The story was mediocre and the characters were flat. The only redeeming aspect of the book is its depiction of pre-Stalin Russia. the edition of this book had very useful footnotes and two nice essays about the author and his works. In short, the book was a disappointment after reading The Heart of a Dog by the same author. ( )

Overjoyed to find this book at Eighth Day Books on my bookstore tour of Wichita when I was home for Christmas. I thought I'd put every Bulgakov book on my to-read list, but I'd never heard of this one. It felt very apt to have found it at Eight Day.

This book is perfection and I could not have not bought it. I mean, it's a novella, it's Bulgakov, it is a lovely edition with French flaps and a beautiful frog on the cover. And it's science fiction - that particular mad scientist type of science fiction like the terribly delightful A Dog's Heart.

This book, of course, can be read as a critique of the perils of Soviet communism, but I think it is all to easy to imagine the central tragedy unfolding under any government with a lack of respect for science. Of course, the tragedy seems inevitable under Soviet communism.

A scientist discovers a ray. Not a death ray this time, no! But a ray of life! A ray that speeds the replication and growth of life. When a sudden plague kills off every chicken in the Republic, do they ask the scientist (Persikov) to study how to use the ray to restore the chicken population? Of course not! Instead, a party bureaucrat (Faight) writes a proposal to seize the ray and save the country, and the party leadership green-lights it. Faight, of course, has no scientific or animal husbandry experiment, only party loyalty and a good reputation from the war. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, of course. And it does so in spectacularly gory B-movie fashion. Even as horrifying as it is, somehow, it's still so fun. A wonderful discovery. ( )

Much like in Communism, something else hatched from the eggs that was originally intended. ( )

The satire and references would be tough to follow in this one unless you were studying, or for some reason were really familiar with, early 20th century Russian history. But if you are, funny. Surprised he wasn't sent to a gulag straightaway. ( )

“I wonder if that great writer of realistic fiction would have used allegory and disguise at all, had it not been for the censorship?“ – These words were found in the Foreword to describe writers such as Mikhail Bulgakov whose creativity blossomed under political restrictions. We, the readers, are treated to clever gems, big and small, such as this short story.

In “The Fatal Eggs”, the eccentric zoologist, Professor Vladimir Ipatyevich Persikov (name played off Lenin) discovers the red Ray of Life. Meanwhile, an unknown disease has decimated the chicken population in the entire country, the “Fowl Plague” (much more creative than the Avian Flu I might add). The little-tested Ray of Life is confiscated by the government to accelerate the re-population of the chicken industry. Due to a mix-up, catastrophe befalls the whole of Moscow and neighboring countryside.

It’s pretty easy to dismiss “The Fatal Eggs”. It’s a straight forward mini-not-quite-horror that one might say ripped off “War of the Worlds” (Bulgakov is a fan of H.G. Wells). But it’s so funny(!), even when the horror starts. And like a good Bulgakov read, clues of the Stalin regime sneak into the pages – the Moscow housing shortage in the 1920’s, the fear of Western criticism, saving face tactics, the mockery of “comrade”, etc. With nuggets such as “Plenipotentiary Head of Trade Departments of Foreign Representative Bodies in the Soviet Republic”, it’s hard to not smile.

Despite the humor, Bulgakov keeps it real, and the ending made me sad. After Bulgakov presented this story at a literary event in 1924, he wrote in this diary: “Is it a satire? Or a provocative gesture? ... I'm afraid that I might be hauled off ... for all these heroic feats.” I’m glad he wasn’t; his masterpiece is yet to come.

One Quote:

On the portrait of an intimidating genius:
“Judging by his eyes, he was struck first of all by the cabinet with twelve shelves which extended to the ceiling and was jam-packed with books. Then, of course, by the chambers, in which as in Hell, there glimmered the crimson ray, swollen in the lenses. And in the semi-darkness, in the revolving chair, by the sharp needle of the ray that thrust out from the reflector, Persikov himself was odd and majestic enough.” ( )