By Victor Pelevin
Tales through the well known Russian wizard. Victor Pelevin is "the purely younger Russian novelist to have made an impact within the West" (Village Voice). A Werewolf challenge in crucial Russia, the second one of Pelevin's Russian Booker Prize-winning brief tale collections, keeps his Sputnik-like upward push. The writers to whom he's often compared—Kafka, Bulgakov, Philip ok. Dick, and Joseph Heller—are all deft fabulists, who locate gas for his or her fires in society's deadening protocol. "At the very begin of the 3rd semester, in a single of the lectures on Marxism-Leninism, Nikita Dozakin made a striking discovery," starts the tale "Sleep." Nikita's discovery is that everybody round him, from mom and dad to tv talk-show hosts, is admittedly asleep. In "Vera Pavlova's 9th Dream," the attendant in a public rest room reveals that her researches into solipsism have dire and diabolical effects. within the name tale, a tender Muscovite, Sasha, stumbles upon a gaggle of individuals within the woodland who can rework themselves into wolves. As Publishers Weekly famous, "Pelevin's allegories are corresponding to kid's fairy stories of their remarkable depictions of worlds inside of worlds, solitary souls tossed helplessly between them." Pelevin—whom Spin referred to as "a grasp absurdist, an excellent satirist of items Soviet, but in addition of items human"—carries us in A Werewolf challenge in relevant Russia to a land of serious sublimity and black comedian brilliance.
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Additional info for A Werewolf Problem in Central Russia and Other Stories
His hair was tousled. He hadn’t shaved for several days. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so painful, she thought, if he hadn’t insisted on giving her all of the details. They were in the kitchen, he was brewing a pot of coffee. He used a strong Turkish blend that she bought for him on Mercer Street. He told her everything, or most of it, minimizing the amount of time they’d spent in bed but accepting full blame for his way- BETWEEN TWO RIVERS 37 wardness. He’d been working too hard, he said, trying to accomplish too much in too short a time, and had made himself vulnerable.
She isn’t sure if it’s better or worse that Louis is dead. Dead, she still has him, owns him, possessing him as she never possessed him in life, because death is, after all, a kind of seal, a lock on the door. But what she knows, as well, too late, is that she too is in bondage, held in place by the same foolish lock on the same stubborn door. “I’m so tired,” she says to the rhesus. “Are you tired? ” She wanders over to the bearskin and lies down into it, pressing against it, the whole weary length of her body, and the fur of the bear is her fur, because she knows better now than ever before that she and the bear are one and the same, the same self, same animal, running among the trees and dead leaves, its bone, its cartilage, its fevered brain, hunted, pursued across BETWEEN TWO RIVERS 45 rushing streams, where light falls in flickering pinpoints, and there is no escape, pushing herself deeper and darker into the bear’s fur, and wherever she goes, the fear and the flight are her fear and her flight, Ursus horribilis, her hunger and her craving, her emptiness.
Jennifer, the slow one, says. “Not always. ” There is a photograph of Teddy when he was twenty-five, in a cowboy outfit, buckskin, with a big gun sticking out of his holster, looking for all the world like Billy the Kid. He weighed only a hundred and twenty-five pounds when that picture was taken. Later he would soar to two hundred. Theo found the picture in one of the biographies. He brought it to a photo lab and had it copied and blown up into a poster, and now it hangs in his waiting room.
A Werewolf Problem in Central Russia and Other Stories by Victor Pelevin