Endling

by Maria Reva

Ukraine, 2022. Yeva is a loner and a maverick biologist who lives out of her mobile lab. She scours the country’s forests and valleys, trying and failing to breed rare snails while her relatives urge her to give up, settle down, and start a family. What they don’t know: Yeva already dates plenty of men—not for love, but to fund her work—entertaining Westerners who come to Ukraine on guided romance tours believing they’ll find docile brides uninfluenced by feminism and modernity.

Nastia and her sister Solomiya are also entangled in the booming marriage industry, posing as a hopeful bride and her translator while secretly searching for their missing mother—a flamboyant protestor who vanished after years of fierce activism against the romance tours. So begins a journey of a lifetime across hundreds of miles: three angry women, a truckful of kidnapped bachelors, and Lefty, a last-of-his-kind snail with one final shot at perpetuating his species. But their plans come to a screeching halt as Russia invades.

Genres: Fiction, Literary Fiction, Ukraine, Contemporary, Book Club, Audiobook, War

347 pages, Kindle Edition

First published June 3, 2025

About the author

MARIA REVA was born in Ukraine and grew up in Canada. She holds an MFA from the Michener Center at the University of Texas. Her fiction has appeared in The Atlantic, McSweeney's, Best American Short Stories, and elsewhere, and has won a National Magazine Award. She also works as an opera librettist.

Reviews

[Jill · Rating 5 out of 5]

After turning the last page of Maria Reva’s fascinating new book, Endling, I sat still for a few minutes and asked myself, “What did I just read?”

Certainly, it’s a book of metafiction. It’s written by a Ukrainian expat who reveals herself as the puppeteer of this engrossing story. I would not call it absurdist literature because, while the themes are pessimistic, I was left with a feeling of hope, not nihilism. Nor would I call it fabulistic or dystopian or heaven forbid, romance. Endling is sui generis, and that, in my opinion, is a very good thing.

Let’s start with the title. An endling is the last known member of a species or subspecies. When the ending dies, the species becomes extinct. Yeva – whose name translates to Eve, the mother of humankind – is a scientist who studies these soon-to-disappear species. Ironically, she has no interest in marrying or procreating herself, and it’s not a stretch to think of her as closed up in her own little spiral.

Since funding is hard to come by, Yeva earns money by being part of the booming marriage industry in Ukraine. Her job is to entertain bachelors who arrive from other countries, hoping to connect with beautiful brides unfettered by modern ideas. There, she connects to two activist sisters hatching an audacious plot – to kidnap a truck full of these bachelors to shine a light on the industry's excesses.

To provide more of the plot would be to deprive readers of the delight of reading this original novel, which is threaded with fascinating insights about how the Ukrainian people are functioning and holding up in these surreal times. So many questions arise: in a country where it’s hard to hold on to the past or future, where everything is trained on the present, how do ordinary people survive? Does the illusion of romance ever equal reality? How do we tackle the forces of nihilism – and even extinction – to end up with hope? And finally, most importantly, do we have any power over the stories we tell that define our circumstances and also give us reasons not to give up? How do our stories help us survive?

All this being said, Endling is also an accessible book, that can also be read as a sort of adventure and a peephole into biology, the wedding industry, and the state of the Ukraine people today. I am thankful to Doubleday and NetGalley for enabling me to be an early reader in exchange for an honest review.

[Canadian Jen · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a different story. Some may even consider bizarre.

Endling is a story of the ending of existence. We meet Yeva, an ecologist, who is studying snails in Ukraine, while working in the romance tour industries to fund her studies. She has a favourite snail, Lefty, who she is trying to ensure his mating so the species does not go extinct. She keeps him in her mobile van in which she lives. The story takes a twist when she is approached by Nastia and her sister, who are in the wedding industry, wanting to abduct 12 bachelors and use Yeva's van in the hope of locating their activist mother. The story takes place in 2022 during the ongoing war with Russia.

Things get weirder once the abduction takes place. The author inserts herself at different points in the story so it did cause some confusion for this reader.
Although I found this to be a little messy, I did appreciate the writing, it's uniqueness and one I will likely contemplate more on.

Themes of war; abandonment; friendship; environment; identity.
4 ⭐️

[Nataliya · Rating 3 out of 5]

“But why must a country be bombed before we care about it?”

Recently I’ve read a book by a Ukrainian writer investigating Russia’s crimes against humanity since the full-scale Russian invasion, and despite being a nonfiction account it at times had a postmodernist feel because it was unfinished and still partially a draft due to the author’s death in the war. And after that is was almost a little strange to read a fictional book about the same war, but with the intentional postmodernist and meta feel.

To borrow her own concept from this novel, Reva’s Endling is an intentionally strange combination of a couple of a few literary “yurts” sewn together to create “a mansion of interconnected yurts.” And it felt odd, with some parts that were hitting hard and some that left me cold. Not all yurts apparently can combine into a mansion. Let’s bow to the wisdom of mysterious Yurt Makers here, “If you want a mansion, build a mansion. Do not drag yurts into this.”

Leaving yurts aside, what didn’t work so well for me was the what ends up a novel within a novel — the one centered on a trio of women in a Kyiv who become involved in kidnapping a dozen of matchmaking tour Western clients in attempt to get attention of an activist mother of one of them.

Then this weird heist plot - the first “yurt” of this novel - gets interrupted by Russian invasion, just as the writing of that novel is, and just as the lives of everyone in Ukraine are, and war takes over everything just like it does. And that’s where we get the second novel “yurt” that resonated with me hard, that of (fictionalized, maybe?) Reva herself, a Canadian writer of Ukrainian origin who left her birthplace at eight years old, and now sees the horror befalling Ukraine from the sidelines of diaspora.

“If I really focus, I can end the war.

In its beginning, while chanting “NATO! Close the skies!” at downtown Vancouver rallies, I knew how I’d end it: a solid iron shield would slide over Ukraine, protecting its people and land from Russia’s incessant bombardment.

But why cut Ukraine off from the sun?

No, I’d cover Russia. A sarcophagus built over the entirety of Russia, much like the one built over the radioactive remains of the Chernobyl disaster, so that Russians could stop wreaking havoc on neighboring countries. Let them figure themselves out, their mysterious bottomless souls, within their own borders.

Or, another way to end it: each missile shot from Russia would stop midair, spin around, pummel into its exact point of origin.”

There is guilt for being safe in diaspora haven while being hailed as a voice of Ukraine by those Westerners who suddenly discovered the existence of Ukraine. There’s disconnect between what her Western audience appears to want to hear (the properly somber tone) versus what Reva sees as coping mechanism (Ukrainian humor and memes about the war, the laughing through tears and irreverent feel that yes, at that time many turned to so that senseless things could be survivable) through what I can only hope is fictionalized correspondence with an editor. There’s helplessness of watching from the sidelines, the helpless anger. There’s unease of profiting from the war, with literary recognition and fame and paychecks that come from tragedy.

“My first book? The irony is that it was also about Ukraine—about Soviet Ukraine, that long-gone Ukraine I’m more familiar with, since that’s the place I left—and for the book’s release I had written op-eds to be printed in newspapers, essays about growing up in Ukraine, the language politics, but they got canned when the pandemic hit. Now those same newspapers are calling me, asking me to write about Ukraine again, promising to actually publish this time, probably canning other writers’ pieces because now “my” cause is more important. I’m getting calls for magazine interviews, photo shoots, radio appearances I’d only dreamed of when my book first came out. I’m trying to be grateful. But why must a country be bombed before we care about it?”

These parts, the pain and thoughts about the war — whether coming from the real or fictionalized Reva — are where the book shines. But less so does the return to the novel-within-the-novel with the mad 900-kilometer meandering drive from Kyiv to Kherson seemingly to find a mate for the snail of a disappearing species while Russian tanks are rolling into Kherson — but in fact because (fictionalized) Reva needed to get to Kherson where a grandfather refusing to leave still lives, with authorial presence now in full swing in the novel, with fourth wall bombed out of existence. These book “yurts” do combine, sewn together by pain and grief and anger — but. Forget the endangered snails or suicidal lonely women or girls young enough to think that a grand gesture can solve parental abandonment — they pale in comparison to what feels actually real, which may be one of the points, this exact contrast — but alas, like those Western readers in that email exchange in the meta parts of the book, I also was drawn to the somber over the tragicomical, and that’s on me and not on Reva.

Although the tragicomical in Reva’s asides was actually good. This was the quote that actuallymade me read this book, the responses to the grant application to show how sharply realities diverge in war from what the world at peace concerns itself with:

Summarize in one sentence how you will ensure safe working conditions for yourself and others through proper Covid-19 safety protocol. This summary will be used in the CAF’s official reporting.
A quote from a Ukrainian MP: “One upside of this war is that we’ve finally vanquished Covid.”

Further describe how you will ensure safe working conditions for yourself and others through proper Covid-19 safety protocol.
As of the time of writing, Russian troops are withdrawing from Kyiv to focus their assault on the eastern region of Donbas, thereby rendering access to Covid-19 testing clinics possible again, if any remain. I pledge to adhere, with unwavering commitment, to any and all local Covid-19 prevention guidelines—in extraordinary instances where there are none, I will be only too pleased to observe CAF’s own—in addition to being inoculated with the latest and finest booster vaccine available. Should I find myself sheltering with members not of my household during an air raid, I will maintain the appropriate social distance of six feet and will actively assist those around me to do the same; no moment is inopportune for a little public health education. The possible malfunction or detonation of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant, currently being occupied and shelled by Russians, may pose additional challenges, but in case of a nuclear incident, should I find myself experiencing a medical exigency I will alert the emergency operator if I have, or suspect I have, Covid-19, and will be sure to don a mask when help arrives.

Oh, and I’ll be perfectly content not to read about snails (including passionate snail sex) ever again. Although maybe a dose of absurdism is all this world really deserves, other than saving something from extinction.

“Snails weren’t pandas — those oversize bumbling toddlers that sucked up national conservation budgets — or any of the other charismatic megafauna, like orcas or gorillas. Snails weren’t huggy koala bears, which in reality were vicious and riddled with chlamydia. Nor were snails otters, which looked like plush toys made for mascots by aquariums, despite the fact that they lured dogs from beaches to drown and rape them.“

3.5 stars. Two for one yurt, almost five for the other. Therefore the combined rating is needless.

——————
Also posted on my blog.

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 5 out of 5]

Golden Reviewer Book of The Year 2025
Winner of the 2026 Gordon Burn Prize
Winner of the 2026 Aspen Words Literary Prize
Shortlisted for the Climate Fiction Prize
Longlisted for the 2026 Dublin Literary Award
Longlisted for the 2025 Booker Prize

And re-read as a result although with little to add to my original review of this novel - other than to note that the metafictional nature extends to two Golden Retrievers - it surely should have been the favourite to take a deserved Booker win.

As I complete revisions on this book, it’s Day 914 of the war. In Kherson, the few remaining residents traverse the streets under the cover of trees, constantly on alert for any buzzing. A grenade or mortar might drop from the sky at any moment. Russian drone operators stationed across the Dnipro are using the region as live target practice. These targets, many of whom are elderly or disabled and move slowly, must be easy prey. I haven’t made it back to Ukraine. At this point, I’m not sure when that’ll be. Years ago, my grandfather invited me to come live with him for three months so that we could spend our days just talking. He’d tell me about his favorite writers, his favorite books, the ones he’d spent a lifetime collecting. He’d tell me more about his life under Soviet rule, more than what I’d already recorded during previous visits, which flew by, each a couple of weeks at most. No, this time we’d take our time. Every day we’d sit down for tea, or light beer with salty fish. He likes to talk, can talk endlessly. Usually I get tired of it, start to squirm, ache to go outside and stretch my legs, but in this other scenario, this other fantasy, I won’t. I’ll sit and listen hour after hour as the sun arches over the kitchen window and the shadows circle, as the acacia leaves fall and regrow.

 
A brilliantly moving yet metafictional, impactful but intelligent treatment of Russian war with Ukraine.
 
Maria Reva was born in Ukraine (and has relatives there) although as a mainly Russian speaker, grew up in Vancouver Canada, did an MFA in Texas and published a well-received short story collection “Good Citizens Need Not Fear” (a darkly humorous series of stories set in and around an apartment block in Ukraine and based on family anecdotes) published in 2020 at which point she said in interviews she was working on a debut novel set partly in Texas and partly Ukraine.
 
Two years later, immediately after the Russian invasion, she tried to pitch stories on diaspora and local Ukrainian humour in the face of war to local newspapers but was told it was not the tone US/Canadian readers were looking for. She also revealed in other interviews that her grandfather (also the family archivist) was still living near the family dacha in Kherson and refusing to evacuate. 
 
And all of this biographical detail is not just directly relevant for this book’s conception but even – part way through - plays out in its pages.

The novel begins quirkily with two storylines that quickly intersect.
 
In the first Yeva is a malacologist (a term she prefers to the more strictly accurate gastropodologist) -  a snail expert; but also a eclipsazoologist (a studier of extinct animals) – as her specialty is finding endangered species of snails, rescuing them and attempting to revive their populations in captivity before ideally reintroducing them to ecologically protected zones.  In practice the latter has happened less – and instead as she toured around Ukraine in a specially designed mobile laboratory - her experience is more of finding “endlings” – the last example of a soon to be extinct species – and time stamping their extinction.  Now – as talk of Russia’s build-up of forces on Ukraine’s borders gets stronger – she is touring the country “restituting” her remaining snails while contemplating her own suicide.
 
Yeva’s laboratory is funded not by grants but by guest participation in “bride” parties for Western bachelors on marriage tours – and the second strand is about one such full-time bride-to-be Nastia and her interpreter (and also sister) Sol.  The two are the daughters of the founder of Komod – a notorious protest troupe (think Pussy Riot) – who has now deserted them and Yeva’s participation in exactly the sort of thing her mother most opposes is largely designed to provoke their mother when she does reappear.
 
And when she does not – Nastia devises and then executes a plan to lure twelve of the most media friendly bachelors (a thirteenth – Pasha a returned exile – joins accidentally) into Yeva’s van promising an escape room experience followed by an exclusive party, but instead with the intention of making them hostages.  This first part ends with the crack of an explosion – which we know is the start of the Russian invasion.
 
And that is where the novel really takes off – with the explosion not so much demolishing the walls of the tenement block illustrated in the gap between Parts – as demolishing the fourth wall entirely. 

As the author then directly addresses the reader telling of her difficult discussions with her agent about her draft novel “A Happy Family Is But An Earlier Heaven” – about modern day firing squads in US states (set up as a backup method of execution due to a lethal injection drug shortage).   And how she had to abandon her in progress novel as firstly it contained two Ukrainian tropes “mail order brides and topless protestors” which made her queasy even in peacetime, and secondly her premise of “a so-called invasion of Western bachelors” was made invalid and unforgiveable in lights of the actual invasion.
 
And while the author anxiously thinks of Ukraine – the bombed buildings she sees on the screen and the unknown situation of her aforementioned grandfather – her agent compares her novel attempt to George Sanders discussions about moving from short stories to novels (https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...) and how he worked out how to stitch custom built yurts together into a mansion.
 
And from there we have: a series of letter exchanges with newspapers about a proposed essay; a grant application form for travel to Ukraine; a happy ending to the earlier novel – in which the three girls drop off the bachelors at the nearest border before rescuing the author’s grandfather; the acknowledgements/author profile and even typeface; a surreal exchange of messages with some yurt makers.
 
Before returning abruptly to the novel – and the predicament of the three girls (starting with minutes of a meeting they have as they come to terms with how to deal with the outbreak of war) and chapters which then alternate between them and Pasha (in the back of the lab with the other men – completely unaware of the invasion) and a dangerous cross Ukraine trip not, initially to rescue the grandfather (although that does come via the Canada based owner of the Bride Agency who claims to know where the two sister’s mother is and will trade that first for the safe delivery of the bachelors and later for an attempt to evacuate her own – but also the same - grandfather) but instead on a quest for a potential partner to Yeva’s one remaining snail – Lefty an anti-clockwise coiled snail who she had assumed was an endling of his own genetic mutation – with another Lefty spotted by one of her fellow snail-conserver-correspondents on a photo of an acacia tree in a field in war torn Kherson.
 
There is an extent to which the reader at first misses the more metafictional nature of the interim section and welcomes its rare reappearances (an Interlude in which the author moves forward to her own trip to Ukraine with her own sister in 2023 but then back to 2022 and the potential partner snail in Kherson; a series of alternate chapters when the trio finally arrive in Kherson and the grandfather’s apartment; the author herself being conflated with the owner of the marriage bureaux, the reappearance of the Yurt makers) – but instead the context of the writing of the novel reinforces its excellent execution to render this section firstly moving and then later shocking as the true horrors (as well as absurdities – the two not possible to disentangle) of the war emerge and terribly impact on the van’s passengers.
 
Really this is quite an exceptional novel
 
In almost the novel’s last words the author worries if her writing a novel based on a cataclysm means she is “no better than snail, sniffing out the softest, most rotten parts of a log to feast on. At least the snail digests the rot and excretes nutrients, useful”.  Well this novel may not be useful but it has huge merit not just in a literary sense but in its artistic rendering of a way to write in the apparently antithetical to art midst of a personal, national and even global cataclysm.
 
As the book reminds us – George Sanders attempts at yurt stitching resulted in a Booker Prize – I would be not surprised if this does not lead to at least a Booker longlisting – and disappointed if it does not.
 
My thanks to Little, Brown Book Group for an ARC via NetGalley

[Alexia · Rating 5 out of 5]

This compelling book intricately weaves together multiple narratives, delving into a tapestry of paths, what-if scenarios, and vivid fantasies. At its core, it examines the author's unfulfilled wishes and the haunting "what could have been" during Russia's harrowing invasion of Ukraine. As I immersed myself in the intricate possibilities and imagined worlds that the author so beautifully crafted, the stark contrast of returning to the harsh realities of war was deeply unsettling. The emotional weight of her words often brought me to tears; the profound love she has for her homeland and the devastating impact of the war on her family was truly heart-wrenching.

When I first learned, via news reports, about Russia's incursion into Ukraine, an unshakeable fear gripped me—one I had never encountered before. As a Romanian, my thoughts raced with the stark implications: if Ukraine succumbed, it could signal a domino effect, threatening the stability of neighboring countries. This visceral fear may have seemed exaggerated at the time, but this book skillfully reignited those sentiments within me, making me confront the reality of our geopolitical proximity.

The narrative skillfully intertwines two poignant stories: that of Yeva and the sisters, Nastia and Sol, alongside the author’s own personal journey. Yeva, a character marked by her quirky obsession with snails—an unusual yet endearing passion—was brought to life through the author’s masterful prose, enriching the reading experience with fascinating insights into these creatures. Meanwhile, Nastia grapples with profound trauma linked to her mother and her ambitious, often reckless plans, while Sol, ever the supportive sister, stands by her side through these turbulent times. Their dynamic creates a rich, engaging narrative that kept me engrossed from beginning to end. I also found myself amused by Pasha, whose sometimes annoying yet humor-filled perspective, along with those of other male figures, provided much-needed levity amidst the book’s heavy themes.

The author’s own story resonates with deep emotional intensity, underscoring how we, as outsiders, frequently miss the true gravity of war if it doesn’t touch our lives directly. While we can continue our daily routines, shielded from the impending threat of violence—a bomb falling from the sky or being caught in crossfire—Ukrainians endure a grim existence entrenched in fear. They live each day anxiously anticipating when this relentless war might finally come to an end. Although we might catch glimpses of incoming drones or military operations in the news, local authorities often reassure us that everything is under control, enabling us to carry on as normal, a luxury that many in Ukraine simply do not have.

In conclusion, this book deserves immense praise for its unflinching portrayal of the war, human resilience, and the perspective of someone born in Ukraine yet navigating life elsewhere. I couldn't help but feel a wave of relief when I read that Lefty the snail, representing hope amidst despair, survived and ultimately found his mate, a small yet poignant victory in a story fraught with loss.

[Daniel Shindler · Rating 5 out of 5]

ENDLING is a novel with no methodical character development, shifting time frames and murky distinctions between fiction and reality.A snail named Lefty has a central role in the ebb and flow of the action.The novel is a picaresque journey across Ukraine combining, suspense, humor and the reality of war with a dose of meta fiction.

I loved it.

The snail named Lefty is the last of his species.Yeva, a thirty something malacologist, nurtures Lefty and other tottering species while she searches the countryside in her retrofitted mobile lab looking for other endangered specimens to rescue. She has eschewed the traditional career paths chosen by most of her peers.Instead, she funds her research by entertaining men who are lured to Ukraine in hopes of finding exotic and alluring brides.

While working in the bride industry,Yeva encounters sisters Nastia and Sol.The sisters also have a mission, albeit different from Yeva’s, that drives them forward. The girls’ mother, founder of a group that protests against female objectification, has abandoned the sisters. Their participation in an industry that their mother abhors is both a rebellion against their upbringing and a plea for their mother’s return. When Yeva’s need for additional funding intersects with the sisters’ need to move their desires forward, they formulate a plan tinged with desperation and hope.

They plan to attract twelve “bachelors” into the mobile lab for an escape room party, while actually intending to take them hostage to attract media attention. As they start their journey, Russian bombs explode, propelling the Ukraine, the mobile lab and the novel into previously unanticipated directions.At the moment of the Russian invasion, the narrative fuses fiction and reality, interspersing sections of authorial pauses that ruminate on the difficulty of writing a novel about the invasion while agonizing over the well being of relatives remaining in the war zone.In this way, the novel heightens the conflict’s reality and diminishes the reader’s distance from the war.

I read this novel as a chronicle of parallel journeys of overcoming and discovery. Yeva and those in her lab struggle with individual dilemmas of personal desires as they lurch across Ukraine in the midst of bombs, seeking physical safety and personal reassurances. In her authorial interludes, Maria Riva grapples with the emotional challenges inherent in constructing a novel dealing with the Russian invasion in real time. The two strands intertwine, separate and reattach over the course of the novel.I was left contemplating the consequences for children of the diaspora watching from afar while environmental destruction and inhumanity rage in their native land. Ultimately, this reader returned to the fate of Lefty the Snail, who gradually becomes a symbol of perseverance and endurance. In the midst of the chaos and expansiveness of this big hearted novel, a tiny mollusk might offer a ray of hope as we confront these frightening times.

[Barbara · Rating 5 out of 5]

I initially got the audio version of “Endling” by Maria Reva. This novel is billed as a story about the bridal industry in Ukraine, incorporating the devastating effects of the Russian invasion, along with an eccentric female character who wants to save a rare breed of snail. Oh, and there are kidnapped bachelors to boot! Of course, I was intrigued by this romp of a story.

After dedicating a few hours to listening, I realized that the story was too complex to follow via audio alone (at least for me). I decided to invest in the e-reader version to accompany the audio. I restarted the story from the beginning, and I’m so glad I paired the two formats. Max Meyers, Saskia Maarleveld, and Maria Reva (the author) narrate and truly elevate the experience. If I had read it alone, I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much as I did.

The story begins with Yeva, a Ukrainian scientist obsessed with saving the endlings—the last known members of a snail species. She has a mobile lab, a converted RV, equipped with everything she needs. She funds this passion by working part-time for a marriage boutique called “Romeo Meets Yulia,” where men fly into Ukraine to find brides. These trips are known as “romance tours.”

Meanwhile, two sisters, Nastia and Sol, are searching for their missing mother, a known activist against the romance tour industry. They devise a plan to infiltrate a tour, kidnap 13 of the bachelors, and hold them for ransom to get their mother’s attention in the hope that she will contact them. The sisters meet Yeva and manipulate her into joining their caper.

Unfortunately, their scheme unravels when Russia begins bombing Ukraine. Unfortunate for the ladies, but excellent material for author Maria Reva. The quirky story borders on slapstick comedy. The sisters want the kidnapped bachelors to make a statement, and Yeva wants one tiny snail--and she’ll risk everything to save it.

The reader later meets the twins’ mother, now Mrs. Brown, who lives in Canada and muses on the meaning of freedom. She chose to live in a safe, gated community and reflects:
“Here were these freedom-loving Yankees who hated any whiff of centralization, of a nanny state, Sovietism, and yet they were willingly shutting themselves behind perimeter walls and bending to the most minute rules—like when you can put up and take down Christmas decorations, what shade of beige you can paint your door, or how much your dog can weigh.”
Then the structure of the novel shifts, and Masha (or is it Reva herself?) begins narrating the unfolding war. There’s a peculiar dialogue with an editor about writing and yurts. A book, she says, is like a series of yurts tied together. The editor remarks that Reva has many yurts, but they need to be connected. This section was my least favorite--somewhat distracting--but thankfully short-lived. Soon, the reader is back with the RV, the confused bachelors, and the search for the snail.
The girls discover that the owner of “Romeo Meets Yulia “ knows they kidnapped the 13 men. All will be forgiven if they can get her grandfather out of Kherson, a crumbling city decimated by the Russians. It is through this grandfather that Reva reveals the real toll of the invasion--the true ugliness of war. What began as a silly caper suddenly becomes painfully real.

Using both the audio and the e-reader made this a delightful experience. The narrators added a layer of entertainment that my imagination alone wouldn’t have provided. I highly recommend consuming the book in both formats together.

[nastya · Rating 4 out of 5]

It started weak but ended strong, it won me over, surprising me with its choices and refusing to provide saccharine, melodramatic answers. It’s angry, chaotic, confused, hopeful, desperate, self-aware, always searching, always questioning, never offering neat resolutions. Truly a work of art. It’s the biggest surprise I’ve had with a book in I don’t know however long, and a reminder that sometimes, though very, very, extremely rarely, you shouldn’t bail on a book too early. This is one of those unicorns.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 5 out of 5]

Winner of the 2025 Gordon Burn Prize
Shortlisted for the Climate Fiction Prize
Finalist for the 2026 Aspen Words Literary Prize
Longlisted for the 2025 Booker Prize

I need to keep fact and fiction straight, but they keep blurring together.

Endling by Maria Reva is a brilliant meta-fictional debut novel, darkly humorous but with important messages about love, survival in the face of aggression, and the need for resistance against US and Russian territorial aggression, and surely must feature in this year's Booker Prize.

The novel began as a more conventional one, although with an unusual subject matter, combining the marriage-tourism industry in Ukraine with the preservation of snail species on the verge of extinction, but which was derailed by the 2022 full-scale Russian invasion, leading the author to at first abandon the project, but then pick it up with the meta-fictional slant, where the novel contains the process of writing it:

Explain the inspiration for your project or why you wish to undertake it at this time:

My opus draws inspiration from the wellspring of narrative prowess exuded by Deb Olin Unferth's canonical work, Barn 8, wherein the notions of abduction and social justice deftly intertwine, as well as the groundbreaking metafictional elements prominently displayed within the protonovelistic oeuvre of Salvador Plascencia's The People of Paper. Thus fortified by the literary beacons that have illuminated the path before me, Endling seeks to transcend the boundaries of conventionality while being grounded in the timeless questions of the human condition. Now that Russia is conducting a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the central conflict woven into the delicate fabric of my novel, namely the influx of Western suitors into Ukraine, has been subjugated-or ripped apart, to keep with the metaphor—by a far more violent and destructive narrative. My novel (postnovel? yet-to-be defined entity?) needs further tailoring to reflect these rapidly changing circumstances.

The author has said in an interview in The Rumpus that "I think the novel is itching to be ripped apart again", and the book e.g. contains a fake ending part way through, inspired by Salvador Plascencia's book The People of Paper and this interview with him where he expresses similar sentiments. The highlight of the fake ending for me was this take on the usually rather po-faced notes on the typeface that many books include:

A NOTE ON THE TYPE
This book, a novel, was set in Serifus Libris, a typeface designed by distinguished Italian engraver Giuseppe Pizzinini (1852-1913).

Conceived as a private handkerchief embroidery type to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of his marriage to Countess Johanna Trauttmansdorff of Austria, and modernized before his untimely death by screw press, this type displays the tireless qualities of a master craftsman intent on weaving letter to letter, sentence to sentence, chapter to chapter, to create a sense of cohesion or an illusion thereof. In this way he shaped manifold manuscripts, however unshapely in their nascent form, into acceptable books. An ardent worker, Pizzinini remained steadfast at his beloved printing press even on his (rare) breaks, arranging and rearranging letter blocks with his apprentices to see who could spell the heaviest word. He has been credited as the inventor of the game now commonly known as Scrabble.

There is a further strong resonance to the novel in 2025, which Reva mentions in the Rumpus interview: "Some people are turning Trump’s rhetoric about Canada-as-fifty-first-state into a joke. But we need to feel the power of a statement like that because it’s very close to how Putin talked about Ukraine leading up to various stages of aggression. How the border is supposedly artificial, illegitimate, that all Ukrainians want to be part of Russia, all sorts of falsehoods. Trump is saying Canadians want to be part of the US, that it would help our economy and security, that we’re basically one people because of our shared language and history."

This could, if at all, only have been a late inclusion in the novel, given Trump's Putinesque rhetoric is reasonably recent (December 2024 originally, and more seriously from around March 2025). But the it is apposite that the novel does indeed contain a passing but important reference to Laura Secord, a Canadian heroine of the fight against previous American acts of aggression.

The Canadian hero Laura Secord came to his mind—she who’d waded thirty kilometers through forest and mud and mosquitoes two hundred years ago to warn the British colonies of an American attack, then become immortalized as a chocolate brand.

Henry Sandham's painting of Laura Secord, in June 1813, being escorted to the British outpost by Mohawk warriors to warn of the invasion.

Laura Secord Milk Chocolates with Hazelnuts

A tree snail, preternaturally social, whose scraggly conical shell spiraled to the left instead of the right, rendering breeding impossible with 99 percent of his species. To an already decimated population Lefty was, biologically speaking, useless. She loved him all the more.

The real-life 'Lefty the Snail', Jeremy, with two of his 'righty' i.e. clockwised shelled, offspring.

There’s this quote by Constantine Tereshchenko, a local visual artist: “Culture is the thinnest layer of moss on the body of human existence. It was shaved off with a bulldozer, now there’s an enormous wound.”

Detail from 'Take a rest' by Constantine Tereshchenko


Cover design by ChatGPT

[Henk · Rating 4 out of 5]

Deservedly long listed for the Booker prize 2025!
A daring novel on snails, the war in Ukraine, the mail order bride industry and the life of emigres, that stops itself midway. Hilarious at times while being heartfelt
Why does a country need to be bombed before we talk about it?

Maria Reva brings us a story of an asexual female scientist who is tending to 276 snails in a mobile lab in Ukraine. Yewa, whose name means Eve, tends to Endlings, last of snail species. Meanwhile she is also contemplating suicide given the hopelessness to stop the Sixth Extinction. To fund her preservation of snail species, we are transported into the world of "mail order brides" and an agency called Romeo meet Julia, prompting the wry observation: Ukraine: a bread basket and a bride basket from one of the characters. Here we have “Bachelors” and “Brides to be”, including sisters Nastia and Solomiya, desperate to find their missing mother who was part of a protest group similar to Pussyriot.

Endling: A Novel doesn't shy away from colourful characters (making me think a bit of fellow debut Everything is Illuminated), and in terms of themes we haven't even talked about the war of 2022 and Pasha, a kind-hearted, disillusioned engineer who grew up in Canada but now returns as a bachelor to a country he no longer knows. His perspective is interesting as it reflects the projections second generation emigrates get thrust upon them, from financial success to expectations of artistic development.

In part II of the novel the author features herself, where she is pondering her first novel, after the modest success of Good Citizens Need Not Fear: Stories. She laments George Saunders and his “elevation” from short story writer to Booker prize winner.
She gets feedback from her publisher on a character arc: She begins as a psychopath and she ends like a psychopath.
And she frets on how ethical it is to write two Ukrainian tropes into the book, mail order brides and naked chests female protesters. Underneath this are concerns about identity (Am I even a real Ukrainian?) and the powerless to speak as an individual in the face of the continuous war against Ukraine.
This section of the novel is definitely my favourite, include the acknowledgments at the 40% point of the book, the note on the type, and the attestation: This book, a novel
She even dreams of the following blurb appearing on the cover: George Saunders describing her book as A mansion of interconnected yurts, sturdy and indestructible, definitely a novel

Meanwhile the narrative in Ukraine continues with dark scenes in Kherson, where Russia is filming PR for the invasion, and we get to a grandfather stuck in Ukraine, where the author is clearly no longer adhering to I’m speaking in symbols.
We even have short chapters from the perspective of a snail, who don’t see well apparently.
Meanwhile some bachelors are dragged along, and find out that a belief in hoaxes and projecting interpretation on others can turn out very wrongly indeed.

The paths of the main characters diverge near the end, and are far from neat, which leads to the following observation in the book: Not very believable, an ending like that.
Snails and species survival against all odds being pursued seems a metaphor for what little individuals can do, but still try, in the face of a scary world where might is right.
Anger was a proper antidote for worry according to one of the character, but maybe satire and absurdity are equally up to the task.
An exciting read that is both fun, deep and fresh, featuring characters who are highly rememberable, if not fully real in my view because of the fourth wall breaking.
Still, gladly rounding up my 3.5 stars for this morally uncomfortable satire with real heart.
And snails.

Quotes:
The future had been a luxury, the future didn’t exist anymore

You cling to the idea of your mother because you have no other personality. Nothing in there, no one home. A pretty shell. That’s it.

[Michael Burke · Rating 5 out of 5]

Maria Reva's "Endling" is a book so captivating, it demands a second reading. There's a masterful complexity at play, inviting a closer look at how the author weaves everything together. There are comparisons to the work of George Saunders and Percival Everett– and this is a clue to the journey we are in for.

Set in 2022 Ukraine, there are multiple plotlines unfolding. Yeva, a struggling scientist, is on a mission to save snail species from extinction. To fund her research, she works in a “romance tour” industry where bachelors seek to meet “traditional” Ukrainian women. It is here she meets two sisters who conspire with her to kidnap thirteen of these bachelors as a protest, a way of drawing attention to the romance tours.

We are aware of what turn history is going to take, but the characters all seem to be in denial, even with the threat of Putin’s troops amassing at the border. The narrative is abruptly shattered by the onset of air strikes. The author, Maria Reva, breaks the fourth wall and inserts herself as a character. She questions the feasibility of continuing the story, expressing deep concern for her family, especially her grandfather, who she knows will refuse to evacuate.

“I need to keep fact and fiction straight, but they keep blurring together.”

Like the best novels and movies, this is an experience worth revisiting. So many facets are skillfully interwoven. There is the “Romeo Meets Yulia” pairing of desperate men seeking to expedite relationships. Yeva is looking to find a mate for Lefty, her snail who may be the end of his species (an “endling"). The kidnapping caper is fraught with almost slapstick missteps...

…and then these components are suddenly reshuffled by the carnage of war. A remarkable accomplishment, this blending of humor and tragedy.

"This novel turns corners and tables. I love works that are smarter than I am, and this is one.”– Percival Everett, author of Pulitzer Prize winner James

Trigger warning: #SnailSensuality.

Thank you to Doubleday Books and NetGalley for providing an advance reader copy in exchange for an honest review. #Endling #NetGalley

[Liz · Rating 4 out of 5]

WTF did I just listen to? Endling is a wild, complex story, full of dark humor, swerving from one crazy plot point to another. It’s not absurdist, but at times it did come close. The author even inserts herself into the book.
The story begins with Yeva, a biologist living out of her mobile lab in Ukraine, who’s trying to breed rare snails to prevent their species from dying out. (Endling means the last of a species.) She funds her research by acting as a possible bride on romance tours for Western men looking for docile wives. Nastia is also a member of this potential bride group, but she’s looking to make a statement. Her mother was a feminist who protested against these romance tours. Now, she’s missing. But Nastia and her sister are hoping a grand statement may draw their mother out. And so, with Yeva’s help, they kidnap a group of bachelors. And that’s all I’ll say about the plot because you want to be caught off guard.
The book encompasses so many themes, on both the grand and personal levels - exploitation, war, identity, ecology. As another reviewer wisely said, this is a book that demands a second reading. It would make a great book club selection.
The story is told from multiple POVs, even down to Lefty the snail, and the audiobook uses a whole cast of narrators to great effect.

[Robin · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an "it" book in my world. People in my GRs group had a buddy read, even my work book club (mainly populated by SF-loving engineers) is reading it. Maybe because it's written by someone who lives in Vancouver? Or because her debut novel has been long-listed for the Booker prize? Or because of its timely subject matter, Russia's attack on Ukraine?

Whatever the reason for its "it-ness", I see why it's gotten so much attention, and I applaud Maria Reva for her unique and powerful book.

I feel a bit at a remove from it, though, and I wish that wasn't so. I believe this is due to the form. Endling could easily be categorized as "postmodern" and "metafiction". The author herself pops in multiple times and talks about the process of writing the book, and she re-writes certain parts. I feel really mixed about this aspect of the book. Generally, I don't love meta, as it takes me out of the story and screams artifice. I realize I'm reading a book. I realize there is a human behind the book, playing a little game of peek-a-boo. I'm holding a thing in my hand, called a book, created by this human.

In this case, the meta was so alive and interesting, I grudgingly was drawn into it... more than the story?? I almost wished the whole book was something else, something just as real and as powerful as these meta sections. Where the writer is trying to get her grandfather to open his door and leave Ukraine. Where she laments that her first book (a collection of stories) didn't sell well.

Those parts seemed much more real (because they were) and compelling than the artifice of the rest of the book, for me. The mail-order bride story and the snail-conservationist story mildly held my interest. To be sure, this is a book built by an intelligent mind, with pathos, with humour, with anger, with insight. The author plays with the idea of survival, both literally and metaphorically. And as a Canadian, I do see parallels between what has happened to Ukraine, with what has been threatened against my country since January of this year. It's no joke, and no coincidence.

So, though I feel less connected and less moved than I want to be, at the end of the reading, I do feel an admiration nonetheless. It's an art piece, and a great accomplishment for Maria Reva.

3.5 stars

[switterbug (Betsey) · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’ve had my own near endlings recently with certain beloved family going through transition from familiar home to unexpected compromises. That’s not relevant to the book except that it is a lot about endings. In the novel, it is of a species of snail— a species that the young protagonist, Yeva, studies, and reveres, a snail with a conical shell that spirals to the left, making breeding all but impossible. Lefty, a tree snail, has her heart. Endling refers to the finality of species, from here to nevermore.

Yeva is a young malacologist in Ukraine and her work is what gives her the greatest bliss. Humans are difficult, and a passing gaze Yeva had with a past man and snail lover is broken or never sustained. And here we are in early 2022 meeting the odd soldier in the woods. Yeva has met and become involved with a pair of sisters, Nastiya and Solomiya, who are doing what she is doing: “romance tours” in Ukraine, dating men on the marriage market to fund their ambitions and their lives. They aren't looking for a husband. This novel mostly happens in the wild. In the forests of war, the Russians are coming; they’re here.

And so it is, when real life and fictional life merge inexplicably. The spirit of these women inspired me to find the parts of me that are most like them--adventurous, unafraid of being confronted. I feel them indivisibly. Maria Reva wrote her characters deeply in the ink, on every page they rose and expanded. The two sisters are participating in the romance tours to gain the attention of their mother, a well-known activist against the romance tours. Two sisters and a scientist thrown into chaos and danger during the throes of war illuminates a tender and tough story about survival.

These three women get finger-pointed as sex workers, basically, or sellouts, yet the men are not actually criticized for signing up and participating. There was comedy and absurdity with this clash and dashing of men who were serious wooers. I was delighted to follow the story wherever it went. It wet to Yeva's mobile snail lab in the woods of Ukraine. Delicate yet hardy, these snails are an allegory for the endurance of these women. The more you learn about malacology, the deeper you will love these little creatures, and be rooting for the three woman that dominate the pages.

I finished this a month ago, caught up in my own endings, as I said earlier, so any attempt I had to provide a linear reconstruction is dwindling. What remains and resurfaces from the novel are the daily triumphs and defeats that make a life, that honor or threaten existence during wartime and personal conflict. Navigating emotional, psychological, and geologic territory in the midst of a surrounding infantry, and driving a huge, ungainly mobile lab, Yeva, with Nestia and Soloyima, form a bond that begins when Russia invades Ukraine in the late winter of 2022.

There are thrills, suspense, action, and if you don’t fall in love with snails and these women then you aren’t opening up your senses with every page. Wordplay and metaphysics, surreal scenes in the forest and just a wisp of romance kept me enthralled. There’s also a dozen or so bachelors in the bowels of the mobile lab; they just went along for the ride. :)

While Russian tanks pummel and trample through the border and gateways of Ukrainian cities, the people of this lab on wheels cross borders of knowledge, courage, scientific research, and zones of comfort. Which stories will survive the war, even more than which people? What will the future say about the past, and how does science tell us how to live? What do people of entirely different beliefs and perceptions have to say to each other, and how do we ensure our own species survives?

As Yeva decides to chase down another Lefty (special form of tree snail) 900 kilometers away in the midst of gunfire and enemy soldiers, she and her bevy of bachelors and two sisters tread. As Yeva let out an animal roar that disturbed a flock of birds in a nearby bush, she thought of the snail she was tracking, “a lone messenger no larger than her thumbnail carried millions of years of genetic memory. For all she knew, its tree had already been burned down by the invading army. Hope for a species reappeared, and just as quickly disappeared.”

Thank you to the Knopf Doubleday publishers for sending me an ARC of Endlings to review. I was slower than a snail to finally post my review, so I suppose I got carried away...

[Roman Clodia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Art is supposed to provoke reaction

And this book did provoke a reaction in me - a series of reactions which were all over the place. But that messiness and chaos probably best articulates the formation of this book which, I understand, Reva was writing when the process was disrupted by the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Her story gets upended - just as the country has been - and, in lots of ways, remains unfinished. It's this 'real time' aspect of writing in the midst of war which, in the end, explains my rating.

At the start, I noticed the energy in the writing as the plot strand of Yeva and her snails gets mashed up with Nastia and Sol, two young women who take part in 'romance tours' as Western men come to the country to find wives. But they're doing this with ulterior motives that we only learn gradually - to attract the attention of their absent radical feminist/activist mother . Mother and daughter relationships fill out the first part of the story with Yeva's own mother comically desperate to get her married. This start is sardonic and funny, knowingly leaning into stereotypes of what Reva describes as ''mail-order brides' and topless protesters'.

But then the invasion happens - and everything changes. At this point, Reva writes herself into the narrative as the meta fictional author working on this book while her feelings are in turmoil. At this point, my emotions also raised a level, not least at Reva's anxiety about her 87 year old grandfather who is refusing to leave Kherson. From here the narrative bifurcates: the whacky story of the three young women on their quirky individual quests gets overtaken by trigger-happy Russian soldiers, tanks and check-points. Reva keeps some of the sardonic humour going but it gets blacker now, inevitably: the absurdist scenes where a Russian propaganda film is being shot of 'welcoming Ukrainians' holding out bread and salt to their Russian 'liberators'.

Increasingly, it's Reva's metafictional insertions that held my attention, especially when the Masha of the fictional story metamorphoses into a version of the author, causing all kinds of subversions to both narratives. While we learn that Reva is revising this text on Day 914 of the war, the main narrative is set right at the start and perhaps pulls its punches to keep it palatable for a general audience: we see two Russian soldiers dragging away a female protester but there's no trace of the atrocities that we, in our present, know happened.

In the end, it's surprisingly Pasha who articulates issues about creating art in the middle of a war just as Reva states 'here I am again, trying to make use of another cataclysm'.

So that this is a messy narrative is not just inevitable but is what kept me reading and is perhaps the point: I'm still not sure that the whimsical snail story and the attempt to turn them into something like hope works; nor am I sure that the insertions of Reva's own personal anxieties gel with the wacky tone. But as a book which deals in real-time metafiction with a story which itself gets invaded by external events, this is fascinating. That Reva turns this into something questioning about the role of art in times of catastrophe, which is emotive without being sentimental, and which incorporates real life to reach an end without closure is hugely impressive.

[Kasa Cotugno · Rating 5 out of 5]

So far, my favorite book of this year. How Maria Reva has made the impossible accessible, that of a metafictional account of three women with distinct goals in Ukraine's early days of invasion, added to a healthy dose of scientific knowledge about of all things, snails, and one woman's attempt to track down a possible mate for what she believes to be the final remaining example of a species, or endling. To make ends meet, Yeva gets a paying job as a prospective Ukrainian wife for American "bachelors" on the prowl for suitable mates. Meeting two sisters using the same method to get the attention of their missing mother who once flashed Putin and has gone underground. Having lured 12 (make that 13) bachelors on an escape room adventure, the three find themselves confronted with the actual Russian invasion. And that's all I'll say about the plot. Reva has managed to incorporate auxiliary characters in short chapters, rounding out events. Highly recommended.

[Jessica Woodbury · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars. This is a hard one to rate, it is doing so many things and that is intentional. As a work of meta fiction--a narrative about narratives--it is most effective. But strangely I found that once it took this turn it was strangely unwilling to really engage with it. That is, ultimately, what may be the most difficult about this book. It is about the war in Ukraine, a real event that is ongoing and still has people under threat every day, and part of what Reva struggles with is that once war breaks out it takes over all stories, it becomes the biggest stakes of all, whatever little story you were trying to tell now feels ridiculous. And she gives us some ways to let this play out in the novel itself, but the metaphor never fully works in the novel. The war-torn version of the story lacks stakes and character and all the things we had before. That is the point, but it also means we only have half a novel. What I wish is that Reva was able to push us even further to fill that void with something more to say. It's a struggle, and much of the book is about that: the difficulty of saying anything in the face of such horror. And yet, that is the thing that we must do. The thing Endling almost does.

[Thomas · Rating 3 out of 5]

Solid three-star read for me. Important themes about gender and class, one’s pursuit of a scientific career, and of course the devastating Russian invasion of Ukraine. I think this book did an excellent job of portraying the horrifying effects of war and how it disrupts and dismantles people’s lives. That said, unfortunately the writing style felt too quirky and experimental for me to develop a sustained interest in the characters. This felt like a “message” book, which is fine because the messages are important, though when I read fiction, I tend to want more of an emotional connection to the characters. It was okay!

[Ari Levine · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5, rounded down. I know that this breakthrough novel has been getting rave reviews here and elsewhere, but problems with tone prevented me from connecting to it emotionally.

Endling begins as a whimsical character study of Yeva, a solitary conservation biologist in the Ukraine who's obsessed with preserving rare specimens of soon-to-be-extinct tree snails. Yeva finances her research by moonlighting at marriage-agency events with Western bachelors seeking Ukrainian brides, where she meets the sisters Nastia and Solo, who are also participating in the events as a potential bride and her English translator. But they're really searching for their activist mother, who had long been campaigning against the marriage market before her mysterious disappearance, and they rope Yeva into a cockamamie scheme to kidnap a dozen bachelors as an attention-grabbing protest.

The escalating level of quirkiness soon became overwhelming and even off-putting, even before the Russian invasion of February 2022 violently crashed into the narrative. Reva lurchingly shifts the novel into metafictional mode, and the novel becomes a novel about a Ukrainian-Canadian novelist named Maria Reva who's writing a novel about barbaric horrors and indiscriminate violence, as she anxiously worries about the survival of her elderly grandfather, who's chosen to stay behind in war-ravaged Kherson. But despite the deadly bleakness of the situation, and the extreme danger that our heroines have knowingly exposed themselves (and a van stuffed with kidnapped dudes) to, the novel's tone remained incongruously playful, in ways that I found grating rather than ingratiating.

The thematic elements were cleverly engineered: endangered snail, perhaps the last of its species, seeking a mate is analogous to aging American bachelors seeking Ukrainian wives. If your tolerance for self-aware kookiness is higher than mine, you will enjoy Endling more than I did.

Thanks to Doubleday and Netgalley for sharing an ARC of this in exchange for an honest and unbiased review.

[Iryna Chernyshova · Rating 4 out of 5]

Сюжет намічу дуже пунктирно - троє дівчат викрадають іноземців-холостяків і в лабораторному трейлері колесять з ними просторами України. І все це стається акурат в ніч на 24.02.22. Навіщо вони це роблять- все в книзі.

Рівень крінжа достатньо великий, але він явно контролюємий, бо авторка часто, інколи надмірно, очевидно стібеться.

Метафора книги - равлик, на всіх рівнях, равлик, свиток, папірус - щось кругле і багатошарове.

Для мене головна проблема цієї книга в її, так би мовити, гейміфікації. Чи зі всього можна зробити проєкт, книгу, стейтмент? Як привернути увагу вестернів (і навіщо) до війни, яка не збирається закінчуватися? Зробити тупих картонкових персонажів, у яких відсутне базове почуття виживання і напихати тонну кліше? А потім текст просочити думками, де помітно, що авторка прекрасно все розуміє як воно насправді. Чи маєш право писати про далеку війну, сидячи в теплому тилу/за дохуліон кілометрів? А якщо тобі болить, а якщо в тебе там родичі? Як взагалі писати про цю війну - як про war porno, як стьоб, як жанр, як книгу - претендентку на Букера? Ви знаете? Я ні. Гадаю, що і ніхто.


Книга безумовно підходить до бук-клубів і взагалі подивимось що там відбудеться з нею далі.

[emma]

three angry women and an endangered snail who kidnap a truck full of guys intending to partake in something called the "marriage tour industry" when russia invades ukraine... a) what and b) i will be reading this

[Neale · Rating 5 out of 5]

Longlisted for the 2025 Booker Prize.

The novel is set in Ukraine just before the Russians invade. Yeva is a loner and seemingly incapable of love. She tells her mother, who is terrified that Yeva will end up alone, that she likes neither men nor women. She has spent the last few years of her life trying to save many types of snails who have become endlings. Endling is the name given for the last of a species before extinction. Yeva is about to take her own life when she meets Nastia and her sister Sol.

Nastia, along with Yeva are what society used to call “Mail order brides”. Men, mainly westerners, come to the Ukraine for romance tours, pretty much a euphemism for human trafficking, hoping to take home one of the women for a wife. Nastia wants to hire Yeva’s mobile lab that she uses for the snails. Nastia wants to kidnap 100 men from the romance tour in a publicity stunt that she naïvely thinks will shut down the whole bride shopping industry. She also hopes that it will attract the attention of her activist mother who left her and her sister, presumably to hide from her last protest we are not sure.

Remarkably the kidnapping takes place, albeit with thirteen men abducted rather than one hundred, but then the Russians invade Ukraine throwing a hammer and sickle into the works.

This is where the book gets interesting. It’s not a spoiler (Reva has talked about it in interviews). Reva writes herself into the novel. Not as a character in the narrative but as herself, the author of the story. Fiction and reality clash and the novel dips into metafiction. Even if you are not a fan of metafiction, the story is strong enough to enjoy on its own. For me, I loved reading Reva’s parts of the novel. It was a great way of enlightening the reader into just how difficult it must be to write a novel set in your home country that has just been invaded, and you have family living in the war zone. What it must feel like writing in safety a world away. Writing a fictional novel while the harsh reality of a war invades that very fictional space you are writing.

The novel is also darkly humorous. Three women, thirteen abducted male hostages, driving into a warzone to save a snail. Where in the world did Reva come up with this, but trust me it all works. It’s a brilliant book, deserving of a second read and a place on the booker shortlist.

I can't wait for Reva to write another novel. :-)

[Nat K · Rating 4 out of 5]

***Longlisted for the Booker Prize 2025***

” ‘Wasn’t your novel originally going to be about a marriage agency in Ukraine?’
‘Null and void.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘The premise was irrelevant. I was writing about a so-called invasion of Western bachelors to Ukraine, and then an actual invasion happened. Even in peace time I felt queasy leaning into not one but two Ukrainian tropes, ‘mail order brides’ and topless protestors. To continue now seems unforgivable.’ .”

I've always said Russians make the best satirists. Now I'll add Ukrainian to that list. Laugh or cry. As Maria Reva says, gallows humour is often the only thing that keeps people going in times of absolute anguish.

You gotta love a book filled with gastropods 🐌 And Endlings.

”Snails were, by definition slow.”

Yeva is a tall, wild haired conservationist who only cares for her snails. The rarer the better. To the consternation of her Ukrainian mother, she shows no interest in men. Nor women either. Her focus is completely on her one footed friends.

Pasha (Paul) is in his 30s and returning to the homeland of his birth to find a bride. Though he’s spent most of his life in Canada, the pull of “home” is strong. He’s convinced this is where his future lies. Speaking lousy Ukrainian and even worse Russian, he’s determined to make his dreams come true and prove to his parents that he has made something of himself.

Sol and Nastia are the daughters of a militant feminist protestor who has gone AWOL. Working for the aptly named marriage agency Romeo Meets Yulia the two are hoping to somehow gain the attention of their mother through a cunning plan (why do I always think of Blackadder’s Baldrick when I hear that line!) to “kidnap” several hapless bachelors via the lure of a very special party in the forest. But we all know what happens when you have thirteen at dinner…

Unbeknownst to them all, rumours of an army marching across their borders turn out to be much more than that. Really bizarre and crazy situations transpire as reality and fiction meld together.

This is a really curious book that questions identity and how we determine where we belong. Is it where we are born? Where you have created your life? Your home? Can you leave behind a lifetime of possessions and memories or do you fight til your last breath to save them?

There’s a lot of very dark humour, and salty salty satire.

Buddy read with the wonderful, talented Mr.Nealski. We had quite a few interesting discussions as this is the sort of book that allows you to go down all sorts of rabbit holes. As I mentioned to him, I think that George Orwell would have a field day with this book, as it’s another case of where life is stranger than fiction. This would be a terrific choice for a Bookclub pick.

I invite you to read Neale's review at:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Book 2 of my Booker Prize longlist odyssey. This is definitely a shoe in to make it to the shortlist.

Long live all the Endlings! 🐌 Budmo!

Postscript! Wednesday 03.September.25
I've been looking at some of the very interesting reviews/thoughts/fotos about this book on Bookstagram and one reader hit the nail on the head. He described this as "absurdist" fiction. Which describes it perfectly. It's the word I was searching for and could not find. Absurdist fiction at its best.

✒️📸 Shout out to the very clever wong.numbar for coming up with just the right phrase.

https://www.instagram.com/p/DNIpql2Ir...

[John Caleb Grenn · Rating 1 out of 5]

“Snails were just that. Snails.”

There’s a lot at play in this novel. Not a one of it works together.

You’ve got brides in waiting. “Yeva” and “Anastasia” meaning Eve and Resurrection. Snails hoping to mate and match up. Saving the last one. Matchmaking across borders against all odds as love finds a way. Fate? Fate. It’s about fate! Recruit 12 men to head across the country to protest current (horrific) events. 12, a bíblical, fated number. This novel is off to such a firecracker start!

There’s a mirroring of how environmental disaster leads to extinction of snail species, too slow to reach each other, with how war—the destruction of community and connection leads to the inability of men and women/“us and them” to speak with each other, truly communicate or connect any more. Women, masked, trying to kidnap men to create a statement. It’s all a big swirling commentary of connection and how we spiral away from one another and become extinct to each other over time that suddenly stops working, so the narrative takes a hard right. That’s where it lost me.

The rest of this novel turns into part writer’s memoir that essentially blames the pandemic and the war in Ukraine for the failure of the authors first novel. There’s more to it, sure, but that was my takeaway. And its commentary on how the war takes away time for humans to focus on good art.

Am I wrong that there seems to be this tendency for novels that aren’t working as a story lately to try this meta approach of “add some autofiction” and “make generalized commentary about a specific current event” that seems as if the author is trying to elevate the novel above critique? Sure, this has been done well, and been done well for YEARS (I.e. The Grapes of Wrath) but imagine if Steinbeck quit talking about the Joads, talked about how The Great Depression and publishing and the flu was why Tortilla Flat was a flop and made it about himself.

Can’t stand it.

[Sofia · Rating 4 out of 5]

A special salute to the ultimate romantic hero ever, Lefty.........

A book of many, many threads and permutations. In fact, I think Reva was on a special mission not to miss a single permutation. Like life which uses mutations to survive new, possibly dangerous environments, Reva also mutates her story so that we get different possibilities, alternate realities. This created a surreal effect to the whole which was already surreal enough with the absurdities of war, conflict and all that brings along.

In any conflict, apart from the reality and truth of the conflict itself we also get the added layer of the propaganda and the different perspectives pushed forward from all sides. Reva does this in her book as well. We get actions and then we also see them as filtered through the propaganda. So, fact and fiction mix and like with today’s newsreels we are left wondering what the truth is? Is there a truth? Is there a single truth?

Reva does indeed craft all the threads into a kaleidoscopic fabric where she threads in romance, human trafficking, advocacy, immigration, extinction, survival, war, and atrocities Her fabric is a work of art in that it shifts and changes colours as different lights hit it.

Included in the Booker 2025 longlist.

The Last of it's Kind - Ed Yong - The Atlantic

[Ten Cats Reading · Rating 4 out of 5]

Me on This Book in Eight Ironic English Words: Last snails on Earth and I crave contact.

"There’s this quote by Constantine Tereshchenko, a local visual artist: “Culture is the thinnest layer of moss on the body of human existence. It was shaved off with a bulldozer, now there’s an enormous wound.”" p335

In Short: I liked this book, but I need to start by refuting an unscientific claim made by the book's main character, a biologist. In one of her many internal musings, this fmc shares something shocking about sea otters and how they interact with dogs. It's important to me to say this information has not been verified. While sea otters are known to be violent with other animals, they don't tend to interact with dogs. Most violent interactions involving sea otters can be explained by territory and resource disputes. Now, that being said, this was a pretty great book if you can get by all the animal suffering. I decided to push through because of how much the book centers the value of conservation work. And also, the subtextual story (subplot, maybe?) was so absurd! It was designed to be, as it was about war and the many ways war alters reality, obscuring objectivity beneath noise. This book was so striking to me read through the screenreader that I am going back to read it with my eyes. It will give me more perspective on the form experimentation and that's worth the ridiculous amount of work it takes for me to read with my eyes.

"Content Warnings:" gr*pe mention, sexual dominance in animals, animal violence, animal cruelty, animal death, species extinction, mass extinction, arranged marriage, marriage tourism, war, propoganda, gaslighting, military invasion,

Preread:

The author had a really tough job, connecting her seemingly far-flung subjects, companionship at the end of the world...and snails. Her attempt at least is fascinating. This is a dour book and it's working for me.

I found an accessible digital copy in Libby!📚

"Snails weren’t furry or cute. They weren’t interactive with humans. Snails weren’t pandas—those oversize bumbling toddlers that sucked up national conservation budgets—or any of the other charismatic megafauna, like orcas or gorillas. Snails weren’t huggy koala bears, which in reality were vicious and riddled with chlamydia. Nor were snails otters, which looked like plush toys made for mascots by aquariums, despite the fact that they lured dogs from beaches to drown and rape them." p8

"Yeva’s words came slowly. “You know how there are some people out there, people who…” Her mother didn’t like where this was going. Yeva tried again. “People who like both men and women.” Her mother closed her eyes. She was trying, trying her hardest to expand her mind to fit such people. There was even a word for them. She didn’t understand them herself, but with time could grow to tolerate them, if these were her daughter’s people." p18

"Now, if a bachelor asked about what she did for a living, she’d answer, voice cracking: “I kill snails. Or, used to.” They’d nod in approval. “Pest control. Good line of work.”" p25

"I’m getting calls for magazine interviews, photo shoots, radio appearances I’d only dreamed of when my book first came out. I’m trying to be grateful. But why must a country be bombed before we care about it? Yurt Makers: The world is a whore." p117

"They raced through a birch forest. She glanced at Yeva and caught a flutter of her eyelids, a good sign. Nastia had to distract her, like one distracts a child before she realizes she’s fallen, bumped her knee. “Yeva, look.” Nastia nodded at an old log up ahead, lolling into luxurious chocolate chunks along the side of the road. Rotten logs, cradles of new life, now in shorter and shorter supply: an obsession of Yeva’s." p326

[Maxwell]

Weaving together fact and fiction, Maria Reva’s debut novel sends readers on a wild and wacky ride with three women, a trailer full of bachelors, and a snail named Lefty during the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Maria Reva breaks the fictional 4th wall about half-way through the novel. The reality of the circumstances of her home country, concern for her grandfather’s safety back in Ukraine, and the dilemma of writing a comedic novel while horrors unfold all give her pause, and thus she inserts herself (or a fictional version) into the narrative.

Just as her main character, Yeva, a snail scientist, desperately clings to hope that she can protect the last of its species (the titular ‘endling’), so too does Reva extend hope through this metafictional novel that asks, “Who gets to survive?”

The plot is a bit bananas, but it always works. Reva leans into absurdity just as much as, in real life, it can seem ridiculous (but not funny) what is *actually* happening in the world. She captures the complicated feelings of a person just trying to follow their passion while everything around them crumbles. Why try? Characters hit walls at times; hope feels lost. But slow and steady, like a snail, wins the race–at least, one can only hope.

Hope is something she offers her characters, the readers, herself, in this world of so much despair, pain, separation, longing. But human life, and snail life, continues. Stories and art abound even in the darkest of times; like many writers before her, Reva has tapped into the moment, the true, raw core of being human when so much feels inhumane. She’s followed the muse and let it redirect her story to something even more profound than perhaps what she set out to write. It’s a novel of its time, and yet timeless.

A silly yet deeply serious novel about laughter as medicine, even in the face of death; of the unshakeable bond of family, both the ones we are born into and the ones we create; and the persistence and necessity of hope in hopeless times.

[Doug · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5, rounded down.

#10 of the Booker 2025 longlist for me to have read.

Although this currently sits #3 in my personal ranking of this year's longlist, I DO think it's the one to beat and would be shocked if it were NOT to make the shortlist. I say this as it is by far the most original and quirky of the novels I've read so far and also has the advantage of being about something au courant and politically important, i.e., the invasion of Ukraine by Russia - but done in a very accessible manner.

For the most part I found it quite entertaining and often humorous, as well as thought-provoking, but where I quibble is that a lot of the time, I felt a bit adrift and like I wasn't sure exactly where I was or what was going on. I realize in retrospect such was entirely intentional, but that - and some of the metafictional elements, just did not work that well for me.

For me, this is turning out to be the 'Year of Destabilization' for the Booker Prize with nearly half of the books on the longlist using techniques to disorient and confuse the reader. Usually I can get behind that, but in my encroaching old age I often worry that not following something is a sign of my own mental decline! :-(. Still, should this take the prize, I wouldn't be upset.

[Hugh · Rating 5 out of 5]

Longlisted for the Booker Prize 2025

My fourth book from this year's longlist, and the most impressive so far. I had high expectations based on the reviews of trusted friends, and after a bit of a slow start, it fully justified them. Initially it seems like quite a straight story, but about 100 pages in there is a metafictional section in which the author's perspective is explored. Reva is a Canadian with a Ukrainian background, and most of the story is set in Ukraine before and during the current war.

The story itself centres on three women who work for a company that offers tours to western men in search of brides. One of them is also a self-appointed conservationist of endangered snail species, which gives the book it's title - an endling being the last known member of a species. The plot is a little far fetched at times, but the innovative structure of the book makes it rather satisfying to read.

I can see definitely see this one as a potential winner, but that depends on what the judges are looking for.

[leah · Rating 4 out of 5]

endling follows yeva, an ecologist who travels around in a campervan-turned-mobile lab to conserve snails facing extinction, i.e. endlings - the last surviving member of a species. to fund her conservation work, yeva intermittently works for a company which runs ‘romance tours’ in ukraine, aka a mail-order bride business. while working there, yeva meets nastia and sol, two sisters who, inspired by their feminist activist mother, are planning a PR stunt in which they kidnap some of the foreign bachelors to protest the marriage industry. from there the book sets off as a kind of feminist heist / road trip story - but then russia invades ukraine, and the entire novel splinters, stopping us in our tracks to question what we’ve been reading.

i enjoy a meta fictional book when it’s done well, and with endling maria reva impressively demonstrates her ability to play with the form of the novel. some may not enjoy how disjointed it is, but the author uses this as a way to reckon with her own artistic concerns - art under occupation, writing during conflict, making fiction out of tragedy, the chasm between your country being invaded and the rest of the world continuing on. the author was born in ukraine but has since moved to canada, and passages of the book focus on her guilt surrounding writing about a country she’s now so far from.

the novel is smart, sharp, and full of dry humour, a necessary and also impressive feat for a book with several dark themes. the (western) world’s view of ukraine is allegorically funnelled into the snails / the endlings that yeva is trying so valiantly to conserve - even if no one else cares about saving the snails, they still deserve to survive.