Will a Latvian pulp shocker still be as stimulating sixteen years on?
No matter how hard I tried to fathom the mysterious mechanism of the stunningly, scandalously sudden wealth of the most various and unexpected of my fellow citizens…I couldn’t figure it out. The money seemed to appear from nowhere, in obscene and incomprehensible amounts…I don’t want to be like them. I don’t like them. But if they want everybody to play by their rules, then I can play that game too.And I’ll beat them.Because I’m clever. (Headcrusher, p-15)
It would not be long before I would find myself passing it on to expat colleagues in Russia. One of them, an American who had studied Creative Writing, just opined that the book contained too many adjectives stuffed together. Another, one of my managers from New Zealand, took issue with the central character’s failing (in what is a crucial sequence) to show his I.D to security at his place of work! I am not sure that either of them got what myself and many other readers -for the novel proved a commercial success – responded to.
Browsing in a Moscow bookstore late last year I chanced upon my mud brown companion once again. How would it shape up now?
I resolved that I would also, once again, share it with someone. This time the recipient would be a fellow expat from California who has feathered his nest with a chain of nursery schools in Moscow.
More on that later.
Bright Young Things.
Limbus Press in Saint Petersburg were the first to print Headcrusher in 2003. It sold well in the Russophone world and proceeded to win the Russian Literary National Bestseller Prize in the same year. The authors – Alexander Garros and Aleksei Evdokimov were both 28-year-old journalists residing in Latvia.
Three years later the London-based Vintage Books produced an English language version courtesy of a seamless and vigorous translation by the ever busy Andrew Bromfield. This in turn received an approving reception from the British press. (`A brilliant piece of writing`: The Daily Telegraph, and so on).
Headcrusher comprises an intense and transgressive Molotov cocktail made up of social satire and polemic. In so doing it channels the aspirations and frustrations of many people – particularly young men – who have lived through the transition to post-Communist societies in Eastern Europe.
This `cyberthriller` exudes a landscape of `permanent unreality` (p-58) composed of `hotels, taverns, underground car parks, casinos, computer game arcades and supermarkets` (p-55). Overseeing it all is the National Conservative Party whose leader exhorts the citizens to be `less lazy` and to `try at least brushing your teeth everyday` (p-62).
Latvian Psycho.
Garros-Evdokinov’s alter ego is the twenty-six year old Vadim Appletaev, who consists of a sort of little guy/ everyman when we first encounter him. However, during one typical, slushy January holiday period Vadim’s banal dog-eat-dog world will push him over the edge.
Like Victor Pelevin’s protagonist in Homo Zapiens (2002) Vadim worked as a writer in Soviet times and was feted for his brilliance. All that changed in the new era of post-Soviet economic shock therapy and he ended up churning out P.R copy for a major bank in Riga.
So Vadim spends his days adding to a secret hate-filled grumble sheet which is saved on the bank’s computer. He has his way with vacuous young women who are awed by his connections with International Finance but his only real friend runs a computer gaming arcade. It is this that introduces him to the violent combat game – `Headcrusher`.
One day, entering his closed workplace to add some choice rants to his hidden blog, he runs into his pompous manager who seems delighted to have caught him in the act. As the man dresses him down, all of Vadim’s dammed up rage spills out as he smashes the manager over the head with a bronze dinosaur which is a part of the office decoration. Then he has to dispose of the body….
Thus begins Vadim’s descent into a Macbeth like vortex of slaughter. We follow him as he executes a string of George Grosz-like cartoon irritants including a meatheaded security guard, street hoods, sleazy cops, spiritual fakirs (`the Church of Unified Energies`), right-wing trendies and even the head of the government itself!
The action tale is animated with scornful disgust all the way through. It is just as raw as Arslan Khasavov’s Sense (reviewed below). Nevertheless, Garros-Evdokimov entertain us with their fresh and vivacious descriptions and philosophical soliloquies.
Riga night life, coitus, a first taste of single malt whisky, and computer games are all brought to life. The sequence in which Vadim has to dispose of his first corpse before his workmates find him is a satisfying example of horror-supense writing too.
The duo wrote some more novels but these have not been translated. A story by Alexei Evdokimov turns up in Moscow Noir – an anthology of crime stories produced by Akashic books in 2010. Then, sad to say, Alexander Garros died of cancer in 2017.
Meeting with a critic.
Edward makes his way on the metro to the Akademicheskaya area of Moscow where his acquaintance lives in a gated community. He has a long canvas bag slung over his shoulders.
Security lets him in and he goes along the hall and enters the plush white and chrome apartment. He is greeted by a portrait of Trump shaking hands with Putin and a collection of numerous gold Russian icons laid out on the walls.
The critic is portly and bald and seen sitting on a bean bag with a copy of `Headcrusher` in front of him. He shakes his head from side to side.
`It’s a confusing piece of bull crap`, he begins in a braying voice. ` Any sympathy I’d had for the hero I’d lost by the end of the first chapter. I mean it’s all so adolescent and preachy!`
He offers Edward some imported coffee from the Andes but the man just asks him to continue.
`It’s so obvious that these guys are just settling old scores with real people – people they’re too much pussies to sort out in real life! Anyway, my countryman Chuck Palanhiuck already did this sort of thing so much better!`
CLICK-CLICK!
`And it’s all so unbelievable. I mean as if anybody would get away with going round and…hey, whasat!?`
The report sounds like a Siberian avalanche. The icons are now golden red. There is beef stroganoff served on the floor.A shadow moves over the torso to retrieve the book.
`Now if you’d read the novel with more care, you might have seen that coming`, says the shooter.
`Headcrusher` by Garros Evdokimov (translated by Andrew Bromfield) London: Vimtage Books, 2006 (All quotations are from this text).
