From the Publisher
"A latter-day Bulgakov . . . A Ukrainian Murakami." —Phoebe Taplin, Guardian
"A post-Soviet Kafka." —Colin Freeman, Daily Telegraph
"Kurkov draws us with deceptive ease into a dense complex world full of wonderful characters." —Michael Palin
"A kind of Ukrainian Kurt Vonnegut." —Ian Sansom, Spectator
"This time, the Ukrainian author of Death and the Penguin, known for his brilliantly dark humor, has written a modern-day odyssey, with a return that is ambiguously hopeful." —India Lewis, Arts Desk
"Strange and mesmerizing . . . In spare prose, Ukraine's most famous novelist unsparingly examines the inhuman confusions of our modern times and the longing of the warm-hearted everyman that is Sergeyich for the rationality of the natural world." —John Thornhill, Financial Times
"A warm and surprisingly funny book from Ukraine's greatest living novelist." —Charlie Connelly, New European
"Carries top notes of Beckett and Pinter, along with a slug of Kafka." —Strong Words, One of the Top 20 Books of the Year
"Sergey is at once a war-weary adventurer and a fairy-tale innocent . . . His naive gaze allows Kurkov to get to the heart of a country bewildered by crisis and war, but where kindness can still be found . . . Translated by Boris Dralyuk with sensitivity and ingenuity." —Uilleam Blacker, Times Literary Supplement
Kirkus Reviews
2022-03-09
A Ukrainian beekeeper strives in the face of hardship to make the most of his simple life.
Until it was thrust into the headlines by Russia’s invasion in February 2022, Ukraine was far from the minds of most Western readers. Through the story of Sergey Sergeyich, a divorced, disabled Ukrainian mine safety inspector and passionate beekeeper, Kurkov transforms the abstractions of geopolitics into an intensely human account of compassion and persistence. Along with Pashka, his lifelong frenemy, Sergeyich is one of the two remaining inhabitants of Little Starhorodivka, a village in Ukraine’s “Grey Zone”—the front line between the nation’s troops and pro-Russian separatists in the Donbas region. The village, so small it has only two main streets whose names Sergeyich decides to reverse in a moment of whimsy, has been without electricity for three years. Through a harsh winter, as the sounds of distant shelling periodically shatter the silence, Sergeyich survives on a diet of buckwheat, millet, and the occasional egg, heating his home with a coal-fired potbelly stove and lighting it with candles scavenged from the ruins of the village’s bombed-out church. Pashka has secured for himself a marginally more comfortable lifestyle due to his friendship with the separatist forces. With the onset of warmer weather, Sergeyich impulsively decamps with his six beehives on an odyssey across a war-ravaged landscape that will eventually bring him to the Crimean home of Akhtem, a Tatar beekeeper he met at a convention years earlier. But when he arrives, he finds himself more connected to Akhtem’s family than he ever anticipated, in the process discovering a common humanity that transcends borders and faiths. Kurkov’s prose is as unassuming as his characters. In his portrayal, Sergeyich is an Everyman embroiled against his will in “a war in which he [has] taken no part.” The humble pleasure he derives from tending to his bees and his determination simply to endure another difficult day make for a subtly inspirational tale.
A gentle story of survival in a war-scarred land.
