Penguin Lost by Andrey Kurkov

First published in Russian in 2002; published in translation by Melville House on September 27, 2011

When we last saw Viktor Zolotaryov (at the end of Death and the Penguin), he was fleeing the crime syndicate that threatened his life, leaving Misha, his penguin, in an animal hospital in Kiev. Now on an island near Antarctica, Viktor is offered the opportunity to adopt a new identity. Returning to Kiev, the melancholy with which he was afflicted in Death and the Penguin is replaced, at least temporarily, with "a cheerful touch of mystery," largely the result of a happy encounter with a part-time prostitute named Svetlana. Still, the murder of his former editor reminds him that "every story must end at a full stop, and none bolder or more final than that of death."

Viktor's search for Misha brings him back into contact with some shady characters. Even worse, he becomes a political consultant, a job that gives Andrey Kurkov the chance to lampoon politicians, their image makers, empty promises, and hypocrisy. Fans of cynicism will find much to love in this novel, but so will fans of humanity. The tender relationship that Viktor established with a little girl, Sonya, in Death and the Penguin continues in Penguin Lost, but Viktor's time in Kiev is limited. Soon he is off to Moscow, on three missions: one for the man whose identity he borrowed; one for his political employer; and most importantly, one of his own -- his search for Misha. Viktor will do almost anything to recover Misha, but does that include traveling to Chechnya?

The Russia and Ukraine that Kurkov describes are full of problems and (as one of the characters advises us) woefully short of individuals who are capable of solving them. The characters in Kurkov's novels are resigned to their dismal fates, but they persevere in their grim lives -- even Misha. Viktor endures his trouble-filled life yet always retains a faint hope that something better might come along; a hint of optimism flickers throughout the story as Viktor ponders the nature of fate.

Of course, there is always the chance that what comes along next will be death, but death might not be so bad. Viktor finds something enviable in the death of fisherman whose frozen body he finds on a lake; he deems the man "worthy of respect, though, not having known him, he could not say in what particulars." The comment is typical of Kurkov; respect for the living and for the dead who surround them is inherent in his work.

The story Kurkov tells is odd (the supposedly dead don't always stay dead in Penguin Lost), filled with strange twists and unexpected turns, but in Kurkov's view, life in Ukraine and Russia (and particularly Chechnya) is odd. "The absurd here was amazingly real," Kurkov writes. "Life here was ruled by it." The absurd is more real than Viktor's life; in his isolation, "noticed by too few to feel real himself," he wonders if he even exists. He wants to feel something, to recover himself, but only in rare moments does he feel empowered to control his own destiny. Fortunately, if there is one thing that can be counted upon in a dismal world, it is a man's love for his penguin.

Kurkov balances the story's darkness with light touches, comic moments that provide relief from the gloom. Of course, political corruption is always good for a laugh, and any scene centering on a penguin is bound to provoke a smile. Reading Kurkov's short chapters is like eating tasty snacks -- they're easy to devour and it's difficult to stop.

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Death and the Penguin by Andrey Kurkov

First published in Russian in 1996; first published in English in 2001; publsihed by Melville House on June 7, 2011

Viktor lives in Kiev with a depressed penguin named Misha. Viktor is also depressed despite recently acquiring a job writing obituaries for VIPs in anticipation of their deaths. He fills the obituaries with philosophical musings about life and loss. Since his subjects are still living, Misha's obituaries (like his short stories and unfinished novels) remain unpublished. A greater cause of Viktor's unhappiness, however, is his isolation -- he feels much like his penguin, who stands in the corner for long stretches, staring at the wall. Viktor feels "remote from events and even from life itself." Eventually a government official whose obituary Viktor has written falls from a window and Viktor learns of a connection between his writing, the man's death, and the rioting the death precipitates. Viktor later learns that his editor has a hidden purpose for publishing the obits -- a purpose that causes Viktor to ponder the role of death in a planned economy.

Viktor finds his solitude eased by the presence of Sonya, the four-year-old daughter of a militia officer who drops her off with Viktor before disappearing. Yet Viktor's feeling of seclusion is supplanted by an uneasy sense that the new situation created by his temporary visitor is precarious, that in the absence of any real attachments his respite from loneliness is vulnerable to fate. The addition of a nanny allows Viktor to imagine he is part of a family, but he knows the family -- like much of the life that surrounds him -- is only an illusion.

Death and the Penguin is set in Ukraine, a country troubled by hardship and violence. A sense of menace pervades the novel; people live with the expectation that death --or worse -- is lurking nearby. Yet most of Kurkov's characters are generous and kind-hearted. They have adjusted to their circumstances: "The once terrible was now commonplace, meaning that people accepted it as the norm and went on living, instead of getting needlessly agitated. For them, as for Viktor, the main thing, after all, was still to live, come what might." Perseverance in the face of darkness is a theme that runs through Death and the Penguin. Still, while Viktor has always believed that "a hard life is better than an easy death," he understands why others disagree.

There is a surrealistic quality to some of the novel's events: letters and packages mysteriously appear in Viktor's apartment despite his locked door; Misha is much in demand at increasingly common funerals for members of criminal organizations. Viktor decides it is better not to think about things he doesn't understand. In his world, too much knowledge can be dangerous. The novel takes an even stranger turn toward darkness when Misha requires an extreme remedy for a medical condition. At that point Viktor mourns for the loss of the simple, comprehensible life of his childhood.

There are probably many ways to understand Death and the Penguin, but I see it as an allegorical story about the loss of innocence -- a loss that afflicts individuals as they experience life and societies as they confront oppression. But Death and the Penguin can also be read more simply, as a dark comedy, an engaging story about a man, a girl, and a penguin doing their best to deal with the daily mysteries of life. The reader gets the sense that Misha, staring quizzically at his human roommates, is just as puzzled about complex human behavior as are the adult human characters. I think it would be difficult to read this novel and not derive something worthwhile from it, even if it's only a smile.

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