I am sorry to report that the title story in this book left me cold. I place some of the blame on the translation, which did not seem fluid (and in a few places, the English seemed flat out wrong), but it’s very hard to know how much of what I didn’t care for was the translation and how much was Ulitskaya. I rather suspect that this reads much better in Russian. I never warmed to the protagonist—Sonechka herself—and by the time I had finished this novella, I was more relieved than anything else. The story line is uncomplicated: we meet Sonechka as a young, introverted bookworm and follow her as she marries, becomes a muse and then a mother, sublimating her own interests to domesticate herself, dedicating her life to her husband and daughter. The much-older husband eventually immerses himself in his art…and then with a young woman who has been absorbed into the family, ostensibly as the daughter’s friend. As Sonechka deals in turn with love, loss, and neglect (by both her husband and her daughter), whether Ulitskaya has something to say—at least based solely on this book—remains in doubt. I will try again soon, but this hasn’t given me great cause for optimism.
[Added later:]After being less impressed than I expected by "Sonechka," I decided to read the remaining two stories in the same volume. I am pleased to say that I enjoyed them much more…enough so that I intend to go back and re-read "Sonechka." I suspect I may have judged it too hastily. Bronka and her mother come to Moscow after the war and as a girl, Bronka learns to cope with the dismal reality of life in 1940s Moscow through a taboo love affair. Everyone assumes she is just a confused and directionless teenager who gets pregnant repeatedly by the same unknown man but Ulitskaya argues that she in fact has found love and fulfillment. The emphasis is not on where her path leads so much as on the path, the journey, itself. In "Daughter of Bokhara" Anya devotes her life to her daughter Milya, who has Down’s syndrome. Anya, who knows she is dying, tries to teach Milya how to deal with life, even changing jobs to be near Milya and hunts for a good husband to take care of her. Once she has achieved this, Anya returns to Uzbekistan to die, leaving Milya intentionally and hoping her daughter will forget her. Both stories are powerful depictions of circumstances and fully realized characters. (By the way, in the course of reading about Ulitskaya online, I found this recent short video interview with her in Berlin, where she lives now. Though it—sadly—does not discuss her work and instead focuses on politics, it’s nevertheless well worth the time to listen to her thoughts, I think. There is also a long profile in The New Yorker by Masha Gessen; though it appeared in 2014, it’s a much more in-depth look at her writing.) ( )

She opened up towards his arms, and yet another, final life began for Robert Victorovich.

The title novella is truly plangent. The next story is almost a refraction of the former's themes. The concluding piece rang familiar to me personally. There is a deft sense here of deprivation and human yearning. The time covered is largely after the Great Patriotic War and the early 1970s: the threat of the Terror had been reduced and the Revolution was something no one regarded as impending. The pages almost emit a smell, one sour and desperate. ( )

After having read the title story, I am delighted by Ulitzkaya's voice. The story covers years, and the tone is refreshingly ironic without being bitter. The two unlikely main characters, husband and wife, emerge from deprivation and trouble into a strange kind of happiness. The heroine reminds me of Checkov's The Darling- a woman so loving and foolish that no amount of rejection penetrates her nimbus. The heroine ends by taking her husband's mistress into her life like a daughter. It is very strange, but quite believable. I look forward to more of her work. ( )

Orosz nőről.... ( )