Mikhail Zoshchenko was a popular Soviet satirist during the 1920s. The first English-language volume of his work appeared in 1935, under the temporally inappropriate title Russia Laughs. Overlook Press has just published The Galosh, a collection translated by Jeremy Hicks.

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Andrew Bleeker, a Stranger intern, took it upon himself to write a review of it using Zoshchenko's own words—the first three words of each story in The Galosh, but rearranged. Needless to say, Bleeker's grand designs collapsed around him. The resulting morass is half Mikhail Zoshchenko, half Gertrude Stein, and all crazy. The book, however, is recommended.

They say, comrades, there was a cinema worker in our communal factory earlier this year. The other day, during the holidays, the party ended. In February, comrades, the manager of our esteemed comrade editors, Vaska Tyapkin, was losing a galosh. I've always sympathized. I, a duty militiaman in breweries! Of course, this story is ninety years ago. Frankly, this genuine incident is slightly unpleasant. We weren't frightened after owning a bicycle. This Russian's certainly got the comrades I want. Comrades, you know this is the other day, so autumn's here last Saturday—these days there's really a terrible payment. I prefer the other day, the Crimea. Vanyishka Ledentsov's a friend of the people there. Frankly, comrades, I'd always be on the tram Yefim Grigoryevich took yesterday. Yesterday I had the most to start with. My stove's something I'm not saying. I don't! I can't! It's by no way a well. Can it, you! Recently we've been comrades, just recently, the other day I'm with some dear comrades. What's the "some"? I long for the other day this year (of course I don't). The thing is, they can say this happened. It's what they reason at.