A Gentleman in Moscow

by Amor Towles

What had first drawn the Count’s attention was the Brit’s enthusiasm for Russia. In particular, the young man was taken with the whimsical architecture of the churches and the rambunctious tenor of the language. But with a dour expression, the German replied that the only contribution the Russians had made to the West was the invention of vodka. Then, presumably to drive home his point, he emptied his glass.

For our German friend, the limit appeared to be three. For if the Tolstoy dropped him in a barrel, and the Tchaikovsky set him adrift, then the caviar sent him over the falls.

Ten years ago tomorrow, while I was biding my time in Paris, my sister died.” “Of a broken heart . . . ?” “Young women only die of broken hearts in novels, Charles. She died of scarlet fever.”

After all, exile was the punishment that God meted out to Adam in the very first chapter of the human comedy; and that He meted out to Cain a few pages later. Yes, exile was as old as mankind.

For, in fact, the lights of the city seemed to burn brighter with the electricity from the first nuclear power plant in the world.

In fact, the only time Emmett could remember his father expressing unmitigated ire toward him was when he had been sent home from school for defacing a textbook. As his father made painfully clear that night, to deface the pages of a book was to adopt the manner of a Visigoth.

For his father to tear a page from any book was a sacrilege.