Three Stations by Martin Cruz Smith

Family Redux

Three Stations by Martin Cruz Smith

“There are actual billionaires here tonight? That makes me feel less like a dog and more like a speck on the windshield.” (p. 83)

Ok, I admit it. I thoroughly enjoy the Arkady Renko series of novels, even though I don’t often read mystery novels. It wasn’t a surprise that after having recently read another installment I would gravitate inevitably to the newest novel in the series. These are guilty pleasure for lazy summer afternoons.

There isn’t anything particularly distinctive about this detective other than the setting. This character, as is the case with others of his type, are inevitably at odds with their superiors. They do not prosper economically, and they work at the margins, sympathetic to the plight of those who are often overlooked. Rather than being in need of redemption, they are instead the redeemers, and we always get the sense that the societies in which they find themselves, in this case, the post-Soviet New Russia of the Oligarchs, need these figures to recalibrate themselves morally.

The detective is involved in the judicial apparatus of his society, but what if this apparatus has been compromised? This is always the case with these hard-boiled detectives who operates as a weary observer and critic of their societies, and who takes cases that would otherwise be summarily dismissed. There is no exception to this rule in this novel, which is shorter than others and seems, unfortunately, to retread territory that has been covered before.

In this outing we have a detective who is confronted by the mystery of yet another unsolved murder. He, or rather, his partner Victor, since he is in the process of being mustered out of the detective force, encounters the corpse of a young woman in a trailer near the Three Stations district of Moscow. From the beginning there are questions about the nature of this death, and the way in which the corpse has been posed. It seems to be hardly the result of a suicide, and yet, there is considerable pressure to have the case catalogued as such, to bring it to conclusion. The investigative apparatus is compromised by other factors, in this case, the crusade of his immediate supervisor to marshal him out of the force and to use any convenient episode to do so.

There is also another parallel story line in which Zhenya, the adolescent and adopted son of Arkady, has encountered another young woman who was fleeing from enforcers, and who has lost her baby. This woman, by the name of Maya, was accosted by a team of kidnappers who accosted her on the train, and who have taken her baby. She is a small town girl from the provinces who is unfamiliar with the big city, and has no friends except for the chess genius who demonstrates thereby the influence of his adopted father Arkady. Zhenya also has a heart of gold, and seems to be following in the same footsteps.

These story lines will intersect at the very end, in a way that seems too implausible. Granted, chance plays a role in all such detective narratives, and the crucial clue may escape notice until the very end as we try to make sense of the puzzle, but in this case it was thoroughly unconvincing. In the meantime, we will have another excursion into territory that has been covered before, namely, the bewildering and predatory world of the New Russia, where millionaires abound, where the supposed ideals of the prior era have been thoroughly trampled into the ground, and where oligarchs such as Sacha Vuksberg, the casino billionaire who is in reality bankrupt, hold lavish events to continue with the time-honored Russian custom of appearing to be what they are not. The Potemkin villages are very much in evidence here once again, in this landscape of predatory capitalism that is not free but, as with everything else in Russia, is subservient to age old authoritarian impulses.

We will encounter an  interesting menagerie of characters, from the bullies and runaways that haunt urban Moscow to the eccentrics, the old photographers (Madame Furtseva, a romantic figure who jokes that she benefits from insomnia) and the young dancers and the thuggish criminals (there is an episode where a dwarf who was hired to play the role of Dopey tries to kill his employer) mix, and where we are made aware of a society that seems to be churning with energy as well as corruption. The detective wades through all of this, trying to pursue his investigation even when he has been dismissed from the force, battling adversity from all sides and forming the nucleus of integrity that is always at play in these novels.

This novel is panoptic and as such demonstrates a social vision that is reminiscent of the novels of the 19^th century. While we don’t have a detached narrator who describes this society and the distinct social classes, we venture nonetheless into different social spheres, from the realm of the child prostitutes out in the provinces who are sold from an early age to that of the millionaires who attend lavish events in an eternal need for self-promotion. The chasm between the two seems unbreachable except in a few instances, where we see how this form of rough capitalism leads to unsavory trafficking that takes several forms.

Dancers who are lucky enough to be able to join the Nijinsky group, one bankrolled by the bankrupt billionaire, are inevitably prostituted by compromising their ideals. They are accomplished dancers but they aren’t able to live up to their ideals, and in this instance, it leads to the unleashing of diverted energies that express themselves as pathologies. We also see groups of thugs at work on the streets, reproducing the hierarchies and mimicking the entrepreneurial energies of the new Russians, and thus, we see Zhenya, the adolescent, having to deal with the threat of the bully Yegor, who is an underworld figure in training. And, we see the older generations at a loss, unable to cope with these deranged energies and wishing earnestly to return to the certainties of the previous generation. (Is it ever any different with the older generations?)

In the end, we will see actions lead inevitably to a culmination that seems, perhaps, too frenetic. What I have always enjoyed about these novels are the insights they would provide into what seem to be timeless Russian values, and the play between modernity and traditionalism in this society. But I gained little of this sense here, and actions seem to be accelerated in accordance with the relentless dictates of a Hollywood Summer blockbuster. I would have appreciated more atmosphere, in other words, but this novel seemed somehow shorter and more compressed, and while the wit of the dialogue entertained me (it gave me a truer appreciation of how these characters have grown on me, especially as evident in the laconic wit of Arkady), it didn’t necessarily lead to a satisfying outcome.

We have more anecdotes about interesting historical figures, and these are used to shed light on contemporary society. As one character, the deranged dancer Sergei Borodin of the Nijinsky group, explains:

“Peter the Great had a museum of freaks, children with horns and hooves, the half formed and deformed. He sent out a decree that all such monsters in Russia be brought to him. It was called the ‘Monster Decree’. It’s happening again, only this time money rules. Monsters are gathering in Moscow. Whores, millionaires, like dung beetles rolling dollar bills. God is dog, Dog is shit, I am God.” (p. 218)

All in the midst of confessing a crime that the chief prosecutor, Arkady’s superior, refuses perversely to recognize, wishing as he does to punish his subordinate rather than fulfill the dictates of the police apparatus. It will take Arkady’s cleverness to sideline this perversity and the trap in which he finds himself, in order to satisfy the dictates of what his integrity and sense of duty demand. He is selfless, in other words, when everyone else has been compromised.

And thus, this new thriller comes to an end, with Arkady being temporarily redeemed. That he will be marginalized again is a given. He is not made for being incorporated into this or any society. He labors in the background, fulfilling his duty in a stoic way, and this is also an appealing part of this character. The novel, however, is less than appealing because of the pacing and because of the lack of psychological depth, and because we get the feeling we have been here before. I hate to admit it, but I have the sense that, however familiar I feel this character to be, he has run his course.



Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013

Stalin's Ghost by Martin Cruz Smith

“Dogs will eat your bones!”

Stalin’s Ghost by Martin Cruz Smith

Paraliterature, those genres which are seen as artistically marginal although they are frequently commercially successful, afford us many pleasure. They are considered disreputable among academics, who tend to dismiss them as formulaic, written by literary hacks who reveal little ambition other than to fulfill a page quota, producing words that are measured by the pound. They aren’t considered “real” literature because they are would seem to be bereft of literary ambition, offering no deep insight into the human condition and no novel narrative strategies such as are prized in much modern literature. And yet, they permeate our popular culture, and provide references and tropes and memes and characters that are memorable. Perhaps if we may be fair, we would have to recognize that this influence is testament to a deep resonance and are tantamount to more than just cheap and ephemeral thrills.

One of my favorite characters is the Russian detective Arkady Renko, one who was introduced by the writer Martin Cruz Smith in the 1980s. He may be naturally situated within the genre of detective literature, and he certainly conforms to a type of character who is deeply familiar. He is somewhat pessimistic, having personal tragedies that haunt him, and he is invariably a lonely character, unable to find a lasting relationship with others. He is down-and-out, professionally as well as sentimentally, and yet, he is a deeply sympathetic character, because he (invariably a he) evinces a personal code of honor that seems deeply antiquated in modern society. Despite the pervasive corruption and consumerism and artificiality of modern culture, he functions as a culture observer who wades against the currents of modernity and clings to what seems like a more honest and simplistic code of ethics. He would seem to be our modern-day equivalent of the Medieval knight in armor, or the Japanese samurai, out-of-place but at the same time a prototype and reminder of an idealized vision of society.

In this instance, we see the detective in his familiar haunts. He is back in Moscow, at odds with the society of the New Russia and the gaudy but also dangerous oligarchs, struggling to understand the new undercurrents that threaten to sweep him away. He is at odds as well with his superior, the prosecutor Zurin, as well as with his companion, the doctor Eva whom he met in Chernobyl, and whose relationship seems to be in a state of corrosive and slow destruction. His son Zhenya, the supposed orphan boy who he has de facto adopted, has also disappeared. He is thus assaulted from all sides, and finds himself facing a new challenge, one that seems somehow unreal but nonetheless takes a form that will slowly reveal itself to be part of a new social threat.

It seems as if there have been reports of a sighting of a man resembling Stalin in one of the metro stations. The riders of the last train report seeing this figure waving to passengers, and this threatens to create a historical-religious spectacle that might harness the energies of contemporary disaffection with society. For many Russians still feel a nostalgic longing for Stalin and for the period of order and the aura of greatness that they attribute to his influence, and this feeling of longing might awaken new movements that could prove threatening to the new order that has been created. We have an icon whose symbolic power might be channeled to support certain disreputable movements and individuals, and the association between these visions and a series of individuals slowly materializes.

What happens is that our detective will slowly become involved in this mystery, one that seems, in a sinister fashion, to involve two new colleagues of his, the detectives Isakov and Urman. These figures have a high profile, having been members of an elite special operations force named the Black Berets, and having famously fought in a battle during the second Chechen war that rendered them heroic figures. They would seem to be lousy detectives, but they project an aura of menace and single-minded intensity that, accompanied by the need that Russian society has for heroes, would seemingly render them untouchable. They will soon begin to tangle with Arkady in an explicit way.

What we have, then, is the dissection of the figure of the hero. The figure of Stalin serves a deep emotional need for many disaffected in this new society, and points to certain cultural phenomena what signal the way in which Russian society has changed. What distinguishes Martin Cruz Smith’s fiction is his ability to touch on these issues, and to weave these socio-historical concerns into his fiction. We have the onslaught of commercial forces, and the deep-seated and impenetrable bureaucracy that results in institutions as well as commercial concerns being run as fiefdoms. It is a culture of serfs and subservience, of deep-seated anxiety and paranoia, and nowhere is this more evident than in the anecdotes about Stalin and the way in which he managed to terrorize his associates, having his inner circle hoot like holler like Tarzan while keeping them quaking in fear about a possible midnight knock at their door. As recounted by Arkady’s father, the General:

"Stalin liked gangster films and, most of all, Tarzan of the Apes. I went to the Kremlin for dinner once with the most powerful men in Russia. He made them all howl like Tarzan and beat their chests.” (p. 128)

 Once again, we have another testament to the power of paraliterature, in this case, the adventure novels of Edgar Rice Burroughs, as attested to in another work of paraliterature, a detective novel by Martin Cruz Smith. But we gain insights into the human condition in Russia, and an interpretation of its literature as well as a process of demystification. The new oligarchs as well as the down-and-out live with this legacy of violence, one which points as always to a certain institutional weakness in a country with strong authoritarian traditions.

We are right to suspect the hero mystique that has arisen around Isakov and Urman and the Black Berets. We are also right to question the conduct of Russian mercenary forces in Chechen, and the role they had to play in this ongoing crisis that still simmers below the surface. And we are also right to fear the reappearence of ghosts, whether they be sightings of Stalin in the metro or the ominous arrival of Zhenya’s father, one who will actually shoot Arkady in the head during a sordid episode at the end of a chess tournament at a local “casino”. There are, of course, other ghosts waiting to be dug up as well.

The roads lead back to the provinces, and specifically to the city of Tver. We have once again a discussion of the eternal dynamic that seems to have pervaded many recent industrial societies, that of the small town and the fact that they are being elevated as symbols of “eternal” values at the same time that they are being hallowed out by the mass emigration of their young people. Abandoned houses abound, and young people are desperate to escape the confines of what they consider an inferno, the small town ethos that is deeply constricting precisely because it seems to resist the energies of a modern society.

Our detective, recovering from his gunshot wound, will contrive to have himself reassigned to Tver (one of the charms of these heroes is their single-mindedness, and their inability to leave an investigation incomplete), pursuing not only the detectives Urman and Isakov to whom he attributes by now several murders (those of Kuznetsov and Borodin, both fellow Black Berets who served with the detectives in Chechnya, Kuznetsov’s wife, and Ginsburg, a journalist who was also assigned to that company). There is the suggestion of a secret that has to be uncovered, as well as the realization that Isakov is involved as a candidate in a political campaign, wishing to be elected as a representative from Tver and thus, representing the agenda of a New Patriotic movement and, incidentally, benefiting from political immunity from prosecution. What are they hiding?

There will be a series of incidents and contacts made in Tver, and our detective will furthermore be involved in trying to win back his former companion, Eve, who has taken up with Isakov, who she had apparently met in Chechnya. The entanglements are suffocating, and indeed, at one point while in Moscow, Arkady was almost garroted by Tanya, a woman who is mysteriously associated with the detectives. The detective hero is always escaping from situations of extreme danger, one which of course can’t help to lend to the aura of indestructibility of these detective figures.

It will all end with a failed publicity ploy. It seems as if a perennial cottage industry in Tver involves digging in burial sites to recover the remains of soldiers and victims. Not only were thousands of Russian and German soldiers buried in these sites, but also the victims of Stalinist repression, an unpleasant “ghost” that recalls the sociological explanation of this phenomenon, where ghosts in reality represent unresolved social as well as personal conflicts. The publicity ploy, orchestrated in a humorous fashion by two American campaign consultants, Wiley and Pacheco (of course, one of these sleazy figures had to be a Texan), will fail, not by the intervention of Arkady but by the native resistance of the real diggers, that clan of ethical excavators represented by Rudi and his grandfather.

And with this and other encounters we see the unraveling of Isakov’s plans. The pace of the novel at the end seems unnaturally accelerated, but this can’t help but fit in with the way in which any mystique or aura, whether it be of heroism or coherence, suddenly reaches the breaking point. These detective works are a much an unwieldy creation as any of the others, because they are stitched together from many unlikely episodes of chance and last-minute escapes.

In this way, this novel was somewhat disappointing at the end, precisely because of the way in which loose ends are tied together and because of the supposed familiar closure that is achieved (Arkady recaptures the affection of Eva and of his adopted son Zhenya). It doesn’t ring true, but it does represent an element of wish fulfillment for the reader. The journey, as always, was exciting, but the detective figure ideally should always yearn for ultimate redemption, not achieve it. Yearning is at the heart of his character, after all.



Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013