The 2021 National Bestseller Award Longlist/Nominees

I’ve written many times about how much I love literary award longlists so it will come as no surprise that I was happy to see last week’s announcement of this year’s nominees (a.k.a. longlist) for the National Bestseller Award. The NatsBest list is always especially interesting because it includes nominators’ names. You can find the list of nominators and nominees here. Or click on book covers here to read nominators’ notes. This year, 43 books were nominated. I won’t list them all (and I’m avoiding reading too much about some of them, lest I spoil the plots for myself or you) but here are a few, many of which I’d never heard of, which is, of course, why I love these lists so much.

• I’ve only read a little of Ksenia Buksha’s Адвент (Advent) but I do think it’s safe to say it offers scenes with a family – two parents and one child who’s opening windows on an advent calendar – as well as windows into the parents’ memories. I love Buksha’s sense of humor, formal shifts, and play with language so am crossing my fingers that the book holds together! (Based on what I’ve heard, I’m pretty sure it will but I’ve jinxed myself too many times in the past…) (Nominator: Polina Boyarkina)
• I have an electronic copy of Inga Kuznetsova’s Изнанка (Inside Out, in Muireann Maguire’s as-yet-unpublished translation), which is told from the point of view of none other than the COVID-19 virus. I’ve read the beginning and am not sure that’s my thing (I’ve gone on record before saying I’m not good with books where the subject matter is this up-to-the-minute/in-the-news) but I’ll give it another try or two or three because I so enjoyed Inga’s Intervals. (Nominator: Igor Voevodin)
• Alla Gorbunova, who won the NOSE Award last week, has a new book coming out: Другая материя (Other Matter?). (Nominator: Julia Goumen)
• I was very excited to see Mikhail Gigolashvili’s Кока (Koka) on the list: it apparently continues the adventures of a character from Gigolashvili’s Четрово колесо (The Devil’s Wheel), which I loved so very much some years ago (previous post). (Nominator: Elena Shubina)
• Sergei Volkov’s Ильич (Ilich) sounds like a book about the nineties that includes a Lenin statue. I lived across from a Lenin statue for the 1992-1993 academic year so that’s a good start. (Nominator: Petr Shepin)
• Покров-17 (Pokrov-17 since it’s a toponym) sounds like another mystical, fast-paced novel from Alexander Pelevin. (Nominator: Anna Dolgareva)
• I did a doubletake when I saw the name Sergey Shoygu, who was nominated for a story collection, Про вчера (About Yesterday): Shoygu’s name has long been familiar since his resume includes stints as Russia’s Minster of Defense and Minister of Emergency Situations. (Nominator: Oleg Zobern, who writes that his grandmother and his friends enjoyed the stories, too.)

Although there are lots of other interesting titles by familiar authors, here are a few I’d never heard of that sound good in some way or other:

• Natalya Solovyova’s На берегу Тьмы (On the Bank of the Tma, which is a tributary of the Volga in the Tver area, those the word “тьма” carries other meanings, including “darkness,” “ignorance,” and, keeping things simple, “multitudes”) sounds like a historical novel based on true incidents; it’s set in the early twentieth century. (Nominator: Rusina Shikhatova)
• Павел Чжан и прочие речные твари (Pavel Chzhan and Other River Creatures, perhaps?) by Vera Bogdanova concerns digital concentration camp and “total chipization.” (Nominator: Alexei Portnov)
• Anton Sekisov’s Бог тревоги (The God of Anxiety or The Anxiety God, perhaps?) is a bit of a cheat since Sekisov was nominated for the NatsBest in 2019. I didn’t remember that, though, so here’s a new book, which is apparently about a young Moscow writer who moves to Petersburg and finds that his Wikipedia page says he’s died. (Nominator: Konstantin Tublin, who says the novel offers “an unexpected take on Petersburg metaphysics and Petersburg myths,” things I always seem to enjoy)

Up Next: Ksenia Buksha’s Advent or Eugene Vodolazkin’s History of Island.

Disclaimers and Disclosures: The usual. And knowing some of the nominators and authors (I’m especially happy for Gigolashvili!) and receiving electronic versions of the Kuznetsova book.

NOS(E) Awards Go to Gorbunova and Barskova

The NOS(E) Award held its annual ceremony last week, presenting its jury prize to Alla Gorbunova for her Конец света, моя любовь (The End of the World, My Love). The critics’ panel prize went to Polina Barskova for her Седьмая щелочь: тексты и судьбы блокадных поэтов (The Seventh Alkali [a sort of cleansing wave/wash]: The Texts and Fates of Blockade Poets). The readers’ choice award went to Ragim Dzhafarov’s Сато (Sato). I haven’t (yet) read any of the books but have a few notes to add...

• Languagehat is way ahead of me on reading Gorbunova. He blogged about The End of the World, My Love last summer, here. I did, finally, buy Вещи и ущи, which is winging (or maybe swimming?) its way to me from Russia. I’ve never been very good about keeping at short story collections but Gorbunova’s books look and sound promising.
• Words Without Borders published “#Russophonia: New Writing in Russia” last week and the selection includes several of Gorbunova’s stories from Вещи и ущи, which translator Elina Alter calls Ings & Oughts. There is also video of Gorbunova reading one of the stories. Here’s the title page for “#Russophonia”. And there’s more! Kelly Writers House hosted an online “#Russophonia” program that you can watch here. There’s lots of good stuff in both places!
• Deep Vellum will be publishing translations of Gorbunova’s two story collections. (This is a very recent signing; I know nothing else!)

Up Next: Most likely Vodolazkin’s Оправдание Острова, which I’m rereading (a printed copy is such a relief!) and which I think I’ll continue calling History of Island, at least for now. As I’ve mentioned before, recent months have brought lots of unexpected and/or unsolicited electronic and print books, resulting in some weird reading habits! I’m hoping for an on-paper reread of one of those unexpected books very soon, too.

Disclaimers & Disclosures: The usual, for a couple of the figures and entities mentioned in this post.

Fun With Genres

I think I’ve mentioned many times that I love literary genres, from eighteenth-century Russian sentimentalism to socialist realism to all sorts of detective and science fiction/fantasy/weird novels. That’s not an exhaustive list; I’m open to any century, old or new. It’s not the labelling I’m enamored with: I love recognizing familiar patterns as I read and I love watching authors play with (perceived) genre norms in their books. I’m sure that’s why I sped through Boris Akunin’s first seven or eight Fandorin novels and why Jonathan Lethem’s Motherless Brooklyn is such a favorite. As are Karamzin’s “Poor Liza” and Pushkin’s Belkin Tales, too. How the Steel Was Tempered and Cement weren’t required socialist realism reading in college but I devoured them anyway. I could list dozens more books but will say instead that I started early, reading lots of science fiction and fantasy chapter books as a kid, and revisiting Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time over and over.

I never stopped reading detective novels or books with varying degrees of fantasy and/or science fiction elements – they’re wonderfully endemic in contemporary literature – but I’ve found myself gravitating to them more than usual during the pandemic. Genres particularly draw me because of their adherence (sometimes loose, sometimes close) to certain strictures, things like pacing standards, typical plot twists, and stock characters. Many of Vladimir Propp’s fairy tale elements apply to contemporary novels, too, and I see genres and archetypes as close, friendly cousins. As I mentioned above, I especially like reading books that blend and twist genre norms: these days, the combination of pattern recognition and unexpected mashups of familiar storylines, characters, and tropes feels more satisfying than ever. I’d even been planning a sort of genrefest for myself: the idea came when I ordered a small heap of socialist realism and fantasy novels. Then the books got set aside when some manuscripts and books for review floated in.

One of the first manuscripts was Eugene Vodolazkin’s Оправдание Острова (which I’ve seen called The History of Island), a fantastic (on all counts) blend of medieval chronicle and what, hm, I might call fantasy, given that certain characters live a very long time. Island tells historical and personal stories of strife, isolation (perfect for a pandemic!), and development. There are two timelines. One follows the chronicle and details centuries of Island history, the other is a more anecdotal and (ha) cinematic account from two centuries-old characters. I’ve long thought of Vodolazkin’s novels, which present spiralized time and wrinkled history, as a personal Vodolazkin genre: I’ve called his Solovyov and Larionov, Laurus, and The Aviator a triptych but have now officially expanded that to a quadriptych, thanks to Island. Island is delicate and detailed so not my ideal book to blog about after electronic reading. Although it’s easy to remember the basics, Island is the sort of book that inspires dozens of notes, exclamation marks (talking animals!), and smiling marginalia on paper I can flip through, to recall and revisit favorite spots. I do see an upside in this: I want/plan to reread Island in print so I can examine the novel’s multiple layers and themes before writing more about it.

Marina and Sergey Dyachenko’s Vita Nostra was in my genrefest pile of printed books, a good thing since I read it in lengthy binges. It’s a page-turner. I’ve seen Vita Nostra described as “urban fantasy” and that does sound about right. Beyond fantasy and the supernatural, though, there’s also a nice coming-of-age story as Sashka Samokhina finds her true powers at the Institute of Special Technologies, a school where (warning: slight spoilers ahead!) student development includes (literal) metamorphoses. And time can go into repeat mode. (Another slight spoiler: at one point, Sashka relives December 16 for many days in a row. Reading that section of the book on the very same date felt a bit creepy.) There was lots more to keep me binging with Vita Nostra: Sashka is a strong young heroine, there’s mental training and discipline, the alternate world/universe is vivid, and there are language-related revelations toward the end that made me want to go right back to the beginning of the novel and read it again. I read Vita Nostra in Russian, but it’s also available in Julia Meitov Hersey’s translation from HarperCollins.

For better or worse, I didn’t go back to reread Vita Nostra. I switched to a retro detective novel instead. Valeria Verbinina’s Театральная площадь (Theater Square), the second in Verbinina’s series starring detective Ivan Opalin, was also in my genre shipment. I didn’t find Theater Square as absorbing as its predecessor, Moscow Time (previous post), but I’m a sucker for Stalin-era settings and the didactic layer of Verbinina’s novels fascinates me. Sometimes it almost feels as if she makes sure to mention things like Stalin portraits hanging in offices and accusations of Trotskyite activity to remind readers (particularly young readers who haven’t heard stories first-hand from relatives?) about Soviet-era history. And communal apartments. Theater Square isn’t just history + detective, though. It also involves the Bolshoy Ballet, making it a ballet novel as well. Both Theater Square and Yulia Yakovleva’s Каннибалы – literally Cannibals but a.k.a. The Dazzlings, a contemporary novel about strange happenings at the Bolshoy (that I didn’t finish) – include strong reminders about the interconnection of politics and theater, too, as well as the building’s looping labyrinths. Among other things, Theater Square includes a cameo with Stalin and there are romantic and even somewhat gothic subplots. Bonus: Krasnaya Moskva (Red Moscow) perfume is mentioned again, earning the novel a tag! On a personal note, I loved the description of the upper tier of Bolshoy seats, where I sat (how strange fate can be!) not long after a murder investigation in my Moscow dorm.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s odd that I’ve focused so much on genres in recent months. But it makes complete sense. Thinking about genres doesn’t just order my reading a bit more than usual, it also helps me make sense of my thoughts and feelings about what’s happening in the world. When there’s instability, I tend to seek resolutions, something detective novels often supply. When there are real-life oddities that I simply can’t fathom, it helps to read about (other) strange physical and psychic places: weird fiction has already saved the day many times! And when I’m looking for something more philosophical about history and the passage of time, novels like Vodolazkin’s – which are so much a part of my thinking anyway, after translating three – feel reassuring and even consoling, particularly given that they include elements of fantasy and mysticism. Perhaps the greatest reassurance and consolation I receive from books – from every book I read, whether I finish or not – is the gift of opportunities to keep thinking about literary strictures, structures, characters, and messages, all of which help me both escape and find perspective on current events that keep proving (cliché alert!) that truth really can be far stranger than fiction.

Up Next: I’m reading away but not quite sure what comes next! (Alienation seems to be a strong theme, though…) A post about NOSE Award winners must be in the cards soon, too.

Disclaimers and Disclosures: The usual. Eugene Vodolazkin sent me an electronic copy of Island. Translator Julia Meitov Hersey is an online friend whom I hope to meet (we don’t even live far apart!) once this mess is finally over.