Ageing Expat Men And Their Russian Women

As a two year Moscow resident, I can vouch for the lack of exaggeration in A.D. Miller’s Snowdrops.

In this novel the city functions more as a vortex than a character. Elaborate strip clubs, intrinsic corruption, casual bigotry, ostentatious displays of wealth and brutal poverty assault the senses and dehumanize the book’s inhabitants.

Although the vivid image of Moscow is accurate, the lack of comparison with the more mundane side of Russian life reduced its credibility. There was little relief from violence and gaudy sex. A brief interaction later in the novel between Tatiana Vladimirovna and Oleg Nikolaevich was one of very few hints at a more human Russia which exists under the brutality.

The female characters fell flat. Masha, the most rounded woman in Snowdrops, comes across as a dressed-up stereotype. Olga the Tatar came close to giving relief from Masha and Katya, (frequently described in terms of tacky wardrobe and sashaying body parts), the stream of faceless sex workers and Tatiana Vladimirovna, the mandatory old woman who survived Leningrad.

The male characters are a slightly more diverse group, though none resonated with me. Lawyers Nick and his boss Paolo, and Steve the foreign correspondent are fairly believable. Amongst the sociopathic Cossack and the endless supply of stressed-out bureaucrats, “minigarchs” and police, none are memorable apart from Nick’s neighbour Oleg Nikolaevich and the Cossack’s downtrodden pipeline surveyor.

Although Nick’s initial attraction to Masha is believable, I struggled to comprehend his ongoing infatuation. Until the Christmas flight back to England and Nick’s withdrawal from Moscow, the character’s relationship with his adopted city and with Masha are unexplained. This brief scene cast some light on Nick’s state of mind, and provided mental relief from the disorienting setting of the novel.

The prose is more a series of visceral images than a cohesive portrait of a city. But to be fair, there’s nothing subtle or cohesive about Moscow. I was taken with Miller’s slightly clunky descriptions of the Metro system and the streets of central Moscow, the beautiful bulvars and hideous nightclubs. It’s an effective rich man’s view of the city, infused with basic sympathy for migrant workers and crime victims, but with an overriding complacency.

Miller’s literary devices are routine; almost like a checklist from a creative writing course. The orange Zhiguli (a Russian brand of car), the eerie neighbour’s portents of doom, the Cossack’s stern warning. The foreshadowing is awkward and predictable, as is the outcome.

Snowdrops focuses on a particular slice of Moscow life-aging expat men and the Russian women they interact with. As a snapshot of a particular way of life in a city at a dramatic period in history, the novel is at once unbelievable and truthful.  As a story of what a person decides not to see, Snowdrops is stark, disturbing and effective.

Miriam is proud to say that she got this book from her local library. Contact the author here: miriam@morningquickie.com