I've said this before, and I'll probably still say it over and over again: I love contemporary Russian writers. They're locked in on an universally Russian aspect of nearly abject poverty and constant violence, yet manage to make it all seem like labours of love.
In nearly every Russian novel I've read, everyone is beating on each other, and if they're not doing that, they're constantly on the watch for the misery of others, as to revel in it. Shrewdness also reigns, seemingly manifesting as greed and utter obstinacy, rising from decades of Communist thinking.
So in Gods of the Steppe you're placed in a weird dichotomy, where you're a Soviet child running amok on the brutal austerity of the steppe then you're a Japanese POW locked in the near-constant throes of memory.
Petka is an hyperactive little boy with an unwavering encompassing desire to fight and die in the war against Hitler. It is a constant pre-occupation, You might find yourself disliking him in the beginning, but as the story progresses, you find underneath that crass exterior, there is an intelligent child fighting through a lack of education and a supportive family unit to understand the events around him. You begin to applaud his decisions, however misinformed or ignorant, because he means well.
Now, Hirotaro is a POW who has stayed when hostages were traded, out of obligation to the wounded Masahiro, or more specifically, Masahiro's father. Hirotaro has taken to secretly writing down his memories, detailing a colourful history of his Samurai descendants along with current observations. His life story is laid out on these pages. He is also a doctor and this comes in useful during his stay at the prison camp.
A boy struggles with a new, honest view of the world blooming inside, confused, but managing to make the right decisions. An old man sees the world as it is, but acts out a lie, in a dramatic cast of many, because it would be an act of love.
The lives of Petka and Hirotaro collide, but they're not much help to each other in their time of need. They're affected anyways, and find themselves still connected, even by the obliterating light of Nagasaki. But for the meanwhile, they have to content themselves in the roles ordained by life in that final scene on the steppe as the Gods are revealed in the dawn light.