I have not felt more ambiguously positive about a book in a long time. I'm not really quite sure what to say about this book. I finished it today at physical therapy and I really thought that there were at least ten more pages to come. I was like huh? What the hell just happened here? People said, "Is something wrong?" and I said, "Well, no, I just...well...finished my book." And I. Was. Confusèd. At times I felt too ignorant to get the symbolism of this country Absurdistan where Jewish Russian, Mischa Vainberg and his purple khui having been denied a visa because his Beloved Papa killed a man from Oklahoma, go to get a Belgium passport so he can return to the US, and to his one love who is currently shagging a pretty sketchy Russian Jew, . But the language. Oh the language. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed the words of a book so immensely. When the story itself was perplexing, the words kept me interested. Several times I thought, "This is absurd," or this guy is "absurd" and then I caught myself. What was I expecting? And then I was drawn back in with the beautiful prose. (And I am not one who pontificates on the beauty of prose.) Mischa is always talking about eating, about his toxic hump and the descriptions are just delightful. I bookmarked this passage after I read it at least three times because I was so amused by the language: "I let the wedges chill against my inflamed gums, then breathed in the cantaloupe, which coated my throat with orange lather before dissolving into the center of my body, gone forever, like everything else I've ever eaten."
In the end, I am very much looking forward to reading another book by the author, Gary Shteyngart.
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