The Tsar of Love and Techno

The granddaughter of a Polish ballerina, Galina becomes a larger-than-life figure as she catapults to fame after winning the Miss Siberia contest. She remains an important figure throughout many of the stories, but mostly only to show the strength of her connection with Kolya. Her own voice is limited, even muted at times, as her story is largely told through the perspective of others. It’s as if she plays a role more like that a symbol than that of a real human being. Her driving impetus, besides her desire to continue the legacy of her grandmother, is her love for Kolya. Her love motivates her when she tracks down the Zakharov painting in the makeshift Grozny art museum, with her husband, the oligarch, awkwardly by her side. At first glance, her wealth and fame might seem enough to satisfy her hunger and zeal for life, but, as she tells Alexei in the title story, “When we were teenagers, I’d never even imagined living in a penthouse with a chauffeur and a chef and a butler. But now that I have it, it’s nothing. Am I awful for saying that?” (151). Her love for Kolya seems to be more evident than her love for her own daughter.

Violent, reckless, and volatile, Kolya is a force of unbridled masculinity. Through his crimes and posture toward others, Kolya is at once a portrait of what it means to get by while also serving as a cautionary tale. As the most central and prevalent character in the collection, perhaps our greatest glimpse into his psyche occurs in “The End,” when during his final moments all he wants is to relive his memories with Galina, his one true love, and his brother Alexei.

Kolya is difficult to define, as each of the stories that feature him demonstrate a different facet of his. Whereas in “Granddaughters” he is an arrogant, womanizing teenager, in “Wolf of White Forest” he is a murderous drug dealer whose fear of getting caught prompts him to kill Lydia. Kolya is perhaps also an allegorical figure, standing in as a prototypical Russian male, trying to survive and make a living by any means possible. Additionally, in his fantasy-like romance with Galina, Kolya finds a small pocket of heaven on earth, a temporary refuge from the rest of his life and future experiences.

A creative dreamer at heart, Alexei must come to terms with his brother Kolya’s death and seek redemption for himself before he turns to a life riddled with criminal activity as a means of survival. An amateur DJ, his life has essentially stopped after his brother’s death. Thus, in the title story in which he appears most prominently, his mission to witness the location of his brother’s death takes on a sense of urgency, fueled with purpose and catharsis. Alexei is idealistic, content with life’s simple joys, such as the moments he shares with Kolya or the small benefits from his life as an amateur DJ, such as “spare change […] the last spittly sips of shared vodka, the mobile numbers of drug dealers and petty criminals” (198).

In the final story, as Kolya drifts into an unknown abyss, Alexei takes on a spiritual dimension, almost as an angelic guide leading his brother into the afterlife through affirmation and consolation. Finally, Alexei’s mixtape, which serves as the collection’s central symbolic object for the longing for a better life, is an extension of Alexei himself. A physical representation of Alexei’s own hopes and dreams, the mixtape is a small physical reminder of the millions of heartbreaking stories and intimate pains shared by so many across Russia.

This self-deprecating central character of “The Grozny Tourist Bureau” finds his redemption in a grand gesture of kindness toward Nadya, who will eventually become his wife. Acting out of pain after losing his wife and son due to a landmine explosion, Ruslan brings a raw humanity to an otherwise stereotypical role of government official. In “The Grozny Tourist Bureau,” we are transported to the center of Ruslan’s thoughts and emotions, which are complicated and even conflicting, as evidenced in this reflection about his mix of friendship, romance, and caretaking with Nadya: “I play my part in the lie that preserves the illusion that our friendship, our romance, whatever this is, is based on affection rather than need” (104).

Ruslan is self-aware to the extent that he occasionally drifts into a convoluted hatred of himself. Yet, in Nadya, he finds solace and refuge from the world of his petty professional responsibilities, and most importantly, from the inner world of his own painful memories of loss and death. Furthermore, it is his desire to help Nadya that propels him to bold action by suggesting the purchase price of the Zakharov painting to the Russian oligarch. When the oligarch accepts the price, even offering more for it, Ruslan’s emotional restraint won’t allow him to fully experience elation or gratitude. He wonders what will come next, after the painting is sold: “What will Nadya see when she opens [her eyes]? Who will she see when she sees me?” (111). Thus, even at his kindest and most generous, Ruslan never fully allows himself to love himself.

Nadya is in many ways the most redeeming character of this story collection. She is physical redeemed by way of reconstructive surgery and emotionally revitalized by marrying and having a daughter with Ruslan. In her study of Markin, she demonstrates a genuine interest in the humanity of a man whose most significant contribution connects to one of the darkest epochs in Russian history. Even in Nadya’s state of vulnerability as a blind woman in “The Grozny Tourist Bureau,” she remains strong and intellectually and emotionally present. Later, as her sight is restored and her professional aspirations refreshed, she lives with both purpose and thankfulness.

In “A Temporary Exhibition,” as Nadya leads Vladimir to his own encounter with catharsis and possibly even the forgiveness of his uncle, she is more than a tour guide. Rather, she is the merciful conduit by which Vladimir can finally let go of the weight of resentment which has plagued him for a lifetime. Nadya’s kindness, even in the small gesture of giving the museum tour as the museum is about to close, is the catalyzing force for Vladimir’s poignant moment. Nadya is also excellent at what she does, as museum curator and art aficionado, as her research of Roman Markin’s work is what brings Vaska, Vladimir’s father, figuratively back to life, thus fulfilling Markin’s original intent.

Self-loathing and insecure, Sergei is the product of his environment. Born to an angry father, he becomes a criminal because, to him, it is an inevitability. This character is reminiscent of many of Edgar Allan Poe’s characters, in the sense that envy and rage take over him, as evidenced in “Palace of the People” when he beats Kirill. Yet, in his complicated affection and love for his father, Sergei is fundamentally human, not a monster but a real person with complicated emotions. Whereas in “Palace of the People,” Sergei seems irredeemable and lost to his own violent and criminal inclinations, in “A Temporary Exhibition” both his own vulnerable physical state after being shot in the leg, and his desire to bring his father to the Roman Markin exhibition humanize him. Sergei is an extension of his father, at heart still a boy who wants to please and help his parent. Yet, both he and his father, Vladimir, are limited in their ability to communicate with the emotional clarity that each one of them so desperately needs in order to break free from their own vicious, criminal cycles.

In “A Temporary Exhibition,” Sergei expresses his thoughts about his father: “The more adamant his father’s resistance [to go to the Markin exhibition], the closer Sergei felt to the raw nerve anchored so deeply in his father it may have been his soul” (310). What Sergei inherits from his father, therefore, is not a set of social or emotional skills, but a worldview of self-preservation, which often condones or even requires criminal activity.