THE SLAUGHTERMAN'S DAUGHTER

A search for a missing husband goes wildly awry.

Occasionally a book comes along so fresh, strange, and original that it seems peerless, utterly unprecedented. This is one of those books. You might hear traces of Gogol or Isaac Babel in Iczkovits’ voice, but they’re only traces. The madcap plot is more or less as follows: Mende Speismann’s husband has taken off, leaving her, her two children, and her in-laws basically destitute. It’s the late 19th century, the Pale of Settlement, and when Mende’s sister, Fanny Keismann, takes off in search of the errant husband, nobody knows where she’s gone. The oblique note she leaves behind doesn’t clarify matters. Fanny is known in their tightknit, insular Jewish community as a vilde chaya—a wild animal—because, as a young girl, she learned to slaughter animals, which was not, to say the least, a typically feminine pastime. Iczkovits follows Fanny on her search for Mende’s husband, but he also describes Mende’s life back in Motal, and his sympathy for his women characters is profound. But there’s also an agent of the secret police, Piotr Novak, who becomes involved when a trail of dead bodies sprouts up in Fanny’s wake, as well as a pair of old soldiers who had been, as children, forcibly removed from their Jewish homes and compelled to serve. If occasionally Iczkovits’ superb humor slips too far into the slapstick, you’ll forgive him: He’s so compelling a storyteller he could be forgiven anything. Likewise, the passages that delve into Mende’s inner life are so textured and rich they can’t help but draw attention to the fact that Iczkovits never quite explicates Fanny’s own thoughts to an equal degree. But these are minor quibbles. Iczkovits is a superb talent, and this novel is a resounding success.

As witty as it is wise, Iczkovits’ novel is a profoundly moving caper through the Russian empire.