Ice

Haruki Murakami in Japan; Javier Mar’as in Spain; W.G. Sebald in Germany; Michel Houellebecq in France–these are names that are indelibly associated with contemporary writing in those countries, writers whose work, though distinctly controversial, has transformed recent literature. In Russia, the corresponding figure is without question Vladimir Sorokin, whose work is making its inaugural American appearance as a special hardcover NYRB Classic.

Ice is the major new novel by Sorokin, a writer who mixes genres to hypnotic effect. Sorokin is simultaneously a master manipulator of language, a kind of DJ of the word, and a worthy successor to Gogol, breathing new life into the great Russian tradition of fantasy and humor that began with “The Overcoat” and “The Nose.”

Ice, the first book in a projected trilogy, draws the reader into a mysterious story of serial murder, biological determinism, and religious enthusiasm. The book follows a secret sect of blond-haired, blue-eyed people, whose hearts have been “awakened” by contact with a block of interstellar ice, as they seek to hunt down their spiritual “brothers and sisters” among the population of Moscow. Members of the sect consider themselves the scattered remnants of a divine emanation whose original brilliance has been obscured by their sojourn on earth. When they reunite they expect to put an end to the travesty that is human life. But what is the secret relation of the group not only to the KGB but to the Gestapo? And why is it that they are now going into business in a big way, packaging the sacred ice and distributing it to the grateful world?

Ice is at once a work of fantasy, prophecy, parody, and wild paranoia. It is the finest work to date of a writer of proven genius and growing international renown, whose work is here to stay.