Now and again you come across a book that seems to intersect with so many of your own personal interests that you end up with the impression that the publishers have secretly focused grouped you to within an inch of your life, and then somehow wiped all memory of it from your mind (shakes fist at sneaky publisher conspiracy) and then published a novel to your exact specifications.
Jed Mercurio’s 2007 fascinating and excellent debut novel did just that for me;
well written literary fiction
compelling account of life behind the iron curtain
cold war intrigue
golden era of pre-missile jet combat (you’ll just have to go with me on this one)
the space race
The book follows the fortunes of Yevgeni Yeremin, who literally fights his way out of the nightmare that is his early life in a post war soviet orphanage, to a place in a red air force training academy and a seat in a Mig-15. The opening scenes are unsentimental and unsparing and make for tough reading. Yet these early passages are as necessary as they are bleak, for without them the reader would struggle to understand the obsessional, disciplined and coldly focused nature of the protagonist.
When next we meet Yeremin it is the early 1950’s and he’s a young pilot in the Soviet squadrons that are secretly fighting for the north in the Korean War. Here Mercurio is describing a new thing for western readers, for whilst the Soviet contribution to the war in Korea was widely speculated upon, the sheer scale of the campaign was never understood until well after the fall of communism. As far as I’m aware this is the first time it has been written about in fiction and the author, with his eye for detail and his ability to smuggle facts to the reader within the text, makes a good job of it. The combat scenes are tense and exciting and Yeremin’s post war career in the red air force and subsequent selection for cosmonaut training are suitably soaked in the inequities and ironies of the soviet state.
The novel is well conceived, well written and meticulously researched. Very occasionally the mist of scientific terminology and military jargon descends to obscure things. But you try writing about something as remote from everyday human activity as flying a lethal steel tube, at near supersonic speeds, in three dimensions and see how far your microsoft thesaurus takes you. In my opinion Mercurio had the Hobson’s choice of either including the relevant terminology and jargon, thereby lending the novel an air of authenticity albeit at the possible expense of confusing some readers, or he could sacrifice realism for the sake of streamlining the odd passage now and again. I for one am glad he chose the former.
One reviewer (writing in Kirkus Review) claimed that the main character was “a cipher, a prop to build a plot around” and that he “never quite comes alive”; but I disagree. Have we not already been witness to an early life whose horrors would numb and harden anyone? And to criticise the writer’s characterisation on the grounds that Yevgeni Yeremin is undemonstrative and distant is to entirely miss the point. The man only truly becomes alive when he is flying and like many of those who’s intense focus and single mindedness serves to propel them to great heights, he IS distant, he IS taciturn and having him emote all over the page would be the real mistake in characterisation.
As the novel progresses towards the icy blackness and deep solitude of space it seems as if it is put through some form of literary wind tunnel. All excess wordage is slowly swept away until we are left with a narrative that alternates between the sparse terms of an equation and a soulful, poetic, Newtonian prose. It’s poignant and triumphal ending will have your visor misting over, and will fracture your heart, even as it sends it soaring unto the heavens.