Oleg Zaionchkovskii’s Петрович (Petrovich) is one of those rare
contemporary novels that feels almost too close to perfect, a book—like Vadim
Levental’s Masha Regina, which I
swear I’ll be writing about next very soon—that, to build on how a
friend described Masha Regina, reads well,
reads well, reads well, feels like it might fade (i.e. get boring), then
catches itself, and starts reading well again. I’m not sure why that feels so nearly
perfect to me, though I suspect what I enjoy so much is the writers’ ability to
convey ordinariness in a way that feels ordinary but yet somehow, magically, ends
up feeling absolutely unordinary, beautiful, and (very often) heartbreaking. Both
Petrovich and Masha Regina look far simpler than they are and both use stylistics
and structures that fit beautifully with stories about people who come of age
during the Soviet breakup: both books also focus on title characters’ lives in
ways that reflect social and family difficulties rather than obsessing on the
Big Picture, though both authors also present their characters as individuals
emblematic of their times and contexts.
The title character in Petrovich
starts out as a kindergartener—a stubborn and unhappy kindergartener—who feels,
to paraphrase a bit, like a loner in a herd of cheerful idiots (“чужим в стаде этих жизнерадостных идоитов”). The day described in the first
chapter-story of Petrovich is not a good
one for Petrovich: he ends up having a childish accident and needing to have
his mother, whom he calls by her first name, Katya, help him wash off in the Volga
on his way home. Petrovich has trouble playing with others all through the
book. He gets into a fight after a boys’ room conflict because another boy speaks
disrespectfully about a neighbor girl Petrovich has had a crush on for years; there
are more difficulties when he’s a young adult living in Moscow.
Zaionchkosvkii structures Petrovich as what I’ve come to think of as an episodic novel and he
increases the length of the chapters-episodes-stories as Petrovich gets older.
Time sometimes advances quickly: it seems like Petrovich takes up smoking and
spitting pretty suddenly. Then again, the use of a patronymic on its own as direct
address is unusual for a child, and Petrovich is known as just Petrovich. (That
said, I know a baby whose family has been referring to him as Petrovich since
he was in utero…) The name feels especially fitting in the book because Zaionchkovskii’s
Petrovich is both a very concrete character and a very symbolic character, named
for someone (his father, of course) from the generation that came before him (of
course!), starting his life in the novel with a mention of the Soviet anthem
playing on the built-in radio in the morning… and ending with the same anthem,
albeit in a different era and with a much different sleeping arrangement. The
name Petrovich also feels fitting because it’s come to feel (and here I’ll
probably get myself into big trouble) like a name for a certain down-to-earth Russian
everyman.
Zaionchkovsky’s Petrovich is, in many ways, a Soviet everyboy
growing into a Soviet-born everyman. Despite having a family that loves him and
lets him wander quite a bit, there are themes of abandonment, orphandom
(through his grandfather), and of course, broken families because Petya, the
source of Petrovich’s patronymic, disappears. Times change and Petrovich enters
adulthood, at least physically, but the anthem remains the same and Petrovich remains
a touchy guy, particularly in group situations, where he still seems to feel
like that loner in a herd of cheerful idiots.
Petrovich’s happiest times seem to come in one-on-one
situations: when his grandfather shows him old photos, when a friend of the
family takes him on an overnight fishing trip that includes a scary storm, and
when he rides around in a dump truck. Petrovich and I both particularly enjoyed
the day in the dump truck. The truck driver sees Petrovich hanging around a
construction site, offers him a ride, and even treats him to a cafeteria lunch
of borsch, kotlety, and macaroni with
sauce. Here’s a (purposely literal) translation of how Petrovich feels with a warm
breeze in his hair:
Он испытывал в эти минуты необыкновенный подъем чувств, а попросту говоря, был счастлив, насколько может быть счастлив человек.In those moments he experienced an uncommon burst of feelings and, put bluntly, was happy, as happy as a person could be.
I’m happy, too. Happy so many people recommended
Zaionchkovskii to me over the years, happy I finally found Petrovich in book form in Moscow last year, and happy
Zaionchkovskii assembled such a nice balance of characters and observation.
Up Next: Levental’s Masha Regina and a translator conference trip report…
Up Next: Levental’s Masha Regina and a translator conference trip report…
Image credit:
Andrew Butko, via Creative Commons, Wikipedia
Your enthusiasm is exciting. I really loved his Happiness is Possible, and I hope that someone will hurry up and publish Petrovich in English translation!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the comment, Ani! I hope so, too: I liked Happiness Is Possible but I think Petrovich is better. I'm not quite sure how to describe "better" other than to say I think it's better structured and more insightful. Then again, that may be partly because this is my second Zaionchkovskii book!
DeleteThis book sounds great, but I can't find it on any website to order (in print). Do you know of an online bookseller where I can get it? Thanks!
ReplyDeleteThe only online bookseller I know of that has Petrovich is Ozon.ru, which does now offer international delivery. I haven't tested that out, though! Good luck!
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