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Jump to navigationJump to searchAbsurdistan by Gary Shteyngart (view source)
Revision as of 16:09, 29 August 2020
, 16:09, 29 August 2020no edit summary
Misha is a joke. A symptom of the recent Russian world, he is an attempt to become as transatlantic and western-oriented as possible. Seeming to hate Russia and Russians (although perfectly able to refer to and quote Russian literature), he has a fine collection of Puma tracksuits, can quote the worst American hip hop, and has his eyes firmly fixed towards the US.
Were we unkind we would laugh just for looking at him – not at all amenable, being something like 320 lbs in weight – although here he would have the last laugh, as a spell in New York has gifted him the delicious Rouenna, whose last job was being a human lime ‘n' salt lick at a raunchy tequila bar. Not bad for someone who appears to be aging ageing beyond his teen years, and has had a bodged bris only recently.
However while back in St Petersburg (which he hardly ever dignifies with its proper name, so appealing does he find it) his father gets killed, and he loses his love to a Russian writer in America, Jerry Shteynfarb (see what he did there?). Suddenly the owner of a huge donation as compensation, he is trapped in Russia – his late father's business not allowing him transit out. Unless he goes jaggedly across Europe to Absurdsvani (which even more seldomly gets its proper name), and finagles a Belgian citizenship for him (and his man-servant) while there.
If only things were that easy, or were going to proceed as expected…
Now I don't think I'm alone in realising that 320pp of satire is going to be hard work, unless it is a success throughout. This is not a success throughout. While some scenes would have worked well if told better (the killers turning up at his father's funeral), and some details were humorous, there was too much that failed. Lines regarding his learning to love laundrettes fall flat as you can take them sincerely so easily, and the sharpness of the comedy is just not there.
Instead, the novel, with its moderate page count and tiny print, while reading quite fluidly and rapidly, is too close to the middle ground. Halliburton, the US conglomerate, is the butt of many jokes, but when the Russian side of things is disliked so much by the protagonist, and the Euro-pudding state of Absurdistan, all Caspian shore and oil wealth and ethnic bickering, is just unappealing and rightly looked down upon, there does not seem to be much point of the book. Misha ends up our hero almost by default – we join him in sexual shenanigans, if never exactly with full empathy.
