Death and the Penguin
by Andrey Kurkov
The Harvill Press

A Militia major is driving along when he sees a militiaman standing with a penguin.

"Take him to the zoo," he orders.

Some time later the same major is driving along when he sees the militiaman still with the penguin.

"What have you been doing?" he asks. "I said take him to the zoo."

"We've been to the zoo, Comrade Major," says the militiaman, "and the circus. And now we're going to the pictures."

— prologue, "Death and the Penguin"

At the opening of "Death and the Penguin," things could hardly be gloomier for Viktor Alekseyevich Zolotaryov. His lover has left him. His beloved pet penguin, Misha, is depressed and brooding. His life as a writer has slowed down to a crushing halt — he is unpublished, unfocused and unfulfilled.

Then the biggest newspaper in Kiev rejects one of his stories — and offers him a position as an obituary writer. Soon Viktor is churning out obelisks on a wide variety of political and commercial personalities, all of whom are still alive — he's told the obits are for the newspaper's files. With help from the fact-gathering arm of the newspaper, he weaves in salacious but critical facts describing lives gone dirty in post-Communist Ukraine, and hits his stride as a writer. The obelisks are stirring, meandering, inspired and, above all, revealing. So much so that the paper recommends that he uses an anonymous byline: "A Group of Friends."

Money flows in, and Viktor is happy — except that he has yet to see a single one of his creations in print. This changes after he picks up some freelance obelisk assignments from a sinister character known to him as Misha-non-penguin who asks him which of his unpublished obits he would like to see in print. Viktor tells him, and soon thereafter, the obit subject dies suspiciously. A wave of death begins to sweep through the upper levels of Kiev's social ranks, and Viktor's output becomes very popular indeed.

Things get considerably more convoluted and dangerous as Viktor continues to practice his gloomy art. The paper's editor finds himself on the run from sinister forces. Viktor is forced to seek protection for himself and his new responsibility: Sonya, the daughter of Misha-non-penguin, who has gone into hiding. Fat wads of bills and a gun find their way into the life of a previously impoverished and mild-mannered writer. In short, Viktor finds himself diving headlong into the dark heart of modern Ukrainian politics.

Considering the story's potential for hysteria and sensationalism, author Andrey Kurkov does a remarkably good job of spinning a gripping, sober tale of organized crime in a disorganized society. Kurkov writes with an understated restraint that renders the festering corruption of post-Communist Ukraine with subtlety and nuance.

The strange and touching relationship between Viktor and the gloomy penguin Misha serves as a gentle counterpoint to the danger and intrigue that increasingly comprise Viktor's everyday existence. But Kurkov melds the two worlds seamlessly when Viktor and his penguin start receiving $1000 a funeral to serve as celebrity mourners. From there, his situation becomes increasingly desperate, and he is forced headlong into a life-or-death decision.

But "Death and the Penguin" isn't noteworthy primarily for its thrilling aspects. Although Kurkov spins a good mystery yarn, the central appeal of this low-key novel is its ability to render various aspects of Ukrainian life with sobriety and frankness. From a zoo forced to give away its animals for lack of funds (thus Misha's arrival in Viktor's life) to the pitifully dilapidated hospital where Viktor's penguinologist friend spends his last days, "Death and the Penguin" paints a moving picture of a society gutted by corruption, international neglect and the dark legacy of Communism.

Important stuff. But Kurkov makes it a natural part of the story, and the reader is never resentful of the author's moralizing or educating; it's an intrinsic part of this remarkable book's narrative weave.

"Death and the Penguin" is a great read. It's also a window on a society most Americans know nothing about. So while its style and author may be conspicuously modest, the book's success is anything but.

— James Norton (jim@flakmag.com)