Lampa razyskivaet Alladina/Lamp Seeks Aladdin by Daria Dontsova

“The population of Moscow is three-quarters idiot,” said the girl as we swapped shoes. “I hope you’re just sick in the head and don’t have athlete’s foot or some such. What’s with the silence? Hey, you old bag!”

I quietly slid my foot into the light beige shoe. What was there to say? It was a stupid situation. But then, it could have happened to anyone.

- Daria Dontsova, Lamp Seeks Aladdin

I found this book on a second hand bookstall a little while ago. The “Primadonna of the Ironic Detective Novel,” as her publishers style her, favours bright yellow and black covers with cluttered, vivid illustrations that sum up the entire story; but in a way that makes absolutely no sense until you have read the book. As soon as I spotted the distinctive binding I was overcome by a wave of dill-scented, love-hate nostalgia for Moscow. I think the bookseller wondered for a moment if he should call an ambulance. Of course I bought the book, and started reading it on the metro home. Dontsova is classic public transport reading material, as any visitor to Moscow can tell you.

The cover of Lampa razyskivaet Aladdina – Lamp Seeks Aladdin, a play on the name of the heroine, Evlampiia “Lampa” Romanova – does not disappoint. There are Moscow high-rise buildings, a metro carriage, a man falling off a bridge, an oddly wizened looking child dressed as Aladdin and sitting in a baby carriage (blue, with spots), a jar full of turtles, some autumn leaves, a red crocodile skin wallet with a wad of money sticking out and in the middle of it all, Evlampiia Romanova, wearing a coat three sizes too big and a pair of mismatched shoes. All of these duly play their part in the plot, although the child is just a child and not a scary Aladdin lookalike. The shoes, by the way, belong to the passage I quoted above, in which Lampa manages to effect an accidental shoe swap with her neighbour on the metro. This leads to a long and quite amusing story about a prank played by a theatrical colleague of Lampa’s late mother, an opera singer; and then the storyline dies and never comes back. As far as I can tell, it only existed in the first place in order to set up that anecdote.

In some respects Dontsova’s female-led detective novels are formulaic. Her three heroines – Lampa Romanova, Viola Tarakanova (Tarakan means cockroach) and the sensibly named Dasha Vasil’eva – are more or less interchangeable. Ditzy women with complicated families, hordes of pets and usually a token job that rarely requires them to do any work, they blunder through the novel, acting by their own particular logic, taking audacious and often illegal measures in order to solve a crime although they have specifically been told not to do so. Lampa in particular is fond of posing as a cop. Of course, our heroine always solves or partially solves the case, but the friendly policeman (there’s always a friendly policeman) usually turns out to have arrived at the same conclusion by legal means. I’ve yet to read a Lampa, Viola or Dasha book that doesn’t work this way.

Dontsova’s originality lies in the plot and boy, is the plot always original. Immensely complicated, full of dead ends, improbable storylines and red herrings, plus some amusing distractions. The child abduction at the centre of Lamp Seeks Aladdin is compounded by at least three murders (perhaps more, I have lost track), multiple cases of assumed identity, a corrupt head teacher, blackmail, scandal at a maternity hospital, a dog driving a car, adultery, a cruel mother, a faked miscarriage, a faked paternity, booties for dogs, and a hilarious incident (again, with no relation to the plot) involving a tomcat, a balcony, a wardrobe and a cheating partner. There’s also a fair amount of homespun philosophy, confided to us by our sleuthing narrator, who sends us away at last with the following nugget of wisdom:

“When will our troubles with our children ever end? Poor, naïve Kostin! How could he not have realised this very simple truth: the first part of your life is ruined by your parents, the second by your children! If you want to be happy, just be happy, and don’t stress about anything. At the end of the day, only you can make your own life beautiful.”

All of this may explain why Dontsova makes for such excellent metro reading. There’s only so much you can read at one sitting.

In a time where popular Russian literature is more accessible than ever (notably, Boris Akunin is going from national obsession to international success), why is there no English translation of Dontsova? Well, I can think of one major reason: Dontsova’s novels are resoundingly politically incorrect. This is not surprising – politkorektnost’ never really took off in Russia – and neither is it inherently bad. Dontsova is so popular precisely because she employs the language and the terms of reference of her readership. If you want to see Moscow at street level, these novels are a good place to start. They don’t represent the whole of Russian life and Russian culture, but then again, neither does any other writer. There’s nothing to be lost by seeing another aspect of a very complex, evolving culture.

However, and here’s the crux of the thing, I’m speaking as a Russian student and not as a publisher. If I think about it objectively, I can see that a formulaic series of novels with dense, convoluted plots and questionable language to boot would not necessarily be a very good investment. Dontsova’s thrillers are very far from Akunin’s literary-historical mysteries. What’s more, the books are so saturated with local references that you’d have to fill half of every page with footnotes. Even readers who know their way around a samovar or a troika or a patronymic might have difficulty with the topography and slang of today’s Moscow, not to mention the constantly evolving nicknames. Given the literary value of the books, an academic translation would seem somewhat excessive, but a simple translation would leave too much unexplained.

So while it’s a shame that non Russian speakers should miss out on a peculiarly Russian author, I can quite understand that Dontsova hasn’t been picked up in the current wave of enthusiasm for translations of contemporary literature. However, if you do have some command of Russian and you are planning a trip to Moscow, get hold of one of those colourful books. If nothing else, you’ll learn how to buy vodka safely, and you’ll be prepared for being yelled at by strangers. If that isn’t crucial, I don’t know what is.

Lampa razyskivaet Alladina by Daria Dontsova, Moskva Eksmo 2006, ISBN 5-699-13063-2