This review originally ran over on Green Man Review.
The Secret History of Moscow is the debut novel of Russian writer Ekaterina Sedia. Ostensibly, it is the story of a young woman in 1990s Moscow: unhappy, displaced, maladjusted Galina. Upon giving birth, Galina’s young sister (cheerful, pretty, parental favorite Maria) inexplicably turns into a bird and flies out the window. Galina and a crew of unlikely comrades follow clues and cues into a mysterious city below the city, a secret, alternative Moscow, where time, place, and reality have startlingly elastic parameters.
Sedia’s prose is wonderfully dynamic. Her ability to weave together tales of the myriad characters Galina and her friends encounter deserves praise. Also, there are segments of beautifully wrought images, almost like paintings rendered in words: a dancing bear made of tame rats standing on each other’s shoulders and hooking tails; souls trapped in tiny spheres of colored glass; a boatman who accepts sorrows in exchange for a row across the river. But only someone well versed in Russian myth, folklore, and history could catch every reference. The telling of story after story of each legendary figure, demigod, undead creature, or emotionally fragile human treads close to having a splintered feel rather than a multifaceted one. The multitudinous characters marching across the scene to briefly tender their life histories can be overwhelming, even fatiguing at times.
Sedia’s debut effort is chock full of beautiful writing. Her language choices — Sedia was born and raised in Moscow — are at times charmingly awkward, adding to the feel of Russianness, of folkloric rendering and oral tradition. Her narrative voice is incredibly strong, flavorful, even powerful. My small dissatisfactions with the story hinge on the main characters’ lack of likeability. They all have their moments, and it’s easy to feel sympathy for them in hairy situations, but they never really behave well enough toward each other to inspire admiration. They seem to be lacking human warmth, consideration, or perhaps just a life perspective not so inwardly directed. The most sympathetic and appealing character is the one who should by all rights feel most marginalized and disenfranchised, even in a city full of those who are both: Oksana the gypsy. She’s the only one who exhibits joy and generosity of spirit, even through her self-doubt and pain. The rest of the characters wade and wallow through Sedia’s stunning, mystical prose like a band of morose circus performers, each trumping the next with their tricks of personal bleakness and self-pity.
There are definitely shades of Gaiman’s Neverwhere in play, only with a distinctly Russian flavor. Here is a similar journey through a massive cast of characters, some of whom pass fleetingly from the action, while others become instrumental to the story’s outcome in surprising ways. Ultimately, I’d rate this a heartfelt “recommended read” for anyone looking for something out of the ordinary. Just don’t mind the occasional moping about and somewhat matter-of-factly bleak world view of this particular cast of character.
(Prime Books, 2007)
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