Vladivostok Circus

by Elisa Shua Dusapin, Aneesa Abbas Higgins (Translation)

Tonight is the opening night. There are birds perched everywhere, on the power lines, the guy ropes, the strings of light that festoon the tent … when I think of all those little bodies suspended between earth and sky, it makes me smile to remind myself that for some of them, their first flight begins with a fall.

Nathalie arrives at the circus in Vladivostok, Russia, fresh out of fashion school in Geneva. She is there to design the costumes for a trio of artists who are due to perform one of the most dangerous acts of all: the Russian Bar.

As winter approaches, the season at Vladivostok is winding down, leaving the windy port city empty as the performers rush off to catch trains, boats and buses home; all except the Russian bar trio and their manager. They are scheduled to perform at a festival in Ulan Ude, just before Christmas.

What ensues is an intimate and beguiling account of four people learning to work with and trust one another. This is a book about the delicate balance that must be achieved when flirting with death in such spectacular fashion, set against the backdrop of a cloudy ocean and immersing the reader into Dusapin’s trademark dreamlike prose.

Genres: Fiction, Literary Fiction, Russia, Contemporary, France, Novella, French Literature

240 pages, Paperback

First published February 8, 2024

About the author

Elisa Shua Dusapin was born in France in 1992 and raised in Paris, Seoul and Switzerland. Winter in Sokcho (Hiver à Sokcho) is her first novel. Published in 2016 to wide acclaim, it was awarded the Prix Robert Walser and the Prix Régine Desforges and has been translated into six languages.

Reviews

[emma · Rating 4 out of 5]

me about circuses in real life: :/
me about circuses in books: :)

https://emmareadstoomuch.substack.com...

dusapin's books are atmospheric, immersive, but unlike many books that carry those descriptors, there's nothing fantastical about their settings. they're often mundane, populated by drudgery and disappointment, and we're left frantically wondering the same question that haunts each of her protagonists: why am i here?

in spite of its unusual setup — a costume designer in nowheresville russia attempting to put together looks for a trio of gravity-defying gymnasts in an off-season circus — this book has the same query at its core.

nathalie doesn't know why she's found herself in any place she's ever been, least of all this random-ass one. and yet, just as the artists have to trust each other not to fall, she has to learn how to trust where she is and where she's going.

nothing much happens in this book, as with all of dusapin's, but it's a subtle, clarifying novel about so many of the weirdest parts of being alive: relationships that feel all-important but are snuffed out by time, the haunting desire for purpose, the phenomenon of people eating absurd foods on public transit. that is not nothing.

bottom line: not her strongest, but i enjoyed a lot here.

[Alwynne · Rating 4 out of 5]

Behind the scenes at a pachinko parlour, an off-season holiday resort, Elisa Shua Dusapin seems intent on exploring what’s usually hidden from sight. Here she follows budding, costume designer Nathalie newly arrived at Vladivostok Circus to work with members of a renowned Russian bar troupe. The Circus is closing down for the winter but this small group remains on site, refining a new act for an upcoming event. It’s a tense time, Russian bar is demanding and dangerous, Leon supervises, as performers Anton and Nino form the base, a bar hoisted on their shoulders, for Anna the flyer as she spins high above them. Their interactions depend on trust plus a willingness to risk everything, something Nathalie finds difficult to comprehend. Her earlier experiences have left her isolated and painfully self-conscious. But she’s drawn to Vladivostok, where she briefly lived along with her father, a visiting lecturer at a local university, a stay that seems one of her few happy, childhood memories.

Part slice-of-life, part unorthodox coming-of-age narrative, Vladivostok Circus is a meticulous recreation of an enclosed society with its own culture and traditions, tracing its impact on outsider Nathalie as she struggles to find her place with a tight-knit band of performers. An emphasis on the scattered and the liminal, being caught between people and between places, surfaces throughout: Vladivostok poised between Europe and Asia; Nathalie caught between past, present and uncertain future; and flyer Anna "suspended between earth and sky." There’s an acute sense of fragility: of bodies; of connections between people; and between animals. The embodied and animality are key themes, Leon’s adopted cat Buck, whose exposed skin points to a history of neglect, the lingering scent of the long-dead animals once central to the Circus’s repertoire, the costumes that can transform human into animal. But embodiment is inextricably tied to transience and mortality, here played out through Buck’s creeping illness. Nathalie’s relationship with her own body is troubled, a stark contrast to the bar performers who focus on sustaining strength and agility, pushing their bodies to the farthest limits. Anna’s willingness to fly high despite the threat of death introduces the possibility of transcendence, however fleeting, of defying gravity, breaking free of the weight of things.

Perhaps not quite as arresting as previous pieces, Dusapin’s novel’s still richly atmospheric, absorbing and sensitively observed, honing in on small details, smells, sights and sounds. Like Dusapin’s earlier work, there’s little in the way of conventional plot, although Dusapin injects an element of mystery by interspersing Circus scenes with puzzling extracts from a letter written by Nathalie to her father. A letter which gradually alters our perspective on Nathalie’s experience of Vladivostok and its role in her developing sense of self. Translated by Aneesa Abbas Higgins.

Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher Open Letter for an ARC

Rating: 3.5

[Daniel Shindler · Rating 5 out of 5]

In her third novel, Elisa Shua Dusapin again focuses on the human dilemmas connected with intimacy, inclusion and fear. “Vladivostok Circus” combines the visceral feel of the physical world with the emotional challenges that repose within the human psyche. The closed society of a circus is the portal for a journey of discovery for a disparate group striving to build connections and discover trust.

“They don’t seem to be expecting me. The man in the ticket booth checks the list of names for the hundredth time….I’m here for the costumes, I tell him again. In the end, he turns away, stares at a television screen. He probably doesn’t speak English, I think to myself.I sit down on my suitcase….”

This passage opens the book and introduces Nathalie, who is the novel’s narrator. She is a recent graduate of a fashion school and has been commissioned to design costumes for a trio of bar performers in the Vladivostok Circus. Her unexpected arrival that culminates in her sitting on her suitcase conjures the image of a lonely outsider nervously peering into an unfamiliar closed society, wary of the future. Shortly thereafter, she meets the members of the troupe. Leon, a Canadian, is the manager. Anton, an aging strongman and Nino, his youthful protege, form the base of the act.They hold the poles that both launch and receive Anna, the flyer who soars in the air performing a dexterous and dangerous routine. She is a recent addition to the act, replacing her predecessor who suffered a career ending injury while performing.

The circus is disbanding for the winter but the bar troupe will remain behind to practice and work on their costumes. The deserted circus and the frost outside seem to draw the group close and then push them apart as they begin to engage in cycles of nascent intimacy that are punctuated by cautious emotional retreat. Their act requires both physical skill and mental fortitude. A pulled muscle or turned ankle can arouse feelings of the body’s betrayal which leads to an erosion of confidence. Each participant must balance their physical and emotional well being while attempting to bond with their fellow performers and support group.

The novel is delivered in closely observed incisive prose that portrays the circus as both an art form and a constantly shifting physical organism. The circus consequently becomes a metaphor for the depths of human interaction that poses a central question: how does one develop the trust and deep connection necessary to successfully function within a group? Through gradual exposition and a series of vignettes, the novel coheres into both a coming of age story for Nathalie and a tenuous emotional awakening for the members of the troupe.

The struggle for self definition and emotional bonding is a familiar thematic concern in Dusapin’s work.While this novel does not introduce new depths to her work, it is still artfully executed and engrossing to read.4.5 stars rounded to 5.

[Sofia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dusapin takes us to the circus and makes us part of an intimate stay with a Russian bar troupe.

I did not even know what a Russian bar was before I started, so I googled a lot and youtubed as well. Fascinating.

I enjoyed the quiet reflections as we see the fear, the trust interchanged, the ideas, the work. Shouldering the bar but also the fears, shouldering life itself.

An ARC kindly given by the author/publisher via Edelweiss

[Maxwell · Rating 5 out of 5]

Elisa Shua Dusapin delivers another finely drawn portrait of a character in flux, this time sending her to the circus. Following her prize winning English debut Winter in Sokcho and its follow-up The Pachinko Parlour, Dusapin continues her exploration of loneliness and identity in the port city of Vladivostok as fall turns to winter.

Nathalie, a recent college graduate with an emphasis in clothing design, is commissioned to help a trio of circus performers with their costumes for an upcoming exhibition. She arrives at the circus as it closes for the winter, where Nathalie and the trio, along with Leon the choreographer and manager, will stay on to rehearse and design their new act. The trio is made up of Anton and Nino who have worked together for 15 years, a Russian and German respectively—and Anna, a Ukrainian woman about Nathalie's age that is replacing the previous 'flyer' of their Russian bar act, after an incident occurred leaving Igor, the previous flyer, unable to perform.

(It's worth noting this book was written and published in French in 2020, years before the Russian invasion of Ukraine; so while this story itself never denotes when it takes place, it's easier to imagine Anna's character and behaviors, speaking Russian and living in a Russian city, based on the context in which the story itself was created).

At first, Nathalie feels uncomfortable with such close contact and cohabiting with people she barely knows in a city she hasn't been to in nearly twenty years. But as the cold of winter descends and the characters begin to warm up to each other, she begins to reveal more of her guarded self and learns more about the others in return.

In a way this book reads well with Dusapin's other two novels in a loose sort of trilogy. Where she was in South Korea and Japan before, she triangulates her settings on the Russian coastline and even describes the setting in relation to some of these previous places. Nathalie feels dislocated in a way that her other protagonists have as well. We continue themes of language and identity, communication and the arts, through the ways in which characters speak to one another—both verbally and through shared experiences.

One of the highlights of the novel comes about mid-way through when Anton and Nino convince Nathalie to get on the bar and see what Anna experiences when they perform. From there, a sort of trust is developed as Dusapin explores how people in close proximity, especially those endeavoring to push the boundaries of art and creativity, must collaborate with one another. You see the barriers break down as the characters continue to develop bonds, often unspoken.

I won't lie and say this book hooked me immediately like her previous novels did. However, with each of her books, each time I read it, I immediately go back to the beginning and read it once again. This one was no exception. They are so short, but pack a punch, and while they may seem simple, there's a lot of nuance and layers to the story, the characters, their journeys, that you pick up on while re-reading.

Once I finished my 2nd reading of this, I was convinced by its brilliance, its subtlety and beauty, and that Dusapin is one of my favorite living writers. I cannot see what she does next (and hope that Higgins continues to translate with Luke Bird's excellent cover designs).

[s.penkevich [hiatus-will return-miss you all]]

DROP EVERYTHING THIS IS NOT A DRILL THERE IS A NEW ELISA SHUA DUSAPIN

[CJ Alberts]

Can’t believe she managed to make the circus, even in the off season, supremely boring! The ending pissed me OFF

[Emmeline · Rating 2 out of 5]

2.5 stars

Nathalie is a recent graduate in costume design, and her first job is to go to Siberia and make costumes for a Russian bar act at Vladivostok Circus. The Russian bar involves two strong men holding a flexible bar and a “flyer,” who performs leaps and twists while airborne, then lands back on the bar. I saw this for the first time at a circus last year, and it’s definitely heart-in-mouth enchanting.

The book is considerably less so. I have to admit that the very premise seemed odd to me. Why is the circus hiring a recent graduate with no experience? How can Nathalie possibly be so green she doesn’t know that circus performers need garments that look good but also don’t impede their act? Small gripes, but still.

I’ve read all of Elisa Shua Dusapin’s translated books in the order they appeared, more or less upon release. That’s not an experience I’ve had with anyone else I can think of. But I read Winter in Sokcho early, and loved it. I read an ARC of the Pachinko Parlour, and while it didn’t resonate emotionally quite as much as its predecessor, I thought it was very well done.

This is a hot mess. Why?

Dusapin is a writer of failed communication, silence and space on the page. All of her protagonists have been young women who are caught between worlds. The nameless protagonist of Winter in Sokcho is Korean, but a product of her mother’s fling with a French sailor. She doesn’t quite fit in, and locals sometimes give her English menus. It makes her twitchy. Swiss Claire in The Pachinko Parlour visits her grandparents in Tokyo, but they are Korean migrants from fifty years prior. Claire speaks Japanese, but not Korean because it wasn’t offered by her university, and her grandparents will speak Japanese on the street but not to her. Here, Nathalie is European, but motherless, and her father lives in America and won’t visit because he’s terrified of flying. She exists in a semi-orphan state. While I found the first two protagonists had legitimate problems that made them quiet, truncated individuals, Nathalie’s difficulties never quite coalesced into something I could understand. She seemed needlessly morose, and her silence was often maddening. Actually, she isn’t silent. Dusapin tries to frame her as someone who talks compulsively. But that never felt real… it felt like a gimmick to differentiate her from the other two. No one responds when Nathalie talks. I think she is maybe talking in her own head, just like the others.

But the biggest issue with this book, and ironically considering the role of the “flyer,” – it absolutely never took off. People have problems. They mutter a bit about their problems. The others don’t say anything. Everyone is depressed, maybe. Occasionally someone speaks a pretentious line that hints at some sort of poetic reckoning. But it doesn’t mean anything. There is absolutely no resolution, perhaps because there actually isn’t anything going on, anything to resolve.

I will say for Dusapin that she at least tries to make her books different to one another. They are unmistakably hers, yet each time they have a different setting, and a protagonist of a different nationality/mix of nationalities. She seems to have taken some pains to make them not about her, which is refreshing in a sea of autofiction. In this case, she just seems to have forgotten to make the book about something.

It fell flat, but I’ll still be keeping an eye out for the next one (though if the next one falls flat…).

[Ruben · Rating 4 out of 5]

A young French student in costume design starts an internship at Vladivostok Circus, developing the outfits for a famous trio that performs the dangerous 'Russian bar' act. She spends six months with them, in relative isolation given the circus is closed and they train for an important event.

Nothing extraordinary happens, but - as in Shua Dusapin's other books - the setting in Russia's far east and the atmosphere are what bring the novella to life. I was never bored.

It made me think of the exchanges and internships we take on as students, in far away countries, alone. Maybe afterwards we feel our professional contribution wasn't too important, but the experience has an impact, the people we become close with and then never see again, dealing with uncertainty, cultural differences, language gap.

Highly recommended (and, also not unimportant, the English version by Daunt Books that I read has a very nice feel to it).

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 3 out of 5]

I watch the clips of their routine with Igor again. The camera is almost always on the flyer, hardly ever on the bases. Anton looks younger. He doesn't have that deep line across his forehead. But with the make-up and lighting it's hard to see much of his face.

Vladivostok Circus is Aneesa Abbas Higgins's translation of the 2020 novel of the same title by Elisa Shua Dusapin.

This is the third book from the author/translator after the brilliant Winter in Sokcho, winner of the National Book Award for Translated Literature, and The Pachinko Parlour, all with a brilliant cover design from Luke Bird, which is establishing a distinctive brand for Dusapin/Abbas Higgins's novels in their own right, e.g. with their use of non-latin scripts representing the settings (Korea, Japan and Russian respectively).





Both of those novels played on the author's part Korean heritage, but here Dusapin has relocated the action to Vladivostok which, in the novel's portrayal, is a city on the edge of a continent, it's back turned to Russia and instead gazing outward to thr sea and China, Japan and Korea.

As with the two previous novels, Dusapin's focus in on people left behind in liminal spaces. Here our narrator Nathalie has left an art college in Geneva, where she specialised in costume design, and has been hired to join a troupe at the, vividly portrayed, Vladivostok Circus:

Backstage, a pungent animal smell hits me. Straw scattered on the ground. Streaks of dirt on the walls. Like a stable but with velvet lining—hoops instead of horses, waist-high wooden balls, metal poles, tangles of cables, drones in the shape of planes, straw hats hanging on hooks. Leon tugs a cord and the curtains part.

I walk out into the ring. Carpeting on the ground, rumpled here and there, talcum powder and splashes of water, traces of the show that finished earlier. The space seems smaller than I’d expected, less imposing than when seen from the outside.

But, and rather to her surprise, she finds that the circus itself is finishing its season and moving on, and the only ones remaining in the deserted circus grounds are her, a trio of performers and their performance director. While the trio perfect the technical aspects of their act for a international circus festival competition in Ulan-Ude in a few months, her role is to choreograph the act and design their outfits.

All I know about the three I’m working with is that they’re famous for their Black Bird number, in which Igor, the flyer, performs five perilous triple jumps on the Russian bar. I’ve looked it up and gleaned some information about this piece of equipment: it’s a flexible bar, three meters in length with a diameter of twenty centimeters. The two bases carry the bar on their shoulders while the third member of the group executes moves on it, leaping high in the air and flying free, without a wire. It’s one of the most dangerous of all circus acts.

“Were you the one who created the number with Igor?” I ask.

“No, not me. I didn’t even know him before his accident.”

“Accident?”

“Didn’t you know? He hasn’t jumped for five years. They have a new flyer. Anna.”

I understand the novel was inspired by a trip the author took to Vladivostok and a trio she herself met, and that perhaps explains why this novel feels more researched than her previous works. The mechanics and requirements of the Russian Bar act (see here for a video) are interesting, but sat uneasily for me with Dusapin's trademark limpid prose, and the dreamlike qualities of her first two novels are rather absent here.

More successful is her focus on the delicate relationship between the five people involved, from a variety of international backgrounds, and how trust can be built, the Russian Bar used as a metaphor for this. And read in 2024 (having been published earlier) it is striking to consider the implausibility today of the set up - a Ukranian athlete happy to perform, and places her life at risk, in the country that is attempting to destroy hers.

She places a chair on the bar, balances it on two legs. They hold it in place for as long as they can, barely moving a muscle. Sometimes Leon is there with me. He explains to me why exercises of this kind are so important: the flyer has to rely entirely on the bases for balance and not try to stabilise herself at all. Think of Anna as the chair, he says, that’s how passive she has to be. It’s one of the hardest things about the Russian bar discipline.

For me, the novel has a bit too much on the Russian bar act itself and rather less on the Korean-diaspora which grabbed my personal interest in the previous two books. So a novel I'd recommend to others but less successful for me versus my high expectations of the author.

[Nadine in California · Rating 4 out of 5]

Although there are no big events or dramatic scenes in this book, I was engrossed and never wanted to put the book down. The exoticism of the setting (a closed Siberian Circus) and drama of the set-up (three famous acrobats practicing an extremely dangerous performance for an upcoming competition) could have powered a technicolor, scenery-chewing story. Dusapin does just the opposite, showing the tawdriness of the circus buildings and the workmanlike behavior of the acrobats, making everything as aggressively ordinary as possible. The story is told through the narrator, a quiet, repressed young costume designer on her first professional job. Refracted through Nathalie, we gradually get glimpses of the inner lives of the other characters, their relationships with each other, the layers of trust and isolation between them. The language (translated from the French by Aneesa Abbas Higgins) is fittingly minimal and understated. I'm sure there will be differences of opinion about the ending, but I think it was a perfect fit for all that came before. I liked Winter in Sokcho very much and look forward to Pachinko Parlor and anything she writes in the future, although I hope she sticks with 'little gem' books, which really suit her style.

[Rachel · Rating 4 out of 5]

I’m not sure why this worked for me but it did. Set in Vladivostok at the tail end of the circus season, Nathalie, straight out of university, has just arrived in order to spend a few weeks designing costumes for the Russian bar trio who are set to perform at a festival right before the holidays. Over these few weeks, the trio, Nathalie, and the director eat, sleep, train, and we, the reader, slowly begin to understand the history of the trio and how they have all ended up together in this place.

I found this so absorbing. Dusapin succeeds in creating this liminal space where everything and everyone is in a state of in-between: between jobs, seasons, performances. I loved the microcosm that’s created between these five people and the dynamic of living so intimately with people who are essentially strangers.

There’s an awkwardness to the dialogue, though, that at times felt intentional and self aware and at others, not as much. I often felt as if Dusapin had written a scene and then gone in and deleted all of connecting pieces of dialogue in the middle, leaving only the first, middle and last lines. I kept finding myself thinking, “what a strange thing to say”, during the characters’ interactions with each other.

I wished for a little bit more introspection from Nathalie, especially with it being a first person narration. I keep reading reviews emphasizing the introspective nature of this novel, but I didn’t find that to be the case. I never felt as if we really got in her head or understood her thoughts, feelings, and motivations.

So, I have critiques but I really did enjoy it.

[Han Preston · Rating 2 out of 5]

What a nothing book. It gains an extra star purely because the pages in the physical book were nice (big borders, good font, plenty of white space etc). But the storyline, characters and prose were all lacking. Just left me thinking “what was the point of that?”

[fatma · Rating 3 out of 5]

supremely underwhelming

[Rachel Louise Atkin · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is my favourite from Shua Dusapin so far. It follows a designer who goes to stay with three circus performers at their circus so that she can create new costumes for their new performance. The book follows the four as they bond together, travel through Russia and learn to work with each other.

Shua Dusapin is known for writing really quiet and introspective books and this one is no different. Not much happens in terms of plot and is more just about a bunch of characters learning to live with each other. None of her books have ever blown me away but I particularly enjoyed the setting and the characters of this one a lot. If you like quiet books that examine human relationships then you will enjoy her books a lot.

[Stacia · Rating 4 out of 5]

I very much enjoyed this story, an intimate look at trust & pushing limits (as well as knowing when to stop & walk away). There's not a lot of action as it's more about the small group learning to trust each other & themselves while reaching for the peak of human performance. Subtle, layered, & quietly captivating. (WiT 2025.)

[Andy Weston · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nathalie, a twenty two year old French graduate in fashion design has landed a short-term contract to design costumes for an upcoming and new Russian high bar trapeze act who are training and planning to premiere at a circus festival competition in Ulan-Ude. As preparation they perform at the Vladivostock Circus, and as Nathalie arrives, the circus is in its last few days of the season. She, the trio, and Leon, their manager and general circus handyman, then stay on at the circus compound by themselves as the new number is being prepared.

There is a plot to the novel's three parts, which is compelling in itself, with a tense finale at the competition in Ulan-Ude, but it is the day-to-day, and the personal relationships that Dusapin is primarily concerned with. Presenting her characters at a particular stage in their lives is one of the strengths of Dusapin's writing, and that is certainly the case here. This is only a brief episode in Nathalie's life, which she is looking back at, but was clearly significant in forming her character. It is evident that her intimate and lasting personal connections are now elsewhere, and with others.

It’s a quiet and medatative story of shared endeavour, and one which to me, has particular significance, having taken several such roles around the world at various times of my life. The relationships formed during those periods of just a few months were strong ones, but terminated once the post was finished. One leaves intending to stay in touch, writes a few mails for a while, then never hear from each other again. It’s not a grievance, it’s just how life is. We move on. But it doesn't mean that that period in one's life was any less significant.

And then there's the location.. well, I guess I am fortunate to have undertaken roles in the places I have done in the world, but Vladivostock, and East Siberia, of that I am envious..

[Joe.reads · Rating 3 out of 5]

It’s hard not to describe this book as a little bit of a disappointment. Dusapin’s other works have ranked amongst my favourites so for this one to fall a little flat is quite disheartening.

Everything is there from her previous books; a narrator who feels disconnected from the world around her, a dream-like and almost liminal setting, sharp prose and a wonderful translation. But it’s hard at any one time to understand why you should care at all about anything that happens in this book. What are the wants or intentions of the narrator? What are her intentions aside from making the costumes for the circus trio? It all feels a little pointless. Dusapin’s intentions with her previous two books have been so clear so it makes this book feel a little meandering and unfocused. This is also Dusapin’s longest work and whilst it’s only just over 200 pages it doesn’t exactly warrant it’s length. It feels a little overly drawn out. I think 50 or so pages definitely could have been shaved off and it may have improved my overall feeling about the book.

It’s not a bad book by any stretch but it’s difficult to not be let down when this book is so middling and what has come before was so strong.

[Tundra · Rating 4 out of 5]

A weirdly wonderful story that has an intensity bordering on claustrophobia. Transported to Vladivostok and embedded with a Russian bar trio who are rehearsing an extremely dangerous act to perform at a competition in Ulan Ude couldn’t be further from anything I am familiar with. This is a wonderful story about the intensity of relationships and trust required to perform a high stakes act.

[Camille · Rating 3 out of 5]

Un beau texte sur le cirque, les dangers et la passion des gens du métier.
Un peu trop court. La fin est abrupte et nous laisse un sentiment que l'ouvrage n'est pas terminé.
Belle écriture.

[Yahaira · Rating 3 out of 5]

Underwhelming

[Max Nemtsov · Rating 2 out of 5]

давно собирался прочесть это упоминание некогда родного города от швейцарско-корейской красотки. с первых страниц ясно, что во владивостокском цирке она не была ни разу, как и во Владивостоке - и, в общем, даже не в курсе, что на этом месте существовал некогда такой совецкий союз, хотя знает, как ни удивительно, что Владивосток при нем был закрытым городом. она явно считает, что в аэропорт из центра можно добраться катером, а город смотрит прямо на океан, причем центр его располагается где-то на горе. считает, что на русском острове сперва завели университет, а потом построили мост, и студенты сперва ездили на занятия на пароме. то, что магазин военторга находится на главной улице, она, конечно, угадала, но вот внутри вряд ли была, потому что никакого представления о его реальном ассортименте у нее нет. "Под большим мостом туда-сюда снуют военные корабли". ЖД вокзал она описала, в общем, правильно, хоть и не без ошибок, а вот пассажирская линия из Владивостока в Америку и в лучшие времена была утопией.
с едой у нее туговато: под cheese pancakes они с переводчицей, кажется, имеют в виду сырники, под Georgian cheese-bread - хачапури, а также присутствуют, разумеется, "фаршированные капустные листья" (в кондитерской). автор считает, что русские берут с собой в поезд "a large bowl of jellied meat", в коем опознан холодец, который потом зачем-то поливают кипятком.
вообще же роман написан в беспомощном настоящем времени. книжка в целом довольно глупая и вполне никчемная и ненужная, ее единственное достоинство в том, что она короткая.

[Nel · Rating 2 out of 5]

dnf
i cant focus on this book to save my life. its like reading the same page over and over again.

[Dylan Kakoulli · Rating 2 out of 5]

Surreal or just plain simply strange -either way, this book will most definitely be “marmite” for many…

And by that I mean, you’ll either love(or at least “get” it), or hate (or at least not “vibe” with what awaits you)

My one piece of advice -if you are intending to pick it up (which let’s face it, you most definitely will if you love a stunning cover lining your shelf/shelves lol), at least try to read it in a single sitting. Mainly as I feel like it’s almost so suspenseful -and by that I mean more in the sense of “temporariness” that’s evoked -again both in the figurative (temporary connection and sense of belonging) and literal (simplified sentences, and dare I say it, underdeveloped characters and plot)

In all honesty, I’m still not entirely sure where I land on the old “marmite” scale. As I neither LOVED -nor necessarily loathed, this elusive(ly evasive) ethereal like tale.

2.5 lacklustre stars pretty much sums it up for now I guess

[Helen Ashforth-Foster · Rating 2 out of 5]

This was read as part of book club. This book is incredibly frustrating. It's clearly meant to be quite a literary book as the plot is minimal with a focus on the characters and setting. Whilst some parts are quite inspired like the circus setting and the train journey towards the end other parts don't work. The letter part just confused me and the fact that it was in Vladivostok just didn't really come through. The ending was the most frustrating though as the book thins to nothing.

[Ignace · Rating 2 out of 5]

Super vette voorkant en goed geschreven. Maar er zit echt bijna geen plot in, emoties en personages zijn oppervlakkig en ik snap niet zo goed wat de schrijfster me wil vertellen.

[Kyle C · Rating 5 out of 5]

Why do people go to the circus? To be wowed by gravity-defying stunts? To gawk at freaks, geeks and clowns, a Saturnalian spectacle in which human norms and beauty are inverted? To enter a mirror-world, a fun-house, where the laws of physics and the codes of social conduct all seem to be suspended on a stage of fantasy? Nathalie believes in the fantasy. Recently graduated from her fashion-design course in Paris and hired as a temporary costume director for the Vladivostok circus, she works with three performers of a tight-rope: Anna, Anton, and Nino. She's amazed at their act, the flips and spins, and the incomprehensible balance, poise and foolhardy trust required of the act. Although Nathalie graduated in fashion design, she's not particularly interested in fashion or style; she's drawn to the body and its shape; she likes working in theatre because it allows her to craft and mould bodies into stories. Now flung into this remote Russian circus, she wants to give their acrobatics a worthy and dramatic narrative: she makes an elaborate costume with antlers and belts that are too constrictive; for Anton and Nino, she wants to evoke the noble pines of the surrounding Russian forests; for Anna, she wants to evoke the slender grace of a cat. But the costumes don't work. A circus might seem like a vista of dreams and fantasies, where aerialists effortlessly and miraculously volley and somersault and land, but it is still ruled by mundane practicalities. In the circus, art must cede to nature.

"I think people come to see if it's all going to work," Nino says, "They want to see how far we can go. It's easy to say that they are hoping for something magical but the truth is, what they really want is for something to go wrong. People find it reassuring to see other people's mistakes." The circus then is not a symbol of imaginative freedom from human limitations but of the ever-present risk of failure. As they work on their act, trying to master a difficult routine with four triple-jumps in a row, they confront new obstacles: Anton is aging, his talented son broke his neck years earlier in a similar act, Anna is injured and putting on weight, their cat is dying, Nino bears the pressure to replace Anton's son, the costumes are too bulky, the music is wrong, the microphone doesn't work, Nathalie's psoriasis is spreading. The circus performance invites the audience to marvel at, and question, the outer limits of human athleticism but, behind the scenes, the circus shows the nitty-gritty challenges and real-life imperfection, the human trifles that beleaguer the seemingly superhuman performers. What Nathalie has to learn is that those death-defying artists are still fragile bodies and, both as a costume-designer and as a fellow carnie now, she has to come to terms with all the technical constraints—not just of a circus show but of life in general.

[annie · Rating 4 out of 5]

suffused with an even stronger sense of melancholy than the previous two novels i've read by elisa shua dusapin. i found this one a little slow-moving and wished that the character relationships were more strongly built out, but there was still the gorgeous, precise prose and sense of being in flux and unsure of yourself and your relationships that i appreciated so much in dusapin's past books. also loved the vivid sense of place here and how dusapin continues to explore hidden and underexplored places in this novel. overall, not my new favorite from dusapin, but a thoughtful, beautifully written addition to her body of work

[Lauren · Rating 5 out of 5]

Elisa Shua Dusapin has done it again for me, another book which peels back the layers, and dives deep into a very quiet, hidden corner of life.
Nathalie arrives in Russia to work as a costume designer at Vladivostok Circus, working closely with a Russian bar troupe, the new acquaintances quickly isolated in what feels like a world of their own as they remain the only people on site for the winter to prepare for their upcoming performance.
There isn't really a tangible plot to this story. What happens instead is a raw exploration of the evolving relationships between Nathalie and the troupe, the unfolding trust and respect between them all, the rough edges of not belonging, the pangs of self doubt and insecurities, the flickers of something more and questions unspoken.
I really enjoyed the way Nathalie struggled to navigate this new world, her singularity stark against the three members of the troupe who literally hold each others lives in their hands. Their performance could quite literally be their last, and it was really an intimate experience to witness Nathalie's reluctance to adapt to this atmosphere, where you have no choice but to completely surrender your trust.
The writing is simple and to the point, yet it manages to worm it's way under my skin and hit every nerve. I can understand how this style would not be for everyone, but I am just always fully submersed. For me, Dusapin is a master at leaving things unsaid, and letting the emotions quietly reveal themselves to the reader as they go.
There is often an unsettling quality to the writing also, in it's simplicity. An abrupt thought on the page, a description of food, an observation Nathalie has on her own body, I can often feel almost queasy with how unflinchingly it is presented.
Elisa Shua Dusapin is such a unique voice to me, and I think she is doing something I don't see other writers do, in the way she hones in on these seemingly inconsequential slice of life stories, unpacking and unfurling so much in such a confined space, between so few characters. It won't be for everyone, but for me it's something very special.

[Huguelet Michou · Rating 4 out of 5]

4 au lieu de 5 à cause de ce petit goût d'inachevé. Sinon, l'écriture est toujours aussi envoûtante et l'atmosphère ensorcelante.