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Streltsov
Jonathan Wilson’s novel. Like everybody else at Torpedo Moscow, Vanya loves Eduard Streltsov, the dashing young striker who scores hatfuls of goals. But on the eve of the 1958 World Cup, Streltsov is arrested and Vanya has to reconsider everything. Streltsov is a story of fandom and celebrity, of booze and paranoia, of two men who can only really understand the world through football.
164 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2021
5 people are currently reading
90 people want to read
About the author
Jonathan Wilson
88 books508 followersJonathan Wilson is a British sports journalist and author who writes for a number of publications including the Guardian, the Independent and Sports Illustrated. He also appears on the Guardian football podcast, Football Weekly.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
November 12, 2024
És un llibre boníssim us l'haurieu de llegir tots quan surti en castellà
January 5, 2024
Let me start by saying: I would give anything for a 15 minute conversation with Johnathan Wilson. His research, knowledge of the game, and writing ability make him one of the best sports journalists in our time.
Streltsov is a classic Wilson story. He’s a player with ties to football and national history, he has an incredible back story, and you’ve probably never heard of him. This could have easily been an article in The Blizzard as much as its own book.
While many have pointed out its flaws and shortcomings, there’s something deeper I can’t help but see. Regardless of background or talent, historical accuracy or public success, every writer leaves a little bit of themselves in the books they write.
That’s why I have more of an issue with our narrator than Streltsov himself. Yes, it was disappointing to hear of his rise, fall from grace, resilient come back, and further fall, but we only ever experience it through our aging narrator.
Vanya is quick to tell us that he doesn’t remember everything. He’s honest about how he feels as he grows older and bitter. He isn’t there for every (or even most) of the important parts of the story, he hears it all through the club. And in the end, we learn that Streltsov *was* a real person. You’d have to assume, then, that Mila, Alla, Marina, Sofia and the many players and managers listed too, are also accounts of real people. But was Vanya? There are no pictures, no mention, no Blizzard-esque photo essay. No way to know if Misha, Eva or others involved were real. Not unless Wilson says so.
It’s the bitterness sweetness of the ending that worries me. No, this was never a happy story, and yes, it does end abruptly. But, Mr. Wilson, are you bitter too? Have you become like Vanya? Lost in a world that continues to change? Worried about what’s important being lost as everyone else seems to accept that as long as there’s football at the weekend, it doesn’t really matter? The way the narrator feels about Edik - how he had so much potential wasted, so much belief riding on his talent, only to let everyone down, almost feels like self pity...
Hopefully I’m just naive.
I do think he should keep writing stories like these. They can only get better. I thought he captured life in the USSR really well. The way the suits control everything, alcohol ruins the country, and inevitable aging and downfall of everything the narrator had believed in growing up. I’m sure there are more story’s laced with the dark parts of history and the levity football tried to bring.
Streltsov is a classic Wilson story. He’s a player with ties to football and national history, he has an incredible back story, and you’ve probably never heard of him. This could have easily been an article in The Blizzard as much as its own book.
While many have pointed out its flaws and shortcomings, there’s something deeper I can’t help but see. Regardless of background or talent, historical accuracy or public success, every writer leaves a little bit of themselves in the books they write.
That’s why I have more of an issue with our narrator than Streltsov himself. Yes, it was disappointing to hear of his rise, fall from grace, resilient come back, and further fall, but we only ever experience it through our aging narrator.
Vanya is quick to tell us that he doesn’t remember everything. He’s honest about how he feels as he grows older and bitter. He isn’t there for every (or even most) of the important parts of the story, he hears it all through the club. And in the end, we learn that Streltsov *was* a real person. You’d have to assume, then, that Mila, Alla, Marina, Sofia and the many players and managers listed too, are also accounts of real people. But was Vanya? There are no pictures, no mention, no Blizzard-esque photo essay. No way to know if Misha, Eva or others involved were real. Not unless Wilson says so.
It’s the bitterness sweetness of the ending that worries me. No, this was never a happy story, and yes, it does end abruptly. But, Mr. Wilson, are you bitter too? Have you become like Vanya? Lost in a world that continues to change? Worried about what’s important being lost as everyone else seems to accept that as long as there’s football at the weekend, it doesn’t really matter? The way the narrator feels about Edik - how he had so much potential wasted, so much belief riding on his talent, only to let everyone down, almost feels like self pity...
Hopefully I’m just naive.
I do think he should keep writing stories like these. They can only get better. I thought he captured life in the USSR really well. The way the suits control everything, alcohol ruins the country, and inevitable aging and downfall of everything the narrator had believed in growing up. I’m sure there are more story’s laced with the dark parts of history and the levity football tried to bring.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 20, 2022
I'm not sure you'd go for a book about a Russian footballer if you weren't interested in football in the first place, and if you are, and you do, you'll find much to enjoy in this telling of an increasingly sad tale, punctuated with just a few moments of joy.
Streltstov is convicted of rape, as we know, which is covered in the book, but - perhaps to stick strictly to the football - it feels as though something is missing from that section.
Streltstov is convicted of rape, as we know, which is covered in the book, but - perhaps to stick strictly to the football - it feels as though something is missing from that section.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 2, 2022
Wilson has made a name for himself writing non-fiction books on various aspects of football. Streltsov is his first novel and takes a subject that at first sight seems a little strange - the career of Eduard Anatoliyevich Streltsov, the Russian Pelé. (An aside in the book has Pelé referred to in Russia as the Brazilian Streltsov.) This is even more of an odd choice when you consider that, at least since Lev Yashin (the only goalkeeper ever to win the Ballon d’Or,) and perhaps before, the quintessential Russian footballing icon has been a goalkeeper, not an outfield player. The narrator of this book Ivan, factotum/dogsbody and also sometime fixer at the Torpedo Moscow club, does not have such esteem, though; he says that Yashin made mistakes and was overblown. But goalkeepers do not tend to stir the heart on the field of play and Edik (as Streltsov was nicknamed) certainly did that.
On the other hand, fictional treatments of football tend to be unconvincing. In this light Wilson’s choice of a country, the Soviet Union, of which his readers may be less than knowledgeable, and a time which they probably won’t remember, the 1950s and 60s, might be shrewd. And it has to be said that the footballing details here are credible. Wilson’s familiarity with the game shines through. He also appears to have done extensive research on Soviet football in those times.
In this regard there was one assertion that confused me. Edik’s debut was said to come when he “was given twenty minutes or so at the end” of a game in 1954. I had always thought substitutes were not allowed in football until the mid-1960s. That was certainly the case in Britain. On researching their history it seems substitutes were formally introduced for the qualifying rounds for the 1954 World Cup. I take it on trust that domestic use in the Soviet Union was permitted at the same time.
While football is Wilson’s subject the novel is not essentially about the game at all. It is the tale of a flawed character dealing (or not as the case may be) with his demons, a tale not unknown to literature and always worth returning to.
Through Ivan, Wilson captures that brittle feeling of optimism occasioned when the future seems bright and a team is doing well. “We were young, we were exciting, we had hope. It was the most dangerous of times.” We all know where that leads.
In football, as in life, Streltsov’s story is a relatively familiar one – early unbridled talent, too much acclaim, the distractions of drink and fawning fans, the stumble and fall. Look at the careers of George Best or Gazza as a template. Add in that in Streltsov’s time and place individual expertise was frowned on in favour of the collective and his fate was perhaps inevitable. That he snubbed the daughter of a Politburo member could not have helped.
Ivan tells us, “there is no doubt to me that his gift became at times a burden,” and asks the question “Why did he drink? Why does anybody drink? Everybody drank in those days.” In many ways alcohol is a prop - and not just to footballers, “Sober he was a shy boy. The attention of fans troubled him.” But, “The drink and the talent and the shyness, they were all related. Take away one element and you change the whole.” It was part of his character. Like all coping mechanisms, when it breaks down turmoil usually follows. In Edik’s case it led to prison for a crime committed in circumstances shrouded in murk.
But how much does having a charismatic player actually mean? In 1960, while Edik was away serving his time in the gulag, Torpedo actually won the Soviet league. The season after his return, 1965, they won it again – but the game had changed, his individualism was no longer the point, team play was, and pressing was on the rise. As far as Ivan is concerned Streltsov’s later redemptive phase never quite makes up for his loss (nor for the crime he served time for.)
The choice of Ivan as narrator is perhaps odd novelistically, leading as it does, since he was not present at many of the crucial points, to a high degree of telling rather than showing but it gives the text distance, objectivity of a sort - and the perspective of a football fan.
Among the ifs, buts and maybes, Ivan wonders if the Soviet Union might have won the World Cup in 1958 had Streltsov played and would the world then have lionised a different teenager than it did? And again in 1966 might his presence have led to the USSR beating West Germany in the semi-final? An interesting counter-factual one ramification of which Wilson does not address: where would the perennial English football obsession with Germany ever since have gone without that defining bench mark?
Streltsov is a slim novel but it packs a lot in to its 157 pages. It is not only about the pitfalls facing a young man blessed with an innate ability which many people idolise, but also about the hope and dejection, the lows and (temporary) highs of following a football team. Above all it is about transitoriness. Like all of us a footballer’s life is fleeting; but his (and increasingly her) active phase is packed into a relatively short time span. How much crueller, then, when part of it is truncated?
On the other hand, fictional treatments of football tend to be unconvincing. In this light Wilson’s choice of a country, the Soviet Union, of which his readers may be less than knowledgeable, and a time which they probably won’t remember, the 1950s and 60s, might be shrewd. And it has to be said that the footballing details here are credible. Wilson’s familiarity with the game shines through. He also appears to have done extensive research on Soviet football in those times.
In this regard there was one assertion that confused me. Edik’s debut was said to come when he “was given twenty minutes or so at the end” of a game in 1954. I had always thought substitutes were not allowed in football until the mid-1960s. That was certainly the case in Britain. On researching their history it seems substitutes were formally introduced for the qualifying rounds for the 1954 World Cup. I take it on trust that domestic use in the Soviet Union was permitted at the same time.
While football is Wilson’s subject the novel is not essentially about the game at all. It is the tale of a flawed character dealing (or not as the case may be) with his demons, a tale not unknown to literature and always worth returning to.
Through Ivan, Wilson captures that brittle feeling of optimism occasioned when the future seems bright and a team is doing well. “We were young, we were exciting, we had hope. It was the most dangerous of times.” We all know where that leads.
In football, as in life, Streltsov’s story is a relatively familiar one – early unbridled talent, too much acclaim, the distractions of drink and fawning fans, the stumble and fall. Look at the careers of George Best or Gazza as a template. Add in that in Streltsov’s time and place individual expertise was frowned on in favour of the collective and his fate was perhaps inevitable. That he snubbed the daughter of a Politburo member could not have helped.
Ivan tells us, “there is no doubt to me that his gift became at times a burden,” and asks the question “Why did he drink? Why does anybody drink? Everybody drank in those days.” In many ways alcohol is a prop - and not just to footballers, “Sober he was a shy boy. The attention of fans troubled him.” But, “The drink and the talent and the shyness, they were all related. Take away one element and you change the whole.” It was part of his character. Like all coping mechanisms, when it breaks down turmoil usually follows. In Edik’s case it led to prison for a crime committed in circumstances shrouded in murk.
But how much does having a charismatic player actually mean? In 1960, while Edik was away serving his time in the gulag, Torpedo actually won the Soviet league. The season after his return, 1965, they won it again – but the game had changed, his individualism was no longer the point, team play was, and pressing was on the rise. As far as Ivan is concerned Streltsov’s later redemptive phase never quite makes up for his loss (nor for the crime he served time for.)
The choice of Ivan as narrator is perhaps odd novelistically, leading as it does, since he was not present at many of the crucial points, to a high degree of telling rather than showing but it gives the text distance, objectivity of a sort - and the perspective of a football fan.
Among the ifs, buts and maybes, Ivan wonders if the Soviet Union might have won the World Cup in 1958 had Streltsov played and would the world then have lionised a different teenager than it did? And again in 1966 might his presence have led to the USSR beating West Germany in the semi-final? An interesting counter-factual one ramification of which Wilson does not address: where would the perennial English football obsession with Germany ever since have gone without that defining bench mark?
Streltsov is a slim novel but it packs a lot in to its 157 pages. It is not only about the pitfalls facing a young man blessed with an innate ability which many people idolise, but also about the hope and dejection, the lows and (temporary) highs of following a football team. Above all it is about transitoriness. Like all of us a footballer’s life is fleeting; but his (and increasingly her) active phase is packed into a relatively short time span. How much crueller, then, when part of it is truncated?
January 3, 2022
I'm a big fan of Jonathan Wilson's journalism , biographies and particularly of his technical football books; Inverting the Pyramid is a magnificent work for instance.
This work, his first book of fiction , left me feeling that it was neither one thing or another though. The subject matter, the Russian footballer Eduard Streltsov , was interesting and lead me to read about him more but I felt this book strayed too close to repeating the facts as we know them to be fiction and too loose with the development of certain characters to be truly factual.
Wilson presents the story from the point of view of a member of the back room staff at Torpedo Moscow, where Streltsov spent his playing career.
This had the benefit of the book having a consistent narrator , an explainer of events, but the downside being the consistent thought in my mind of...."is this true or poetic licence ?"
This would not have bothered me so much had not Streltsov been imprisoned for rape. This book introduces both this fact and the victim of the rape but does not give her any voice whatsoever. This troubled me.
As I mentioned this book felt like neither one thing or the other and left me with unease for the reasons mentioned above.
It left me wondering why such a fine writer such as Jonathan Wilson chose to approach this story in this manner
This work, his first book of fiction , left me feeling that it was neither one thing or another though. The subject matter, the Russian footballer Eduard Streltsov , was interesting and lead me to read about him more but I felt this book strayed too close to repeating the facts as we know them to be fiction and too loose with the development of certain characters to be truly factual.
Wilson presents the story from the point of view of a member of the back room staff at Torpedo Moscow, where Streltsov spent his playing career.
This had the benefit of the book having a consistent narrator , an explainer of events, but the downside being the consistent thought in my mind of...."is this true or poetic licence ?"
This would not have bothered me so much had not Streltsov been imprisoned for rape. This book introduces both this fact and the victim of the rape but does not give her any voice whatsoever. This troubled me.
As I mentioned this book felt like neither one thing or the other and left me with unease for the reasons mentioned above.
It left me wondering why such a fine writer such as Jonathan Wilson chose to approach this story in this manner
December 24, 2021
Interesting recollection of the path walked by the spectator of the hero. A little to close to the heart, reading this book when who's likely gonna be my football hero (Messi, of course) is almost at the end of his career, and when I'm 33 (SPOILER ARLERT: as Streltsov when retiring).
I hope that this football chronology makes more than one football fan think twice and twice more about Eva's suggestion: "the men who liked football outweighed the women who cared about rape". Maybe it's time, 50 plus years after, that men who liked football also care about rape.
Although I enjoyed the read, my 3 star review comes from the fact that the author doesn't delve into that topic (Marina's feelings around Edik's demigod status) nearly enough. Come think about it, it might just be that it's the perfect dose of ethics for the average football fan to stomach.
I hope that this football chronology makes more than one football fan think twice and twice more about Eva's suggestion: "the men who liked football outweighed the women who cared about rape". Maybe it's time, 50 plus years after, that men who liked football also care about rape.
Although I enjoyed the read, my 3 star review comes from the fact that the author doesn't delve into that topic (Marina's feelings around Edik's demigod status) nearly enough. Come think about it, it might just be that it's the perfect dose of ethics for the average football fan to stomach.
May 5, 2025
Se que aquest llibre es més un biopic i l’ha fet un periodista esportiu, però me’l he llegit més per tenir un detall amb el meu pare… ai papa papa. Me’l va regalar el meu pare per sant jordi, i al meu germà li va regalar un llibre sobre química. Si el meu germà s’ha de llegir un llibre com el que m’ha regalat, ho té molt cardat. Molt decebut. Només parla de lo bo que era aquest tiu, resultats i campanyes futbolístiques, se’m ha fet molt pesat. M’hagués agradat que també hagués descrit la vida als Gulags de la URSS i com ho va passar, però no omple més de 10 pàgines, juntament amb els problemes d’alcoholisme… Si t’agrada molt el futbol suposo que és per a tu, si t’agrada el futbol suficient, ni la primera pàgina cal que et llegeixis.
August 7, 2023
This book both was and was not what I expected. It was a great book told through the eyes of a fictional character that told the story of Eduard Streltsov. I’ve read several books by Wilson and it’s his first in this ‘fiction’ format. I did really enjoy it, and learnt a lot not only about Streltsov, but also about other greats such as Ivanov and Mazlov, and a few pieces on the Soviet League.
I enjoyed the way the facts of his trial and imprisonment were presented, plainly and Wilson does not lead the reader to a conclusion concerning his innocence.
I found the book a little depressing, but it’s made me want to find a book, to learn more about the history of Russian football.
I enjoyed the way the facts of his trial and imprisonment were presented, plainly and Wilson does not lead the reader to a conclusion concerning his innocence.
I found the book a little depressing, but it’s made me want to find a book, to learn more about the history of Russian football.
December 30, 2024
*2.5*
I’ve seen other reviews which say that it struggles to find a tone between a narrative fiction, and something more in line with Wilson’s non fiction. This is definitely a criticism I would level at it- the authorial voice is not really defined and it’s always clearly just Wilson and a fairly pale attempt to be a wizened old Soviet caretaker. It’s short and the writing is easy enough, but there’s the tone of wistfulness and sombreness that is absolutely sledgehammered throughout the novel. At some point it just becomes an account of Streltsov’s career, and might as well have been a straightforward biography.
I’ve seen other reviews which say that it struggles to find a tone between a narrative fiction, and something more in line with Wilson’s non fiction. This is definitely a criticism I would level at it- the authorial voice is not really defined and it’s always clearly just Wilson and a fairly pale attempt to be a wizened old Soviet caretaker. It’s short and the writing is easy enough, but there’s the tone of wistfulness and sombreness that is absolutely sledgehammered throughout the novel. At some point it just becomes an account of Streltsov’s career, and might as well have been a straightforward biography.
January 31, 2022
I don’t know what to think. It’s in a similar vein to The Damned United, telling a fictional tale via non-fictional context/background, but it doesn’t flourish. It is not focused enough, like it doesn’t want to be guilty of embellishing something that could turn out to be false. It’s not a bad concept, just not completely followed through like it could be.
December 26, 2025
Good, but a hard read in places. The narrator has that slightly tedious element of football fandom that will drop a continuous stream of players and matches. Streltsov may not be the most sympathetic character. The society and political pressures impinging on the sport seemed to be caught well though.
February 16, 2023
What do they know who only football knows?
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews