This is the story of Viskovitz, and this novel has been dictated, by Viskovitz, to a penguin. It’s a series of stories, some short, some less short (longer, then), in which Viskovitz appears as a dormouse, a moose, an ant, a dog, a mantis, a scorpion . . . twenty different animals in total, even a definition-stretching microbe. In each story there are a few constant names – Zucotic, Petrovic and Lopez will appear and, more importantly, Viskovitz’s dream mate will be called Ljuba – and Viskovitz always has a Ljuba, even if it’s himself (read the snail one.)

The stories themselves are hit and miss, some ideas better than others - but most hit the spot, and a lot of the time you’re learning more about animals (but good learning, the kind you don’t notice) and smiling at the dry humour, while at the same time trying to figure out what kind of human story might be being represented or film/novel/genre referenced. Some, like the police dog in his little film noir, are obvious. And the sharks seem like gangsters (Tony Soprano’s shark-like grin sprang to mind) but the slow-moving snails . . . is this a backwards religious community? And the dung beetle – is it The Great Gatsby (amassing a fortune to win a woman’s heart?) or The Godfather (a man abandoning his sensitivity and morality for cut-throat ruthlessness and greed)? Maybe both, maybe neither.

In one of the best stories Viskovitz is a Scorpion Billy The Kid, the ’fastest tail in the West’. Only he’s split in two, a nice guy attached to a lightning killer instinct – he literally can’t control his deadly stinging tail. Observe this attempt at finding love, with the ‘curvy’ Lara:

“Okay, Lara. Let’s do it. Lara?’ I thought she’d fallen aleep. Only later did I realise she had my stinger planted in her skull. Our relationship hadn’t stood the test of time.

Figuring it was the proper thing to do, I carried her body to her family. In my desert vocabulary I tried to find some words of condolence and apology, but all I managed to do was massacre her parents and rape her sister. I really wasn’t made for the social life.”

Unable to commit suicide, doomed to kill almost everyone he meets, and with little choice in the matter, Viskovitz’ only hope is to find a tail faster than himself, someone to put him out of his misery. And, eventually, his search throws up another female, the equally vicious Ljuba, but instead of their deadly attraction resulting in death, the couple are given babies, and a happy little life on the range . . . which results in death, but not for them:

“But day after day, month after month, life went on peacefully. The babies went on growing up healthy, slaughtering their schoolmates. Ljuba and I went on adoring each other, massacring the next-door neighbours. Everything went on in perfect harmony, and there was no way to escape this intolerable, sinister happiness.”

In ever story we get little gems like ‘inteloerable, sinister happiness,’ we get lines that could be from an American sitcom (Boffa is a Russian living in Italy and Thailand, but he’ll have seen ‘Friends’) and we get satisfying little twists in the tail (unintentional pun). I want to mention the ant one, with its tragic symbolism, and the genius mouse one with the Dr Strangelove plans for breeding, oh, and the bee story that seems to comment on plastic surgery – but there’s little time.

What you should do is go out and buy or borrow the book yourself. You might not even like the stories that I mention, others might speak to you more; and you might not see in the stories what I see in them, but something will definitely charm you.

Iain Bahlaj lives in Fife, Scotland. His short stories have appeared in Front & Centre, Fife Fringe, Chapman, Pulp.net and The Macallan Shorts 3 and 5. His novel, 'Tilt' was published in 2003 (Pulp Books, London). The short story 'Sugar' is a prequel to 'Tilt.' Iain currently works as a night-shift shelf-stacker, while working on a novel about vampires, in this spare time. To visit Iain's Showcase on this website, click here

© 2004 Laura Hird All rights reserved.