But when those people start dying shortly with a disturbing frequency, Viktor begins to wonder if he's writing obelisks or death warrants. These people aren't dead yet, Viktor's work is for the files, for use at a later date. Viktor's writing gambit is successful when it leads to some steady work, he's given the job of writing obelisks, obituaries of people of varying degrees of prominence. Responsible for Misha's well-being, Viktor turned from failed novel writing to something shorter that the local paper might publish, something that might make a bit of money, at least enough to buy fish for Misha. In Antarctica he'd be perfectly normal, he's odd only because he is living in an apartment in Kiev. He doesn't solve crimes or engage in witty dialog. Misha is not an overly cute or anthropomorphized penguin. Viktor owns little more than a typewriter, but when the local zoo, low on funds, has to get rid of animals, Viktor and Misha become roommates. Viktor, like everyone else in post-Soviet Kiev, is doing what he can and must to keep going on. Death and the Penguin is an odd tale, told well.
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