My mobilov awakens me: One crack of the whip—a scream. Two—a moan. Three—the death rattle. Poyarok recorded it in the Secret Department, when they were torturing the Far Eastern general. It could even wake a corpse. I put the cold mobilov to my warm, sleepy ear. “Komiaga speaking.”
In a future/alternate Russia that’s become a theocratic monarchy once again, the Oprichniks have been re-established:
The oprichnina (Russian: опри́чнина, .mw-parser-output .IPA-label-small{font-size:85%}.mw-parser-output .references .IPA-label-small,.mw-parser-output .infobox .IPA-label-small,.mw-parser-output .navbox .IPA-label-small{font-size:100%}IPA: [ɐˈprʲitɕnʲɪnə]) was a state policy implemented by Tsar Ivan the Terrible in Russia between 1565 and 1572. The policy included mass repression of the boyars (Russian aristocrats), including public executions and confiscation of their land and property. In this context the term can also refer to:[1][2]
- The notorious organization of six thousand Oprichniki, the first political police in the history of Russia.[3][4]
- The portion of Russia, ruled directly by Ivan the Terrible, where his Oprichniki operated.
- The corresponding period of Russian history.
The term oprichnina, which Ivan coined for this policy, derives from the Russian word oprich (Russian: опричь, apart from, except).
Sorokin doesn’t write calm books, generally. They all scream at various levels under or over the surface of the story. This one is floating a hundred feet over the ground, thrashing and shrieking and setting off cock-shaped fireworks. It has no chill. Any adaptation would have so many trigger warnings on it that you wouldn’t be able to see the picture behind them.
It is one day in the life of an oprichnik, hair glued down and smeared with gold, driving around and fucking shit up. Its ending is somehow both a surprise and inevitable, and probably offensive to pretty much anybody – yet also having a joke in it that sends up the whole thing. Which is, always is, Sorokin’s point: contemporary Russia is a joke, a bad, dangerous, dirty joke, and the only way to drain its poison is to laugh at its pathetic, posturing misery.
On the third channel there’s a discussion between Vipperstein and Onufrienko about cloning the genre of the Great Rotten Novel, about the behavioral model of Sugary Buratino, and about medhermeneutical adultery.
Hell of a book. Not the best Sorokin I’ve read, but in many ways the most indelible, and certainly the funniest.
DAY OF THE OPRICHNIK, Vladimir Sorokin (UK) (US+)
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