I think, if I’m being honest, that I did get this book slightly confused with Marra’s other book, A Constellation of Vital Phenomena. Which isn’t to say both books aren’t lovely and worthy of being read, just that they do share common traits. Marra writes what he knows best. I can’t fault an author for doing so, and indeed I really enjoyed both books. Perhaps on further reflection I might have enjoyed this one a tad more?
In this work, a central painting–a fictional landscape by the real painter Zakharov–serves as the anchor point tying together the lives of a number of people in Moscow (and Chechnya). It’s the story of Russia, told through these short stories that span over a hundred years. I wouldn’t call them short stories in the way that they’re usually told, because they’re definitely meant to be read at a stretch like a novel, but each one is rather stand alone.
Similar to how I felt about Constellation, there’s a lot of trauma in these stories but never so much that you feel overwhelmed by what’s going on and like you need a break. You can absorb the mess and war and generalized challenges, but then find moments of levity and calm to bring yourself back to a level ground. I don’t know that I could read a third similar book–not that Chechnyan history isn’t fascinating–but it does feel a bit like retrod ground, and I’m not sure what another go around would unearth. Then again, as I say that, I feel like I’d still trust Marra to show me.