The title of Little Apple is a reference to the sobriquet applied by different characters to the novel’s principal Georg Vittorin, a 28-year-old Austrian who returns to Vienna after the Great War, having served out the war’s end in a Russian POW camp. “Little Apple” is also the title of a Russian folk song, which gained popularity during the Russian Revolution, and it describes in comic jauntiness, the meandering tale of an apple that witnesses the many scenes of Russian upheaval. And like that little apple, Georg Vittorin rolls through the grim, bloody, fractured landscape of the Bolshevik Revolution, in search of the former POW Camp Commandant Mikhail Mikhailovich Selyukov, whom he and his fellow prisoners deemed cruel and inhumane because he allowed a prisoner to die of illness. The degree to which Vittorin is personally aggrieved with Selyukov is the novel’s ironic seed, and Perutz intimates even at the beginning of the novel that Vittorin’s motive for seeking redress has less to do with Selyukov’s inhumanity than the personal affront Vittorin suffered in Selyukov’s presence.
Aboard the train back to Vienna, Vittorin and fellow returnees make a pact to avenge the dead prisoner, promising to exact Selyukov’s death. However, when they do reach Austria, everyone is more concerned with returning to civilian normalcy, even as the country is unraveling financially and politically. When Vittorin presses the others to honor their pledge, they express disinterest or mock him. Only one other man is willing to return to Russian with Vittorin, but his motives are mixed, since he’s embezzled money from his employer, a shady lawyer.
Vittorin’s access to Russia is hindered by border control bureaucracy, and his companion is held back for deportation. Once in Russia, Vittorin is held in a violent stasis by opposing Russian forces during its tumultuous October Revolution. The Tsarist’s White forces continue for almost 18 months to wage war with Lenin and Trotsky’s Red forces, and Vittorin is caught in the middle of this, trying to locate Selyukov. In the process of searching out Selyukov, Vittorin allies himself at different times with different sides, including counter-revolutionary forces independent of the White army. Vittorin is variously shot at, imprisoned, and threatened with execution. Exigencies make him temporarily a leader of a Red army division, and he leads it into a suicide charge in order to reach Selyukov.
After Russia’s eventual submission to Bolshevik forces, Vittorin’s subsequent search for Selyukov takes him to Italy and Turkey, where in Constantinople he assumes for a while a gigolo’s existence. More travels and travails follow, and he finds himself derelict in Paris, where he encounters his Austrian girlfriend on the arm of another man. He discovers in Paris that there is a registry of Russian refugees, and he tracks Selyukov to an address in Vienna. Two years have elapsed, and he’s suffered so much—having given up his family, his fiancee, and his career, living as a beggar, laborer, soldier, sick with fever and typhoid, almost always near starvation—that he recognizes the exquisite irony: by staying put in Vienna he might have simply waited out Selyukov’s arrival. When he reaches Vienna to finally confront Selyukov, he finds that the former proud, cruel commandant has been reduced to a scrabbling life as a carver and maker of Russian toys and tchotchkes. Further, Selyukov does not recognize Vittorin, much less remember the personal slight that so enraged Vittorin and made his quest for revenge an international manhunt.
After this interview with the former Russian POW commandant and his former orderly, Vittorin suddenly realizes that there is no point, that the whole affair, the two years of fevered passion are at an end. He knows that he will simply settle into a civilian life, and he dismisses the two years as if they were no more than the raindrops he unconsciously strikes off his coat.
The novel’s concluding ironies—particularly that Selyukov awaits Vittorin in Vienna—are intimated early in the novel, so it is not for a dramatic climax that one reads this novel. Instead, Perutz is concerned with creating a picaresque landscape that enables his little rolling apple, Vittorin, to blithely ignore his fate, that no matter what the circumstances around him, he—the apple—will be eaten in the end. It’s a fun conceit, and there is some pleasure in observing Vittorin’s obsessive drive to complete his mission, which hinges on such a tenuous pretext, a dismissive verbal slight. Perutz observes that the two years of obsession were pointless, that taking umbrage in fact made life worse for Vittorin and those around him. For readers, however, the little apple’s rolling course offers a vibrant primer—an eastern European perspective—on the chaos of the Bolshevik Revolution.