Yelena Akhtiorskaya

I simply LOVE writers who keep me alert in anticipation of savoring every phrase and who deliver continuously t​hrough the pages. When I look at Ms. Akhtiorskaya's photo on the book's jacket, I am dumbfounded: so young and such talent (the photo has to be at least somewhat current and the book was released just last year). Judging by her brief bio, the novel might be based at least on some of her own experience. In my mind it has to be. There is simply too much intimate knowledge to assign show more it to just vivid imagination. I am quite impressed.

The seemingly ubiquitous Soviet Jews immigration experience at Brighton Beach is suddenly not so ubiquitous anymore, as we follow the Nasmertov family... Bitter-sweet? Yes. But it's more than that. Ties are seemingly torn (one out of the family having not succumbed to immigration attractions) but they are actually not... Melancholy, hypochondria, dry humor - all this turned with uncanny insight into eloquent impressions. On the lighter side, the characters' neurotic behavior strongly reminds me of Woody Allen.... There is another thing - the family's love-hate feelings towards each other, the feelings that, in the end, show rather strong, if masked, loyalty. My only regret was about the ending - a little too ambiguous for my liking.

But on the whole, strikingly expressive writing. Akhtiorskaya makes inanimate objects come to life and tell a tiny story of their own. Every sentence is pregnant with meaning (or hidden meaning). Hilarious at times, wondrous at others, and with melancholic wistfulness throughout. That's my take. show less

The ubiquity of music and how it changes us, the “Arab spring,” obscure fiction from Yelena Akhtiorskaya, an excellent primer on Argentine history, winningly indulgent memoirizing from Emily Witt on doing her MA in English at Cambridge, an American war family story from Kent Russell (so weird! I know army dudes and they would never treat their kids that way! Not in Canadia), an article by Gemma Sieff that juxtaposes the ethic and aesthetic of Terry Richardson photography (I am offended show more that by writing about Vincent Gallo in print, where people could see, in fucking 2011, they forced me to read about him in 2013, but let it pass) with that of the Abu Ghraib photos (again—2011? But let it pass) that makes me not miss the past decade at all, and some fairly uninspired reviews. show less

A strange mixture of Jewish-Russian emigre humor which can be confusing if you are not a part of the culture but highly entertaining none the less.

I wanted to love this book -- the exquisite writing, the Russian diaspora setting. But the threads don't connect and too few characters are developed. I hope her second novel has more depth and polish.