The Tsar of Love and Techno: Stories by Anthony Marra (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Tsar of Love and Techno by Anthony Marra "Beginning in the tunnels beneath Leningrad and ending at the edge of the solar system, The Tsar of love and techno stretches across a century, a continent, and a striking cast of characters tied together by an obscure 19th century Russan painting. Alternately tragic and comic, and richly profound throughout." -- back cover FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description From the author of National Book Award longlist selection and New York Times bestseller A Constellation of Vital Phenomena come these dazzling, poignant, and lyrical interwoven stories about family, sacrifice, the legacy of war, and the redemptive power of art.From the New York Times bestselling author of A Constellation of Vital Phenomena-dazzling, poignant, and lyrical interwoven stories about family, sacrifice, the legacy of war, and the redemptive power of art.This stunning, exquisitely written collection introduces a cast of remarkable characters whose lives intersect in ways both life-affirming and heartbreaking. A 1930s Soviet censor painstakingly corrects offending photographs, deep underneath Leningrad, bewitched by the image of a disgraced prima ballerina. A chorus of women recount their stories and those of their grandmothers, former gulag prisoners who settled their Siberian mining town. Two pairs of brothers share a fierce, protective love. Young men across the former USSR face violence at home and in the military. And great sacrifices are made in the name of an oil landscape unremarkable except for the almost incomprehensibly peaceful past it depicts.In stunning prose, with rich character portraits and a sense of history reverberating into the present, The Tsar of Love and Techno is a captivating work from one of our greatest new talents. Author Biography ANTHONY MARRAis the author ofA Constellation of Vital Phenomena(2013), which won the National Book Critics Circles inaugural John Leonard Prize, the Anisfield-Wolf Book Award in fiction, the Barnes and Noble Discover Award, and appeared on over twenty year-end lists. Marras novel was a National Book Award long list selection as well as a finalist for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize and Frances Prix Medicis. He received an MFA from the Iowa Writers Workshop and was a Stegner Fellow at Stanford University, where he teaches as the Jones Lecturer in Fiction. He has lived and studied in Eastern Europe, and now resides in Oakland, California.Visit http-//anthonymarra.net/ Review American Academy of Arts and Letters Rosenthal Family Foundation Prize for Fiction, 2015National Book Critics Circle Award Finalist in FictionKirkus Reviews Best Fiction Books of 2015Praise for The Tsar of Love and Techno: "[E]xtraordinary… Each story is a gem in itself. But the book is greater than its parts, an almost unbearably moving exploration of the importance of love, the pull of family, the uses and misuses of history, and the need to reclaim the past by understanding who you really are and what really happened…He starts this miracle of a book by showing us how a system can erase the past, the truth, even its citizens. He ends by demonstrating, through his courageous, flawed, deeply human characters, how individual people can restore the things that have been taken away. And if youve been worrying that youve lost your faith in the emotionally transformative power of fiction – Mr. Marra will restore that, too." -Sarah Lyall, The New York Times "Remarkable…Marra is a gifted writer with the energy and the ambition to explore the lives of characters whose experiences and whose psyches might seem, until we read his work, so distant from our own. Reading his work is like watching the restoration — the reappearance, on the page — of those whom history has erased." -Francine Prose, Washington Post"This book will burn itself into your heart. Its a collection of interlocking short stories that stand alone but also fit together, piece by delicate piece, to form an astonishing whole whose artfulness becomes increasingly clear as it goes on. The Tsar of Love and Techno swoops around in time and place, beginning in Stalinist Russia and ending somewhere in outer space in the near future. Its funny, moving and beautiful, the perfect thing to read." -New York Times "Audacious… [an] ambitious and fearless [book], one that offers so much to enjoy and admire...Marras far-ranging, risky and explicitly political book marks him as a writer with an original, even singular sensibility." -New York Times Book Review "Genius...what makes this (dare I say) masterpiece so stunning is Marras clear love for his subject and insistence on infusing beauty into even the darkest places…Its nothing short of extraordinary." -San Francisco Chronicle "Powerful…[an] ingenious book." -Wall Street Journal "Marras nine stories, cunningly set out like strewn mosaic tiles that keep self-rearranging until they cohere into a complex, cathartic whole, demand to be read in order...Marra here emerges with an oxygenizing wisdom and an arsenal of wit as inexhaustible as it is unlikely." -Boston Globe"Dazzling… with its multiple narratives and recurring characters it certainly recalls both Jennifer Egans "A Visit From the Goon Squad" (a novel) and Elizabeth Strouts "Olive Kitteridge"(short stories). By the time you reach Marras astonishing final story about Kolya, "The End" — set, a dateline tells us, in "Outer Space, Year Unknown" — the book has achieved a heart-rending cumulative power." -Tom Beer, Newsday"Like Nabokov, Marra is a writer for whom essential truths are found in detail… The nine interlocking stories grip from the off with their dry tone and meticulously realised worlds of totalitarian life and its aftermath. Characters appear, disappear and reappear throughout the collection, graceful as a troupe of dancers in the authors assured hands.… His stories have subtle nods to the Russian greats (Chekhovs gun, the lady with the lapdog) and more overt echoes of the writing of Kafka and Orwell in the tales of totalitarian living." -The Irish Times"Private acts of dissidence (a smuggled mix tape, say) become heroic in Anthony Marras era-spanning portrait of the USSR."-Megan OGrady, Vogue"Cobbled together as a sort of mixtape itself (with four stories under "Side A," four under "Side B," and a single-story intermission), Marras latest work is tender, touching, haunting at times and humorous at others—in short, a feat."-Thomas Harlander, Los Angeles Magazine"The Tsar of Love and Techno is inventively structured, emotionally resonant, superbly rendered." -Jane Ciabattari, BBC.com "The Tsar of Love and Techno is an intricately structured and powerful collection[and] showcases Marras wit and his gift for unforgettable details…The Tsar of Love and Techno is the work of an elegant and generous writer."-Bookpage"Some books are love at first read, and this is one of them. Anthony Marra, author of A Constellation of Vital Phenomena, delivers his first collection of intimately tied stories (it kind of reads as a novel, actually), arranged into Side A and B and Intermission. With language as precise as a razor blade, Tsartakes us throughout Russia from 1937 to the present with a connected group of characters who, through their explosive escapades, demonstrate the peculiarities and nuances of life. It has everything: humor, action, suspense, drama — Im going to go ahead and call it brilliant."-Meredith Turits, Bustle.com"Marra, in between bursts of acidic humor, summons the terror, polluted landscapes, and diminished hopes of generations of Russians in a tragic and haunting collection." -Booklist (starred)"With generosity of spirit and a surprising dash of humor, these artfully woven narratives coalesce into a majestic whole."-Library Journal (starred)"Powerful…strikingly reimagines a nearly a century of changes in Russia. [T]he books brilliance and humor are laced with the somber feeling that the country is allergic to evolution."-Kirkus Reviews (starred) "As in his acclaimed novel, Marra finds in Chechnya an inspiration for his uniquely funny, tragic, bizarre, and memorable fiction."-Publishers Weekly (starred)"Love and betrayal reverberate through these nine deftly linked stories... With this collection, Marra has created a stunning portrait of a place and its indelible inhabitants."-Dawn Raffel, More"We know we are in the realm of fiction, but Marra makes it all feel viscerally real. He has mined modern Russian history for all it is worth to create a masterful novel."-Russian Life Magazine "Treat yourself to these wise works of art set in Siberia, the USSR, and the heart."-Refinery29 Review Quote National Book Critics Choice Award Finalist in Fiction Kirkus Reviews Excerpt from Book The Leopard Leningrad, 1937 I am an artist first, a censor second. I had to remind myself of this two years ago, when I trudged to the third-floor flat of a communal apartment block, where my widowed sister-in-law and her four-year-old son lived. She answered the door with a thin frown of surprise. She wasnt expecting me. We had never met. "My name is Roman Osipovich Markin," I said. "The brother of your husband." She nodded and ran her hand along the worn pleat of a gray skirt as she stood aside to allow me in. If the mention of Vaska startled her, she hid it well. She wore a blond blouse with auburn buttons. The comb lines grooving her damp dark hair looked drawn on by charcoal pencil. A boy was slumped into the divans mid-cushion sag. My nephew, I supposed. For his sake, I hoped he took after his mother. "I dont know what my brother has told you," I began, "but I work in the Department of Party Propaganda and Agitation. Are you familiar with the job?" "No," the boy said. The poor child had inherited his fathers forehead. His future lay under a hat. To his mother: "Your husband really didnt talk about me?" "He did mention a brother who was something of the village idiot in Pavlovsk," she said, a bit more cheer to her tone. "He didnt mention you were balding." "Its not as bad as it looks," I said. "Perhaps you could get to the purpose of your visit?" "Every day I see photographs of traitors, wreckers, saboteurs, counterrevolutionaries, enemies of the people. Over the last ten years, only so many per day. Over the last few months, the usual numbers have grown. I used to receive a slim file each month. Now I receive one every morning. Soon it will be a box. Then boxes." "Surely you havent come only to describe the state of your office?" "I am here to do my brother a final service," I said. "And that is?" she asked. My vertebrae cinched together. My hands felt much too large for my pockets. Its a terrible thing, really, when said aloud. "To ensure that his misfortune doesnt become a family trait." She gathered every photograph she had of Vaska, as I asked. Nine in total. A marriage portrait. A day in the country. One taken the day they moved to the city, their first act as Leningraders. One of Vaska as a boy. She sat down on the divan and showed each to her boy for a final time before bringing them to the bedroom. She arrayed them on the desk. Her bedroom was mainly bare floor. The bed still wide enough for three, the blanket neatly pulled over a flabby mass of pillows. She must have only shared it with her son now. I slid a one-ruble coin across the desk, hammer-and-sickle side up. "What am I to do with this?" I nodded at the photos. "You know what to do." She shook her head, and with a sweep of her forearm that sent a small galaxy of dust motes into orbit, she winged the coin to the floor. Could she have still loved my brother? Hard to believe. Hed been proven guilty of religious radicalism by an impartial and just tribunal. Hed received the only sentence suitable for a madman who poisoned others with the delusion that heaven awaits us. Paradise is possible only here on earth, possible only if we engineer it. One shouldnt envy this womans blind devotion to a man who has proven himself unworthy of love. One mustnt. She pressed her palms over the photographs, threw her elbows out to shield the images with her broad back, an instinct that suggested a starving creature protecting her last morsels, and this may be true: The stomach is not the only vital organ that hungers. "Leave," she said, a ragged edge to her voice. She stared at the back of her hands. "Leave us be." I could have turned, walked out of the room, closed the door on the whole affair. Id done more than was required already. But something kept my heels pinned to the floorboards. Even though the concept of family was slipping into history as swiftly as the horse and carriage, I didnt have a wife or child of my own, and I wanted someone who shared my blood to live to see that paradise weve given ourselves to achieve. I wanted that little fellow out there on the divan to grow up, to become an active builder of communism, to look back on his life when he is a fat and happy old man, to know that the faultless society surrounding him justifies his fathers death, and then, to be grateful for the lesson taught by the uncle he briefly met on a cold winter morning a lifetime ago. Its silly. I know. I grabbed her wrist and pinched the coin between her fingers. "Im not here to hurt you," I told her. "Im here to make sure you dont get hurt. Your husband was an enemy of the people. What do you think will happen if NKVD men search the flat and find all these photographs? Must I go into greater detail?" Whatever naked sentiment splayed itself across the table recoiled within her. She kept hold of the coin when I let go. That coin could have bought a meat pie, a sketch pad, a confectionary, a bar of soap; pressed into someone elses palm it could have become the bright spot in a dull day, but coins cannot choose their fate. "Why cant you do it? Youre the artist. This is your job." I checked my watch. "I dont begin work for another hour." When I heard the slow scratch of the coin on photo paper, I turned away. In the living room, the boy sat quietly peering at the thin lines etched upon his palms. It was uncanny how much he resembled his father. A nose he hadnt yet grown into; a messy thatch of black hair, each follicle aimed in a different direction; lips pursed as small as a button. I would have been eight when Vaska was his age. Summer days we roamed the forests and fields, and at night we tapped coded messages to each other through the wall between our rooms; we each had our own. I made him sit for me in every shade and season of light so that I could sketch his likeness, could preserve his expression in charcoal on the page. If not for Vaska, I would have never become an artist. His face was my apprenticeship. "Do you speak?" I asked. He nodded. "With understatement, I see. Tell me your name." "Vladimir." I clasped his shoulder and he flinched, surprised by the sudden gesture of affection. He shared his first name with Lenin--an auspicious sign. "I want to see if you can do something for me," I asked. "Are you willing to try?" He nodded. "Stare straight at me," I instructed, then I flashed my fingers by his ear. "How many am I holding up?" He held up four fingers. "Very good. Youve got keen eyes. Someday you might be a sharpshooter or a watchman. Im going to tell you the story of the tsar and the painting. Have you heard it?" The coin scratching in the bedroom might have been wind rustling leaves; we might have been far from there, near a dacha, in a field, the sun burning just over our heads. "No, I didnt think you would have," I said. "It begins with a young man who overthrows an evil tsar. The young man becomes the new tsar. He promises his subjects that their troubles will disappear if they obey him. What will this new kingdom look like? his subjects ask. The tsar considers it and then commissions his court painters to paint a picture of what the new kingdom will look like. "First the painting is only a few paces wide, then a few dozen paces, then hundreds of paces. Soon the painting is miles and miles wide. Now, this is a big painting, no? Raw materials are essential to its success. The flax that would have clothed the tsars subjects is requisitioned for the canvas. The wood that would have built houses is requisitioned for the frame. "When the subjects are cold, the tsar tells them to look at the painting and see the beautiful coats and furs they will soon wear. When they sleep outside, he tells them to look at the painting and see the beautiful homes they will soon live in. "The subjects obey the tsar. They know that if they turn their eyes from the painting and see what is around them, if they see the world as it is, the tsar will make them disappear in a big poof of smoke. Soon, all his subjects are frozen in place, unable to move, just like their reflections in the painting." The boy stared with a bored frown. He must have been accustomed to excellent storytelling. Literature for children receives less attention from the censors than literature for adults, so naturally our best writers flock to the genre. "How many fingers am I holding up?" I asked. He put up three. I slid my hand farther into his periphery. "How many now?" He put up one. "And now?" He began turning his head, but I snapped. "Eyes ahead. Just like people in a painting cant turn their heads to see whos behind them, neither can you." "I cant see how many fingers," he said. "Your hand is too far back." "Thats right," I said. "Thats where your father is. Hes there, painted in the background, back behind your head, where you cant see. Hes there, but you can never turn to look." The coin scratching had silenced some time ago. When I looked up, the boys mother was standing in the bedroom doorway. I followed her in. The photographs were lined neatly on the desk. In each one, a single face had been so violently scratched out that the desks wood Details ISBN0770436455 Author Anthony Marra Short Title TSAR OF LOVE & TECHNO Language English ISBN-10 0770436455 ISBN-13 9780770436452 Media Book Format Paperback Pages 384 Year 2016 Publication Date 2016-07-19 Subtitle Stories UK Release Date 2016-07-19 Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2016-07-19 NZ Release Date 2016-07-19 US Release Date 2016-07-19 Publisher Random House USA Inc DEWEY FIC Audience General Imprint Bantam Books Inc We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:98401093;

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