Sana Krasikov’s One More Year is a melancholy book of gentle stories of disconnected people. Krasikov’s rounded, complex characters have left their homeland for an America in which they hardly fit or – perhaps worse – have returned to a Russia that has moved on too far, leaving them forgotten and bereft.
All have made a compromise too far and found themselves in a place that is best described as purgatory. Here they wait, for the most part, while those who make a break for freedom merely find themselves in another room.
Yet it is also a sometimes inaccessible read, somehow tired and devoid of passion. There is little reward for sticky with it.