Iskander's book is a memoir, arranged as a series of short stories, covering the author's youth in Soviet Abkhazia. Officially sanctioned by, and published in, Moscow, it is not overtly political in nature, but instead is a relatively gentile collection chronicling the author's Abkhaz upbringing. The stories are fairly short (10-20 pages, mostly), and range from relatively mundane observations of Iskander's friends and family, to descriptions of the wider society around him. Iskander sets great store in describing himself as a humourist, and all of his writing has an absurd touch that treads a line between silly and poignant.
Initially, I wondered why I was reading this. Iskander has no stated ideal in his work, and his fame within Abkhazia (apparently considerable) perhaps justifies an interest in his life. In addition, his stories, though humourous in intent, are not actually told (or translated) humourously enough to make them genuinely funny. After 3 or 4 pieces I was starting to feel bored. However, the charm of the pieces and the subtlety with which he made quite hard-hitting points in such a gentile way eventually got through to me, and by the end I was completely caught up. There was still something a bit too light and ephemeral about the tone for me to really fall in love with it, but it will definitely go down as a very pleasant, if slightly forgettable, read.