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by Vladimir Sorokin

In the stories and stories included in the collection, Sorokin demythologizes the familiar reader's notions of Soviet literature, turning the sad examples of socialist realism and "spiritual" prose in the spirit of Prishvin into something completely, completely different - and intended exclusively for the adult audience. The unpleasant myth of developed socialism is met with hypertrophied cruelty, grotesque and absurdity, and the reader with Vladimir Sorokin's brilliant stylistic skill.

Genres: Fiction, Russia, Short Stories

360 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2002

About the author

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

Reviews

[Aliaksandr Astrouski · Rating 3 out of 5]

thrash metal, самая экстремальная его разновидность.
Характеризуется достаточно высокой скоростью исполнения, большей жёсткостью пробивных, быстрых, исполненных в низком диапазоне частот ритмических фигур (риффов) по сравнению с классическим хэви-металом и агрессией вкупе с техничным, кромсающим, молотящим, скоростным стилем гитарных соло в высоком диапазоне частот и басово-гитарным тремоло

[Olea · Rating 4 out of 5]

Socant in cel mai inalt grad, pentru ca prezinta latura abjecta a realitatii pe care e mai confortabil s-o negi, decit s-o recunosti. Cum zic baietii care au tradus (fratii Vakulovski), nu poti ramine indiferent. Ceea ce socheaza e o realitate exagerata, dar totusi - o realitate. Autorul aluneca in extrapolari ale unor situatii din realitate care fac sa-ti inghete singele in vine.

[Socrate · Rating 4 out of 5]

Pe la orele 8.00, cind lunetistul isi bea ceaiul la bucatarie, a inceput sa cada o zapada moale si abundenta. Fulgii pufosi au acoperit repede peisajul gri de dupa fereastra si sau lipit de galeria ferestrei. Lunetistul si-a terminat de baut ceaiul, a clatit paharul si, deschizind oberlihtul, s-a uitat in strada. Acoperisurile blocurilor si copacii erau deja inalbiti, iar asfaltul ud se incapatina sa fie mereu deasupra zapezii. Lunetistul a scuipat, a trintit oberlihtul si a inceput sa se pregateasca. Si-a tras pe el puloverul rosu, pantalonii grei de vata si cusma, a imbracat salopeta sa alba, si-a aruncat pe umeri rucsacul de pinza, a luat din mers carabina invelita intr-o pinza asemanatoare cu cea din care e facut si rucsacul si a deschis usa. Afara era umiditate mare. Zapada cadea continuu, pe linga containerele de gunoi doi oameni isi plimbau ciinii, la magazin intorcea un autocamion. Lunetistul a pus carabina invelita cu pinza in spate, si-a imbracat manusile albe si a pasit pe asfalt. Trecind pe linga aia cu ciinii, l-a salutat pe unul dintre ei. Ala i-a raspuns bucuros cu o miscare a capului. In ciuda faptului ca era duminica, tramvaiul era plin. Lunetistul s-a strecurat cu greu pina la casa de bilete, a aruncat trei copeici si a rupt un bilet. Intrind in salon, l-a atins cu rucsacul pe-un barbat.
- Ai putea sa-ti dai jos cocoasa macar cind circuli cu tramvaiul, a zis malitios barbatul, indreptindu-si sapca. Lunetistul a trecut, tacut, mai departe si s-a asezat pe-un loc care tocmai se eliberase. Dupa sase statii, linga magazinul universal, au coborit aproape toti calatorii si lunetistul, zimbind, a privit vagonul golit, asezindu-se mai comod. Dupa trei statii a coborit si el.
- Strada Malenkovski, blocul 8, scara 3, a bolmojit, uitindu-se la o bucatica de hirtie. E undeva pe-aproape… Lunetistul si-a indreptat invelitoarea carabinei si a mers mai departe. In jur erau blocuri de locuit.
- Blocul 8? i-a raspuns cu intrebare o batrinica, ridicindu-se de la taraba. Pai uite-acela este blocul acesta! Ea a facut un semn cu capul spre un sir de blocuri din imediata apropiere.
- Care dintre aceste blocuri? a mijit ochii lunetistul.
- Uite-acela, acela din stinga. Ala e blocul numarul opt.
- Multumesc.
- Pai n-ai pentru ce.
Lunetistul a sarit peste un sant si s-a indreptat spre sirul de blocuri. A gasit repede apartamentul administratorului blocului. A sunat la usa si a iesit un barbat scund si chel, imbracat intr-un maiou si, molfaind, a dat din cap intrebator:
- De mine aveti nevoie? Intrati.

[Evghenii · Rating 2 out of 5]

Постмодернизм. Умение автора пользоваться русским языком на высоте. Постмодернистская попытка объяснить реальность «совка» XX века. Не Булгаков. Провокационно. Конечно на любителя. Язык 18+.

[Kiryl Maroz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Жуткая смесь из ненависти и таланта обращения со словом. Можно неплохо провести время, гадая, в какой момент повествование свернёт не туда.