Not many a writer can pull it off - a plot so off-putting and odd, the emotions so raw. To a great extent, Makine managed to do it, though, mainly thanks to his inimitable writing style - lyrical, as usual, only here it's so much darker. And inherent to him, these very skillful repetitions throughout the book, going to the same event in the past again and again - but from a different perspective - not easy to do without boring the reader, but always done uniquely in this writer's case.

There is never any doubt in my mind when I pick up Makine's book - it will never disappoint. (The same I can only say about one more writer, Boris Akunin)... I love Makine's style. As far as his writing, this book didn't disappoint either, and probably if one gets into the character of the protagonist more intimately, one can actually get what's going on inside and be less judgmental. I am not at that stage yet. ( )

Haunting detail, but a bit lurid, and somewhat of a disappointment after Dreams of My Russian Summers. ( )

The time is 1947. Olga Arbyelina is a Russian emigre living in a small town outside of Paris. She is reputed to be of royal blood, a rumor supported by the fact that her son is hemopheliac.

Makine's prose is characteristically lyrical--dreamy and repetitious--it reminds me of Debussey's music. But in this case, the lush language is not supported and complemented by the plot and characters. The crux of the novel is Olga's relationship with her son, and her great love for him. However, Olga comes across as passive, apathetic, and unthinking. She and her son are rarely in the same room together (unless one of them is asleep). The disturbing acts of her son and Olga's reaction (or perhaps her nonresponse) to them are unrealistic and unbelievable.

2 stars ( )