Katja Petrowskaja

I wound up disliking this book intensely, but I'm not going to give it a star rating because I'm pretty sure the fault lies with me rather than Petrowskaja, given the fairly universal raves for the book. I am, however, going to leave a review for the benefit of those who might feel as I do, who deserve to know what they're getting into.

Petrowskaja is one of those people who see meaning in absolutely everything and insist on telling you all about it in great detail. Nothing is ever just a coincidence. A random example: "In Linz, I ask for the bus to Mauthausen at the central bus station. Sure enough, it's bus number 360 to Mauthausen, a circle around the world." She goes on about how this confirms she's on the right path: "I'm moving in a circle. It would also prove that I'm still at the beginning of all journeys, but I continue calculating..." This goes on for a paragraph, and I just keep thinking "Why are you telling me all this? Who cares?" It's like someone telling you in detail about their dreams. It reminds me of those long screeds schizophrenics leave on telephone poles explaining how everything is connected to everything else.

I realize this is a personal reaction, but I doubt I'm the only potential reader who is impatient with that sort of self-absorbed rambling, so if you find yourself nodding in agreement with my reaction, trust me, you won't like the book. I did enjoy the parts about Kiev, though. She writes well when she's not writing about the inside of her head.… (more)