The greatest book ever written. Seriously.
Well, maybe not.
But without a
doubt one of the most enthralling crime novels I’ve ever read. Sure, it does
have its fair share of problems (for instance the fact that every time I saw
the main character’s name “Arkady” I actually mistakenly read “Already” – and it
does get annoying over the course of 560 pages! – or the fact that from the
very beginning it is quite clear that the evil Pribluda isn’t going to kill our
hero, and isn’t even going to be his main antagonist), but it remains pure
entertainment.
It’s also really
interesting reading it through Cold War lenses: the impeccably dressed FBI
agents against their clumsy Soviet counterpart, Irina’s beauty ruined forever by
KGB actions, but her marks can be masked with American make-up (something that reminded
me of “James Bond's
"Pussy" and Anglo-American Cold War Sexuality”, one of the most
interesting academic articles I’ve ever read).
But most of all, now I know a lot more about furs…
