By Robert Littell
An epic saga of the Soviet Union's brutal first decades-from the recent York occasions bestselling grasp of espionage.
Hailed as "the American le Carré," Robert Littell offers an bold novel approximately star-crossed idealist Alexander Til. whilst Til returns from the United States to Petrograd at the eve of the October Revolution in 1917, it really is to place his existence at the line within the wish of remodeling Russia. yet after witnessing the start of a brand new period, he watches the folks, and his personal beliefs, trampled by way of the increase of Josef Stalin-with whom Til is destined to have a shattering war of words. Taking readers from the storming of the iciness Palace to the nightmares of the gulag, The Revolutionist is a masterwork of historic fiction.
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Additional info for The Revolutionist
Sample text
Conway,” the annunciator was saying briskly, “Go to room 87 and administer pep-shots . . ” Conway protested. “What’s going on here . . Dr. Mannon had become suddenly grim. ” He turned abruptly and hurried off, muttering something about getting a fast erasure before they started screaming for him, too. Room 87 was the Casualty Section’s staff recreation room, and when Conway arrived its tables, chairs and even parts of its floor were asprawl with green-clad Monitors, some of whom had not the energy to lift their heads when he came in.
Mannon burst out. He was about to say something more when his face took on a fixed, listening expression. With a sudden jerk of his thumb he indicated a nearby wall annunciator. ” . . Dr. Conway,” the annunciator was saying briskly, “Go to room 87 and administer pep-shots . . ” Conway protested. “What’s going on here . . Dr. Mannon had become suddenly grim. ” He turned abruptly and hurried off, muttering something about getting a fast erasure before they started screaming for him, too. Room 87 was the Casualty Section’s staff recreation room, and when Conway arrived its tables, chairs and even parts of its floor were asprawl with green-clad Monitors, some of whom had not the energy to lift their heads when he came in.
Oh, no, Conway thought, not at a time like this! There was a cold sickness in his stomach and he had a horrible premonition of what was going to happen. Williamson’s knuckles shone white as he gripped the edge of the view port. ” he said in a flat, despairing tone, and pointed. An intruder was approaching the waiting swarm of ships at an insane velocity and on a wildly erratic course. A stubby, black and featureless torpedo shape, it reached and penetrated the weaving mass of ships before Conway had time to take two breaths.