Lying Together: My Russian Affair

A tragic comedy in many parts, "Lying together" has a clear double meaning, as we read about two very dysfunctional people lying to themselves as they lie in bed together in seedy Russian apartments. I have to say that enjoyed this book, yet also warn potential readers that the story has all the elements of a college-educated person's version of the Jerry Springer show. There are just so many bad decisions, alcoholic episodes, disorders, abused drugs, manic-depressive states, states of denial, blind spots, and excessive bravado. If this had been a novel, it may have been dismissed as too incredible to be true. Having spent some time in Russia in the 1990's, my sense is that book brings all too true. Sad, very sad, but true. By e-mail, Cohen falls inexplicably even irrationally for a less-than-almost crush, Kevin, and agrees to fly off to Russia, on a whim and promise of a political scandal. Perhaps she suffered to take on this relationship for the same reason she suffered from bulimia. She ought to know: her parents are a psychiatrist and a psychotherapist. She wants to deny that children of such parents can produce dysfunctional kids. The fact that the family talks about everything - her evidence of their normality - does not provide much cover for what is better described as some major gaps in translating values across generations. Once back in Moscow (she had studied there years earlier), she jumps right into a death defying if not death wish desire to document the sex and slave trade emanating from a scandalous, corrupt Russian society. The crush provides the contacts, the translation precision, and the stimulus to push the journalistic envelope. Only too soon does Cohen learn that her business is less about breaking stories and more about confirming clichés. And her stomping grounds, St. Petersburg and Moscow, offer plentiful fodder for clichés. She is most compelling when she documents the difficulty of life in these two cities today, from the violence, to the bribes, to the petty and not-so-petty corruption, the terrible architecture, the strip joints and gun-toting security guards, the tiny, rusty, domestic, automobiles alongside gleaming SUVs, the ongoing fatal fascination with cigarettes and vodka. The problem seems to be that she and Kevin fit too well into this marginal life, where living on the edge is the only place to live. Yes, the book is enjoyable, sometimes pretentious, and compelling (I read it in less than 24 hours, eager to see how Cohen pulls out of this mess). But it is a dark, stormy ride, giving me the most satisfaction to be able to say that I am glad that I was not foolish enough to engage in such a crazy pursuit. That's why Jerry Springer can be satisfying: I'm just glad that it wasn't me. At least Jen and Kevin earn some sympathy. Good luck in their next endeavors.

or at least I think I would know where he might be - licking his wounds and envious. If I were "Kevin", as a writer, I would be jealous at the critical success of Ms. Cohen's book. I found this book to be beautifully written, painfully honest, witty and hard to put down. "Kevin" must be wishing he had such talent or success as a writer. And as a spurned lover, "Kevin" must be pained at his failings and his personal story put "out there" - although I think the author wrote about the failed relationship with sensitivity as well as self-awarness of the role she herself played. I loved this book. I am eager to read more from this promising new writer.

I can't believe that "Where's Kevin now? "a writer from NYC" and "SF Ward" read the same book as I did. I loved "Lying Together: My Russian Affair" so much that I recommend it to many friends. Pretty much without exception, we all agreed that it was a true page-turner. The writing was eloquent, the storyline gripping. I truly could not put it down and I highly recommend reading it.

The thing I really liked about this book was its honesty. The narrarator isn't afraid to show her unfiltered reactions and portray herself realistically, rather than flatteringly. In the first few pages, when she describes a conversation that reminds her of those Catholic confessional scenes on TV, she imagines herself in a scene "where the screen casts a delicate and slightly sexy shadow on the star's face" -- i couldn't help but like her and understand that she wasn't going to put on airs. With passages like this, Cohen reveals the little ways we flatter ourselves and cast, direct and star in movies in our heads, sometimes overlooking the truth and our own good sense in the process. This book reminded me of The House of Mirth, with its likeable yet flawed protagonist. Thankfully for us, Cohen doesn't die like Lily Bart at the end, so we can look forward to more books from this talented writer.

If you're going to fall in love with the wrong guy, you may as well do it in spades. Like find a guy that you haven't seen in six years. Someone of course who is a native of a country half way around the world. A country that is in turmoil because of the collapse. As if 'normal' relations with the oposite gender (...). But if you're going to do all that, at least do it in a way that you can produce an excellent book. And an excellent book it is. You develop a genuine concern for the author as she goes through an almost incredible set of adventures.