Solo

tina — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Initially, it was the synoptic descriptions of Solo that drew me in. I saw phrases like “enigmatic,” “thought-provoking,” and “demanding,” along with geographical settings such as Berlin, Bulgaria, and New York City. The cover artwork interested me as well. It depicts the white silhouette of a man against a seafoam blue background; he has a cane and his upper body is dissolving into birds. I hadn't read much fiction in recent months, so I was eager to jump back into the storytelling pool with this book.

Solo begins sadly and remains sad throughout. Ulrich, an old Bulgarian man nearing his 100th birthday, is completely blind and relies on the charity of his neighbors to exist. He has nothing to do except relive his life, one memory at a time. Ulrich was born and raised alongside the timeline of the twentieth century and each of his dreams has been thwarted by the major events of the times. Even after managing to leave Bulgaria to study chemistry in Berlin, he is called back to his home country to face its ruin at the hands of Russian Communists. Ulrich never leaves the country again.

The second half of the novel concentrates on Ulrich's “dream children,” Bulgarian siblings Khatuna, Irakli, and Boris, an orphan and violin prodigy. Each has a sad beginning in their native Bulgaria and they find their respective ways to the United States (echoing Ulrich's own frustrated attempts to leave Bulgaria). In America, their lives entangle messily. Which of them will find happiness? Khatuna, Irakli, and Boris are Ulrich's dream of the twenty-first century, where there is no need for any of the old failures of twentieth century Bulgarian life.

In an interview, author Rana Dasgupta (a British-Indian who has lived largely in the U.S. and India) referred to the “self-absorbed” nature of America and India, countries he believes behave as if they’re “the only countries in the world.” This is why the author chose Bulgaria, a small and “uninteresting” country, as the setting of his second novel. Small it may be, but the milieu is anything but uninteresting. The characters, down to those who make the briefest of appearances, are fully realized. More than once I became tearful at the transpiring events. The prose is fine, strong, and pretty. I enjoyed Solo very much and recommend it to any fan of literary fiction, history, or armchair travel.

Written by: Natalie Ballard, March 5th 2011

Cold Snap: Bulgaria Stories

mandy — Sun, 26 Sep 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Cynthia Morrison Phoel

Southern Methodist University Press

There is hardly anything more satisfying to read than well-crafted short stories. Cynthia Morrison Phoel’s debut collection of tales from Bulgaria intertwines the stories of several families living in fictional Old Mountain, many sharing a concrete post-Communist apartment building, neighbors in crumbling plaster houses; and often, surviving similar struggles in their attempts to find love and meaning in life and to escape the poverty they have always known.

In Cold Snap, we meet unhappy couples who argue, then don’t speak because there’s nowhere to go, no way to leave the other person and the tiny space they have carved out together. An underemployed husband spends his summer earnings on a satellite dish; soon, his friends have filled the apartment, pushing out any space for reconciliation with his migraine suffering wife. Their son begins to fail his English class, where his teacher gives lessons on contextual words like heartbreak, forsaken, hanky, and drunk—words that feel funny to learn and nevertheless described abysmal realities and people at whom you should not laugh.

The beauty of these narratives is that they’re told across stories, in nonlinear ways. A young mathematician graduates and faces an uninspiring future. One woman compulsively knits extraordinarily beautiful sweaters, the kind that her friends joke could only be worn on shows like Dallas. Upon completion, she abandons them by the dozen in her cellar. The only woman who has made it out comes home for a visit, but leaves again for Japan before she is ensnared by her old life. The community dentist is busiest in cold months—the only time she is truly swamped—when the townspeople flock to the only place where they can sit in a well-heated room for several hours at a time. In the final story, after which the book is named, every character makes one final appearance as the entire village waits for the central heat to come on in the dead of winter with one powerful yet simple flick of a switch.

Phoel worked as a Peace Corps volunteer in Bulgaria, and it shows. She writes the way only a cultural insider can, with compassion and humor and insight into the lives of her characters and their unique struggles. Yet her forced distance is the best part of her work. Through her, we peer into the lives of others without ever fully inhabiting them. The balance is perfect.

Reading about the street dog affectionately called “Cucumber” because of his protruding rib cage—who shows up in every one of the book’s stories—I cried so hard one evening that I woke my sleeping partner. For a long time, we were both unable to sleep. Even the less overtly sad of these bleakly charming stories kept me up at night, entranced, and haunted me still weeks later. If only everyone could translate the experiences from their time abroad into such compelling fiction.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, September 25th 2010