Russian surprise

On a completely new kind of detective fiction from Russia, one that entertains without assaulting the intelligence of the reader.

EVERY lover of detective fiction will recognise the pleasure and thrill that comes from "discovering" a new writer, who is not new at all but has already written several books yet to be savoured. So it was naturally with much anticipation that I came upon a Russian writer who promised to provide many books, in more than one series, and therefore many hours of entertainment.

I was not disappointed. The Death of Achilles: An Erast Fandorin Mystery (Pheonix Fiction, 2005) by Boris Akunin is a delightful and engaging romp. It has an appropriately flamboyant and ingenious protagonist in the person of the young detective, who excels not only in powers of detection but also in Japanese martial arts, and is handsome and charismatic to boot. The story is located in what is for us the exotic and fascinating setting of late 19th century Moscow, with all its intrigue in high places, decadence and confusion. And it has all that is required of the popular genre: lots of action, interesting characters, many rapid twists and turns of plot, the passing romantic interest and the intellectual puzzle (in this particular case, not whodunit, but how and why).

So it then came as no surprise to learn that Boris Akunin is far from unknown. Rather, he is a hugely popular writer, even a cult figure, whose books have sold several million copies in Russia alone, and whose novels are now even being turned into films. He has been named Russian Writer of the Year in 2000 and his books have already been translated into at least six languages.

In fact, though, he is not the Russian Boris Akunin at all, but the Georgian intellectual Grigory Shalvovich Chkhartishvili. Born in Tbilisi to a mixed Georgian-Jewish family, he grew up in Kazakhstan and Moscow, very much a Soviet product. He was a philologist specialising in Japanese literature at Moscow State University, who for some years did not dare to reveal his pseudonym or his moonlighting activity to potentially dismissive friends. As Grigory Chkhartishvili, he is after all the editor-in-chief of the 20 volume Anthology of Japanese Literature, chairman of the board of a megaproject to create a Pushkin library, author of the book The Writer and Suicide (Moscow, The New Literary Review, 1999) and other such highly respectable literary output.

The pen name itself pays homage to the anarchist Bakunin, but also refers to the Japanese meaning of "Akunin", which is "bad guy" or "villain". He started writing these novels partly in order to write detective novels that his wife would not be afraid of reading in public, to bring crime fiction out of the intellectual closet, so to speak. So to create his detective, he searched through Russian classic literature.

Akunin is clear that he writes his detective novels to entertain, not to educate or become "a teacher of life". Yet his novels, widely different though they are, usually have a very specific historical setting and operate freely with actual historical personages. Akunin uses the historical details as more than pure background: he provides evocative descriptions verging on non-judgemental analysis of the hothouse atmosphere of Imperial Russia in the latter part of the 19th century, with the brittle and decadent domestic socio-political order interacting with the complex and fluid international scene.

But despite his efforts to the contrary, deeper issues do emerge in the novels. In The Death of Achilles, there is a searing and unforgettable description of the life of a very successful hired killer, told dispassionately but flawlessly.

Akunin's light touch does not really disguise the moral and philosophical questions that are raised by his apparently deadpan account. Crime writing is a relatively new genre in Russia, but clearly the impact of Akunin and others like him will be to create a completely new kind of detective fiction for everyone in the world, one that entertains without assaulting the intelligence, and still creates a bit of a frisson in the soul.