The Line

Olga Grushin has crafted a lyrical novel set in Communist-era Russia.  A specific year isn't given; the important thing is that people are oppressed and in need of hope.
A line forms outside of a kisok one winter day and, though no one knows what is being sold, citizens queue up.  One woman, Anna, hopes for something frivolous, like a cake or perhaps an orange.  After one week, the line is still going strong and rumors begin to swirl that an exiled composer will be returning to his native soil to perform a new symphony.  Anna, her husband and teenage son begin to take turns waiting in the line, which extends for months, from 10A until 2A.  Alexander, her son, befriends an older gentleman in line who claims to be a distant relative of the composer, while Sergei, her husband, suffers a bit of a midlife crisis.  Anna's mother, who hasn't spoken for years, tells stories of her past life as a ballerina, which her family hears through the walls.  In the end, all four of them become more honest with each other; perhaps they need that more than concert tickets.
The only negative thing I can say about this book is that the language is a bit overly flowery at times; in that respect, Grushin has stuck to her Russian roots.  The story itself is engrossing, and beautiful in its simplicity.  I guess the point to be gleaned from all of this is that hope in anything, or anyone, can sustain us through some pretty miserable experiences.  Because it is Russian, don't expect any overly happy moments, but there are beautiful instances of humanity within the pages of The Line.