the chaos that was Russia in the aftermath of perestroika but it was too much for me.

DNF

[Seth Austin]

Video Review & Analysis on YouTube (featuring an interview with the novel's translator, Max Lawton)

Audio only version on Spotify and other podcast platforms

[Emilia Lacurezeanu · Rating 1 out of 5]

Merit o medalie de aur și o statuie fiindcă am terminat cartea asta!

Nu știu dacă a fost scrisă pentru o anumită categorie de oameni, una elitistă, extraordinar de inteligentă, care citește un mesaj secret printre rânduri, sau dacă este pur și simplu o mizerie vomitată pe hârtie, cert e că Vladimir Sorokin chiar m-a făcut să-mi reconsider principiul obsedant de a termina orice carte începută. Dacă vreodată în viețișoara asta voi mai da peste vreo carte atât de oripilantă, n-am să mai stau pe gânduri și am s-o abandonez, viață e prea scurtă pentru mizerii din astea.

Nu e vorba de scene în sine, cât e faptul că nu am înțeles efectiv nimic din carte. Scenele “oripilante” sunt doar niște chestii la care și eu m-aș fi putut gândi, nu e chiar atât de greu să stai și să coci ceva asemănător, pentru că mintea umană e capabilă să genereze foarte ușor atrocități; dar n-au avut niciun sens.

Cartea începuse foarte promițător, cu un bătrânel care îi atrage atenția unui puști că el a suferit de foame, când puștiul aruncă o pâine la gunoi doar pentru că a scăpat-o pe jos. Jur, scena a răscolit ceva în mine, m-a făcut să mă gândesc la perioada comunistă pe care au trăit-o bunicii mei și chiar și părinții, care nu a fost chiar roz; și mă gândeam, oau, uite o carte care să vorbească despre problemele de atunci. Asta era pe la pagina 9… pentru ca la pagina 12 lucrurile să ESCALADEZE rapid și neașteptat, iar după pagina 12 încolo să urmează doar pură nebunie.

Acțiuni și dialog de neînțeles, total absurde, fără vreo concluzie. Ori îmi scapă mie ceva, ori l-a mințit cineva pe Sorokin cum că ar fi scriitor. Tot citesc recenziile altora și nu ajung la nicio concluzie, nu îmi dau seama ce ar fi intenționat omul ăsta să exprime în această carte.

Ok, vrei să pui în scenă violența? Dă-ne, frate, și un cadru concret, niște propoziții cu predicat și subiect, explică-ne ce vor personajele, de ce acționează în modul în care o fac, care e scopul lor.

Poate reușește cineva să mă lumineze în legătură cu acest roman… până atunci, sper doar ca oamenii să nu mai considere orice chestie înșirată pe hârtie literatură, și mai ales literatură calitativă. E o linie foarte subțire între literatură și maculatură.

Nu recomand în vecii vecilor! Amin!

[Maria Medvedeva · Rating 3 out of 5]

Very disturbing and repulsive, but still I could not put it down. Let me just say that when I hear the word brainf...king, the picture I see is much more vivid after reading this book.

[michal k-c · Rating 4 out of 5]

read this in basically one sitting because it is equal parts propulsive and repulsive. real nasty piece of work. a shotgun spray of vulgarity in the already bloodied face of Soviet Realism. clearly one of the greats of transgressive lit, say his name alongside Sade, Robbe-Grillet, et al

[Klaas · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Hup.”

6,2,5,5 is all that’s left.

[Patrick · Rating 5 out of 5]

Their Four Hearts by Vladimir Sorokin and translated by Max Lawton was written in 1991, published shortly thereafter and translated to English in 2022 follows four Soviet Realist archetypes: blue collar factory worker man, athletic woman, innocent boy, and the wise old man. These four characters embark on hellish, disgusting, dastardly, depraved, other d words that are synonymous with the prior three adjectives for an unusual government cabal. The missions make no sense, there is no attempt to explain why the missions are conducted, it reads like a nightmare as the missions and actions conducted within make about as much sense as a dream. What is the plot? Beats me, did Sorokin know what it was, probably not, but I don't think that was the point. It feels like middle finger to that system of government along with artistic mandates. Maybe, maybe not not sure. I forgot to write a review after I finished this book last year so I am doing this off the cuff for some reason. Is this book worth reading? That depends, weak stomachs stay away, nasty acts are depicted of both the violent and sexual variety. After being a 13 months removed from it I am not even sure I liked it, it was quite an experience though, much like a memorable nightmare.

[Constantin Nisioi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cea mai fucked-up carte pe care am citit-o până acum ... mă încearcă multe sentimente cu privire la efectul ce l-a avut lectura ei, însă dacă aș face un rezumat, ar suna cam așa: cam la fiecare pagină îți vei spune "ce dracu' e asta ?!?"
Ce pot să zic: recomand și, în același timp, nu recomand această carte. De ce ? Pentru că îți va de gândit asupra sănătății mintale a omenirii.

[Mad Guy · Rating 2 out of 5]

Да, книга отторгает и в то же время притягивает. Непонятный трип с гуро, копро, педо...

Автор зацепил сначала, и вёл по книге в конец. Прочитал одним выходным днём, и был дико разочарован. Не знаю, чего я ожидал от книги, но несмотря на обилие жестокости — показалась немного глупой.

Читал скорее всего, чтобы понять смысл и чем же всё это кончится. Кончилось. А удовлетворения нет.

[Tom]

Top 5 most fucked up book I've ever read. Mission accomplished, Vladimir

[Peter · Rating 1 out of 5]

a book that probably deserves a preface. i understand that this book is an iconoclastic subversion of the USSR’s collapse… but between all of the meaningless violence and unparseable action i simply didn’t care by the end.

[Alex O'Connor · Rating 2 out of 5]

One of the most senselessly gruesome books I have ever read. There is some good stuff in there, very readable and some interesting allegory and history, but really stomach churning stuff... Probably the only Sorokin I will read. Really vile.

Cool art tho.

[Jason · Rating 2 out of 5]

I'll allow that with more context I may have read this book differently. Had I, say, looked a little more into what Sorokin was satirizing with each of the four main characters--reportedly based on four specific aspects of Soviet society--whose adventures are presented here, I might have seen the brilliance of Their Four Hearts. Or if I'd spent more time thinking about how provocative this book would have been when it was released at the collapse of the Soviet Union, I may have admired its daring and thought about how it's sometimes noble for artists to be shocking and disgusting when the purpose is to expose the dark side of the status quo. Maybe if I had read this in 1994 when I was young and loved anything transgressive instead in 2023 when I'm lame and soft and sensitive, this would have been a book I pretentiously made a whole thing about enjoying just to seem edgy.

But I can only read a book in the way I read it and the time I read it, and I didn't particularly enjoy Their Four Hearts. It's meandering and plotless involving four characters--a righteous Soviet worker, a former Russian figure skater, a war survivor/pederast, and a young boy--whose activities consist of brutal torture, murder, and dismemberment of random people, sexual activity and humiliation of each other, and assorted naked rituals that are completely inscrutable. Again, I'm sure there's something there, some kind of statement Sorokin is making that probably makes the book work better than it seems to. Aesthetically, though, it doesn't do much of anything for me. It's deeply unpleasant and utterly alien in characterization and character interaction. I can see how fans of Burroughs's Naked Lunch or Ballard's Crash might be into this.

[Mateo Jaramillo · Rating 4 out of 5]

When the reaction “what the fuck” transcends, and reaches new heights, previously unfathomed, of disgust and strange engrossing curiosity of how deep depravity dares to dig: the philosophical discussion henceforth arisen, on desire, power, and the absurdity of adulation is just fascinating. Sorokin has sinked his hooks, and i believe must be seriously explored, maybe in the same vein as Gaspar Noe, as an analysis on the nexus between violence and desire.

[Marian Smith · Rating 3 out of 5]

Okay, I confess, I only read about 1/3 of this book. I feel ashamed even admitting my incomplete reading on this site, but the characters were so depraved and their stories so depressing that I just could not finish. I imagine if I was Russian or knew more about Russian history and sociology I would appreciate the book and may be able to finish it.

Regarding the 1/3 I read - the action follows four diverse members of some sort of street gang as they kidnap, torture, and mutilate victims in a Grand Guignol-esque fashion. The old man character (Schaube) is the most sympathetic member of the gang as he pines for the good old days of glorious war before being bossed around and manipulated by the other three gangsters. Also Olga, the only female, has some sympathetic monologues and thoughts as well. However, Schaube and the other two adult gangsters molest and rape the fourth member of the gang - a young pre-teen boy. I also didn't understand the leader's character, the man who was I guess in his 30's - why he called the shots or why the other characters feared him so - and this unanswered question is perhaps my one reset in not finishing the book.

I did appreciate the absurdism of the novel, as I appreciate the same style in Tom Robbins's books or in CANDY by Terry Southern and Mason Hoffenberg or even THE LITTLE PRINCE. However Robbins, Southern/Hoffenberg, and Saint-Euxpery perhaps wisely craft a single protagonist that readers can latch onto and follow throughout their weird and winding worlds, protagonists that serve as necessary bread crumbs in absurd forests.

[Vladimir Silchenko · Rating 1 out of 5]

I'm probably missing something very special about this book.

[Charlie · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5 Stars. Whew lordy!

[Owen · Rating 1 out of 5]

Offensive in the extreme to the human spirit. I do not recommend reading this.

[синяя фура · Rating 2 out of 5]

My tiny brain can’t handle this galaxy-level intellect.

[Richard Derus · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rating: ?5*? but on what scale....

The Publisher Says: In many respects, Their Four Hearts is a book of endings and final things. Vladimir Sorokin wrote it in the year the Soviet Union collapsed and then didn't write fiction for ten years after completing it—his next book being the infamous Blue Lard (q.v.), which he wrote in 1998. Without exaggerating too much, one might call it the last book of the Russian twentieth century and Blue Lard the first book of the Russian twenty-first century. It is a novel about the failure of the Soviet Union, about its metaphysical designs, and about the violence it produced, but presented as God might see it or Bataille might write it.

Their Four Hearts follows the violent and nonsensical missions carried out by a group of four characters who represent Socialist Realist archetypes: Seryozha, a naive and optimistic young boy; Olga, a dedicated female athlete; Shtaube, a wise old man; and Rebrov, a factory worker and a Stakhanovite embodying Soviet manhood. However, the degradation inflicted upon them is hardly a Socialist Realist trope. Are the acts of violence they carry out a more realistic vision of what the Soviet Union forced its "heroes" to live out? A corporealization and desacralization of self-sacrificing acts of Soviet heroism? How the Soviet Union truly looked if you were to strip away the ideological infrastructure? As we see in the long monologues Shtaube performs for his companions—some of which are scatological nonsense and some of which are accurate reproductions of Soviet language—Sorokin is interested in burrowing down to the libidinal impulses that fuel a totalitarian system and forcing the reader to take part in them in a way that isn't entirely devoid of aesthetic pleasure.

As presented alongside Greg Klassen's brilliant charcoal illustrations, which have been compared to the work of Bruno Schulz by Alexander Genis and the work of Ralph Steadman as filtered through Francis Bacon by several gallerists, this angular work of fiction becomes a scatological storybook-world that the reader is dared to immerse themselves in.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: Before I begin, let me say:

→H↔E↔E↔D↔T↔H↔E↔C↔O↔N↔T↔E↔N↔T↔W↔A↔R↔N↔I↔N↔G←

If you need a content warning for gore, body horror, transgressive...anything...horseman, pass by. This is Sorokin, of Blue Lard fame, playing Literature's organ with the unsettling pedal fully depressed and the weird stop pulled all the way out. Comme d'habitude, then.

So, the audience now being self-winnowed, I'm going to tell you as little as I can about the transgressions and more about why I care enough to suggest you read this tooth-ripped bloody gobbet shoved in a sweaty gym sock of a book. Because you still can, that's why. This is a litmus test for collapse. If you read it and are not repulsed fairly often, you're probably on the barricades now. If you read this and think, "oh my gawd how'd he geta away with THAT?!" twice a chapter, you're marching somewhere, and shitposting about the 2025ness of it all, and postcarding the hell out of red districts. Everyone else, the "this is repulsive!" to the "this should be banned!" folk, why are you even here? It is not safe for you to be reading anything here when you're under curfew. Off to The New York Times, now, quick as you like, no hands outside the windows!

Like Blue Lard, like Moderan , like everything Burroughs or Dennis Cooper ever wrote, this weird, janky, slightly collapsing edifice of artifice requires you to participate. Very few things in the content-consuming 2025 we live in *require* you to participate to make them work. Sorokin's works aren't simple, even simplistic, slickly made entertainments, they are viscera of story hoicked out of places you didn't think there was spare narrative flesh. There wasn't spare narrative flesh. Vital organs of awareness and complicity and oblivious cruelty are wrenched out and held up before your dumbfounded gaze...and the chapter-opening art adds to that impact.

Sound unappealing? It's not here to appeal to you, it's here to make you reach inside yourself and find the pieces...they're only going to be pieces, I don't think inchoate monstruous sadists read my blog...of these characters in crises they did not make, or try to make better in any way. It is in all of us to look away, to accept pretty surfaces on ugly things, ugly selves. That response is not possible while reading
Their Four Hearts.

And that's the point of reading it. I think it could do you a power of good between retches.

[no · Rating 3 out of 5]

A guro manga comprising four caricatures of Soviet Realism perched at the end of the Soviet Union. The atrocity is excessive, stomach-churning, creative, and obviously satirical. Sometimes, a shocking moment crystallizes an idea, an outrage, nicely and tidily. Frequently in Their Four Hearts, an old person, often a parent of our cadre, is murdered and their corpse mutilated, and almost every time their gratuitous and pointless slaughter is juxtaposed against an evocation of the struggles of those older generations, especially ones with memories of World War II or Stalinist industrialization. Likewise, when as part of a dossier handoff Olga has to literally eat the shit of some agent living in a pleasant Dorogomilov condo watching Yeltsin on television, he lectures them on the feeling of betrayal among the farmers, and after, in one of the few moments where the ultraviolence and taboo sex seems to get to a character, Olga gets a pep talk from Rebrov beginning with "It's the easiest thing of all to give free reign to egoism!" It suggests that all the violence and ritual remained in the Soviet Union while all the ideological, political virtue, and optimism had long since flickered out, surviving as shaggy-dog speeches that veer into incoherent profanity or documents that seem to be written partially in another language. At other times, the violence scans as the return of the repressed, the sex and death drives, within Soviet society made not just visible but blown up and exaggerated to the point of hideous distortion. Given what was to come in 1990s Russia, maybe there's some truth to all that. Can't say I had fun, but Their Four Hearts becomes a surprisingly thoughtful experience once its shocks wear off. The Aristocrats!

Takeaway:
"'You understand,' the general began, 'if there is no trust or certainty that you can rely on someone, then everything loses its meaning. Everything. But, on the other hand, offending someone with your lack of trust and, so to speak, keeping them at a distance can also alienate them. Can alienate them forever. That's the problem. I hate that idiotic expression: "trust but verify." Stalinist apparatchiks and careerists thought it up while they were wading through corpses. It was important for them to pull the people apart and to sow suspicion and uncertainty into their work, into their very being. Which meant depriving them of their professional pride, separating them from their preferred occupations, dragging them into the swamp of factory squabbles, and turning them into pawns in, so to speak, partocratic games. As a consequence, their personhood was destroyed. Which is say, speaking in simple terms, this deprived them of the title of Man.'"

[Aaron McQuiston · Rating 4 out of 5]

When I reviewed Vladimir Sorokin’s The Blizzard in 2016, I started the review with the sentence: “Vladimir Sorokin is nuts.” I do not remember everything about The Blizzard, but I do know that this level of nuttiness in The Blizzard does not compare to Their Four Hearts. Nuts is not even where I would begin to describe what Sorokin does in this novel.

The story centers around four characters. They could be spies or terrorists or working for the government or working against the government. I think that at certain points, all of these things are true. These four characters have missions they carry out, missions that make no sense, looking for information that makes even less sense. All that we know is that these missions are violent, disgusting, and brutal. Deaths are horrific. The treatment of women is misogynistic and grotesque. There are moments that rival the best extreme horror novels, moments that make you cringe while you read and contemplate your life. Some of the reviews have the readers throwing away the book instead of finishing it. Those who quit early should not be alarmed that Their Four Hearts does to get any better and does not get any easier to read.

So why do I like this novel so much? This is a question that cannot really be explained. The entire novel is more about the four characters than the nonsense that surrounds them. These are archetypes of characters in 1990s Russian society, which was rapidly changing at the time. Even though each of the characters are horrible people in their own ways, there seems to be an earnestness in the way they feel about the importance of the missions that they are carrying out. Missions that seemingly have no meaning or purpose. In the end, I like the feeling of the book and the brutalness of the action. The four main characters have to contribute to this ugliness of fit in because the final mission might be one of sheer beauty.


Vladimir Sorokin’s next novel, Blue Lard, led to public demonstrations and calls for his execution as a pornographer, but I am certain that the reason why Blue Lard caused this reaction is because the people just did not read Their Four Hearts. I enjoyed it, but it is also something I would not want my mother to catch me reading.

[Inesa Iacob · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nici nu știu cum să încep recenzia acestei cărți... Nu este o carte ca oricare altele.
Dacă, de obicei, cunoști un autor prin cărțile sale, în cazul meu, în ce îl privește pe Vladimir Sorokin, l-am cunoscut întâi prin intermediul documentarului cu și despre el, "Sorokin trip", dar și a interviului pe care i l-a luat Svetlana Aleksievici. În "Sorokin trip" am găsit un scriitor fascinant, iar modul în care a fost realizat documentarul dezvăluie exact stilul lui - suprarealist, pe alocuri psihedelic, cu un Sorokin care se exprimă în cuvinte puține, care pornește de la o idee, după care te duce într-o direcție cu totul neașteptată, de rămâi năucit.
După acest documentar i-am căutat cărțile. Din păcate, am găsit doar "Inimile celor patru", pe care am citit-o dintr-o suflare.
Ce să zic... În carte am regăsit aceeași atmosferă din documentar, ba chiar dusă mai departe.
Are scene aparent absurde, multe dintre ele fiind de o violență ieșită din comun. Doar că scrisul lui Sorokin trebuie interpretat prin prisma conceptualismului. Întreaga carte este o metaforă în sine, iar acțiunea cărții nu o poți interpreta în mod tradițional. Dacă ajungi în capcana asta, ți se va părea un mare nonsens.
După mine, "Inimile celor patru" este o metaforă a vremurilor tulburi și, de foarte multe ori, absurde din Rusia anilor '90, urmare a unui regim totalitar sângeros, care a fost continuat printr-un alt tip de totalitarism, dar cu o față așa-zis umană a unei democrații închipuite.
Probabil șansa mea a fost să îl cunosc pe Sorokin întâi prin intermediul documentarului ca să pătrund în lumea lui, într-o măsură foarte mică, cel mai probabil.
Cert este că autorul nu e pe gustul tuturor și e nevoie de răbdare pentru a încerca să pătrunzi esența.
Sper să mai găsesc și alte cărți de-ale lui căci mi-a plăcut.

[Translator Monkey · Rating 4 out of 5]

Five stars for the translation, 3 and a half for the story. Like many before him, Sorokin does everything in his literary power to push the edges of what is and is not obscene. By now you've read all the standard complaints against the book: eroticized violence, sadism, pedophilia, etc., all presented as graphically as a reader can imagine - and beyond. Trying to describe the details of the plot while avoiding these scenes peppered throughout actually does a disservice to the book, because as graphic as those scenes are, they are presented in a manner that ultimately contribute to the finale, as difficult as it is to comprehend or explain. And simply putting those graphic scenes on display without regard to the context of the plot, just as equally neglects the overall package.

I've read professional reviews and critiques that try to explain the whole vision of what Sorokin is trying to present here. I'm not smart enough to either agree or disagree with those that I've read, but I can offer that they don't seem to answer any questions that I had popping up while reading the book. This is another of those fever-dream books I've recently read that necessitate a good long and hard think about what the blazes I just read.

Max Lawton has proven again that he is worth anything he charges for translating Sorokin's work. He's taken untranslatable passages and concepts and made the reader forget that this is not the language the work was written in. He's also taken untranslatable words and "anglified" them enough to make them understandable in the context. Not much more you can ask of a translator.

A good book overall; over time, I might be able to bump up the overall rating to 4.5 or 5, but it will take a bit of thinking and a possible re-read or two.

[Chazzy · Rating 3 out of 5]

The translation of this story is a 5/5, it definitely captured the essence of this book. However, the actual plot is a 3/5 for me. One of the things that this story does well is make its reader uncomfortable. The plot felt less streamlined than I wished it would have been and demanding of an older audience. Unfortunately, I do not fall under this audience and so I often found myself skipping the more vulgar scenes that felt too real for me. For example, the scene between the depraved old man who has sexual relations with a young child. I skipped those pages and from there found myself staring at the picture semi-horrified. The point of this scene, however, is not lost on me. I understand that it's meant to make me uncomfortable, it's meant to make me realize the convenience of violence, and yet there lacks a poetic nature that I wish was there. Even the scene with a woman was forced to shove her face into the ass of an older woman who hasn’t showered in days. The repugnance of the scene did not make me think “oh, he definitely means this as a way to depict the outright violence against women during the Soviet Union’s rule” it was more like “oh my effing god what am I reading?” Typically, in dystopian novels or novels reflecting the failure of the Soviet Union, there is figurative language that has the ability to make me immersed in the world without recoiling. Each blatant horror in this book felt too grown for my 20 years of life and it simply made me rush through the novel rather than consume what the true meaning of the book was supposed to be.

[Thomas · Rating 3 out of 5]

Starts out reading like an episode of Rob Zombie’s 1000 corpses or Devil’s Rejects series. Better brush up on your modern Russian history before you dive into this if you want to understand context and frankly eek out some meaning underneath the horror.

Grotesque sexual violence runs rampant through the plot as you follow the four Russian archetypes through their journey. Is Sorokin taking these various Russian ideals and dragging them through the mud (making them committing horrible acts devoid of remorse) in an obvious affront to the what the Russian propagandists would hold sacred? Are the Four meant to be the authoritarian representation of the USSR and the various innocent bystanders swept up by their story’s wake the ordinary Russian populace? The destruction of parental figure example of the government stepping in on the nuclear family—excising paternal and/or maternal influences and usurping authority over the molding of adolescence.

The vagueness or opacity in the story (the game, machine, tool) the Four use to determine their next move and would have them arrive at the novels climax intended to express the meaninglessness and meandering nature of human decision making; this place, at this time, these people, inflict this on them, and then what?

I ripped through the 208 pages in a matter of three days which is quick for me. Despite the revulsion to some of the content the reader is drawn to the pages. Effecting sticking mechanisms built in and a rewarding project to take on.

[Paul B · Rating 4 out of 5]

Too many novels that venture into intense levels of obscenity, depravity and violence never seem to know what comes after once they have taken this leap. For some, shock is the transgressive act; others may attempt, unconvincingly, to reach some evasive meaning through drawn-out analogies. Too few manage to look beyond the immediate horror, unease or discomfort of their writing to achieve something greater. In that regard this novel is a triumph. Mind you, you will be exposed to some of the most depraved acts in contemporary literature, but they never felt like the focus of the novel; they are merely consistent with the fantasized maximalism of the all-encompassing systemic collapse of the USSR during its last days of agony. I was personally more moved by the protagonists’ hopes, resolve and (relative) solidarity as they embark on this impossible journey towards salvation, a senseless bureaucratic nightmare of death and absurdity, than I was shocked by the physical violence, extreme torture or berserk sexuality. Maintaining a semblant of narrative continuity in this setting is an incredibly challenging balancing act that is perfectly realized in the first two-thirds of the novel. The last part unfortunately tilts further towards confusion, its action losing much of its narrative integrity until the last few pages when it reemerges for the final apotheosis. This is bold, uncompromising and challenging literature where the risks – of the author and the readers – are amply rewarded.