Russia in a fantastic, tumorous re-Neolithic age, after a perplexing Blast; published without illustrations, but those can be assembled from elsewhere. My library had it out in a pile of 'Gloomy Russian Novels to make February seem Pleasant by Contrast', but this one isn't gloomy. The scraps-and-mutations culture post-Blast is tragic or cathartic, but usually violently cheerful; they live on mice & under Directives, but with high spirits.
Tolstaya's prose is vast, rumpageous, cheery, full of dialogue that it's a pleasure to repeat out loud. (Honor to the translator.) One of the cover blurbs calls it 'postmodern'; it reminds me more of the less refined works of science fiction's "New Wave". (Am I redundant?) A Canticle for Leibowitz, obviously, but with gusto.
The burden of the tale is to do both with post-Blast—post end-of-USSR, in part—politics, and with culture literary and material. Much poetry is quoted - more honor to the translator! - and and index of authors is given at the end. Chapter X runs through a fool's categorization of everything printed, The Yellow Arrow to Plaiting and Knitting Jackets.
Translated by Jamey Gambrell.
ISBN: 0-618-12497-7
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