Not much about the blurb on the back prepares us for the wonder of the book between the covers – a strangely annotated copy of a notebook hidden inside a copy of War and Peace left behind when Kolya buys an apartment from an old couple who are emigrating leads to a mysterious robbery, threatening phone calls and the promise of national treasure. However, Kolya lives in Kiev, and the treasure is buried near a no-longer-existing one-time Russian fort in Kazakhstan. Threatened by who-knows-whom, followed in the street, watched by the unidentified late night phone callers or maybe by someone else, Kolya (a Russian) heads off in search the Ukrainian national treasure in the Kazakh sands. It is all slightly mysterious, more than a little absurd, and with a strange feeling of The 39 Steps meets <>On the Road with a hint of Robert Louis Stevenson – but this is Andrey Kurkov and none of these is anywhere near what we have in our hands.
There is danger in not taking satire seriously, especially when it comes from such a potent tradition as Ukrainian satire (yes, that I have labelled this 'Russian fiction' may be problematic, except that it was written in Russian, not Ukrainian) – this is, after all, the home of Gogol, whose short stories in particular make fun of power and in doing so make it public and weaker. This is Kurkov’s 6th novel translated into English, and although it is not his most absurd or humorous or pointed, it is, I think, perhaps his sharpest. Whereas Death and the Penguin and Penguin Lost and, to an extent The Case of the General’s Thumb verge on the surreal, The President’s Last Love is more obvious in its political contempt – as if satire is not enough for bad times, and the brilliant A Matter of Life and Death poignant in its absurdity and desperation, this novel returns to harsh, sharp uncompromising attacks of General’s Thumb but with a more nuanced sense of the dangers of the new nationalism.
In his quest for the national treasure Kolya finds himself in league with the Ukrainian state, with rabid nationalists, with corrupt officials, married, left wandering in the desert to be saved by a camel, smuggling dirt and countless other slightly-through-to-utterly ridiculous situations all the while fleeing the threats made during his job a watchman in the baby food warehouse. As with other Kurkov novels, characters mutate and few are who or what they seem to be, allegiances and alliances shift and we are left with a form of resolution (in this case, a tight one) but sure of neither what it means nor quite how it came about. Where I adore Kurkov in this sense of tight ending is that amid all the absurdity there is no sense of deus ex machina – the ending is right, it fits and yet it hammers home the central point of the satire of the state and its politics.
Kurkov’s style is superb – he is spare, sparse and droll, but draws us into a rich and complex tale with fascinating characters that, for all his sparseness, are rounded and sophisticated. He is a writer very much in the tradition of Gogol, of Jann Kross (the great Estonian), of Dostoyevsky – writers whose tightly crafted, multi-layered fiction carries satire that flays its social and political targets but about which they can do little. In this case, the targets are both the corrupt Ukrainian state and the ultra- and puritanical-nationalism that emerged as its principle opponent (the book was first published in 2000 – as Ukraine struggled with its post-Soviet existence and lurched towards its own colour revolution, the orange clad nationalist-lite overthrow of Victor Yanukovich in 2004/5).
And even without all the knowledge we need to get its barbs (I am sure I get only a few of them) it is a funny, engaging and slightly ridiculous story about a guy travelling from Kiev the Kazakhstan and back – it is, after all, rich and sophisticated in its multi-layering. And, as always, he gives us really good women characters (in this case, most especially Gulya – quite brilliant).