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The Line: A Novel
An "utterly brilliant" ( Library Journal ) new novel from the author of the award-winning The Dream Life of Sukhanov .
The line begins to form on the whispered rumor that a famous exiled composer is returning to Russia to conduct his last symphony. Tickets will be limited. The concert date unknown. Nameless strangers join the line, jostling for preferred position. But as the seasons change and the kiosk remains shuttered, these anonymous souls evolve into a community. Bound together in their longing for something wonderful and miraculous, they allow themselves to dream. An utterly transformative work that speaks to the endurance of the human spirit, The Line confirms Grushin's place in the pantheon of today's most important new writers.
The line begins to form on the whispered rumor that a famous exiled composer is returning to Russia to conduct his last symphony. Tickets will be limited. The concert date unknown. Nameless strangers join the line, jostling for preferred position. But as the seasons change and the kiosk remains shuttered, these anonymous souls evolve into a community. Bound together in their longing for something wonderful and miraculous, they allow themselves to dream. An utterly transformative work that speaks to the endurance of the human spirit, The Line confirms Grushin's place in the pantheon of today's most important new writers.
336 pages, Paperback
First published March 25, 2010
21 people are currently reading
1110 people want to read
About the author
Olga Grushin
7 books453 followersOlga Grushin is the author of four novels - The Charmed Wife, The Dream Life of Sukhanov, The Line, and Forty Rooms - as well as short stories, literary criticism, essays, and other works. She has been awarded the 2007 New York Public Library Young Lions Fiction Award and named one of the Best Young American Novelists by Granta magazine; her fiction and nonfiction have appeared in The New York Times, Granta, The Wall Street Journal, The Guardian, Partisan Review, Vogue, and other publications.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 107 reviews
February 3, 2015
The best way to describe The Concert Ticket is charming; or even better, enchanting. It is Olga Grushin's second novel, and after reading it I am eager to read her debut and future work.
The Concert Ticket (also published as The Line is set in an unnamed Russian city, some years after an event known simply as The Change. Every ordinary citizen becomes a small cog in a wheel of a machine aimed at creating perfect happiness, order and unity; obvious symbolism is obvious but Grushin does her work justice and doesn't push it, pushing it to the far background of the story which she is about to tell.
The concert Ticket tracks the year in the life of a single family, united by a common goal - to obtain a ticket for the concert of a famous composer-emigrant, who is said to return to the country for a single performance. Tickets are rumored to be sold in a mysterious kiosk which never seems to be open; nonetheless a long line forms, and new people join it daily. Although the number of tickets will certainly be very limited people continue to wait, not really knowing what the kiosk will even sell - and when. Despite all this, the line continues to grow longer and longer - friendships and acquaintances form, and the line becomes a society of its own. Each of the four protagonists - a husband, his mother, his wife and their son - desires a ticket, as they all are dissatisfied with their life, and each seeks the concert ticket as a metaphorical ticket to transport them out of it, if only for a short while.
The Concert Ticket is not a parody or absurd drama like Waiting for Godot, or a metaphor for life in a totalitarian system; things do happen in the book, and the line itself becomes a device to rope in multiple themes and characters together, if you'll pardon my expression. The book's pace is languorous, and the experience of reading it almost dreamlike - much of it because of Grushin's wonderful prose, which is full of beautiful gems like this:
As he strode through the deserted city, he thought of the New Years of his childhood, before he was ten, before the Change, when the city had still glowed with the soft, deep enchantment of sugared angels spreading their sparkling wings in bakery windows, and bells whose limpid sounds rose like the sea at a moonlit tide, and glass ornaments turning slowly this way and that on dark tree branches, gathering in their reflections the whole wondrous, promise-filled world.
Grushin's language is like a warm shawl which one might put on a cold evening for warmth; it's very elegant and gentle, and pleasant to wrap yourself with. The Concert Ticket is a book which is a pleasure to read - and a major accomplishment for a writer for whom English is not a first language. It is one of these books which are ideal for longer, colder evenings - I can't wait to read her debut, The Dream Life of Sukhanov, and would recommend The Concert Ticket to anyone moved by the music of human dreams.
The Concert Ticket (also published as The Line is set in an unnamed Russian city, some years after an event known simply as The Change. Every ordinary citizen becomes a small cog in a wheel of a machine aimed at creating perfect happiness, order and unity; obvious symbolism is obvious but Grushin does her work justice and doesn't push it, pushing it to the far background of the story which she is about to tell.
The concert Ticket tracks the year in the life of a single family, united by a common goal - to obtain a ticket for the concert of a famous composer-emigrant, who is said to return to the country for a single performance. Tickets are rumored to be sold in a mysterious kiosk which never seems to be open; nonetheless a long line forms, and new people join it daily. Although the number of tickets will certainly be very limited people continue to wait, not really knowing what the kiosk will even sell - and when. Despite all this, the line continues to grow longer and longer - friendships and acquaintances form, and the line becomes a society of its own. Each of the four protagonists - a husband, his mother, his wife and their son - desires a ticket, as they all are dissatisfied with their life, and each seeks the concert ticket as a metaphorical ticket to transport them out of it, if only for a short while.
The Concert Ticket is not a parody or absurd drama like Waiting for Godot, or a metaphor for life in a totalitarian system; things do happen in the book, and the line itself becomes a device to rope in multiple themes and characters together, if you'll pardon my expression. The book's pace is languorous, and the experience of reading it almost dreamlike - much of it because of Grushin's wonderful prose, which is full of beautiful gems like this:
As he strode through the deserted city, he thought of the New Years of his childhood, before he was ten, before the Change, when the city had still glowed with the soft, deep enchantment of sugared angels spreading their sparkling wings in bakery windows, and bells whose limpid sounds rose like the sea at a moonlit tide, and glass ornaments turning slowly this way and that on dark tree branches, gathering in their reflections the whole wondrous, promise-filled world.
Grushin's language is like a warm shawl which one might put on a cold evening for warmth; it's very elegant and gentle, and pleasant to wrap yourself with. The Concert Ticket is a book which is a pleasure to read - and a major accomplishment for a writer for whom English is not a first language. It is one of these books which are ideal for longer, colder evenings - I can't wait to read her debut, The Dream Life of Sukhanov, and would recommend The Concert Ticket to anyone moved by the music of human dreams.
June 20, 2016
Several years ago, I read Bulgakov's The Master and the Margarita, and then went on a massive Netflix-but-for-books binge of every classic Russian author I could get my hands on. I couldn't get enough. After a few months of this, I felt almost nostalgic for a time and place that I never lived in; a time and place that didn't seem like somewhere the characters themselves wanted to live in.
I've read most of the major works from Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Chekov, Gogol, Turgenev, all of those guys -- to me, they are all great, without exception. The worst part about these authors is that they are all dead, and will no longer be producing new novels, barring some kind of miraculous discovery of unreleased material buried in a wine cellar somewhere.
I've read some modern Russian fiction, and had mixed results. Maybe it's just the the changing of the times, but nothing has really grabbed me in the way those old classic cinder blocks have. Until now, that is.
The Line is about exactly that: a line. Rumor gets out that a kiosk will be selling concert tickets for a new piece from the celebrated composer Selinsky (a stand-in for the real life composer Igor Stravinsky), and people start to wait in line. However, there's no timeline for when the tickets will actually go on sale, and people keep showing up day after day in the hopes that they can grab a piece of history, and have their lives transformed by the expected transcendent brilliance of the long-exiled Russian composer. A year goes by without any tickets going on sale, and the line has turned into a kind of community, with many characters becoming involved in various aspects of one particular family's life.
This novel perfectly captures the same feeling that the older Russian masters conveyed so well: a desperate yearning for some sign that life will get better. Grushin uses color to evoke this feeling particularly well, painting a picture with somber greys, resulting in a dreamlike haze -- there is snow, and cold, and long stretches of darkness only broken by flickering streetlamps, with everyone hoping and praying to be carried into some kind of light.
The language is simple and oftentimes beautiful. The story moves slowly, but even when my mind wandered a bit, it seemed to be wandering in the world of the book. I could see how some might have a little trouble with the pace of actual story developments, but the rewards here are ones of feeling.
Grushin is definitely an author I'll be keeping my eye on (and apparently her first book is even better). If you ever ate up any of the old Russian classics, I can't imagine you wouldn't find something to enjoy here. Highly recommended.
I've read most of the major works from Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Chekov, Gogol, Turgenev, all of those guys -- to me, they are all great, without exception. The worst part about these authors is that they are all dead, and will no longer be producing new novels, barring some kind of miraculous discovery of unreleased material buried in a wine cellar somewhere.
I've read some modern Russian fiction, and had mixed results. Maybe it's just the the changing of the times, but nothing has really grabbed me in the way those old classic cinder blocks have. Until now, that is.
The Line is about exactly that: a line. Rumor gets out that a kiosk will be selling concert tickets for a new piece from the celebrated composer Selinsky (a stand-in for the real life composer Igor Stravinsky), and people start to wait in line. However, there's no timeline for when the tickets will actually go on sale, and people keep showing up day after day in the hopes that they can grab a piece of history, and have their lives transformed by the expected transcendent brilliance of the long-exiled Russian composer. A year goes by without any tickets going on sale, and the line has turned into a kind of community, with many characters becoming involved in various aspects of one particular family's life.
This novel perfectly captures the same feeling that the older Russian masters conveyed so well: a desperate yearning for some sign that life will get better. Grushin uses color to evoke this feeling particularly well, painting a picture with somber greys, resulting in a dreamlike haze -- there is snow, and cold, and long stretches of darkness only broken by flickering streetlamps, with everyone hoping and praying to be carried into some kind of light.
The language is simple and oftentimes beautiful. The story moves slowly, but even when my mind wandered a bit, it seemed to be wandering in the world of the book. I could see how some might have a little trouble with the pace of actual story developments, but the rewards here are ones of feeling.
Grushin is definitely an author I'll be keeping my eye on (and apparently her first book is even better). If you ever ate up any of the old Russian classics, I can't imagine you wouldn't find something to enjoy here. Highly recommended.
July 3, 2015
I guess like others here, my first thought was not as good as...that's the trouble with creating a perfect work of art, one is haunted by it forever.
May I say this is 'not as good' but still SO, SO very good, that we are talking about giving this nine stars out of five, where we might have given Sukhanov ten.
Maybe the very big difference, the thing that makes one intuitively side with Sukhanov is that this novel has no one great character, rather, a group share centre stage equally. If you ask me, this just goes to show Grushin can do both of these constructions equally well. I think I was greedy to sink myself into a big character, the way one is greedy in one's younger years to be immersed in the enormity of The Russian Novel. The longer the better. The bigger the better. But you grow up and the finesse with which Grushin manages the five or so main characters of this book is a treat to behold. She is such a skilled craftsman, both in use of language and structure without ever losing sight of the story and the characters: you CAN have all of this, the idea that technique is something we have now in modern literature instead of story and character is shown by this writer to be ludicrous.
Rest is here:
https://alittleteaalittlechat.wordpre...
May I say this is 'not as good' but still SO, SO very good, that we are talking about giving this nine stars out of five, where we might have given Sukhanov ten.
Maybe the very big difference, the thing that makes one intuitively side with Sukhanov is that this novel has no one great character, rather, a group share centre stage equally. If you ask me, this just goes to show Grushin can do both of these constructions equally well. I think I was greedy to sink myself into a big character, the way one is greedy in one's younger years to be immersed in the enormity of The Russian Novel. The longer the better. The bigger the better. But you grow up and the finesse with which Grushin manages the five or so main characters of this book is a treat to behold. She is such a skilled craftsman, both in use of language and structure without ever losing sight of the story and the characters: you CAN have all of this, the idea that technique is something we have now in modern literature instead of story and character is shown by this writer to be ludicrous.
Rest is here:
https://alittleteaalittlechat.wordpre...
March 25, 2011
The Concert Ticket, by Olga Grushin, is the most poignant book I’ve read for a long time. This story of loss and desire is set in an unnamed Russian city after what is euphemistically called The Change, when colour and life leached out of the city, and grim repression took its place.
The story begins in Winter, as Anna is making her way home from work. She hears that a queue is forming at one of the city’s kiosks and hastens to join it – in a city of endless shortages, it will be worth queuing for whatever is on sale. The kiosk isn’t open, and no one is quite sure what it’s selling, but the rumour is that there will be tickets for a concert by Selinsky, a famous exiled composer.
In the bitter cold, Anna waits in the queue until it dissipates for the night, and then makes her way home to share the news. Her husband is a tuba player in the state band, forced to play turgid ditties approved by the authorities instead of the music he loves. But it is not only his repertoire that was taken from him by the Change:
To read the rest of my review please visit http://anzlitlovers.com/2012/07/21/th...
The story begins in Winter, as Anna is making her way home from work. She hears that a queue is forming at one of the city’s kiosks and hastens to join it – in a city of endless shortages, it will be worth queuing for whatever is on sale. The kiosk isn’t open, and no one is quite sure what it’s selling, but the rumour is that there will be tickets for a concert by Selinsky, a famous exiled composer.
In the bitter cold, Anna waits in the queue until it dissipates for the night, and then makes her way home to share the news. Her husband is a tuba player in the state band, forced to play turgid ditties approved by the authorities instead of the music he loves. But it is not only his repertoire that was taken from him by the Change:
To read the rest of my review please visit http://anzlitlovers.com/2012/07/21/th...
March 19, 2017
The Line is a fairly enjoyable read, but that said, what I like most about it is something that is not in the book. The author got the idea from a real event: In 1962, after over 50 years in exile, the Soviet government invited Igor Stravinsky, then 80, to return to the land of his birth for one concert. The line to obtain tickets took shape over one year before the show, with people cooperating to wait in shifts, and ultimately forming a complicated little society over the course of the year. And that, fictionalized, is the premise of the book.
So imagine: think of your life everyday, all that you do from obligation or for enjoyment. Think of the amount of time that goes into a year, the long series of days and minutes that add up to the passage of time. Then think of wanting something so much -- something that will ultimately turn out to occupy no more than two or three hours in your life. Think of the insane value those few hours must have that you would be willing to give up that same amount of time (if not longer) every day for one year to be able to obtain it. For thinking about that alone -- the fascination of it, the foreignness of it -- reading the book was worth it.
If that doesn't grab you, it's also true that Grushin is a talented writer, with a particular penchant for evocative description. In her own words, the book is about the "mysterious paths traveled by objects and men, the invisible threads linking lives over and over." Grushin does a very skillful job in intertwining the lives of the characters in her novel in complicated and intriguing layers, at times with entirely heartbreaking results. She conveys very convincingly the sense of unrelenting grey, wintry futility and oppression that must have been the daily diet of ordinary Soviet citizens whose hopes were crushed by the Revolution, and whose lives thenceforth were planned by the state. Her talent for description is evident here, because you really feel the characters' longing for more, better, other.
I would offer a couple of small criticisms: the book drags a bit, and seems a little uneven at times (although this could have had more to do with my way of reading it than with the book itself). I was also slightly dissatisfied with the ending (although I can't say too much about why without giving things away). It just seemed a little too neat, too gift-wrapped, to fit harmoniously with the rest of the story. These are truly small criticisms, however, of what is ultimately an absorbing story, written with great precision and care.
So imagine: think of your life everyday, all that you do from obligation or for enjoyment. Think of the amount of time that goes into a year, the long series of days and minutes that add up to the passage of time. Then think of wanting something so much -- something that will ultimately turn out to occupy no more than two or three hours in your life. Think of the insane value those few hours must have that you would be willing to give up that same amount of time (if not longer) every day for one year to be able to obtain it. For thinking about that alone -- the fascination of it, the foreignness of it -- reading the book was worth it.
If that doesn't grab you, it's also true that Grushin is a talented writer, with a particular penchant for evocative description. In her own words, the book is about the "mysterious paths traveled by objects and men, the invisible threads linking lives over and over." Grushin does a very skillful job in intertwining the lives of the characters in her novel in complicated and intriguing layers, at times with entirely heartbreaking results. She conveys very convincingly the sense of unrelenting grey, wintry futility and oppression that must have been the daily diet of ordinary Soviet citizens whose hopes were crushed by the Revolution, and whose lives thenceforth were planned by the state. Her talent for description is evident here, because you really feel the characters' longing for more, better, other.
I would offer a couple of small criticisms: the book drags a bit, and seems a little uneven at times (although this could have had more to do with my way of reading it than with the book itself). I was also slightly dissatisfied with the ending (although I can't say too much about why without giving things away). It just seemed a little too neat, too gift-wrapped, to fit harmoniously with the rest of the story. These are truly small criticisms, however, of what is ultimately an absorbing story, written with great precision and care.
September 1, 2011
You cannot think about the bad old days of the U.S.S.R. without thinking of the endless lines for bread, toilet paper and seemingly all of life’s necessities. Apparently lines could form in an instant if a report circulated that an item was about to be scarce. Life taught that no matter what the prize at the end of the line was going to be it was something that you shouldn’t risk not getting when you could. It’s this Soviet experience that is the starting point for the novel The Line by OlgaGrushin.
The line that Grushin forms in her story is for concert tickets. It is Leningrad 1962 and rumor has it that the great Selinsky (Think Stravinsky.) will be returning for a concert after years of political and artistic exile. Wife, mother and teacher Anna sees the queue, hears the whispers and joins the line. It doesn’t matter that if the concert is happening that it won’t be until the following year. Soon the line is 300 people long. There they wait through winter, spring and fall in front of the closed kiosk. Not only is the concert a rumor but so is the on sale site for the tickets. Once in a while the kiosk opens, the lined up sigh happily but the tickets turn out to be for state sanctioned folk dance performances. Still the music lovers stand their ground.
Anna and her family take turns waiting in line. Husband Sergei longs to be part of real music. He makes a living as a tuba player in a band that performs at parades and state sponsored celebrations. Sergei and Anna have a do-nothing, ungrateful son, Alexander . He is supposed to be attending classes at the University but isn’t. He wants a ticket in order to scalp it. Grandma sees the ticket as a reminder of her youth. She was a ballerina back in the Czar days and was for a brief moment Sergei’s mistress.
The Line and the line both move at a slow pace but I was so caught up in the exaggerated interactions, the misadventures and the strategies of the lined up that it was only an occasional issue for me. Using the conceit of the line as a way to tell the story and recreate the U.S.S.R., Grushin builds a picaresque Waiting for Godot kind of community. The odd suspense of waiting or maybe worry about those waiting, the cross section of society and the culture of being in line all come together with Grushins’ talent and make a very interesting, pleasing and a little exotic read.
The line that Grushin forms in her story is for concert tickets. It is Leningrad 1962 and rumor has it that the great Selinsky (Think Stravinsky.) will be returning for a concert after years of political and artistic exile. Wife, mother and teacher Anna sees the queue, hears the whispers and joins the line. It doesn’t matter that if the concert is happening that it won’t be until the following year. Soon the line is 300 people long. There they wait through winter, spring and fall in front of the closed kiosk. Not only is the concert a rumor but so is the on sale site for the tickets. Once in a while the kiosk opens, the lined up sigh happily but the tickets turn out to be for state sanctioned folk dance performances. Still the music lovers stand their ground.
Anna and her family take turns waiting in line. Husband Sergei longs to be part of real music. He makes a living as a tuba player in a band that performs at parades and state sponsored celebrations. Sergei and Anna have a do-nothing, ungrateful son, Alexander . He is supposed to be attending classes at the University but isn’t. He wants a ticket in order to scalp it. Grandma sees the ticket as a reminder of her youth. She was a ballerina back in the Czar days and was for a brief moment Sergei’s mistress.
The Line and the line both move at a slow pace but I was so caught up in the exaggerated interactions, the misadventures and the strategies of the lined up that it was only an occasional issue for me. Using the conceit of the line as a way to tell the story and recreate the U.S.S.R., Grushin builds a picaresque Waiting for Godot kind of community. The odd suspense of waiting or maybe worry about those waiting, the cross section of society and the culture of being in line all come together with Grushins’ talent and make a very interesting, pleasing and a little exotic read.
Read
July 20, 2010Olga Grushin's The Concert Ticket is a beautifully written, almost mystical story that shows how people can find meaning in their lives even in the grimmest of conditions.
As a family waits in a long line in Soviet Russia for concert tickets, they start to become discontented with their lives, and look for answers elsewhere. Gradually, they cannot help discovering secrets about each other that they never knew. Will the line bring them closer together or tear them apart?
I especially liked Grushin's comparison between the beauty and colour of life before Revolution and the surreal meaninglessness of life afterwards. Her story of the grandmother, who was a ballerina in the Ballets Russes, stands out. I also liked her philosophical writing about the meaning of time.
This is highly recommended!
As a family waits in a long line in Soviet Russia for concert tickets, they start to become discontented with their lives, and look for answers elsewhere. Gradually, they cannot help discovering secrets about each other that they never knew. Will the line bring them closer together or tear them apart?
I especially liked Grushin's comparison between the beauty and colour of life before Revolution and the surreal meaninglessness of life afterwards. Her story of the grandmother, who was a ballerina in the Ballets Russes, stands out. I also liked her philosophical writing about the meaning of time.
This is highly recommended!
May 28, 2011
A group of people come together before a mysterious kiosk in an unnamed Russian city (Moscow? Leningrad?) as they stand in line for a rumored something--a bond forms between them as they wait. Meanwhile, musicians are being mysteriously assembled. The rumor unfolds, a supremely famous Russian emigre composer may be returning for a single concert (Stravinsky anyone?). A beautifully written novel, each sentence a musical phrase. Engaging, sophisticated, a stirring depiction of ordinary life in the Soviet Union in the 1950's.
tasted
March 13, 2020Olga Grushin takes more risks here than she did in the wonderful The Dream Life of Sukhanov but, unfortunately, I didn’t feel that, for the most part (and up to page 129), she rose to the difficult task she gave herself. To make a Communist-era line interesting, she focuses on a single three-member family, but this didn’t work for me. There are moments of beauty in her prose, but nothing like in Dream Life, where her writing won the day.
October 24, 2025
A family in some unnamed authoritarian country learns to appreciate what matters after standing in line for months for a chance to get a concert ticket. Funny and sad but never cynical.
April 3, 2011
Olga Grushin is a beautiful writer. I swear sometimes I'm reading poetry as she weaves a dream-like narrative, an enthralling dream-like narrative where the engine of the plot is waiting in line.
That's right, the story revolves around a family and their wait in a line. The story, set in a fictionalized Soviet Union, follows the lives of a family who take turns waiting in line for a ticket to a concert by Igor Selinsky, a famed Russian composer who emigrated to the West instead of composing in the motherland. They wait day and night. They wait in all seasons. They wait on behalf of others, they wait on behalf of themselves, they wait for reasons they tell to others, and they wait for reasons they keep entirely to themselves.
And that is where the book grows. The family's secrets. The grandmother, who won't talk to the family, has a secret past. The father, Sergei, has a secret love. Mother Anna secretly tries to pull her marriage back together. Alexander, a 17 year old son, gets involved with underground smuggling and gambling.
Most interesting is how these desires, nursed in secrecy, all grow into obsessions. In a most interesting section of the novel, Grushin enters the minds of each character as they imagine what will happen when they get their hands on the ticket. The ticket, a single concert ticket, grows in importance as the days, months, and years of waiting for it pass, until the ticket itself seems to be the single item to solve all of the problems they've let grow for years upon years.
But in the end, all the characters have to come to realize what Sergei knew in their very beginning of his life... "Half asleep, he wondered whether that might not have been his happiest day ever, the last, perfect day swelling with the immensity of his secret intent, secret creation - the day before everything changed - the day before he realized, for the first time, yet with absolute finality, just how small his private immensity really was when measured against that other vast, dark, impersonal immensity, call it God, or history, or simply life."
And does God, or history, or simply life catch up with this simple Russian family. As the secrets unravel, as private immensities come tumbling down, as choices, accidents, and coincidences crash together, the family ends up coming through something sadly beautiful, all while they wait.
That's right, the story revolves around a family and their wait in a line. The story, set in a fictionalized Soviet Union, follows the lives of a family who take turns waiting in line for a ticket to a concert by Igor Selinsky, a famed Russian composer who emigrated to the West instead of composing in the motherland. They wait day and night. They wait in all seasons. They wait on behalf of others, they wait on behalf of themselves, they wait for reasons they tell to others, and they wait for reasons they keep entirely to themselves.
And that is where the book grows. The family's secrets. The grandmother, who won't talk to the family, has a secret past. The father, Sergei, has a secret love. Mother Anna secretly tries to pull her marriage back together. Alexander, a 17 year old son, gets involved with underground smuggling and gambling.
Most interesting is how these desires, nursed in secrecy, all grow into obsessions. In a most interesting section of the novel, Grushin enters the minds of each character as they imagine what will happen when they get their hands on the ticket. The ticket, a single concert ticket, grows in importance as the days, months, and years of waiting for it pass, until the ticket itself seems to be the single item to solve all of the problems they've let grow for years upon years.
But in the end, all the characters have to come to realize what Sergei knew in their very beginning of his life... "Half asleep, he wondered whether that might not have been his happiest day ever, the last, perfect day swelling with the immensity of his secret intent, secret creation - the day before everything changed - the day before he realized, for the first time, yet with absolute finality, just how small his private immensity really was when measured against that other vast, dark, impersonal immensity, call it God, or history, or simply life."
And does God, or history, or simply life catch up with this simple Russian family. As the secrets unravel, as private immensities come tumbling down, as choices, accidents, and coincidences crash together, the family ends up coming through something sadly beautiful, all while they wait.
September 12, 2011
It took a few dozen pages before I was totally sold, and then there was this moment, this ohmigod moment, and there was no going back. I'm not the first to say "Oh, so very Chekhovian!" but it's true, and that's a good thing. The frustration, lack of effective communication, the yearning, the hope for absolutely no good reason... it's so, so Russian. So, so good. Oh, and Ms. Grushin is one HELL of a writer.
June 5, 2021
An oddly compelling story given how it throws you into a sort of stasis. I noted early on that it (like the prose itself) seemed very still, gray, and Soviet, but that changes as you go, which is pretty neat.
November 28, 2020
This is a book that you want to read for the beauty and enjoyment of the language: the long, winding, thoughtful sentences, the artful pauses, and the short and sweet melody of one paragraph spent on description.
Unfortunately, I didn't care for that.
Plotwise, this is about the relationships people develop while waiting in line, the unfurling of their personal history through conversations in the present, and the future that they shape for themselves through their present actions. If slow books are your thing, then this is a book for you.
Unfortunately, I didn't care for that.
Plotwise, this is about the relationships people develop while waiting in line, the unfurling of their personal history through conversations in the present, and the future that they shape for themselves through their present actions. If slow books are your thing, then this is a book for you.
August 5, 2018
I guess I'm on a Russian roll -- intriguing premise here, although I think it ended up getting a little drawn out...but did enjoy thinking about people standing on line for a year with little to show for it other than some soul searching and newfound relationships in their lives.
June 29, 2016
Nobody can deny the evidence: the author is very talented. She can come up with and fill a page with more exquisitely rendered sentences than you’re likely to find in entire books by less gifted writers. The storyline that she proposes is intriguing and full of possibilities. The novel is lauded as “transformative” on the dustsheet and the numerous 5-star reviews here all rave about the sublime beauty of the prose.
But I didn’t care for it. I’d like to think of my disenchantment as something along the lines of “It’s not the author, it’s me”; hell, it’s no crime not to love a piece of writing that others hail as genius! Question of taste, right? Still, feeling slightly perplexed about my failure to appreciate this novel, I’ve decided to try and dig a little deeper into the actual reasons this book and I just didn’t get along.
First of all, there’s the language, the prose, the endless wordplay. I found it sensitive and lovely at first, then distracting, then annoying, and finally, by the end of the book, overbearing and overreaching to the point of senselessness. There is a metaphor or simile in nearly every sentence, sometimes several; instead of heightening the evocative power of the imagery, piling them on so thickly only seems to rapidly cancel out any lingering impression of the one preceding it! Add an abundance of adverbs into the mix, and the result is just overkill. Like adding intricate embroidery and sequins to a vivid canvas already heavy with impasto and then maybe tying on a few ribbons too. Oops! Now I’m doing it!
Secondly, I felt too many whiffs of morality lessons in the developing relationships and interactions between the characters, often embedded in the Bigger Themes of time, memory, fate, etc. There were also several incidents and plot points that felt almost ridiculously contrived and artificially carved out in service to said themes.
Finally, the setting is purposefully vague, although we know that it takes place in the former Soviet Union. Cities are referred to as “this” or “that” city, “the other city of her youth”, etc. Things get a bit more specific when we go “East” or “West”, or even “Over there” or “Out there”. No streets or monuments are named either, and the few people introduced who are from elsewhere are called “foreigners”; characters mention “our language” without naming it, etc. Why? I guess it is to give the story more of the flavor of a fable than a historical novel, and it does. My problem is that I don’t particularly like fables or parables as they are usually just used as wrapping for the dutiful morality lessons that I mentioned in my second point.
So, yeah, kind of a slog, this one. A very elegant slog, but still a slog. It’s not the author, it’s me. Then again, maybe it’s both of us.
But I didn’t care for it. I’d like to think of my disenchantment as something along the lines of “It’s not the author, it’s me”; hell, it’s no crime not to love a piece of writing that others hail as genius! Question of taste, right? Still, feeling slightly perplexed about my failure to appreciate this novel, I’ve decided to try and dig a little deeper into the actual reasons this book and I just didn’t get along.
First of all, there’s the language, the prose, the endless wordplay. I found it sensitive and lovely at first, then distracting, then annoying, and finally, by the end of the book, overbearing and overreaching to the point of senselessness. There is a metaphor or simile in nearly every sentence, sometimes several; instead of heightening the evocative power of the imagery, piling them on so thickly only seems to rapidly cancel out any lingering impression of the one preceding it! Add an abundance of adverbs into the mix, and the result is just overkill. Like adding intricate embroidery and sequins to a vivid canvas already heavy with impasto and then maybe tying on a few ribbons too. Oops! Now I’m doing it!
Secondly, I felt too many whiffs of morality lessons in the developing relationships and interactions between the characters, often embedded in the Bigger Themes of time, memory, fate, etc. There were also several incidents and plot points that felt almost ridiculously contrived and artificially carved out in service to said themes.
Finally, the setting is purposefully vague, although we know that it takes place in the former Soviet Union. Cities are referred to as “this” or “that” city, “the other city of her youth”, etc. Things get a bit more specific when we go “East” or “West”, or even “Over there” or “Out there”. No streets or monuments are named either, and the few people introduced who are from elsewhere are called “foreigners”; characters mention “our language” without naming it, etc. Why? I guess it is to give the story more of the flavor of a fable than a historical novel, and it does. My problem is that I don’t particularly like fables or parables as they are usually just used as wrapping for the dutiful morality lessons that I mentioned in my second point.
So, yeah, kind of a slog, this one. A very elegant slog, but still a slog. It’s not the author, it’s me. Then again, maybe it’s both of us.
February 24, 2010
Talent, emotion and the pure power of words come together in The Line by Olga Grushin. Due out for release in late March by Penguin Canada, this book is one of those you might not finish all at once but are guaranteed to remember. Here's what Goodreads had to say:
The line: the universal symbol of scarcity and bureaucracy that exists wherever petty officials are let loose to abuse their powers.
The line begins to form on the whispered rumor that a famous exiled composer is returning to Moscow to conduct his last symphony. Tickets will be limited. Nameless faces join the line, jostling for preferred position. But as time passes and the seasons change and the ticket kiosk remains shuttered, these anonymous souls take on individual shape. Unlikely friendships are forged, long-buried memories spring to life, and a year-long wait is rewarded with unexpected acts of kindness that ease the bleakness of harshly lived lives. A disparate gaggle of strangers evolves into a community of friends united in their desire to experience music they have never been allowed to hear.
The Line is a transformative novel that speaks to the endurance of the human spirit even as it explores the ways in which we love-and what we do for love.
While this book is not something I normally read, I got an ARC of it from Penguin Canada. I have to say for a second novel, this is an amazing show of writer's talent. Grushin can string together words in a way that you normally only find from authors that go down in history as 'great'. She brought out an emotion and depth to her writing that I have rarely read. As you read this story you can feel the black clouds hanging over Anna and her family's head. You can get a great sense of what Russia was like back when it was the USSR without needing a history lesson. What I liked best was how the characters always seemed to hope for something and no matter how terrible things got, they clung to this hope. The kiosk becomes a way of living and a daily part of their lives after the first time somebody asks, "What do you want?". The Line is about wishes, hope, family and sacrifices. There are, according to the author's note, several true historical facts in the book. Because I am just awe-struck by the emotion and the power pulled from words by the author, I give this 4 stars. Where's the 5th star you ask? Well, it got lost somewhere in a plot that sometimes lacked direction. This book is more for an adult and sophisticated audience than for leisure reading so it gets an IT Book Ranking of On The Shelf. Overall a good read!
The line: the universal symbol of scarcity and bureaucracy that exists wherever petty officials are let loose to abuse their powers.
The line begins to form on the whispered rumor that a famous exiled composer is returning to Moscow to conduct his last symphony. Tickets will be limited. Nameless faces join the line, jostling for preferred position. But as time passes and the seasons change and the ticket kiosk remains shuttered, these anonymous souls take on individual shape. Unlikely friendships are forged, long-buried memories spring to life, and a year-long wait is rewarded with unexpected acts of kindness that ease the bleakness of harshly lived lives. A disparate gaggle of strangers evolves into a community of friends united in their desire to experience music they have never been allowed to hear.
The Line is a transformative novel that speaks to the endurance of the human spirit even as it explores the ways in which we love-and what we do for love.
While this book is not something I normally read, I got an ARC of it from Penguin Canada. I have to say for a second novel, this is an amazing show of writer's talent. Grushin can string together words in a way that you normally only find from authors that go down in history as 'great'. She brought out an emotion and depth to her writing that I have rarely read. As you read this story you can feel the black clouds hanging over Anna and her family's head. You can get a great sense of what Russia was like back when it was the USSR without needing a history lesson. What I liked best was how the characters always seemed to hope for something and no matter how terrible things got, they clung to this hope. The kiosk becomes a way of living and a daily part of their lives after the first time somebody asks, "What do you want?". The Line is about wishes, hope, family and sacrifices. There are, according to the author's note, several true historical facts in the book. Because I am just awe-struck by the emotion and the power pulled from words by the author, I give this 4 stars. Where's the 5th star you ask? Well, it got lost somewhere in a plot that sometimes lacked direction. This book is more for an adult and sophisticated audience than for leisure reading so it gets an IT Book Ranking of On The Shelf. Overall a good read!
January 9, 2012
If you are looking for a fast-paced, read-on-the-treadmill book, this is not the one for you, which is fitting, given the plot. This book spans the time frame of a year during which what seems like an entire city in an unnamed country (obviously USSR)waits in line at a dingy, run-down kiosk for something unnamed and unknown. It is rumored that at some point, tickets will go on sale from this kiosk for the concert of an exiled, famous composer, Igor Fyodorovitch Selinski. If this seems an intentional nod to Igor Fyodorovitch Stravinski, it is indeed. I found the conceit of this book wildly original, and I was impressed with the run of Grushin's imagination until I found out that the novel was based on an actual event and that people in the Soviet Union did wait in line--in shifts, day and night--to purchase tickets for a Stravinski concert. Here is what Grushin says in her historical note:
"The line for tickets began a year before the performance and evolved into a unique
and complex social system, with people working together and taking turns in line."
So evolves Grushin's novel, its plot unwinding at the snail's pace of a line creeping forward toward an unknown destination. This is not to say that the novel is in any way plodding or that I was impatient for the action to kick into a faster gear. Grushin populates her novel with a brilliantly developed cast of characters whose lives, it turns out, are much more intertwined then is evident on the surface. It is these unraveling layers of connections, like the skin of an onion, that give the book its appeal and kept me turning pages. And then there is Grushin's style: a breathtakingly lyrical mix of her Russian heritage and James Joyce's stream of consciousness flowing narration. I did find, however, that at times--especially toward the end of the novel--her lyricism bled over into hyperbole, causing skim-mode to briefly kick in.
THE LINE is a book about connections. It is a book in which one waits and waits and waits, only to discover that what is indeed important is what is revealed in small moments along the way. Although the characters in this book are all big dreamers, most of their dreams have been destroyed or hopelessly silenced by the government since "The Change."But it is inside the moments in which life appears to be suspended, one learns, that the uplifting treasures of ordinary existence are unearthed, Grushin seems to say. It is these moments that define us, as they define the sparkling pages of THE LINE.
My one
"The line for tickets began a year before the performance and evolved into a unique
and complex social system, with people working together and taking turns in line."
So evolves Grushin's novel, its plot unwinding at the snail's pace of a line creeping forward toward an unknown destination. This is not to say that the novel is in any way plodding or that I was impatient for the action to kick into a faster gear. Grushin populates her novel with a brilliantly developed cast of characters whose lives, it turns out, are much more intertwined then is evident on the surface. It is these unraveling layers of connections, like the skin of an onion, that give the book its appeal and kept me turning pages. And then there is Grushin's style: a breathtakingly lyrical mix of her Russian heritage and James Joyce's stream of consciousness flowing narration. I did find, however, that at times--especially toward the end of the novel--her lyricism bled over into hyperbole, causing skim-mode to briefly kick in.
THE LINE is a book about connections. It is a book in which one waits and waits and waits, only to discover that what is indeed important is what is revealed in small moments along the way. Although the characters in this book are all big dreamers, most of their dreams have been destroyed or hopelessly silenced by the government since "The Change."But it is inside the moments in which life appears to be suspended, one learns, that the uplifting treasures of ordinary existence are unearthed, Grushin seems to say. It is these moments that define us, as they define the sparkling pages of THE LINE.
My one
October 16, 2017
How to explain Olga Grushin's work and her extraordinary talent... let's just say that I finished "Dream Life" a few days ago, immediately dove into "The Line", and, having realized that I still have a few minutes left on my train ride after having finished this story, picked up a book by a different author, and immediately had to put it down again because he doesn't write with nearly the same grace. Grushin's writing is beautiful, poetic, elegant, and really can't be matched. She's a master, and in a class entirely of her own.
I enjoyed "The Line", but not as much as "Dream Life." I found this piece to be a sort of swirl of colors and emotions. I found this to be far more emotional and difficult than her first book. It's unquestionably beautiful, but I thought it was somehow heavier. This heaviness seemed to be intensified by the shifting narrators. All of the characters are going through things, and the reader briefly learns about them through small vignettes, and is then whisked off to the other character. It's an unusual and demanding approach. I had to read a few chapters multiple times to understand what was what.
I think it's also very clear that the author was working through personal things, and that the issue that needed to be addressed arose about halfway through the story; because there seems to be an added or more emphasized element that occurs at about that point and remains through the rest of the piece.
Gorgeous and poetic, this story is almost like a water color. Everything flows together in deceptively gentle ways.
Beautiful. I'm beginning to suspect that Grushin could retell the phone book, and I would find it fascinating. Her talent and skill are unmatched.
I enjoyed "The Line", but not as much as "Dream Life." I found this piece to be a sort of swirl of colors and emotions. I found this to be far more emotional and difficult than her first book. It's unquestionably beautiful, but I thought it was somehow heavier. This heaviness seemed to be intensified by the shifting narrators. All of the characters are going through things, and the reader briefly learns about them through small vignettes, and is then whisked off to the other character. It's an unusual and demanding approach. I had to read a few chapters multiple times to understand what was what.
I think it's also very clear that the author was working through personal things, and that the issue that needed to be addressed arose about halfway through the story; because there seems to be an added or more emphasized element that occurs at about that point and remains through the rest of the piece.
Gorgeous and poetic, this story is almost like a water color. Everything flows together in deceptively gentle ways.
Beautiful. I'm beginning to suspect that Grushin could retell the phone book, and I would find it fascinating. Her talent and skill are unmatched.
November 10, 2010
nothing amazing happens in this book. no great adventures, arguably no great conclusions. just a great study of life. a line creates the opportunity for connections to form between unlikely souls. grushin artfully intersects history and relationships in this simple story. in the hands of a lesser writer, this could have been boring, pointless. but the characters are authentic, living a stark life in stark times, and the line, endless as it seems, adds a richness and depth to their lives... a pleasurable, but at times somber read. as with her first book, grushin's storytelling sticks with me. somehow she is able to romanticize and condemn socialist-era russia in a voice not unlike the old masters.
August 21, 2011
Excellent book! It really captures the Russian spirit, as cynical and paranoid as it is, yet very much infused by the hope that if you just wait and put up with suffering a bit longer that something great can occur. You really get to see each member of the family in their separate social spheres and with their own individual relationships with others in the line at various times over the course of the year -- and each with his/her own perspective and hope. It is based on the real visit of Stravinsky back to the USSR for a special concert, and the people who waited literally for months on end in a line that hey were never sure would actually sell the tickets. A really amazing book! I loved it.
October 17, 2012
A wonderful extended metaphor about life and looking forward to what comes after life. Hope and despair, joy and pain, all beautifully told in such wonderful language. Grushin has an amazing ability to describe something in terms that are concrete yet poetic. Beautifully written book, and I recommend it for people of all faiths.
March 22, 2015
This book dragged so much, I found it difficult to read. I did like some of the relationships (ie the son and old man) and conflicts but it didn't save the story, although the writing style was melodious.
August 13, 2025
"For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then we do with patience wait for it."
June 10, 2018
Another reviewer referred to The Line as being so obsessively dry that she put it down unfinished, and I must confess that I was tempted to do the same when I was about 80 pages into the novel while at the coffee shop one morning before work. Grushin so perfectly captured the ordeal of strangers waiting in line outside a kiosk in a dreary, unnamed city and country (modeled after Soviet-era Moscow) that I was tempted to step away from it, since I am no fan of standing in lines.
However, since I had no other book handy at lunch, I kept reading far enough along until the rumors of what was for sale in the kiosk coalesced around the notion that it involved tickets to a concert by a renowned composer, someone who had left the country and whose work had been banned for decades. The notion stirred dreams inside the various characters--dreams of beauty, of freedom of expression, of careers deferred--dreams long buried in their hard-shelled souls.
The characters began to act on their dreams, often in selfish, venal, dishonest ways that threatened to damage their relationships with family members and other loved ones. Presented in their most broken states, the characters were largely unsympathetic, until events occurred--some foreseeable within the context of the time and place and others that bent the paths of coincidence and fate together--until they were forced to examine themselves and reexamine the lives of those around them, and then again, through conscious effort and accident, to redeem themselves.\
A grandly ambitious work, worth the work of reading it to the end of the line.
However, since I had no other book handy at lunch, I kept reading far enough along until the rumors of what was for sale in the kiosk coalesced around the notion that it involved tickets to a concert by a renowned composer, someone who had left the country and whose work had been banned for decades. The notion stirred dreams inside the various characters--dreams of beauty, of freedom of expression, of careers deferred--dreams long buried in their hard-shelled souls.
The characters began to act on their dreams, often in selfish, venal, dishonest ways that threatened to damage their relationships with family members and other loved ones. Presented in their most broken states, the characters were largely unsympathetic, until events occurred--some foreseeable within the context of the time and place and others that bent the paths of coincidence and fate together--until they were forced to examine themselves and reexamine the lives of those around them, and then again, through conscious effort and accident, to redeem themselves.\
A grandly ambitious work, worth the work of reading it to the end of the line.
March 8, 2019
This book is about people waiting in line for an entire year to get tickets for the return concert of an exiled composer, Selinsky. The plot is based off a real life concert of a composer named Stravinsky, where people actually waited in line for a year (rotating in and out in shifts obviously).
Like Grushin's first book, The Dream Life of Sukhanov, the plot works on various levels. It is about waiting for the return of a Soviet artist after Stalinist repression. It is about the concept of waiting itself, longing for something better. Whether that's the return of a composer, or the second coming of Jesus (which I think this book could be read as commenting on, although I may be way off base with that), people spend a lot of their lives waiting for an ideal to become real.
I enjoyed the book, although the characters and the page to page storylines didn't move me as much as Dream Life of Sukhanov. I think Grushin is an immensely talented writer and has a poetic way of wording things that is really special.
Like Grushin's first book, The Dream Life of Sukhanov, the plot works on various levels. It is about waiting for the return of a Soviet artist after Stalinist repression. It is about the concept of waiting itself, longing for something better. Whether that's the return of a composer, or the second coming of Jesus (which I think this book could be read as commenting on, although I may be way off base with that), people spend a lot of their lives waiting for an ideal to become real.
I enjoyed the book, although the characters and the page to page storylines didn't move me as much as Dream Life of Sukhanov. I think Grushin is an immensely talented writer and has a poetic way of wording things that is really special.
January 7, 2024
I had a difficult time beginning this book as it changes point of views often with very lengthy descriptions. I had to be very focused to read through the book, but I am so glad I kept reading!
As you continue through the story, each characters paths cross in such a beautifully written way. I was astounded with the intertwined descriptive brilliance of Grushin.
This is a wonderful story of how a massive world can seem small through the threads that connects each person.
I was sad when I finished the book because I was invested in each characters journey and wanted to continue learning more about their connections even after “the line”.
Great read!
As you continue through the story, each characters paths cross in such a beautifully written way. I was astounded with the intertwined descriptive brilliance of Grushin.
This is a wonderful story of how a massive world can seem small through the threads that connects each person.
I was sad when I finished the book because I was invested in each characters journey and wanted to continue learning more about their connections even after “the line”.
Great read!
February 4, 2018
4.5 stars. Not like any book I’ve read for quite a while. The entire plot is set around a single queue and is almost dream-like (although far from boring). A few times I was a little puzzled as to what exactly was happening, but as far as I can tell there was no magic, only slightly eerie and somewhat wistful prose. Quite a beautiful book. Thanks Sarah!
Read
January 29, 2020It took 200 of the 300 pages but then it really came together. I wouldn't say I necessarily enjoyed reading the book, but it's certainly made me think and I feel like I'm going to be thinking about it for a while. I'm too unsure of my experience with the book to give it a rating, maybe rereading it some day will help
March 9, 2024
"The Concert Ticket" left me feeling underwhelmed and dissatisfied. It lacked the excitement and emotional depth I had anticipated, making it difficult to connect with the narrative. As much as I wanted to enjoy it, I cannot in good conscience recommend it to others. In my opinion, "The Concert Ticket" deserves no more than 2 out of 5 stars.
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