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There Once
There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister's Husband, And He Hanged Himself: Love Stories
In these dark, dreamlike love stories with a twist, Ludmilla Petrushevskaya tells of strange encounters in claustrophobic communal apartments, ill-fated holiday romances, office trysts, schoolgirl crushes, tentative courtships, rampant infidelity, tender devotion and terrifying madness. By turns sly and sweet, earthy and sublime, these fables of flawed love blend black humour and macabre spectacle with transformative moments of grace.
194 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2011
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About the author
Ludmilla Petrushevskaya
136 books359 followersLudmilla Stefanovna Petrushevskaya (Russian: Людмила Петрушевская) is a Russian writer, novelist and playwright.
Her works include the novels The Time Night (1992) and The Number One, both short-listed for the Russian Booker Prize, and Immortal Love, a collection of short stories and monologues. Since the late 1980s her plays, stories and novels have been published in more than 30 languages. In 2003 she was awarded the Pushkin Prize in Russian literature by the Alfred Toepfer Foundation in Germany. She was awarded the Russian State Prize for arts (2004), the Stanislavsky Award (2005), and the Triumph Prize (2006).
Her works include the novels The Time Night (1992) and The Number One, both short-listed for the Russian Booker Prize, and Immortal Love, a collection of short stories and monologues. Since the late 1980s her plays, stories and novels have been published in more than 30 languages. In 2003 she was awarded the Pushkin Prize in Russian literature by the Alfred Toepfer Foundation in Germany. She was awarded the Russian State Prize for arts (2004), the Stanislavsky Award (2005), and the Triumph Prize (2006).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 332 reviews
July 10, 2025
There once lived a guy who was seduced by the short-stories of Lyudmila Petrushevskaya.
Well, that's what he was hoping for anyway.
Being intrigued by one of her titles, he marched across town to try and grab a copy. As it turned out, he was only mildly impressed with her antics, but at least the book wasn't bad enough for him to end up suspended from the nearest wooden beam. Two things to note about some of the people in these stories, they are morbidly twisted and they are cramped in tight conditions. Trying to form any sort of happy relationship that has the power to last, whilst living in ghoulish apartments congested with different relatives breathing down their necks was never going to an easy thing. It's little surprise most of the main characters in these stories are moody, poor, sexually frustrated, and never to be trusted. Forget the candlelight diner for two, snuggling up on the sofa watching a sexy movie, or gazing into each other's eyes whilst running fingers through hair, as some of the behaviour that goes on within, I would hardly call lovable.
The stories edge towards a thematic centre in the drama of maternal love, the kind only found with those surviving in extreme spaces. There are would-be mothers, once were mothers, and troubled souls living through madness and loneliness. They are not happy stories for sure, and only evoke slight sympathy in understanding their plight, as Petrushevskaya has a habit of using changes in the vocabulary, perspective, rhythm and intonation that sneaks up on you like a ninja. The changes when they happen go from the bizarre and bewildering, to the vulgar and outrageous. There was never a fine balance whilst reading these stories, they had a schizophrenic nature that I still don't really know what to make of. Some hit me straight away, whilst others were so short it was difficult to get worked up about them.
There is humour, there is irony, and there is redemption, some big themes are squeezed into the smallest of spaces, and the stories do shout rather than whisper, so that's good thing. But the juxtapositional fate of her characters, and the fact they had such high expectations when it comes to love, takes away the aspect of ever feeling truly believable. Added to fact the world here seemed so unbearably gloomy and unhealthy, I wanted nothing more than to stand under a rainbow tinted waterfall on a tropical island. You know, like the women do in those shampoo adverts.
2.5/5
September 27, 2017
You know these women. You must.
A mother, an aunt, a family friend. A group of hens who go to lunch, play bridge, take tea. Women who dish, who gossip, who have news; a funny story, a juicy tidbit, a rumor, a suspicion, an aside. Women who come to chairs, finally, after a long day's labor; who collapse with a huff and take a minute as the bones re-settle and the mind clears; whose first steady breath spikes a tale, a twist of insight, a seasoning of observation. These graying biddies who chat, and whom the brash so frequently dismiss - those youthful hedonists, convinced as they are that activity's value lies solely in the physical; that an active intellect at such an advanced stage can produce nothing of relevance. Those who choose, as a matter of course, the gym, the sport, the concert, the party, the movie, the text, the game, over the tittle-tattle of the aged. And more the fools they.
I used to sit at her feet in rapture. My grandmother told an excellent tale.
And this is, of course, the genesis of the fairy story, the fable, the proverb, the adage; the very seed of the ubiquitous cliché. It's the ancient "teaching moment." The time and place the most critical of all wisdoms are conveyed. Rich with emotional affirmation and heartfelt warning; here is where she's going to tell you how best not to make your mistakes. Here is where she will inform you, gently, how hard life truly is. Here is where she will show you, with this little bit of scandal about a man she once knew, what lovers to avoid.
And this is a resource Ludmilla Petrushevskaya well understands.
"Russia is a land of women Homers, women who tell stories orally. Just like that, without inventing anything. They're extraordinarily talented storytellers. I'm just a listener among them."
Ludmilla Petrushevskaya is considered one of the most prominent contemporary writers in Russia. She's won the Pushkin Prize, the Russian State Prize, the Stanislavsky Award and the Triumph Prize, among other honors in her long career. Novelist, playwright, artist - she took up singing and songwriting in her mid-sixties. She's a whirling dervish of a talent, and in this small collection of seventeen tales she bends her focus to the eminently pragmatic truths of her favorite female philosophers.
Until Clarissa turned seventeen not a single soul admired or noticed her - in that respect she was not unlike Cinderella or the Ugly Duckling. At an age when most girls are sensitive to beauty and look for it everywhere, Clarissa was a primitive, absent-minded creature who stared openmouthed at trivial things, like the teacher wiping off the blackboard, and God knows what thoughts ran through her head. In her last year at school she was involved in a fight. It was provoked by an insult Clarissa believed had been directed at her. In fact, the word wasn't directed at Clarissa or anyone in particular (very few words had been said about her), but instead of explaining this, the boy simply slapped her back. During that time Clarissa imagined herself as a young heroine alone in a hostile world. Apparently she believed that every situation had something to do with her, although very few did...
Here is the voice of the Soviet sage, addressing all our foibles and frailties, drawing us further into the realities of life - with actions only rarely pretty and people only rarely fine, but a journey to be respected nonetheless.
A mother, an aunt, a family friend. A group of hens who go to lunch, play bridge, take tea. Women who dish, who gossip, who have news; a funny story, a juicy tidbit, a rumor, a suspicion, an aside. Women who come to chairs, finally, after a long day's labor; who collapse with a huff and take a minute as the bones re-settle and the mind clears; whose first steady breath spikes a tale, a twist of insight, a seasoning of observation. These graying biddies who chat, and whom the brash so frequently dismiss - those youthful hedonists, convinced as they are that activity's value lies solely in the physical; that an active intellect at such an advanced stage can produce nothing of relevance. Those who choose, as a matter of course, the gym, the sport, the concert, the party, the movie, the text, the game, over the tittle-tattle of the aged. And more the fools they.
I used to sit at her feet in rapture. My grandmother told an excellent tale.
And this is, of course, the genesis of the fairy story, the fable, the proverb, the adage; the very seed of the ubiquitous cliché. It's the ancient "teaching moment." The time and place the most critical of all wisdoms are conveyed. Rich with emotional affirmation and heartfelt warning; here is where she's going to tell you how best not to make your mistakes. Here is where she will inform you, gently, how hard life truly is. Here is where she will show you, with this little bit of scandal about a man she once knew, what lovers to avoid.
And this is a resource Ludmilla Petrushevskaya well understands.
"Russia is a land of women Homers, women who tell stories orally. Just like that, without inventing anything. They're extraordinarily talented storytellers. I'm just a listener among them."
Ludmilla Petrushevskaya is considered one of the most prominent contemporary writers in Russia. She's won the Pushkin Prize, the Russian State Prize, the Stanislavsky Award and the Triumph Prize, among other honors in her long career. Novelist, playwright, artist - she took up singing and songwriting in her mid-sixties. She's a whirling dervish of a talent, and in this small collection of seventeen tales she bends her focus to the eminently pragmatic truths of her favorite female philosophers.
Until Clarissa turned seventeen not a single soul admired or noticed her - in that respect she was not unlike Cinderella or the Ugly Duckling. At an age when most girls are sensitive to beauty and look for it everywhere, Clarissa was a primitive, absent-minded creature who stared openmouthed at trivial things, like the teacher wiping off the blackboard, and God knows what thoughts ran through her head. In her last year at school she was involved in a fight. It was provoked by an insult Clarissa believed had been directed at her. In fact, the word wasn't directed at Clarissa or anyone in particular (very few words had been said about her), but instead of explaining this, the boy simply slapped her back. During that time Clarissa imagined herself as a young heroine alone in a hostile world. Apparently she believed that every situation had something to do with her, although very few did...
Here is the voice of the Soviet sage, addressing all our foibles and frailties, drawing us further into the realities of life - with actions only rarely pretty and people only rarely fine, but a journey to be respected nonetheless.
ceci-n-est-ce-pas-un-compte-rendu
October 25, 2015seriously, penguin?? you deny me the netgalley??
DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM???
did you think i was jason?? because i am not!! this is a great injustice!!!!
DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM???
did you think i was jason?? because i am not!! this is a great injustice!!!!
November 15, 2015
DNF at 75%.
The title sounded so promising, but the stories were tedious, most of them, uninteresting, and the endings felt rushed or incomplete even for short stories.
The title sounded so promising, but the stories were tedious, most of them, uninteresting, and the endings felt rushed or incomplete even for short stories.
February 22, 2013
All of the stories go like this, in the same fashion as the title:
"It went like this:
There one was a girl who seduced her sister's husband, and he hanged himself."
"It went like this: There was an adult woman who lived with her grandmother and then her lover came over after work and they had sex on the couch with her grandmother in the same room, then the grandmother died and then the woman became pregnant."
"It went like this: There was a fat old woman who was fat because she was poor and she hated her husband so she chased him down the street and told everyone that her daughter was pregnant with her husband's child."
This happened, and then this happened, and then this happened. And it does-- it tells you exactly what happened, all the time. It's frank, but too frank, as it falls into the classic "show, don't tell," category.
I really tried on this one. I was drawn to the promise of pessimism, strong Russian women, the poverty, the close quarters.
The title alone begged the book to be read, and I'd looked forward to it since I read the review in the Times. But the Times told the story much better than all of the short stories themselves. I was looking forward to being disturbed and uncomfortable, but the disjointed narrative (though I realize this was translated from Russian, which is why I tried so hard so like it even though I initially did not) and disjointed events inside each short story left me feeling unsatisfied.
"It went like this:
There one was a girl who seduced her sister's husband, and he hanged himself."
"It went like this: There was an adult woman who lived with her grandmother and then her lover came over after work and they had sex on the couch with her grandmother in the same room, then the grandmother died and then the woman became pregnant."
"It went like this: There was a fat old woman who was fat because she was poor and she hated her husband so she chased him down the street and told everyone that her daughter was pregnant with her husband's child."
This happened, and then this happened, and then this happened. And it does-- it tells you exactly what happened, all the time. It's frank, but too frank, as it falls into the classic "show, don't tell," category.
I really tried on this one. I was drawn to the promise of pessimism, strong Russian women, the poverty, the close quarters.
The title alone begged the book to be read, and I'd looked forward to it since I read the review in the Times. But the Times told the story much better than all of the short stories themselves. I was looking forward to being disturbed and uncomfortable, but the disjointed narrative (though I realize this was translated from Russian, which is why I tried so hard so like it even though I initially did not) and disjointed events inside each short story left me feeling unsatisfied.
September 5, 2017
This collection of love stories and broken hearts against various Russian and soviet backdrops is realistic ... full of tears and love along a prism of emotions that the author shoots up our arms
September 5, 2016
NOTES ON DIVERSITY:
Petrushevskaya's stories are not diverse on the surface. It's not explicit, but I read most of the characters as white. The stories--love stories, the cover claims--appeared to be hetero in nature.
The bulk of these love stories are focused on women, and what is remarkable about these stories is the great breadth of Russian femininity* that Petrushevskaya tracks through her stories. The stories are pulled from the full spread of her writing career, and across them we have old heroines and very young heroines and heroines settling into middle age. We have hopeful and dour heroines. Beautiful, but mostly homely heroines. Bright and slow heroines. Heroines of virtually every description.
And, also specific to Russia, we have heroines that live in Soviet Russia and heroines that live in a Russia which has once again begun to flirt with capitalism. We see, through Petrushevskaya's eyes, the great and remarkable changes that Russian society went through while she lived, and how great (or small) an impact those changes made on the daily lives of its citizens.
REVIEW:
Petrushevskaya has a light hand with narration and a uncanny, unflinching eye for vicious detail. These are love stories, but they are horror stories, too. These are stories, almost uniformly, about how completely random and obliterating and destructive love can be. She is a sly, deadpan writer, and the stories are like those told by your aunt who's seen too much and who is always slightly drunk at holiday dinners, but who is charismatic and fascinating anyway.
The only real fault I have with the collection is repetition. Sixteen stories is a lot to read in one go, especially when the themes are so consistent and similar. I wish the collection had been shorter, that the ten best and brightest had been chosen. But, then again, every anthology is a bit of a shot in the dark, yes? My top ten are probably not your top ten.
Speaking of, stand-outs (for me, anyway) were "Two Deities", "Tamara's Baby", "A Happy Ending," and especially "Milgrom".
_____
*I would not venture to say that she is somehow speaking to all of womanhood or across all women's experience. That is certainly not true. But she does seem to speak to a great swath of Russian women's experience (I would think--I am not Russian).
Petrushevskaya's stories are not diverse on the surface. It's not explicit, but I read most of the characters as white. The stories--love stories, the cover claims--appeared to be hetero in nature.
The bulk of these love stories are focused on women, and what is remarkable about these stories is the great breadth of Russian femininity* that Petrushevskaya tracks through her stories. The stories are pulled from the full spread of her writing career, and across them we have old heroines and very young heroines and heroines settling into middle age. We have hopeful and dour heroines. Beautiful, but mostly homely heroines. Bright and slow heroines. Heroines of virtually every description.
And, also specific to Russia, we have heroines that live in Soviet Russia and heroines that live in a Russia which has once again begun to flirt with capitalism. We see, through Petrushevskaya's eyes, the great and remarkable changes that Russian society went through while she lived, and how great (or small) an impact those changes made on the daily lives of its citizens.
REVIEW:
Petrushevskaya has a light hand with narration and a uncanny, unflinching eye for vicious detail. These are love stories, but they are horror stories, too. These are stories, almost uniformly, about how completely random and obliterating and destructive love can be. She is a sly, deadpan writer, and the stories are like those told by your aunt who's seen too much and who is always slightly drunk at holiday dinners, but who is charismatic and fascinating anyway.
The only real fault I have with the collection is repetition. Sixteen stories is a lot to read in one go, especially when the themes are so consistent and similar. I wish the collection had been shorter, that the ten best and brightest had been chosen. But, then again, every anthology is a bit of a shot in the dark, yes? My top ten are probably not your top ten.
Speaking of, stand-outs (for me, anyway) were "Two Deities", "Tamara's Baby", "A Happy Ending," and especially "Milgrom".
_____
*I would not venture to say that she is somehow speaking to all of womanhood or across all women's experience. That is certainly not true. But she does seem to speak to a great swath of Russian women's experience (I would think--I am not Russian).
October 23, 2019
This is a really interesting, distinctive short story collection, focusing on domestic life in late Soviet/post-Soviet Russia; most of the stories take place in and around cramped Moscow apartments. Several generations often live together with too little space and too little money, parents often suspect that their adult children are scheming to take ownership of the precious apartment, and when love appears it's imperfect, marked by the characters' own deficiencies, and can't be relied upon to last.
The stories are very short, ranging from 4-18 pages in length, and with generous font and spacing. And the writing style is pared-down and matter-of-fact. I found the stories interesting and enjoyable though, and they certainly give a strong sense of what life was like for regular people in this particular place and time. This is apparently a compilation of stories the author wrote over several decades, but they're remarkably consistent in tone and quality. My favorite was "Like Penelope," and other stand-outs for me were "Ali-Baba" and "Eros's Way," but it doesn't surprise me a bit to see different readers preferring different stories. The translator also did a fantastic job of rendering the stories in common, sometimes biting English, so that it's hard to believe they were translated at all.
I can see why this collection doesn't work for everyone, given that the stories are relatively brief and often bleak. But I think it is worth a read. If for no other reason than that Petrushevskaya's work was banned in Russia even longer than some well-known political works (apparently for portraying too gritty a picture of everyday life)!
The stories are very short, ranging from 4-18 pages in length, and with generous font and spacing. And the writing style is pared-down and matter-of-fact. I found the stories interesting and enjoyable though, and they certainly give a strong sense of what life was like for regular people in this particular place and time. This is apparently a compilation of stories the author wrote over several decades, but they're remarkably consistent in tone and quality. My favorite was "Like Penelope," and other stand-outs for me were "Ali-Baba" and "Eros's Way," but it doesn't surprise me a bit to see different readers preferring different stories. The translator also did a fantastic job of rendering the stories in common, sometimes biting English, so that it's hard to believe they were translated at all.
I can see why this collection doesn't work for everyone, given that the stories are relatively brief and often bleak. But I think it is worth a read. If for no other reason than that Petrushevskaya's work was banned in Russia even longer than some well-known political works (apparently for portraying too gritty a picture of everyday life)!
February 10, 2013
Reading Petrushevskaya is like being cornered by a really charismatic stranger and being told about lives you'd really rather not hear about. And perhaps those are the best stories, where you have to listen, mesmerised and a bit appalled. It leaves a lingering discomfort because that story was told to you and you're not quite sure why. It has to mean something.
I loved Petrushevskaya's collection There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor's Baby so launched into these as soon as I heard about them. They have the same urgency of style. Stories are told fast; shocking things happen in staccato succession. But the book is not like the first collection, which was mostly made up of ghost stories or lives touched by the supernatural. These are tales of grim grim reality in Soviet and post-Soviet Russia. I felt just a little bit more detached from them for this reason, because on one level they document a world which is totally foreign to me (many many thanks to whoever is to be thanked for that), whereas a ghost story always feels universal. But Petrushevskaya's narrative flair - straight, fast and shocking - carried them through this distance. I'm still asking myself, what do they all mean, and probably will be for a while.
I loved Petrushevskaya's collection There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor's Baby so launched into these as soon as I heard about them. They have the same urgency of style. Stories are told fast; shocking things happen in staccato succession. But the book is not like the first collection, which was mostly made up of ghost stories or lives touched by the supernatural. These are tales of grim grim reality in Soviet and post-Soviet Russia. I felt just a little bit more detached from them for this reason, because on one level they document a world which is totally foreign to me (many many thanks to whoever is to be thanked for that), whereas a ghost story always feels universal. But Petrushevskaya's narrative flair - straight, fast and shocking - carried them through this distance. I'm still asking myself, what do they all mean, and probably will be for a while.
January 3, 2016
Short stories possess a kind of magic that novels sometimes do not have. The worlds in them seem smaller because of their length, but I came to realize that this is nothing but a hypercritical verdict: the worlds in them are in truth so much bigger, as there is a plethora of possibilities hanging at the ledge of every tale’s abrupt end. The readers often get to be the mind-pilots when they reach the said ledge, imagining what would happen past the borders. These tales are like tiny pieces of a universe pulled apart and made to stand alone. The very good ones are strong enough to make a reader believe they do not need to be a part of something bigger in order to do what volumes of others could, from something as small as scraping the reader’s heart to something as large as totally changing someone’s life. Imagine what an anthology of these kinds of stories would be like!
But let us keep in mind that a tale’s power is directly tied to its effect to the audience. In the end, it is still a matter of preference and taste—what can reduce you to tears may only be able to make me arch an eyebrow; what can make me laugh like there is no tomorrow may only make you shrug.
Considering this, I believe that Ludmilla Petrushevskaya’s ’s anthology There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister’s Husband, and He Hanged Himself: Love Stories may be regarded as a powerful collection, but one whose clout does not quite hit my heart’s bull’s eye nor grabbed at my interest for long. (The title did arrest my curiosity, I'll admit, but it was its contents that I have a few concerns with.)
Don’t get me wrong: the stories have a lot to offer. They bring forth a blend of bittersweetness, hope, desperation, grit, heartbreak. They flash facets of histories of women who sought, found, and lost love in a variety of places and situations: seedy apartments that witnessed infidelities, hasty and messy one-night stands, hesitant romances in corporate bubbles, trysts crutched by temporary bliss, and label-less relationships. They feature an assortment of women, too—there are strong ones, "weak" ones , and those lodged in between. But even though there is a lengthy list of rave reviews for this anthology and the one that preceded it (There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby: Scary Fairy Tales), I cannot seem to find a concrete element in it that will make me cherish it as something that is utterly remarkable.
I think my main concern with the whole thing is that even though the stories are meant to be stand-alones, the characters (and in effect, the situations they are in) seem to bleed into each other. And I am not talking in a seamless, spin-off-like Venn Diagram way either. It was as if there is a handful of templates for characters that get recycled for the individual tales, as though there is a lone element that make them identical in voice and demeanor.
The result, for me, is that there is no character that stood out. Well-written characters are vital for short stories because they often drive the whole tale with them. Like what I said in the beginning of this review, there might be a bigger universe outside a short story’s concrete margins when it reaches the end, but the space where characters could establish themselves as beings worthy of being remembered is very small. The process of character creation and/or development should happen here—it could not extend to those unseen margins.
I liked how each story unfolded, though. The successions of every scene hold a flavor of honesty and simplicity; their undemanding messages could be conveyed to their audience effortlessly. Remembering these bits as something notable could be a lot easier if their anchors—the characters, of course—are as strongly knitted as they are.
2.5 stars
But let us keep in mind that a tale’s power is directly tied to its effect to the audience. In the end, it is still a matter of preference and taste—what can reduce you to tears may only be able to make me arch an eyebrow; what can make me laugh like there is no tomorrow may only make you shrug.
Considering this, I believe that Ludmilla Petrushevskaya’s ’s anthology There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister’s Husband, and He Hanged Himself: Love Stories may be regarded as a powerful collection, but one whose clout does not quite hit my heart’s bull’s eye nor grabbed at my interest for long. (The title did arrest my curiosity, I'll admit, but it was its contents that I have a few concerns with.)
Don’t get me wrong: the stories have a lot to offer. They bring forth a blend of bittersweetness, hope, desperation, grit, heartbreak. They flash facets of histories of women who sought, found, and lost love in a variety of places and situations: seedy apartments that witnessed infidelities, hasty and messy one-night stands, hesitant romances in corporate bubbles, trysts crutched by temporary bliss, and label-less relationships. They feature an assortment of women, too—there are strong ones, "weak" ones , and those lodged in between. But even though there is a lengthy list of rave reviews for this anthology and the one that preceded it (There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby: Scary Fairy Tales), I cannot seem to find a concrete element in it that will make me cherish it as something that is utterly remarkable.
I think my main concern with the whole thing is that even though the stories are meant to be stand-alones, the characters (and in effect, the situations they are in) seem to bleed into each other. And I am not talking in a seamless, spin-off-like Venn Diagram way either. It was as if there is a handful of templates for characters that get recycled for the individual tales, as though there is a lone element that make them identical in voice and demeanor.
The result, for me, is that there is no character that stood out. Well-written characters are vital for short stories because they often drive the whole tale with them. Like what I said in the beginning of this review, there might be a bigger universe outside a short story’s concrete margins when it reaches the end, but the space where characters could establish themselves as beings worthy of being remembered is very small. The process of character creation and/or development should happen here—it could not extend to those unseen margins.
I liked how each story unfolded, though. The successions of every scene hold a flavor of honesty and simplicity; their undemanding messages could be conveyed to their audience effortlessly. Remembering these bits as something notable could be a lot easier if their anchors—the characters, of course—are as strongly knitted as they are.
2.5 stars
April 24, 2013
The title of this book begs reading, and having initially skipped the intro by the translator, I charged through the first few "love stories" with no sense of what to expect. These "love stories" are certainly not about love, not the dreamy American version anyway, and they're not really stories, either. More like dismal little anecdotes about impoverished Russians who will never escape their hopeless circumstances. It could be a cultural disconnect, but I didn't find any "delight in her humor." Rather, I found the stories unrelentingly depressing. The author writes a very honest, unapologetic view of Russian culture, which was an eye-opener, but without a spark of joy or beauty in that stark prose.
January 5, 2015
I was reading this today while I gave blood. The nurse asked me what it was and I showed her the title. She asked if they were true stories. At first I said no. And then I changed my mind.
This time I did read the introduction before the book, then I read it again afterwards. Anna Summers puts it well:
The changes [Petrushevskaya] introduces in vocabulary, perspective, rhythm, and intonation sneak up on us, and before we know it we have implicitly forgiven bizarre, bewildering, and often vulgar behaviors and qualities...
...For in her love stories, the revolution, having begun with the promise of communal apartments, degenerated and died in those same apartments...
... delight in her humor, her irony, her steadfast refusal to save her characters, or her readers, from themselves. --all from the introduction
So these "love" stories are a little more accessible (to me) than the fairy tales of her previous collection,
There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor's Baby. My favorites were "Milgrom," "Young Berries," and "A Happy Ending." The volume contains stories from 1972 to 2008 when Petrushevskaya turned 70.
Also thank you to goodreads member J. A. Clemens who noticed this on my to-read list and directed me to his blog where he hosted a giveaway which I won.
This time I did read the introduction before the book, then I read it again afterwards. Anna Summers puts it well:
The changes [Petrushevskaya] introduces in vocabulary, perspective, rhythm, and intonation sneak up on us, and before we know it we have implicitly forgiven bizarre, bewildering, and often vulgar behaviors and qualities...
...For in her love stories, the revolution, having begun with the promise of communal apartments, degenerated and died in those same apartments...
... delight in her humor, her irony, her steadfast refusal to save her characters, or her readers, from themselves. --all from the introduction
So these "love" stories are a little more accessible (to me) than the fairy tales of her previous collection,
There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor's Baby. My favorites were "Milgrom," "Young Berries," and "A Happy Ending." The volume contains stories from 1972 to 2008 when Petrushevskaya turned 70.
Also thank you to goodreads member J. A. Clemens who noticed this on my to-read list and directed me to his blog where he hosted a giveaway which I won.
November 8, 2018
It's so hard to describe a story by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya--I'd read one of her books before so I knew what to expect. I just love her. She writes about lives that one might call depressing, but there's just...something there. She just has, for me, this very clear pov that I'm not sure I understand, but I like. It's a bit like listening to an imaginative child tell a story where they say bizarre things but they clearly have poetic meaning? This is not to say the stories are childish or childlike--it's just that they hide a like of complex things in their straightforward simplicity.
In fact, not only does she manage to hint at great tragedy and great comedy in simple sentences, but the lumbering behemoth that is/was the bureaucracy of Soviet and post-Soviet society.
In fact, not only does she manage to hint at great tragedy and great comedy in simple sentences, but the lumbering behemoth that is/was the bureaucracy of Soviet and post-Soviet society.
January 29, 2013
I've read my share of Russian literature, but nothing quite like the stories of Ludmilla Petrushevskaya. She writes of the harsh everyday existence melded with just enough absurdity to make it palatable. These are stories of neglected young girls, wives, mothers, and widows looking for love in humble and inhospitable circumstances. The love they uncover is not redemptive, but it is enough to sustain them. They are making the best of a bad situation, but this isn't an instance of taking lemons and making lemonade. This is trying to make Dandelion Root Tea from the Russian Dandelion, which is better suited for the production of rubber.
August 5, 2024
,,Oamenii se unesc repede pe terenul nemulțumirii generale, uitând de toate sentimentele lor reciproce și, de regulă, din asta nu iese nimic bun."
,,Toți oamenii au rămas pe dinăuntru animale și simt fără cuvinte tot ce se întâmplă, nicio mișcare sufletească nu rămâne fără răspuns, și mai ales indiferența."
,,după moartea cuiva, tot ce se întâmplă înaintea ei are rol de simbol."
,,Toți oamenii au rămas pe dinăuntru animale și simt fără cuvinte tot ce se întâmplă, nicio mișcare sufletească nu rămâne fără răspuns, și mai ales indiferența."
,,după moartea cuiva, tot ce se întâmplă înaintea ei are rol de simbol."
March 31, 2013
I feel a little bit like I might be underrating this book, since I liked it, but feel it's not as strong a collection as her "Scary Fairy Tales" book, which was devastatingly good. The idea of this collection is that these are love stories, though the introduction tries a different, and perhaps more accurate track, that these are really stories about motherhood, and the love that seems to get things done here is mother love.
The first stories felt underdeveloped to me, sketches that needed the details, even those of daily life, filled in more robustly. But the later stories get better at that, and the stories get more twisty, more recognizable at the same time they get more sordid, which is a perversely thrilling feeling.
There's a really solid exploration here of the power of real estate, of living spaces, and how it obsesses the imagination of the characters here that remains pretty compelling. I'd call that very Russian, but what do I know. Maybe in NYC, in Boston or the Bay Area, people feel the same. I doubt it, but what do I know.
Here's my last scattered thought: Petrushevskaya's sentences are in this super stripped down, matter of fact key. I think that suited the fairy tales really well, since it dovetailed with a particular approach to magical realism. I don't think it works as well here-- there's really no room for fantasy, which is so much of what love is about, that the impression one got was that these lovers were fools, doomed and not very bright.
Stil, good stuff-- I'd start at the second half and then go back and read the early stories later.
The first stories felt underdeveloped to me, sketches that needed the details, even those of daily life, filled in more robustly. But the later stories get better at that, and the stories get more twisty, more recognizable at the same time they get more sordid, which is a perversely thrilling feeling.
There's a really solid exploration here of the power of real estate, of living spaces, and how it obsesses the imagination of the characters here that remains pretty compelling. I'd call that very Russian, but what do I know. Maybe in NYC, in Boston or the Bay Area, people feel the same. I doubt it, but what do I know.
Here's my last scattered thought: Petrushevskaya's sentences are in this super stripped down, matter of fact key. I think that suited the fairy tales really well, since it dovetailed with a particular approach to magical realism. I don't think it works as well here-- there's really no room for fantasy, which is so much of what love is about, that the impression one got was that these lovers were fools, doomed and not very bright.
Stil, good stuff-- I'd start at the second half and then go back and read the early stories later.
not-for-me
April 28, 2016I know I hate short stories so why do I still try to read them? This wasn't for me at all.
December 6, 2016
This review is for the English translation of a Russian short story collection.
The title and synopsis sound so promising! The book wasn’t for me, though.
Ludmilla Petrushevskaya’s characters are looking for love in desperate places. They live in extreme poverty or in overcrowded communal apartments. They work in dead-end jobs or are mentally unbalanced. Many of them have given up hope. Their love affairs are bizarre, unrequited, awkward, dangerous. Despite the flashes of humor, most of the stories in this collection don’t have endings you’d call “happy.”
Petrushevskaya writes about people who are often overlooked in society. They’re not heroes. They’re average people who are just trying to survive in Soviet or post-Soviet Russia. I like seeing the impact that an oppressive government has on the characters’ lives. The government is rarely mentioned in the stories, but it’s always there, hovering over every choice the characters make. The stories have a bleak, heavy tone.
The characters’ lifestyles interested me, but I never felt connected to any of them because there is a lot of distance between the reader and the characters. Most of the stories read like brief anecdotes or outlines rather than short stories. They’re sparsely written and repetitive. All of them are about love gone wrong (or slightly right). They all have the same depressing tone. The stories often ended before I had a chance to fully absorb what was happening. If you want to read this collection, be prepared to read between the lines. The writing just skims the surface. Most of the action is left off the page.
I finished this book several days ago, and none of the stories stand out in my mind. This might be because Love Stories took me months to read. I never felt motivated to pick it up. The author’s writing style just didn’t grab me.
Even though I didn’t get along with the writing, I want to read more of Petrushevskaya’s work. I know she has a book of novellas and a book of fairytales. I think I’d have an easier time connecting to her characters in a longer piece of writing. Also, her writing style might work better in a fairytale because a lot of fairytales are sparsely written and don’t have much explanation of the events that happen.
Love Stories wasn’t for me, but I’m willing to try another book.
The title and synopsis sound so promising! The book wasn’t for me, though.
Ludmilla Petrushevskaya’s characters are looking for love in desperate places. They live in extreme poverty or in overcrowded communal apartments. They work in dead-end jobs or are mentally unbalanced. Many of them have given up hope. Their love affairs are bizarre, unrequited, awkward, dangerous. Despite the flashes of humor, most of the stories in this collection don’t have endings you’d call “happy.”
“‘Once, at the dacha, years ago,’” she said, “‘we all decided to go mushroom picking, and our neighbor Vera—she was at least eighty at the time—dashed over to the mirror and started painting her lips. My mother said to her, ‘Aunt Vera, we are going to the woods; who’s the lipstick for?’ And Vera replied—I’ll never forget it—‘Who knows? Maybe that’s where it will happen!’” - There Once Lived A Girl Who Seduced Her Sister's Husband, And He Hanged Himself: Love Stories
Petrushevskaya writes about people who are often overlooked in society. They’re not heroes. They’re average people who are just trying to survive in Soviet or post-Soviet Russia. I like seeing the impact that an oppressive government has on the characters’ lives. The government is rarely mentioned in the stories, but it’s always there, hovering over every choice the characters make. The stories have a bleak, heavy tone.
The characters’ lifestyles interested me, but I never felt connected to any of them because there is a lot of distance between the reader and the characters. Most of the stories read like brief anecdotes or outlines rather than short stories. They’re sparsely written and repetitive. All of them are about love gone wrong (or slightly right). They all have the same depressing tone. The stories often ended before I had a chance to fully absorb what was happening. If you want to read this collection, be prepared to read between the lines. The writing just skims the surface. Most of the action is left off the page.
I finished this book several days ago, and none of the stories stand out in my mind. This might be because Love Stories took me months to read. I never felt motivated to pick it up. The author’s writing style just didn’t grab me.
Even though I didn’t get along with the writing, I want to read more of Petrushevskaya’s work. I know she has a book of novellas and a book of fairytales. I think I’d have an easier time connecting to her characters in a longer piece of writing. Also, her writing style might work better in a fairytale because a lot of fairytales are sparsely written and don’t have much explanation of the events that happen.
Love Stories wasn’t for me, but I’m willing to try another book.
“She keeps looking up, not meeting his eyes—the sign of a serious crush, by the way.” - There Once Lived A Girl Who Seduced Her Sister's Husband, And He Hanged Himself: Love Stories
February 24, 2019
Very much unromantic for a collection of love stories. Petrushevskaya ways of describing scenario always making me tense and speechless-- dark and slightly humorous, realist and hit the exact emotional tragic no one could imagine. Like open for a surprise plot, you'll be heartbroken, good but painful. This collection depicted random life-love-relationship a family could experience-- companionship, betrayal, lust, affairs, frustration, rebellious souls and that one person who always getting on your nerves. It can be tragically unhappy ending and somehow you'll get a twist for uncertain 'happiness'-- the kind that "...but life continued." Weird how most of the narratives speak in undesirable uncomfortable plot in between telling me a love story, it plays with sympathy and humanity, one's realization of nothing could be as exact as you want it to be. Everything has flaws. It can be bothersome and harsh, sad and twisted, super gloomy and thunderstorm and yet emotionally moving. Still in love with Petrushevskaya style of writing-- that feeling of she was sitting right next to me and shooting those words and her fairy tales.
September 7, 2014
I have to admit that I enjoyed the previous collection far more than this one. There is less magic realism in these stories, and a sense of wonder or charm seems to be missing. There are some very good ones such as “Milogram,” “Like Penelope,” “The Goddess Parka,” and “Father and Mother”. The last is rather good. The theme is relationships, in particular a weird type of battle of the sexes that also involves the government that tries to go after everyone. Perhaps this is a Russian theme; however, with the above exceptions many of the stories seem to be too repetitive. Three stars on the strength of the good stories.
December 28, 2014
3.5 stars - The stories here are uneven with some overly short and sketchy, others longer and more fully developed, but they all share a common element of stark, pragmatic realism that deftly finds and exposes the fault lines inherent in real-life experiences of love and splits the fantasy wide open to reveal the inner vulnerability, neuroses, tenderness, bitterness, ugliness, and at times beauty. That the author accomplishes this with such economy of words is remarkable.
April 25, 2021
An article said Petrushevskaya’s stories could be described as bleak grotesques, but emphasized the fact of their humanity, which is always palpable. And that’s a pretty good quick way to summarize what you’re in for. I have to say Anna Summers, who put this collection together and translated this, did a brilliant job. It’s a fabulous translation. I gulped these wacky domestic stories full of love and hope and despair and suffering down. The writing is perky and delicious. That’s all.
April 6, 2019
Okay, Ludmilla Petrushevskaya’s titles certainly get your attention. I own this book as well as There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby: Scary Fairy Tales. Anna Summers, who translated and selected the stories to go in this collection, begins the book with an introduction. In it, she explains Russian housing: “concrete buildings made of one-, two-, and three-room apartments that often housed several generations of Russians. It is in these small, overcrowded, uniform, much-coveted units that Petrushevskaya’s love stories take place” (emphasis mine). Because Russia is such a large place with complicated history, I appreciated the note about housing to get my brain in the right place for the stories.
Section one, THE MURKY FATE, contains five stories about couples meeting. Typically, people’s feelings are, in fact, murky. One woman is so lonely that she pays a slovenly married co-worker to sleep with her. Afterward, she tells people she has a boyfriend and starts to have feelings not so much for him, but for feeling. In another story, an unmarried thirty-five-year-old teacher tries to find solace in a cabin in the woods, but older women keep trying to set him up with “spinsters” in their families. He resists until he feels lost without one woman who was pushed on him for so long. I like that the stories are not common beginnings to romance. The rom-com meet up isn’t common, and Petrushevskaya forces readers to acknowledge that.
The next section, HALLELUJAH, FAMILY!, is about pregnancy and infants. No one expects these pregnancies, whether in a marriage or one-night-stand situation. One wife knows her husband won’t come home before 11:00PM, so she keeps all of their children awake until he arrives, causing a chaotic, miserable household in order to guilt her spouse. In another, co-workers have a one-night stand that leads to pregnancy, which neither acknowledge, but they still co-parent nonetheless. I didn’t like this section as well as the previous, mainly because there were so many characters in each small story. However, I do appreciate stories that don’t romanticize parenting for those who find themselves unwillingly in the role.
The third section is MY LITTLE ONE, and this is where things got confusing enough that I started to lose interest. Although this seemed like a section about pregnancy again, it wasn’t. Then, I noticed the stories all featured a teen girl, until the last one didn’t. A story started in one place — like a grumpy old homeless man tricking people out of resources — and ended in another. Like how he, in his 50s, starts a relationship with a woman in her 70s who believes he is her dead son. *Blink. Blink.* How we got there is unclear, and I wondered if there was a hiccup in the translation or some cultural context I didn’t get. Russia is a big, strange place.
Lastly, Petrushevskaya concludes with A HAPPY ENDING. As you can guess from the title of the book, no one gets a happy ending. This section is filled with stories of miserable love: a school girl is tortured by the boy on whom she has a crush; an office worker has a gentleman friend, but discovers he is her co-worker’s schizophrenic husband; a miserable married woman secures an apartment of her own to escape her cruel son and his family and her husband, who gave her an STD and tells everyone she’s a “venereal old hag.” In general, these stories were well told, though one made my eyes cross with confusion and boredom. I also seethed when Petrushevskaya used the laziest method to indicate someone is a bad person: referring to a woman as “fat wife.”
Overall, I think the strongest part of Ludmilla Petrushevskaya’s collection is her eye-catching title. I do like how she writes as if these are oral fairy tales (“there once was. . .”). Her stories capture your interest, but don’t all come together. Her writing reminds me of Kelly Link’s (whose stories feel unfinished and ought to be novellas), and it’s not surprising that Link blurbed the book, calling Petrushevskaya “a master of the short story form.”
This review was originally published at Grab the Lapels.
Section one, THE MURKY FATE, contains five stories about couples meeting. Typically, people’s feelings are, in fact, murky. One woman is so lonely that she pays a slovenly married co-worker to sleep with her. Afterward, she tells people she has a boyfriend and starts to have feelings not so much for him, but for feeling. In another story, an unmarried thirty-five-year-old teacher tries to find solace in a cabin in the woods, but older women keep trying to set him up with “spinsters” in their families. He resists until he feels lost without one woman who was pushed on him for so long. I like that the stories are not common beginnings to romance. The rom-com meet up isn’t common, and Petrushevskaya forces readers to acknowledge that.
The next section, HALLELUJAH, FAMILY!, is about pregnancy and infants. No one expects these pregnancies, whether in a marriage or one-night-stand situation. One wife knows her husband won’t come home before 11:00PM, so she keeps all of their children awake until he arrives, causing a chaotic, miserable household in order to guilt her spouse. In another, co-workers have a one-night stand that leads to pregnancy, which neither acknowledge, but they still co-parent nonetheless. I didn’t like this section as well as the previous, mainly because there were so many characters in each small story. However, I do appreciate stories that don’t romanticize parenting for those who find themselves unwillingly in the role.
The third section is MY LITTLE ONE, and this is where things got confusing enough that I started to lose interest. Although this seemed like a section about pregnancy again, it wasn’t. Then, I noticed the stories all featured a teen girl, until the last one didn’t. A story started in one place — like a grumpy old homeless man tricking people out of resources — and ended in another. Like how he, in his 50s, starts a relationship with a woman in her 70s who believes he is her dead son. *Blink. Blink.* How we got there is unclear, and I wondered if there was a hiccup in the translation or some cultural context I didn’t get. Russia is a big, strange place.
Lastly, Petrushevskaya concludes with A HAPPY ENDING. As you can guess from the title of the book, no one gets a happy ending. This section is filled with stories of miserable love: a school girl is tortured by the boy on whom she has a crush; an office worker has a gentleman friend, but discovers he is her co-worker’s schizophrenic husband; a miserable married woman secures an apartment of her own to escape her cruel son and his family and her husband, who gave her an STD and tells everyone she’s a “venereal old hag.” In general, these stories were well told, though one made my eyes cross with confusion and boredom. I also seethed when Petrushevskaya used the laziest method to indicate someone is a bad person: referring to a woman as “fat wife.”
Overall, I think the strongest part of Ludmilla Petrushevskaya’s collection is her eye-catching title. I do like how she writes as if these are oral fairy tales (“there once was. . .”). Her stories capture your interest, but don’t all come together. Her writing reminds me of Kelly Link’s (whose stories feel unfinished and ought to be novellas), and it’s not surprising that Link blurbed the book, calling Petrushevskaya “a master of the short story form.”
This review was originally published at Grab the Lapels.
June 8, 2021
This collection is a prime example of why I’m always on the fence about short story collections. They typically turn out to be only a few gems thrown in amongst the stinkers. And that’s exactly how this collection turned out! I only REALLY thoroughly enjoyed 2 stories and that’s not a great average. The rest left me feeling either indifferent or bored out of my mind and wanting to skip through them. That’s a lot of stories to feel indifferent about and I was definitely disappointed. I always hope to discover new authors when reading a collection of short stories, it’s usually a good into to their other work but after this one, I won’t be racing to read anything else by this author.
July 31, 2015
Liudmila Petrushévskaia. Los amores difíciles (a veces ridículos)
Así era ella: tenía setenta y siete años, y en una semanas cumpliría los setenta y ocho (y aún lo hará, porque Liudmila sigue viva… muy viva, dirían algunos, también yo). Marbot acaba de publicar un libro de título de película de Lina Wertmüller: Érase una vez una mujer que sedujo al marido de su hermana y él se ahorcó. Y como realmente es muy largo (aunque no tenga seguramente mucho que ver con el título original ruso, tanto nos invita esta mujer a prodigarnos) lleva un subtítulo que dice Historias de amor. Pero es que las historias de amor de nuestra viejecita (que en realidad tiene la energía de un montón de alocadas jovencitas, tal vez más) son un poco raras. Y son un poco raras no porque ella lo sea (quién sabe) sino más bien porque están ambientadas en un país que es muy raro, un país en el que hasta la miseria no es una cuestión sencilla, sino que debe ser largamente construida, con una escritura que se multiplica. Y ahora lo tenemos fácil, porque podemos hablar de mastrokas. O no.
Liudmila Petrushévskaia nos arroja a los morros en sus relatos un mundo tan vivo que nos hace cosquillas constantemente. Se encarama por todo nuestro cuerpo y corretea como algo vivo, pongamos una serpiente. Las palabras nos asaltan como las desgracias a sus protagonistas. Claro que en un mundo como en el que viven, en un país como ese ruso, o soviético, o soviético hecho trizas rusas, lo más fácil es ser desgraciado, porque es lo único que no pide mucho dinero. Se necesita poco capital para ser un desgraciado, y uno puede ir siempre conjuntando con su tiempo. No es una cuestión de suerte. Es que todo te empuja. Aquella época debió de ser algo así como unos coches de choque gigantescos: hiciera uno lo que hiciera siempre se daba de morros contra otro u otros. Y ahora lo tenemos de nuevo fácil, porque podemos hablar del destino. O no.
Construir una novela bonita llena de cosas bonitas en las que todo reluce es sencillo. Pero hacerlo con un montón de trapillos, despojos, cascotes, personas desafortunadas, hacerlo con una Historia hecha unos zorros y con todo lo que cae o se cae, ¡qué complicado! Liudmila Petrushévskaia, a la que nadie hizo mucho caso en aquellos tiempos sobre los que escribe (si es que acabaron), debió entender que cuando una también es pintora, dramaturga e incluso cantante de cabaret, para acercarse a la realidad, un poco, para rozarla, un poco, es necesario dar voz a los mudos y resucitar a los muertos. Y había tantos muertos vivientes (vivientes es una exageración). Sus relatos son pequeñas piezas de orfebrería hechas con materiales baratos, con lo que nadie quiere ni conocer.
Sangrantes en su mordacidad, sarcásticos en su mesurada (pero desbordante) ironía, hay algo de cariño por esos seres que solo aspiran a un poco de amor y a un trabajo estable. La vida no puede ser otra cosa más que eso, y bueno, si lo es que se queden con el resto los demás. Quien aspira a poco aún obtiene menos, y parece que uno vive por puro azar, esperando que las cosas ocurran un día, al salir del ascensor. Y es un poco así en esa Rusia en la que se emparejan las desgracias, rara vez las personas, y uno siempre se tiene que querer en la adversidad. Entonces llega la convicción (atemorizados) de que solo hubo una Rusia, esta de Petrushévskaia, y que su retrato solo puede ser justo e incluso mesurado. Sí, como en la comedia italiana neorrealista nos hemos reído pero, al cerrar el libro, nos queda esa amarga sensación de que…
Escrito para Détour.
Así era ella: tenía setenta y siete años, y en una semanas cumpliría los setenta y ocho (y aún lo hará, porque Liudmila sigue viva… muy viva, dirían algunos, también yo). Marbot acaba de publicar un libro de título de película de Lina Wertmüller: Érase una vez una mujer que sedujo al marido de su hermana y él se ahorcó. Y como realmente es muy largo (aunque no tenga seguramente mucho que ver con el título original ruso, tanto nos invita esta mujer a prodigarnos) lleva un subtítulo que dice Historias de amor. Pero es que las historias de amor de nuestra viejecita (que en realidad tiene la energía de un montón de alocadas jovencitas, tal vez más) son un poco raras. Y son un poco raras no porque ella lo sea (quién sabe) sino más bien porque están ambientadas en un país que es muy raro, un país en el que hasta la miseria no es una cuestión sencilla, sino que debe ser largamente construida, con una escritura que se multiplica. Y ahora lo tenemos fácil, porque podemos hablar de mastrokas. O no.
Liudmila Petrushévskaia nos arroja a los morros en sus relatos un mundo tan vivo que nos hace cosquillas constantemente. Se encarama por todo nuestro cuerpo y corretea como algo vivo, pongamos una serpiente. Las palabras nos asaltan como las desgracias a sus protagonistas. Claro que en un mundo como en el que viven, en un país como ese ruso, o soviético, o soviético hecho trizas rusas, lo más fácil es ser desgraciado, porque es lo único que no pide mucho dinero. Se necesita poco capital para ser un desgraciado, y uno puede ir siempre conjuntando con su tiempo. No es una cuestión de suerte. Es que todo te empuja. Aquella época debió de ser algo así como unos coches de choque gigantescos: hiciera uno lo que hiciera siempre se daba de morros contra otro u otros. Y ahora lo tenemos de nuevo fácil, porque podemos hablar del destino. O no.
Construir una novela bonita llena de cosas bonitas en las que todo reluce es sencillo. Pero hacerlo con un montón de trapillos, despojos, cascotes, personas desafortunadas, hacerlo con una Historia hecha unos zorros y con todo lo que cae o se cae, ¡qué complicado! Liudmila Petrushévskaia, a la que nadie hizo mucho caso en aquellos tiempos sobre los que escribe (si es que acabaron), debió entender que cuando una también es pintora, dramaturga e incluso cantante de cabaret, para acercarse a la realidad, un poco, para rozarla, un poco, es necesario dar voz a los mudos y resucitar a los muertos. Y había tantos muertos vivientes (vivientes es una exageración). Sus relatos son pequeñas piezas de orfebrería hechas con materiales baratos, con lo que nadie quiere ni conocer.
Sangrantes en su mordacidad, sarcásticos en su mesurada (pero desbordante) ironía, hay algo de cariño por esos seres que solo aspiran a un poco de amor y a un trabajo estable. La vida no puede ser otra cosa más que eso, y bueno, si lo es que se queden con el resto los demás. Quien aspira a poco aún obtiene menos, y parece que uno vive por puro azar, esperando que las cosas ocurran un día, al salir del ascensor. Y es un poco así en esa Rusia en la que se emparejan las desgracias, rara vez las personas, y uno siempre se tiene que querer en la adversidad. Entonces llega la convicción (atemorizados) de que solo hubo una Rusia, esta de Petrushévskaia, y que su retrato solo puede ser justo e incluso mesurado. Sí, como en la comedia italiana neorrealista nos hemos reído pero, al cerrar el libro, nos queda esa amarga sensación de que…
Escrito para Détour.
March 31, 2020
The New Yorker
“ Doze de fantastic, de macabru, de real indobitocit de opresiunea sovietica, un amestec suprarealist in care mai mulți Robinson Crusoe ai lumii noi se hăituiesc obsesiv pana la uitarea de sine, povestiri pline de farmec, povestiri savuroase.”
“ Doze de fantastic, de macabru, de real indobitocit de opresiunea sovietica, un amestec suprarealist in care mai mulți Robinson Crusoe ai lumii noi se hăituiesc obsesiv pana la uitarea de sine, povestiri pline de farmec, povestiri savuroase.”
August 11, 2017
Thank god I was able to finish.
March 28, 2023
There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister's Husband, and He Hanged Himself: Love Stories....phew! It is the longest titled book I have ever read!
The title is a sure shot winner which lured me into it. There are seventeen stories and each one has a common theme- love, but don't let this illude your thoughts of reading something easy breezy. Each one represents certain dark twist and shows the murky edge of the lower middle class Russian society after the great wars.
The writer Ludmilla Petrushevskaya had a very difficult childhood and she took no detour from showing the true facts of hardship.
The attempt to show emotional connections between the extremely deprived humans has been successful.
Last year I devoured Proust and the French literature made my year a remarkable one and this year I have started tackling the Russian literature. After reading and loving Crime and Punishment, this one by Petrushevskaya has made me an instant fan of her short stories. Her eerie sense and dark humour written in a straight forward way is surely an attention grabbing literary style.
If you are a fan of Joyce Carol Oats like me, then you must not miss reading Ludmila Petrushevskaya's writing.
My favourites among this collection are: The Fall, Hallelujah Family, Tamara's Baby.
The title is a sure shot winner which lured me into it. There are seventeen stories and each one has a common theme- love, but don't let this illude your thoughts of reading something easy breezy. Each one represents certain dark twist and shows the murky edge of the lower middle class Russian society after the great wars.
The writer Ludmilla Petrushevskaya had a very difficult childhood and she took no detour from showing the true facts of hardship.
The attempt to show emotional connections between the extremely deprived humans has been successful.
Last year I devoured Proust and the French literature made my year a remarkable one and this year I have started tackling the Russian literature. After reading and loving Crime and Punishment, this one by Petrushevskaya has made me an instant fan of her short stories. Her eerie sense and dark humour written in a straight forward way is surely an attention grabbing literary style.
If you are a fan of Joyce Carol Oats like me, then you must not miss reading Ludmila Petrushevskaya's writing.
My favourites among this collection are: The Fall, Hallelujah Family, Tamara's Baby.
February 11, 2013
4.5 stars.
Petrushevskaya stripped off the rose colored glasses and showed us what love really is sometimes and yet underneath all the grit and darkness there is beauty to be appreciated in each story. Petrushevskaya has shown us that love can find us all even in the darkest of times. Love isn’t just something that happens in fairy tales or in Nicholas Sparks novels…..love is messy.
I love books that go against the grain and challenge tradition and this book did just that. I loved that each of these stories were based on real life events….that took the collection to a whole other level for me. It made them more personal and relatable for me as a reader knowing that. Each story contained realistic tenderness mixed with romantic illusion.
The only thing I wished for in this book was that it was longer. I loved that the stories were short and sweet but sometimes I thought they ended abruptly and I was left wanting to know more about the characters and what happened next. I also wanted to keep reading more!
See my full review here
Petrushevskaya stripped off the rose colored glasses and showed us what love really is sometimes and yet underneath all the grit and darkness there is beauty to be appreciated in each story. Petrushevskaya has shown us that love can find us all even in the darkest of times. Love isn’t just something that happens in fairy tales or in Nicholas Sparks novels…..love is messy.
I love books that go against the grain and challenge tradition and this book did just that. I loved that each of these stories were based on real life events….that took the collection to a whole other level for me. It made them more personal and relatable for me as a reader knowing that. Each story contained realistic tenderness mixed with romantic illusion.
The only thing I wished for in this book was that it was longer. I loved that the stories were short and sweet but sometimes I thought they ended abruptly and I was left wanting to know more about the characters and what happened next. I also wanted to keep reading more!
See my full review here
March 22, 2013
Sometimes you get a small glimmer of hope that someone in this book will behave humanely or kindly, and then they don't, ever. As a child raised in the heart of the cold war on Boris and Natasha in Rocky and Bullwinkle, these stories conform to the western propaganda caricature of the dreary soullessness and inhumanity of communism. The tales are pitch black, unrelentingly pessimistic, and I could not put them down. The author's work for political reasons was unpublishable until after Glasnost, but since she has been hailed as one of the Russian greats. Her prose is spare and stripped down: one of the best stories is just a series of numbered short passages that brilliantly tell a, surprise, tragic tale that would make Papa Hemingway proud. The characters are small, desperate, trapped, hopeless people at the mercy of systems over which they have no control, surrounded by equally small, cruel, self-interested co-workers, partners, children. The men in the stories are especially despicable, delusional and uncouth. You should not read these stories if you are in any way depressed or questioning humanity or your own existence. They give you no hope and leave you no out. But I could not put them down. I think I'll go back to the Holocaust book I'm reading to cheer up.
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