Short Take: Sometimes, catching the bad guy isn’t the best part.
I’ll be honest. I didn’t have high hopes going into this one. Crime thrillers that take place in other countries can sometimes be frustrating for me to read. I’m used to my good old US of A rules and procedures, and sometimes, when reading a mystery that takes place elsewhere, I get annoyed with the way they can’t just put on their Criminal Minds hats and solve the damn thing.
But Butterfly Skin was different. In this one, there’s so much wearing of the Criminal Minds hat that it’s almost too much at times. I think that Sergey Kuznetsov read “Silence of the Lambs” and said to himself “You know, I could push this so much further.” And oh, did he.
Ksenia is a rising star in the world of journalism. At twenty-three, she is already a senior editor at the website evening.ru, a Russian news site. She’s also heavily into the S portion of BDSM, and can only find release when in pain. She keeps her personal and professional lives perfectly separate, until a serial killer begins stalking the streets of Moscow.
Ksenia’s fascination with the killer, which she expresses through long, thoughtful articles on the site, turns into his fascination with her, and from there, into a deadly cat and mouse game. That sounds unbearably cliche, I know, but stick with me for a minute.
For starters, the setting (Moscow, present day) is so weirdly exotic and normal at the same time.
I mean, I’ve watched a lot of youtube videos of crazy-awesome stuff that happens in Russia. Usually there’s vodka involved, and some kind of explosive material, and lots of loud laughter, and people being thrown through the air at dangerous velocities while seeming to have the time of their lives. And it always seemed to me that the Russians knew something about life that the rest of us may have missed, this kind of joy and adventure and big deep lust for experience that those of us who wither in cubicles for decades can only admire from the outside.
But Butterfly Skin showed me something else, something darker and more complex, a fatalism running beneath the outward jubilance, a sense of “eh, we could all be dead tomorrow, might as well have fun tonight.” This is a book about a killer who does terrible things (and even a hardcore horror lover like me had trouble getting through some of the descriptions of murder and mutilation in this one), but it’s also a book about what it’s like to be a young woman on a path that looks great, but who never really knows if it’s the right one.
Ksenia has two close girlfriends, Marina and Olya, and through them, we see other people she might have been, or could yet become: Marina is a single mother to a toddler whose father has long disappeared, Olya is a professional businesswoman who owns her own home and car. Formerly promiscuous Marina has embraced motherhood to the exclusion of nearly everything else, Olya’s long-term affair with a married man can’t end any way but badly. More than anything, this is a book about obsession.
Ksenia is obsessed with the killer, but not in the way that most of us would be (seeing him brought to justice). She is obsessed with the horrific things he does to women’s bodies. In him, she seeks a kind of transcendent experience, being pushed beyond all of her previous limits of pain and pleasure. It’s kinky, but not in a fun way.
Did I mention that many of the descriptions made me cringe?
The language of Butterfly skin is lush, bordering on purple prose, and there’s a rich vein of sensuality that runs alongside descriptions of removing body parts. (Note: this was a translation from the original language; I can’t say what the “real” book sounds like.) At times, it got a little dense, and a bit repetitive. But there was still something so compelling about Butterfly Skin.
I probably sound kind of conflicted, and all over the map. That’s really how I felt reading this book. There was just so much to it. So much beauty and ugliness all tied together, and joy and fear, and lust and rage. Definitely one to check out if you want something darker and deeper, but absolutely not for the squeamish.
The Nerd’s Rating: Four Happy Neurons (and a bottle of vodka because of course.)