La locura y el horror han obsesionado mi vida, escribe el autor. Los libros que he escrito no hablan de otra cosa. Después de El adversario, quise escapar. Creí que escapa­ba amando a una mujer y realizando una investigación.
La investigación fue sobre mi abuelo paterno, que tras una vida trágica desa­pareció en el otoño de 1944 y, muy probablemente, fue ejecutado por actos de colaboración con los alemanes. Es el secreto de mi mafre, el fantasma que ator­menta a nuestra familia.

No és una novel.la russa, és les confessions intimes del seu autor, una persona turmentada pel passat nazi del seu avi, un exiliat rus a França . L'autor és un intel·lectual classista, masclista, narcisista i exhibicionista però, té la valentia de exposar públicament les seves frustracions. ( )

I have never read a book quite like Carrière's [Un roman russe], the book's title leads the reader into thinking it is a novel when in fact it is an autobiography of a three year period in the life of the author. Sometimes written in the first person sometimes in the second person, with extracts from other works that Carriere had published; a letter to his mother rounds off the enterprise which also includes attempts to learn the Russian language and a lullaby to someone else's baby. The book can certainly play with the readers head and all the time this reader was wondering about how reliable a witness, is Carrière: especially when talking about the size of his cock. A well renowned author writing about himself may try and disguise the egoist in the process: Carrière cannot be accused of hiding his light under a bushel, as the most important person in Carrière's world is Carriere himself. This may be difficult to avoid if much of what you are writing about is an analysis of your feelings, however some readers may find this so annoying, that they cannot engage with the book, I found my patience stretched at some points, but in the end I enjoyed the journey.

There are a number of things going on in Carriere's life (if there were not the book would be a little boring). He is in a new and erotic relationship with the girl of his dreams, he is trying to come to terms with the unspoken shame in the family of his maternal grandfather, who was probably shot for collaboration with the Germans in 1944: his mother a successful politician seems to avoid any discussion on the subject. He has become interested in an Hungarian patriot who was captured by the Russians (again in 1944) and spent over 50 years in captivity before being repatriated. He travels to the village of Koltelnitch to find out more with a small team and involves himself in the life of the village, with a view of writing a book or making a film; he makes three or four trips. He has also been commissioned by the newspaper Le Monde to write a novella and he chooses to write an erotic piece based on his own experiences with his girlfriend. This unsurprisingly does not bode well with Sophie his new partner who says to him.

"It is the fault in you because you have never been capable of seeing anything, but your own point of view"

Carrière does not flinch from putting across his own point of view, which more often than not is based on his own selfish needs. He does not ask for the reader's sympathy, as he explains the way he feels during his tempestuous relationship with his partner and his difficult relationship with his family.

The sections of the book are interweaved skilfully to form a coherent narrative. I particularly liked the descriptions of life in the poor Russian village, the fear of the people living under a regime where people can disappear, and the struggles of the author's team in making headway with their investigation. The characters that emerge are drawn from real life and there is another story to be told that makes the journey worthwhile. The difficulties and emotional drain suffered by Carriére in his relationship with Sophie, which seems to be based on sexual attraction and not much else is also well drawn. The extract from his erotic novel, which caused some criticism from the newspaper's own critics, would have been better left out of this book in my opinion and did not encourage me to seek it out.

It may be difficult to look beyond the ego-trip that is undoubtedly part of this book. Carriére is not self effacing and Sophie's criticism of him is strikingly apt. The raw information and evidence of his thoughts and actions are there for all to see and the fragility of his wants and needs can be gleaned from his prose, which never lets him down. He tells it all like he thinks it is and as readers we can piece together a fascinating exercise in autobiographical writing. He does not ask us to like him, but I get the impression this book may have served some sort of purpose for the author and it dragged me along with it - 4 stars. ( )

i don't know why did i choose to reread this: this book is a mess in every aspect. it's a mess, disorganized, almost jumbled in its desperate attempt at tackling way too many themes, and, despite the remarkable style, carrère writes in a stream of consciousness-esque way, following the train of his frantic thoughts. i also realised that carrère annoys me in a way no one else has, with his unbeliavable arrogance and his haughtiness and his thinking that he's better than anyone else and his constant denigration of people, including his own fucking girlfriend.
what i know is that this book broke my heart more than once. what i know is that i found myself in carrère's anguish and his fears and his lack of trust towards the people he loves. whay i know is that a terrible feeling of loneliness, of helpnessness permeate this book, a reflection on how fleeting life actually is.
there are some books that just find you. ( )

"Ti ho fatta soffrire ma non ti ho mai mentito, non comincerò adesso."
È con questa frase dal vago sapore Fabiovoliano che ho deciso di interrompere la lettura di "La vita come un romanzo russo". Non ne potevo più, avevo rimandato questa decisione più di una volta ma alla fine mi sono deciso.
Per me è stato allo stesso tempo traumatico e liberatorio, come quando sul finire dell'infanzia scopri che tuo padre non è onniscente e invincibile e da quel punto in poi puoi iniziare serenamente l'adolescenza. Emmanuel Carrere infatti è il mio scrittore preferito del momento, tutte le sue opere che ho letto finora non mi sono solo piaciute, mi hanno addirittura entusiasmato. Questo romanzo invece non solo lo considero la sua opera peggiore, ma addirittura uno dei peggiori libri che io abbia mai letto: capirete che la situazione per me è letterariamente parecchio imbarazzante.
Una cosa che avevo capito sin dal suo primo libro letto (IL Regno) è che una delle caratteristiche dell'uomo Carrere era un ego spropositato. Questa cosa è talmente evidente che persino lui ci scherza, ma finchè questo ego è al servizio della storia di qualcun altro, i risultati sono incredibili. In "La Vita come un romanzo russo", invece, l'ego dell'autore è unicamente al servizio di se stesso e questo rende le cose molto meno picevoli.
Si tratta di un memoir completamente ripiegato in se stesso, lamentoso, infantile e insopportabile. Carrere si dipinge (onestamente, bisogna ammetterlo) come un piccolo uomo, un privilegiato classista e capriccioso con una maturità emotiva da scuole medie.
Questo è una delle cose brutte di essere un grande scrittore, nessuno ti dirà mai che un tuo lavoro è impubblicabile e quindi, accanto a opere bellissime, possono capitare cose come questa. Credo che persino l'Einaudi abbia provato un po di imbarazzo per il contenuto di questo libro. Infatti h cercato di spacciarlo come il racconto di un mistero che per anni ha avvelenato la famiglia dell'autore: la scoparsa e il probabile assassinio del nonno materno durante la seconda guerra mondiale. (spoiler: questa vicenda viene appena accennata solo nei primi capitoli e quasi mai più presa in considerazione) ( a meno che non lo faccia negli ultimi capitoli, ma ormai ho mollato). Non credete al retro di copertina quindi: questo libro è una lunga, penosa masturbazione egotica dell'autore. ( )