Arkadiĭ Natanovich Strugat︠s︡kiĭ

Boris Natanovich Strugat︠s︡kiĭ

Roadside Picnic

Arkady Strugatsky

Boris Strugatsky

Red Schuhart is a stalker, one of those strange misfits who are compelled by some unknown force to venture illegally into the Zone and, in spite of the extreme danger, collect the mysterious artefacts that the alien visitors left scattered around. His life is dominated by the Zone and the thriving black market in the alien products. Even the nature of his daughter has been determined by the Zone. And it is for her that Red makes his last, tragic foray into the hazardous and hostile depths.

Kiersten

They gaze into this bottomless pit and know that they will inevitably have to climb down - their hearts are racing, but they'll have to do it - except they don't know how or what awaits them at the bottom or, most important, whether they'll be able to get back out.

Naomi J.

“A man meets an alien. How does each figure out that the other is intelligent?” “No idea,” Valentine said merrily. “All I’ve read on the subject reduces to a vicious circle. If they are capable of contact, then they are intelligent. And conversely, if they are intelligent, then they are capable of contact. And in general: if an alien creature has the honor of being psychologically human, then it’s intelligent. That’s how it is, Richard. Read Vonnegut?”

Science fiction lends itself readily to imaginative subversion of any status quo. Bureaucrats and politicians, who can’t afford to cultivate their imaginations, tend to assume it’s all ray-guns and nonsense, good for children.

Edward Steel

Vincent Weisz

Madi

After watching the flim Stalker (directed by Andrei Tarkovsky) some years ago, I was gifted the book upon which it was based. Thinking I'd give it a go now, I am completely surprised with how much I loved it. I almost couldn't put it down once I picked it up. To peak your interest: aliens visited earth, they never made contact, and then they were gone as quick as they came. 

Sarah Sammis

Maurice FitzGerald

Gabe Cortez

I clearly missed the whole point with this book, because the reviews are really excellent, but I was mostly bored. Maybe the style was lost on me. I did enjoy the part near the middle - the roadside picnic - about what the aliens were doing and whether they even noticed humans at all - interesting philosophy of inteliigence paradoxes, humanity’s tendency to anthropomorphism, and how that might be the thing that ends it all. But I didn’t get the main character’s arc at all.

Gavin

Good stuff! Earthy, economic sci-fi; aliens visit, ignore us entirely, and soon leave, leaving behind only transcendent junk and horror-film phenomena from their little picnic. Prose is lovely and plain, translated brilliantly by the mathematician Olena Bormashenko (we get “scabby”, “sham”, “mange”). 

The ordinary, crude protagonist Red is scrabbling illegally to provide for his mutant family (the Strugatskys use cash and cash pressure amazingly, grounding the whole cosmic fantasy in commerce, crime, exploitation). Every time Red gets cash, he throws it away – in someone’s face as an insult, in someone’s face as a distraction to evade capture, or just away. 

No explanations except bureaucratic filler; no salvation, just dumb defiance. A really nice original touch is that Red interprets the body language of his friends in extreme detail – a scratched nose means, to him, “Whoah, Red, be careful how rough you play with the new kid”. 

Also notable for being a Soviet novel set in mid-west America, evoked very, very well. And the Russian Soul under their dismal economics rings out without catching in the barrel:

  HAPPINESS, FREE, FOR EVERYONE; LET NO ONE BE FORGOTTEN!

Ryan LaFerney

The premise of Roadside Picnic is brilliantly simple. It is a story about the aftermath of humanity’s first contact with alien life. Shortly before the story begins, aliens visit the earth, stay for a short time, then depart as suddenly as they’d arrived. What they leave behind are mysterious Zones, areas filled with invaluable technological wonders. But these areas are also filled with bizarre traps and dangers that can be instantly and brutally fatal.

Those who venture into these areas are known as stalkers (Roadside Picnic served as the inspiration for the 1979 film Stalker). It was the novel concept of deadly areas filled with priceless alien technology that drew me to the book, but it was anti-hero protagonist Red Schuhart’s personal journey that kept the plot moving. 

The novel is filled with philosophical musings, and existential dread. Many consider it a novel about life within the Soviet Union but I consider it to be a novel about man's search for meaning in a universe that seems meaningless. If the Zones follow no inherent logic, and are truly "alien," then can we as rationale beings sit with this fact of unknowing? And what's the point of stalking if no scientific knowledge can be gained? 

That Lovecraftian feeling of human insignificance is pervasive throughout Roadside Picnic. And it really makes for a thought provoking, atmospheric, and fast-paced read.

Sarah Escorsa

👽 Evil Russians™-Sponsored, How Did This End Up Here Buddy Read with Evgeny, Lee and Elena 👽

⚠️ I wouldn’t read the thing that follows, if I were you. I mean, it’s kind of pointless, sort of meaningless and pretty much has nothing to do with roadsides and/or picnics. But hey, it’s your puny life and you are free to waste it as you please and stuff. 

This is me desperately trying to write a not-too-crappy crappy non-review for this book for the past eight bloody shrimping days:



(view spoiler)[Yes, I like to wear a gorilla costume when I write crappy non-reviews. Helps me think deep thoughts and stuff. Only that it didn’t for once this time. Help me think deep thoughts, I mean. And it’s not like I didn’t try super hard and stuff. I squeezed and squished and squashed my two ever-failing little grey cells for hours on end, to no avail. (My Evil Russian™ friends kindly offered to send me on a paid holiday to one of their Siberian vacation camps for artists—I hear they have the best camp counsellors, by the way—to see if I could find some inspiration there, but all the flights from Mariana Trench Central to Yakutsk were fully booked. Life sucks and stuff.) (hide spoiler)]

Sigh. I guess that’s the Too Brilliantly Brilliant Book Curse (TBBBC™) in action. You know, when a book is so bloody fishing good and fantastic and amazing and also a little stupendous that you have absolutely nothing-zilch-nada-zip-rien de rien to say about it? And you end up blabbering about everything BUT the book? Not that this has ever happened to me or anything. I’m just trying to explain how I would (hypothetically) react if I (hypothetically) had read the book and (hypothetically) enjoyed it which would (hypothetically) have lead me to (hypothetically) not be able to write a crappy non-review and stuff. Right.



Still here? Why are quite the resilient bunch, aren’t you, Mostly Flimsy Decapods Mine? Are you planning to stick around until I unleash the homicidal shrimps on you come up with something to say about this book? Damn. I better think of something post haste, then, or else I might get stuck with you for all of eternity *shudders*

① This is a book about alien visitors with not a single measly little green person in sight. Shocking, I know.

② Supposedly Horrifying Horror Books (SHHB™) always fail to horrify me (they rarely failing to make me hahahahahaha me little head off, though), but this not-supposed-to-be-spooky SF tale creeped the fish out of me. And such a delicious feeling it was, too [insert blissful sigh here].

③ This book features Super Extra High Quality Thought-Provoking Material (SEHQTPM™) about puny humans, their ethnocentrism (yes, it hurts me lots when I use big words), and their role/place/whatever in the grand scheme of universal things. Most fascinating stuff, methinks.

④ The concept of the “roadside picnic” is quite possibly the best thing since sliced, bacon-flavored barnacles. 

 

Why you are quite welcome, dear. I fail to see how this has anything to do with you, but whatever. My pleasure and stuff. By the way, have you thought of consulting a gastroenterologist or something? You look kind of green around the edges, you know. Looks suspiciously like digestive problems to me.

⑤ This is a Slightly Very Good Book (SVGB™). One might even say this is a masterpiece. Yes, one might. Maybe. Perhaps.

⑥ The end. 

P.S. I don’t think the Strugatsky brothers had this type of picnic in mind when they wrote the book. But hey, who knows, I could be wrong (view spoiler)[
  hahahahaha. Not bloody likely
 (hide spoiler)].

Jan Jackson

** spoiler alert **
           The only freedom is death. Some of this book is recognisable in Tarkovsky’s wonderful film version, but they are two different beasts. So if you want to retain the cinematic experience, I’d suggest not reading the novel. 

The book is wonderful. The vision of the Strugatsky brothers is rich and sparkling. It zings. The premise that the Zone(s) are the remnants of an outing by unknown others is excellent. But instead of crisp packets, and plastic bottles, nappies, and disposable barbecues, there are black sparks, happy ghosts, empties, and the Golden Sphere. 

Everyone’s an alien, here. But the system of exploitation runs through everything: a trip into the Zone feeds the capitalist machine, and small, unseen - but strictly necessary - lives are ground down and sucked up in service to it. 

Definitely one to be savoured.

Olivera Mitić

Andrew Sztehlo

A humorous, bleak, and ultimately compassionate SF novel. The Zone remains incredibly mysterious, undefiniable and intangible. Red's quest in the last quarter of the novel is the best part of the book, and evidently the part that Andrei Tarkovsky took the most inspiration from for his film-adaptation, Stalker. Recommended highly.

Борис Стругацкий

Аркадий Стругацкий

A troubled man leads a writer and a scientist into "The Zone," a mysterious area where the laws of physics no longer apply. All three journey towards "The Room," which supposedly has the power to fulfill the innermost wishes of anyone who enters therein.

Roadside Picnic

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