By Tuomas Kyro, David McDuff
From a highly well known, award-winning Finnish author, this pleasing, profound, and satirical story follows a Romanian beggar residing at the streets of Helsinki.
Vatanescu, a tender Romanian development employee, wants issues: a destiny for himself and 2 soccer boots for his son. So off he is going to a chilly, darkish kingdom to beg.
Despite interpreting approximately Finland within the novels of Arto Paasilinna, Vatanescu has no inspiration what he's in for, and shortly he's dwelling at the streets of Helsinki, throwing feasts from the contents of a dumpster along with his fellow beggars. Little does he discover, even if, that his organization is set to break his bacchanal, and masses, a lot more…
As Vatanescu flees from foreign crime corporations in addition to the Finnish police, he reveals an not likely spouse: a hare who has been sentenced to loss of life for dwelling inside Helsinki’s urban limits. jointly, Vatanescu and his new fellow fugitive set on a trip from Lapland to the nationwide concept Park building website, to the higher echelons of Finnish politics.
Known for his satirical humor and picaresque kind, Tuomas Kyro bargains an strange story within the vein of Jonas Jonasson’s The Hundred-Year-Old guy and Rachel Joyce’s The not going Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. instantly funny and deeply relocating, The Beggar and the Hare is a contemporary travel de strength.
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Additional info for Beggar & the Hare
The rabbit’s paw hung limply. From its mouth came a pitiful whimpering. And although the use of a fluffy animal and a little girl in the same scene would be pathetically melodramatic, it really did happen that the girl ran after Vatanescu. She held out the stick that was all that remained of her ice cream, and undid the laces of her little red shoes. You wise little person. • • • Opposite the hospital was a cemetery, where in the stillness Vatanescu used the stick from the little girl’s ice cream to make a splint, which he fixed to the rabbit’s paw with one of the shoelaces.
The year on the tins was 1974, and the country of origin stamped on their undersides was SWE. They had originally been intended for survival in the aftermath of a nuclear war, but to their purchaser’s dismay that war had never arrived. In the nuclear-weapons-free North they grew old, so the Swedish army sold them back to the supplier it had bought them from. Who then sold them on to an international crime syndicate that used them to feed its hired workforce. The corned beef slid down Vatanescu’s oesophagus, fermenting in his stomach for a while.
Yegor Kugar got back into the driver’s cabin of the van. He rummaged in some cassette tapes, and a moment later the music of Scorpions was heard. Do the memories of the good times stay good even in the bad times? It was as if the Transporter crossed a sky of lowering clouds above a churning ocean where ships laden with containers full of goods and merchandise passed to and fro. As if through binoculars you could see the sailors from the Philippines, from Vestersund and Kotka, earning tomorrow’s bread, that is, the interest on their mortgages, a large bottle of Absolut vodka, their alimony payments, or the extra grand that made it possible to take their families to Thailand.