Child 44.doc

praise for child 44:an amazing debutrich, fully-formed, matureand thrilling lee childtense, atmospheric, inventive and surprisingly timely, child 44 is one of those books that reminds you just how entertaining reading can be daily mirrora memorable debutthe atmosphere of paranoia and paralysing fear is brilliantly portrayed and unremittingly grim sunday telegraphchild 44 is a debut novel with gutshis mastery of suspense will make any readers heart pound financial timesa thrilling, intense piece of fiction observera remarkable debut novelinventive, edgy and relentlessly gripping from the first page to the last scott turowlovers of action and adventure will be delighted with this atmospheric thriller, which sucks readers into a chilling world where nobody knows who they can trust time outto have your book optioned for a film is not unusual. to have your first novel chosen is slightly more so. but to have your first novel, written when you are barely 30 years of age, picked by child 44 director ridley scottwell, that does make people stand up and take noticethe tale of a disgraced secret policeman in stalinist russia, it has the twists and turns of a tom clancy thriller but a more subtle undertone tooa tale of redemption but deliciously laced with a gritty, grimy under-current of repression and harsh soviet reality. it is an accomplished, smoothly-told tale daily expresschild 44 is a thrilling read from the first page the sunastoundingthe phrase “master storyteller” is horribly overused. in the case of young, first-time novelist tom rob smith, it simply cannot do him justice. child 44 is not only a thriller of the highest qualityaddictive, pacey, frighteningly unpredictablebut also a magnificently written novel with far more to offer than carefully managed tension and twists scotsmantruly remarkablechild 44 is a rare blend of great insight, excellent writing, and a refreshingly original story. favourable comparisons to gorky park are inevitable, but child 44 is in a class of its own nelson demilleone of the rare pleasures of the book-reviewing trade is first hearing all sorts of advance hype about a novel and then finding out that every word was true chicago tribunea fast-paced and thought-provoking journey into a sinister world of brutal torture and a corrupt, all-controlling state waterstones books quarterlysmith is good at keeping us in suspense. he also succeeds in saying something new on a well-worn subject times literary supplementa dark, intelligent book that is virtually impossible to put down attitudetense, gripping and exquisitely written, child 44 goes on the must-read list for this year city a.m.an excellently written account of what life was like in stalinist russiapure escapism evening standardchild 44 telegraphs the talent and class of its writer from its opening pages, transporting you back to the darkest days of post-war soviet russia with assured efficiency and ruthlessly drawing you into its richly atmospheric and engrossing tale raymond khourytightly woveningeniously plotteda high voltage story new york timeschild 44 is one of the best crime debuts of the last ten years. this dark and highly original novel reads like an unholy cross between 1984 and red dragon nick stonethe action tears along at a relentless pace, with twist following turn as leo pursues his quarry, while the equally determined authorities close in on him. this is a perfectly plotted, utterly terrifying adventureunadulterated crack cocaine for thriller addicts daily mailstunningsmith captures the bleak russia of 1953. the fear and mistrust engendered by the regime is palpablethe characterisations are pinpoint accurate, leaving the reader as paranoid as the protagoniststhis is heart-stopping stuffits little wonder that ridley scott snapped up the film rights. theres nothing as gripping, chilling or as intense out there gay timesone of the summers hottest thrill rides usa todaya breathless thrillersupremely well-plottedsmith has obviously done his research tribunetom rob smith tells a strong human story with exemplary clarity and at a cracking pace mail on sundaythis gripping thriller has everything you could wish for in a holiday readand more. a real page-turner, its murder mystery plot acts as a device to explore the terrible workings of stalinismcompelling, this is just the thing to make a long-haul flight fly by 50 best summer reads, independentcleverly plotted, packed with chilling psychological drama and densely researched wall street journalthe thriller debut of the season top 100 summer reads, sunday timesset in the soviet union in 1953, this stellar debut from british author smith offers appealing characters, a strong plot and authentic period detail. the evocation of the deadly cloud-cuckoo-land of russia during stalins final days will remind many of gorky park and darkness at noon, but the novel remains smiths alone, completely original and absolutely satisfying publishers weeklya superior commercial thriller telegraphachingly suspenseful, full of feeling and of the twists and turns that one expects from le carr at his best, its a tale that grabs you by the throat and simply never lets you go robert townewhat child 44 doeswith great expertise and efficiencyis engross you utterly in its finely spun plotthe novels atmosphere of paranoia and delusion owes something to orwell and kafka but the action is as violent and fast as james ellroy or dan brownthe phrase “action packed” hardly does it justiceyou could not want for more danger and drama evening standardthe first thriller to get a booker nod, child 44 has caused something of a stir. it has the pace and punch of a crime blockbuster, tackling the moral ambiguities of the 1950s soviet union independentsensationalcracklingsmiths prose is propulsivean elaborate mystery entertainment weeklyremarkably assuredmartin cruz smith, reigning king of the english-language russian crime novel, should be worried sunday timesmeticulously researcheda gripping and harrowing novel that keeps you on the edge of your seat till the very end daily expressa restless story that is as relentless as the killer on its pages, this debut novel marks the start of a long reign for the brilliant tom rob smith the epoch timesthe buzz about child 44 is on target. this page-turning thriller kept us up way past our bedtime boston heraldtom rob smith is a name to watch ten best crime novels, independenta taut mystery set against a unique background, where constant paranoia has led to the entire populace becoming as cold and unrelenting as their surroundingsa fascinating read western mail seriesthe detective genre already has a track record as an effective way to explain and expose a whole society, and tom rob smith has grasped all the possibilities in this gripping thriller sunday timesa fine debutremarkable on a number of levels, not just as an absorbing thriller but also as a penetrating deconstruction of the myths of what passed for justice in the soviet unionthe thriller plot moves briskly along from start to finishand were cheering leo on all the way newsweekfirst published in great britain by simon & schuster uk ltd, 2008this edition published by pocket books uk, 2009an imprint of simon & schuster uk ltda cbs companycopyright tom rob smith, 2008, 2009this book is copyright under the berne convention.no reproduction without permission. and 1997 simon & schuster inc. all rights reserved.the right of tom rob smith to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the copyright, designs and patents act, 1988.simon & schuster uk ltd1st floor, 222 grays inn roadlondon wc1x 8hbwww.simonsays.co.uksimon & schuster australiasydneya cip catalogue record for this book is available from the british libraryisbn-13: 978-1-84739-808-6isbn-10: 1-84739-808-1this book is a work of fiction. names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.extract from the uses of literacy by richard hoggart, published by chatto & windus. reprinted by permission of the random house group ltd.visit us on the world wide web: http:/www.simonsto my parentscontentstwenty years latermoscowthe village of kimov one hundred and sixty kilometres north of moscowmoscowthirty kilometres north of moscowmoscowthree weeks laterwest of the ural mountains the town of voualskmoscowvoualskeight hundred kilometres east of moscowvoualsksouth-eastern rostov oblast west of the town of gukovo three months latersouth-eastern rostov oblast the sea of azovmoscowrostov-on-donsouth-eastern roston oblast sixteen kilometres north of rostov-on-donrostov-on-donvoualskmoscowone hundred kilometres east of moscowtwo hundred and twenty kilometres east of moscowmoscowtwo hundred kilometres south-east of moscowmoscowsouth-eastern rostov oblastrostov-on-donrostov oblast eight kilometres north of rostov-on-donmoscowone week latermoscowacknowledgementstom rob smithq&a44 stalinist statisticssoviet union ukraine village of chervoy25 january 1933since maria had decided to die, her cat would have to fend for itself. shed already cared for it far beyond the point where keeping a pet made any sense. rats and mice had long since been trapped and eaten by the villagers. domestic animals had disappeared shortly after that. all except for one, this cat, her companion which shed kept hidden. why hadnt she killed it? she needed something to live for; something to protect and lovesomething to survive for. shed made a promise to continue feeding it up until the day she could no longer feed herself. that day was today. shed already cut her leather boots into thin strips, boiled them with nettles and beetroot seeds. shed already dug for earthworms, sucked on bark. this morning in a feverish delirium shed gnawed the leg of her kitchen stool, chewed and chewed until there were splinters jutting out of her gums. upon seeing her the cat had run away, hiding under the bed, refusing to show itself even as shed knelt down, calling its name, trying to coax it out. that had been the moment maria decided to die, with nothing to eat and nothing to love.maria waited until nightfall before opening her front door. she reckoned that under the cover of darkness her cat stood a better chance of reaching the woods unseen. if anyone in the village caught sight of it theyd hunt it. even this close to her own death, the thought of her cat being killed upset her. she comforted herself with the knowledge that surprise was on its side. in a community where grown men chewed clods of earth in the hope of finding ants or insect eggs, where children picked through horse shit in the hope of finding undigested husks of grain and women fought over the ownership of bones, maria was sure no one believed that a cat could still be alive.pavel couldnt believe his eyes. it was awkward, thin, with green eyes and black speckled fur. it was unmistakably a cat. hed been collecting firewood when he saw the animal dart from maria antonovnas house, cross the snow-covered road and head towards the woods. holding his breath, he glanced around. no one else had spotted it. there was no one else about; no lights at the windows. wisps of smoke, the only sign of life, rose from less than half the chimney stacks. it was as though his village had been snuffed out by the heavy snowfall, all signs of life extinguished. much of the snow lay undisturbed: there were hardly any footprints and not a single path had been dug. days were as quiet as the nights. no one got up to work. none of his friends played, staying in their houses where they lay with their families huddled in beds, rows of enormous sunken eyes staring up at the ceiling. adults had begun to look like children, children like adults. most had given up scavenging for food. in these circumstances the appearance of a cat was nothing short of miraculousthe re-emergence of a creature long since considered extinct.pavel closed his eyes and tried to remember the last time hed eaten meat. when he opened his eyes he was salivating. spit ran down the side of his face in thick streams. he wiped it away with the back of his hand. excited, he dropped his pile of sticks and ran home. he had to tell his mother, oksana, the remarkable news.oksana sat wrapped in a woollen blanket staring at the floor. she remained perfectly still, conserving energy as she devised ways of keeping her family alive, thoughts which occupied her every waking hour and every fretful dream. she was one of the few whod not given up. she would never give up. not as long as she had her sons. but determination itself wasnt enough, she had to be careful: a misjudged endeavour could mean exhaustion and exhaustion invariably meant death. some months ago nikolai ivanovich, a neighbour and friend, had embarked on a desperate raid upon a state granary. he had not returned. the next morning nikolais wife and oksana had gone looking for him. theyd found his body by the roadside, lying on his backa skeletal body with an arched, stretched stomach, his belly pregnant with the uncooked grain hed swallowed in his dying moments. the wife had wept while oksana had removed the remaining grain from his pockets, dividing it between them. on their return to the village nikolais wife had told everyone the news. instead of being pitied shed been envied, all anyone could think about were the handfuls of grain she possessed. oksana had thought her an honest foolshed put them both in danger.her recollections were interrupted by the sound of someone running. no one ran unless there was important news. she stood up, fearful. pavel burst into the room and breathlessly announced:mother, i saw a cat.she stepped forward and gripped her sons hands. she had to be sure he wasnt imagining things: hunger could play tricks. but his face showed no sign of delirium. his eyes were sharp, his expression serious. he was only ten years old and already he was a man. circumstances demanded that he forgo his childhood. his father was almost certainly dead, if not dead then dead to them. hed set off towards the city of kiev in the hope of bringing back food. hed never returned and pavel understood, without needing to be told or consoled, that his father would never return. now oksana depended upon her son as much as he depended upon her. they were partners and pavel had sworn aloud that hed succeed where his father had failed: hed make sure his family stayed alive.oksana touched her sons cheek.can you catch it?he smiled, proud.if i had a bone.the pond was frozen. oksana rooted through the snow to find a rock. concerned that the sound would attract attention she wrapped the rock in her shawl, muffling the noise as she punctured a small hole in the ice. she put the rock down. bracing herself for the black, freezing water she reached in, gasping at the cold. with only seconds before her arm became numb she moved quickly. her hand touched the bottom and clutched nothing but silt. where was it? panicking, she leant down, submerging all of her arm, searching left and right, losing all feeling in her hand. her fingers brushed glass. relieved, she took hold of the bottle and pulled it out. her skin had turned shades of blue, as though shed been punched. that didnt concern her, shed found what she was looking fora bottle sealed with tar. she wiped away the layer of silt on the side and peered at the contents. inside was a collection of small bones.returning to the house, she found pavel had stoked the fire. she warmed the seal over the flames, tar dripping onto the embers in sticky globs. while they waited, pavel noticed her bluish skin and rubbed her arm, restoring the circulation, ever attentive to her needs. with the tar melted, she tipped the bottle upside down and shook. several bones snagged on the rim. she pulled them free, offering them to her son. pavel studied them carefully, scratching the surface, smelling each one. having made his selection he was ready to leave. she stopped him.take your brother.pavel thought this a mistake. his younger brother was clumsy and slow. and anyway the cat belonged to him. hed seen it, hed catch it. it would be his victory. his mother pressed a second bone into his hand.take andrei.andrei was nearly eight years old and he loved his older brother very much. rarely going outside, he spent most of his time in the back room, where the three of them slept, playing with a pack of cards. the cards had been made by his father from sheets of paper sliced into squares and pasted together, a parting gift before hed set off for kiev. andrei was still waiting for him to come home. no one had told andrei to expect anything different. whenever he missed his father, which was often, hed deal the cards out on the floor, sorting them by suits and numbers. he was sure if he could just finish the pack then his father would come back. isnt that why hed given him the cards before hed left? of course, andrei preferred playing with his brother but pavel no longer had time for games. he was always busy helping their mother and only ever played at night just before they got into bed.pavel entered the room. andrei smiled, hoping he was ready to play a hand, but his brother crouched down and swept the cards together.put these away. were going out. where are your laptys?understanding the question as an order, andrei crawled under the bed retrieving