I knew I would love this book when I was only a few pages in - there was just something so familiar about this wonderful book set in a world between things. The main character - Sergey - lives in a little town in the Grey Zone between the battle lines of the Ukrainian forces and the Russian backed Separatists. With only an old school friend/enemy for company, Sergey lives a lonely existence, winding his clock, drinking honey vodka and tending to his bees. Like the protagonist waiting for this bees to wake up and the honeycombs to fill, I spent most of my time reading this book with my knuckles clenched, waiting for something dreadful to occur. There are dangers at every turn - you never know who can be trusted. Will the knock at the door be a friend or foe? Who is creeping outside his tent and whose footprint are those in the snow? That sense of fear is lurking on each and every page - and is purposely done, I believe -as Kurkov tries to capture the reality of what life was like in war-torn Ukraine, in 2015. Of course, as the current Russian attack in Ukraine focuses on Donbas, the Russian speaking regions of Eastern Ukraine are much in our thoughts, giving extra poignancy to this novel first published in 2018. Yet despite the palpable trepidation the overwhelming mood of this book is positive and life affirming.
While Sergey leaves the Grey Zone to find greener pastures for his bees, he never really leaves his 'in-between' world very far behind. He cannot easily commit to relationships, such as the one with his wife, Vitalina and daughter, Angelica. They have moved away, leaving Sergey to his beekeeping. Yet when he phones them, his wife's voice seems warm: she reaches out to him, asking him to come to her. But Sergey cannot. He is used to the war zone which is paradoxically a place where he finds peace. As such, Kurkov presents us with the predicament of the Ukrainian people - they fight for peace, remain in a theatre of war because it is their beloved home.
Nor can Sergey move on and form new relationships. Gayla welcomes her into her home and life, but somehow, he is caught between words - this time in terms of relationships. He cannot move away from the family unit he formed with his wife and daughter. He is stuck again in a no man's land, not married yet not completely separated either.
His acquaintances Pashka and Petro are not strictly friends - one a Russian speaker, the other a Ukrainian soldier, but they are not strickly enemies either. Like him, they live in the Grey Zone, and share an understanding of the hardships they have all endured. But Pashka was his enemy at school, 'borrows' from him and bring strangers in the night, while Petro gives him the gift of a hand granade. He travels with his bees, seeking a place where they can gather nectar safely, but wherever he goes, he does not belong. The people look at him strangely when he tells them he is from the Grey Zone - a refugee in his own country. They cannot understand what he has been through or what binds him to his home in no man's land. In a way, this book is really a study into the ties that bind us to country and place, and what it means to be home. What makes home a home when there are no other people there that you love? No street names, no utilities, no power and not even any post. Kurkov uses the simple character of Sergey Sergeyich to puzzle out these complex questions.
The use of colour in the book is also really interesting. For much of the text, we are shown a monochrome winter world, where snow covers the earth for miles and miles. There are dots of colour: a blue haversack, a green Lada, a pair of purple slippers - all important objects in this story. But the sparcity of colour mirrors the shortage of food, electricity and human companionship that epitomises Sergey's world - that is until he re-enters Ukrainian territory on the outskirts of The Grey Zone. He sees miles and miles of sunflowers - the national flower of Ukraine. The colour stretches out across our imaginations like the Ukrainian flag - yellow ground against blue sky - creating a landscape that is incredibly moving. Through this blazing colour drives Sergey in his windowless Lada. The glorious colour is almost heartbreaking: it momentarily captures a sense of nationalistic pride without pomp and ceremony. It's only a man driving home - but it feels like the land itself is welcoming him. The moment is profound and endlessly memorable. If this were Yeats, he'd be sailing on to Innisfree, if it were Tennyson he'd be riding down to Camelot. The feeling of home-coming is eternal and universal. One cannot help but be reminded that, as I write, millions of Ukrainians have been forced to flee their homes, to say goodbye, maybe forever, to the sunflower-filled fields of Ukraine. Kurkov's tale has even more poignancy now, with a pathos that increases daily as Ukraine hemorrhages its people as a result of Putin's war.
Read this book - I loved every line like I knew I would.
By Michelle Burrowes
