In post-soviet Ukraine, aspiring writer
Viktor Zolotaryov lives alone with a penguin named Misha, acquired when the
local zoo gave away animals it could no longer afford to keep. Although he can’t
sell a story, Viktor is offered job
writing obituaries with a difference – not only are the subjects not yet dead,
what he writes must include certain specified insinuations. Still, the pay is good
even if he can’t claim credit - another condition being his anonymity as
author.
Viktor finds his social circle expanding
(the penguin is a bit of a draw), but while his sense of loneliness decreases a
sense of foreboding grows as deaths start to occur both in his stock of
obituaries and in his new pool of acquaintances. However the funerals of the
great (if not the good) do provide a new line in the business of death, with
Misha’s attendance at the graveside becoming fashionable (and remunerative).
Viktor and Misha are clearly on the
periphery of a criminal world, seemingly safe enough - until his anonymity is threatened.
The book is shot through with black humour
as life in the ex-soviet republic is spelled out in all its bleakness,
physically decaying and morally corrupt. It is also about loneliness, with more
than the penguin seeming at odds with their surroundings.
The style is spare, as befits the context,
but never dull, making for a good short read, with a title that is strange, but
completely apt.
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