THE BOOK OF ANNA

A madcap romp through St. Petersburg jumbles fiction together with history, anarchists with royalists, sense with nonsense.

Sergei Karenin is driven to distraction by two things: First, that when people see him they think only of his mother and the scandal she created in St. Petersburg society; and, second, that like his mother, but unlike most of the others around him, he is a fictional character. At the opera, he wonders, “Is there anyone here who sees me not as a character, but as a person?” He despairs: “Even I think of myself as a character.” The latest novel from one of Mexico’s finest experimental writers is a madcap metafictive romp that picks up a few decades after Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina leaves off. But it’s also an absurdist tour de force account of early revolutionary activity. The book opens in 1905. An anarchist seamstress leaves a bomb on a train but it fails to blow up. A mysterious priest named Father Gapon is leading a march to the czar, “seeking justice and protection.” “Comrades,” Gapon asks the masses, “do you swear to die for our cause?” “We swear!” they respond. Meanwhile, Sergei’s wife finds a box in the attic: It seems that Anna Karenina has left behind not one but two manuscripts written in an opium-fueled state. The second of these, a fairy tale about a girl named Anna, drives the latter half of Boullosa’s book. What does this all add up to? Who could say? The czar is taking a bubble bath, but the masses are on the march. All roads seem to point toward revolution.

Reminiscent of Bolaño, Borges, and Pynchon, but Boullosa’s utterly original voice is at its best when it’s let loose.