Rates of Exchange by Malcolm Bradbury

Rates of Exchange Reviews

• 
  Anna

  The Rates of exchange is a book of observations, sensations, and of language expanded by gestures and signs. It is also a univercity novel, but of a different kind. The kind where the univercity is placed in ”another universe”, where dialectical materialism has replaced logic.
  Reality in such universe may seem absurd, with people watching and denouncing each other for the crime of wrong thought or act, carefully self-censoring in order not to be accused of incorrect thoughts and meanings… And yet in a way it is just like today - you know what I mean - everyone being afraid to speak their minds for fear of being not politically correct enough? Only with far more spectacular punishments for incorrect behaviours :-).
  It is also a bit like what I remember from my childhood, or maybe rather from the stories of years before I was born, where in our best of all communistic fatherlands there were no rats, no prostitution (provided that you weren’t looking), where people did not steal but things sometimes simply disappeared, and where everyone loved work so much that they sometimes even asked their bosses to work overtime (or else they would starve to death).
  This is the kind of place, that a plain, middle-aged, correct and a bit lonely linguistics professor Angus Petworth arrives to, for a cultural exchange trip, to give lectures on linguistics and to prove the flourishing relationships between this obscure country and British Council. The place is called Slaka. Our professor is assigned an english-speaking guide, whose duties include both guiding and watching him. He meets a former exchange student of unclear intentions, who seems to be everywhere where Petworths travel itinerary takes him, and a female writer who seems to like him rather more than everyone else… Petworth is good-hearted and a bit naive, and despite being warned that relationships in Slaka, specially those with women may be dangerous, gets deeper and deeper into local affiliations.
  The whole story is obviously designed as a satire on the hypocrisy of the system and maybe even on the naivety of the traveller who doesn't really comprehend what is going on around him. But I found the largest joy in the conversations, that turn into inspired monologues delivered by Petworths local contacts about life in general, and their dialectically challenged reality in particular.
• 
  Realini

  Rates of Exchange by Malcolm Bradbury
  10 out of 10
  
  Rates of Exchange is a Booker Prize finalist and a stupendous, hilarious, intriguing, sardonic, exquisitely entertaining, accurate, satirical, adored by this reader, who has been acquainted with Malcolm Bradbury – more in the manner in which omniscient Plitplov is so familiar with the hero, Angus Petworth, who has no idea of the existence of the former – though the reading of History Man
  http://realini.blogspot.com/2014/06/h... Rates of Exchange was considered explosively funny, but on top of that, it is extraordinarily accurate, in its description of Slaka, a country that combines elements from my own land and countries trapped across the wrong side of the Iron Curtain…
  One of the fantastic aspects of the Magnum opus is that it is so easy to read it and see that it reads at times as a diary, for most of the things that happen in the chef d’oeuvre have either taken place in the life of the under signed, or he knows of friends that have experienced – at least – similar stories…first of all, I have been a tour guide in the communist regime – and then went on with my own business, in the same filed – so I must identify with Marisja Lubijova on some level, though she is the opposite of what I was…while the personage keeps singing the praises of the regime – look at our workers, peasants, achievements, industry and all other false claims of the regime – the real me was telling the guests the jokes that we read in the masterpiece and others, pointing out that this is not the advertised heaven, but hell…
  There is even that long joke – you can find it on the blog, or just ask for it…remember to subscribe, like, share, all that paraphernalia, to get more of our savory commentary – wherein Ceausescu is going to America – in my AT&T activity, I coupled it with AT&T, phones, their headquarters, whenever I attended team buildings and we were required to make reports, but in my case, in the last part, not getting paid for the work…that is another story though – and he talks on the phone with heaven, then at home he contacts hell –as the only place where he knows anybody – and at the end we discover that this is…well, Hell
  Doctor Angus Petworth, the expert in languages invited by the Ministry of Culture of Slaka will have incredible, mirthful experiences in the country, starting with the flight on which he has different stewardesses than was the norm on western planes at that time, women with hair in their nostrils and an approach that said stay away and not come up and buy, which is of course at the center of services in capitalism…at customs, he is almost arrested, but then he is embraced in the tradition of the country – on the way out, they will intentionally break the only gift he will have bought – and then given the local raqi, a drink that appears similar, if not identical with our own tzuica or palinca and it can also be based on slivovitz or other specialties of our region…
  At the exit from the customs area, there appears to be nobody expecting him, though he is approached then – and repeatedly throughout his two weeks stay, reminding me that there was yet another joke with changing money, presumably happening everywhere in communist paradise, even at Peter’s gate…if you know, remind me the details, for I have forgotten it, not having any tourists to tell it for the past…let us not place number of years here that will affect the impression of youth gathered from the Elixir offered in Rates of Exchange – by people wanting to change money, get dollars for sex (chaka, chaka) and by the controversial, changing, intriguing, ever changing figure of Professor Plitplov…
  There are quite a few dimensions to this analytical, panoramic, extraordinary take on Slaka, communism, tyranny, for it is not all mirth and humor – albeit that is such a Joy, an absolute delight to take from the novel – it takes a hard look at the fake claims made by the communists, the shortage or complete absence of anything – the hero has to take a dump and there is no toilet paper in the otherwise expensive, leading hotel of the capital – the happiness enjoyed by the citizens – who would nevertheless rise up, only to be shot and killed, without the official visitor to be allowed in those areas where murders took place, his last legs of his journey being cancelled – in theory, but in practice they seem to be quite low, the misery of their life being limited to a very small place, if they get an apartment, advancements would be made ‘on their knees, or for some on their back’, as a reference that immorality reigned and some characters will have to have relations – carnal and otherwise improper, against the Categorical Imperative principle – with various apparatchiks that will ensure protection..
  More is said in the comments bellow, this being one premiere, a note that is not just longer than the usual personal production, but three times as loquacious, for as mentioned, this particular magnum opus has not only offered jocularity, outstanding merriment, but it is also as an autobiographical book on many levels, given that I had to take people around the country, with dubious characters all around, just as in the book and both details and the big picture are extremely Accurate…take the instance when Petworth is giving a lecture at one of the universities and then the question of funds is raised, when they have to think lunch…it has happened to me in Timisoara, where I was guiding a group of Chinese apparatchiks…because they were so high up, I was more in charge of the logistics and they had some Stupid fellow sent by….actually I do not know his exact affiliation, just that he was in some kind of higher function, high enough for him to be suitable…when in Timisoara, he went with the head of the local Tourist office and the Chinese leaders to dinner and given that they were all crappy nomenclature among themselves, I excused myself and went on my own, to meet a girl and the next morning, I found there was big trouble, the Chinese were to wait in the bus for who knows…hours, maybe, because the Stupid fuck from the center and the local idiot found in the morning that they had agreed at night, after many drinks probably, to settle the bill one way, but it was not good in daylight…I fixed the problem, because I knew that in light of the grade, the rank of the fucking communists, there was no limit on how much we spend and what they can have and said at the restaurant that we will pay and they do not need to spend hours to see how many portions of file, beef, catfish and whatever there had been, just put 1300 bottle of champagne…I am kidding, but I said put whatever, drinks because it is easier and make it fast so that we get the hell out of here and avoid destroying any work done so far, by keeping the friends of Mao in the parking lot, for the rest of the day!
  In conclusion, Rates of Exchange is that rare Superb Work that gives you Immense Delight, while at the same time dealing with calamitous issues, putting on canvas the atrocities of brutal, sadistic regimes, while looking at the humans that have had to suffer the immense benefits of Marxism…to add to what I have said, you have some thoughts written over the last couple of days, on the divine, mesmerizing, hilarious chef d’oeuvre…
  What about the alternative universe in which he married the Queen of Beauty and went on to live forever happy, as in the cliché fairy tales, then added on top of that and read a lot, becoming a sort of a wise man of – at least some corner – the internet, involved in volunteer work, wealthy enough to sustain a life of comfort, surely with a degree of philanthropy, charity work, socializing with the good – turning some of the bad into the aforementioned – making time for the required rituals of exercise – seeing as the consort is the Queen…well, not that queen, he will have a lot of sexual intercourse and two alternatives come to mind, one is the Fidel version, as in the Witches of Eastwick, with Jack Nicholson, for some reason the movie seems to be better that the book, albeit this reader has been exuberant with all the books in the Rabbit series
  http://realini.blogspot.com/2016/07/r...
  The other option would be the Wild West option, in which the Queen and the consort would get tired of each other – to which degree, we can explore it if we Analyze This, without Robert De Niro and Billy Crystal, in some short story version, or just shooting the breeze here – experiencing the Honeymoon Effect, Coolidge Effect, or a combination of this and other psychological phenomena combined – come to think of it, there is also the Pygmalion Effect to be considered and based on that, we would have another outcome, but let us move on and apply one of the Jordan Peterson rules, be clear in what you say, which is does not sound like this, but anyway, let us move the hell out of here…
  It can then be a free for all and in an open relationship or marriage, she would have sex with many, the trouble could be that they would be many more than he has, and they just have a fruitful marital equanimity nevertheless and jealousy, envy would not be involved…knowing him, that seems less likely, although other developments could deny, or better said stifle the initial fervent opposition to his consort having coitus with other men…with time, views can change on this and as mentioned, both parties are prone to see the attraction of the other fade, as studies show, by the time they will have been together for two years…
  As Proust has said, we want what we do not have…incidentally, I am reading a stupendous, Hideous Kinky novel, Rates of Exchange by Malcolm Bradbury, in which Angus Petworth, the main character, meets with the second secretary of the British Embassy in Slaka, Felix Steadiman, the one in charge with traffic accidents, and among the things they discuss is the visits the diplomat makes to the British subjects that end up in prison – one has hit a peasant on the road…the attitude in this East European country, behind the Iron Curtain in 1981, is for the pedestrians to run to meet and collide with fast driving vehicles, and at the same time the drivers have an urge and drive faster to get them…which is amusing or abominable, perhaps both, but it reminds this reader of what he has seen in his own land…which has so much in common with fictional Slaka.
  Felix Steadiman mentions, in his stuttering speech that gives occasion to many hilarious moments – the book itself is absolutely mirthful, and the Perfect Example of what I want to read always, spend infinite hours engrossed in and somehow the image of Eden…heaven sounds boring on many levels, but if it would have an immense dose of Rates of Exchange, White Man Falling, Lucky Jim and other such divine, angelic magnum opera, then there would be only a need to fill in say 25 percent of the rest of eternity and that would be indeed paradisiacal- such as when Steadiman says…just ask me for ass…ass…assistance…
  The employee of the Embassy is just one of the mirth inducing personages, for attached to his stutter – and in itself I know it is not allowed to laugh at an impediment, but it is the alignment of propositions and words that would otherwise not be uttered, but as part of the fragments of speech they are in the open - he has quite a few other amusing traits, such as the furious speed with which he drives – in spite of being in charge with the traffic accidents – the wipers he takes off from the car, because stealing is illegal here, but natives have a way of appropriating things – though why do they do this with wipers, when they have so few cars is a mystery – he does not know where he is, loses track of the parked car and climbs a wall to get to it, then he offers a tour to the visiting doctor Petworth – called Pervert at the hotel and all sorts of other names by locals – and shows that he does not know a building from another, after spending three years in the city.
  He asks for advice on what book to give to the British citizen waiting in jail for the sentence on hitting the peasant and he says he thought of Proust, but he mentions that he is a truck driver, Petworth disagrees with the Proust choice…however, sometime later, the Greatest Writer of All Time – for yours truly – comes as a choice again, after they will have all been involved in massive wrongdoing and then the length of the twelve Volumes of A La Recherche will not be half enough for the duration of the prison term…Budgie, the wife of Felix Steadiman is a very unsettled, dissatisfied, horny, voracious woman, who has her hands on Angus Petworth almost from the moment he steps into the apartment, making it clear that she is too lonely and disabused – the couple take trips out of Slaka to be able to shout and fight, for inside the communist tyranny, they spy and record everything to be used as blackmail, so they do not want their quarrels to imperil the career of Felix…
  First, Budgie sends her spouse to take a shower, so that she can manhandle the guest, caressing him, putting hands in trouser pocket, on hair, only to have the husband return, because there is no water – as in other communist heavens, you would have nothing…food, water, electricity, everything was in short supply or unavailable – and see the wife at her usual game – he would later say that this is something she does, she wants to offer some spark in the dull life of the secret agents that listen in all the time and other such dubious, absurd explanations – which will continue during dinner with guests, brought in for a special treat and a secret…sausages from Britain, brought through the diplomatic bag and presented as a celebration at the meal…when the guests depart, Budgie keeps Angus with her, while the husband is driving the maid home, and she is clear about the coital intentions…it is to be on the table, or on the floor.
  Nonetheless, Felix comes home and insists on separating his wife from her prey and because she does not relent easily – perhaps not at all – he has to grab the man – he would apologize later and the fun is limitless…he says sorry, I did not know I was so fit – and in the process, he tears the best suit of the official visitor to Slaka, splits his lip and causes injury which would have to be justified later, when he meets the official guide, Marisja Lunijova, who will hear that her assignment had walked into a door…
  ‘Why is Slaka like America…Because in America you can criticize America, and in Slaka you can criticize America too…Why is Slaka like America…Because in America you can’t buy anything with vloskan, and in Slaka you can’t buy anything with vloskan either’…there are these, other jokes and so many aspects of Rates of Exchange that echo into our lives…those who have lived in a country like Slaka, recognize characters, buildings, rules, tyranny and our whole lives in this marvelous, hilarious novel...
• 
  Rick Patterson

  Once upon a time I took a course in literary theory and had to wade through many barely penetrable theses by scholars of all kinds, including one by a fellow named David Lodge. It was a genuine surprise and delight to discover that Lodge was, in addition to being a well read, perceptive, and clever critic, a terrific story-teller with a keen and completely engaging sense of humor. His Small World is my vote for the best academic satire of all time, easily beating Lucky Jim.
  Imagine my added delight to find that another of those critics from long ago, Malcolm Bradbury, has also been up to the challenge of putting together a very funny and very very readable satire, also somewhat academic in nature but in this case more about the foibles of international cultural exchanges, particularly between the West and East. Yes, it's a bit dated in that the Soviet Empire (the East) and the West have gone the way of the dinosaur, to some degree (given that Putin wants to redux the whole sordid system), but it still speaks to the problems inherent in communication--verbal exchanges--just one (and probably the most important) of the exchanges referred to by the title. Bradbury is intensely interested in language as a medium for the exchange of ideas--that is his stock in trade as a critic--but he doesn't reduce it to an academic exercise; in fact, he makes gentle fun of his own profession by making Professor Angus Petworth the author of what must be a very dry and unlistenable lecture called "On The English Language As A Medium Of International Communication." As opposed to the cliche, humor is often found in translation, a fertile ground for Bradbury that he exploits over and over again, sometimes descending to very lowbrow levels to get the laughs, but he definitely gets them. The British cultural attache in Slaka (the fictional capital city of an equally fictional Eastern European Russian satellite, an amalgam of several, no doubt) is ironically named Steadiman, given that he has a debilitating stutter that Bradbury plays to very politically incorrect effect. In a bar, Steadiman comments on the waitress with this groaner: "Good bust good bust good bustling manner. Of course she's flat she's flat she's flattered if you try to speak the lingo" (146). (Which is more offensive to the PC police? The caricature of the stutterer or the reduction of the girl to a breast joke? The answer is, as is so often the case, Who cares?) Sometimes the stutter joke is a bit less obvious: " 'We love it here. There are some nice resorts and some excellent...' 'Countryside,' says Budgie. 'I was going to say that,' says Steadiman' " (161). Anyway, suffice it to say that Bradbury is playing high and low with language, and it must be a humorless soul indeed who isn't laughing out loud at many of these exchanges.
  But it's also got some serious points to make about human exchanges, the interactions made with other critics, other writers, other people--not the least of whom is Petworth's guide, Marisja Lubijova, a Party interpreter who is supposed to keep close tabs on the foreigner but who finds herself caring a little too much for him (no spoiler but no sex). Petworth (also known variously as Petwurt, Petwit, Pitworthi, and, hilariously at the Hotel Slaka, "A. Pervert") is forced to consider what he has exchanged to become the person he is, if indeed he has a personality at all, not "a character in the world historical sense" (19), a phrase that eventually loses its academic pretentiousness and becomes personal and significant. The novel leaves him returning (sans luggage, and Bradbury is certainly aware of the resemblance to "language" in this case) to his country, his wife, and what passes for his life, a non-hero who has finished what amounts to a rather purposeless quest.
  That sounds darker than it really is. This is supposed to be fun with substance, and it is.
• 
  Isobel

  This book could have been half the length. It's definitely very dated and consequently would not seem the least bit funny at the present time. I travelled to the USSR in the 80s and could relate to many of the descriptions but basically the plot never moved on - it went round in circles.
• 
  Gabrielle Danoux

  Première remarque : ne pas confondre Malcolm Bradbury avec Ray Bradbury, l'auteur de Fahrenheit 451. En second lieu, on peut donc être un des romanciers anglais majeurs de son époque, du moins être considéré comme tel, et ne pas avoir été traduit en français.
  Pour résumer l'intrigue, il serait dommage d'aller trop loin car les dernières pages réservent des surprises de taille (la technique de l'auteur est bien rôdée et il faudrait, après les avoir découvertes, relire le livre, un peu comme dans "Sixième Sens", le film de M. Night Shyamalan) : Petworth est un universitaire anglais envoyé à Slaka pour quelques leçons dans des universités locales. Sa guide est Marisa Lubijova et il fait d'étranges rencontres : le docteur Plitplov, qui se prétend son ami mais dont il ne se souvient pas et qui lui donne des détails troublants sur sa femme, l'ambassadeur anglais et sa femme Budgie, un tantinet nymphomane, le haut fonctionnaire de la culture Tankic, assez porté sur les femmes, la romancière oniriste (?) Katya Princip, avec laquelle il a une aventure. Enfin, les cours sont dispensés et le voyage touche à sa fin, le retour se fait en avion avec, contre toute attente, les Steadiman et d'autres surprises.
  Slaka est censé être un pays purement fictionnel, et Bradbury a bien brouillé les pistes (Plitplov évoque Plovdiv, la ville bulgare). On y reconnaît néanmoins aux musiciens tziganes, au caractère paranoïaque du régime, à la surveillance généralisée, à la réforme orthographique, à l'eau de vie qui rappelle la țuică, la Roumanie. Elle n'est pas décrite de manière réaliste (on nous épargne les files d'attente, les pénuries sont évoquées subtilement).
  Quant à Malcolm Bradbury, c'est un romancier postmoderne, pour son attention à certains détails, je dirais que son modèle est Vladimir Nabokov. Cependant, son sujet universitaire rappelle bien entendu David Lodge (il se permet d'ailleurs de l'évoquer par une habile mise en abyme). Mais son personnage, surtout vers la fin, gagne en consistance et son usage maîtrisé de l'absurde (par exemple, on sert tous les matins le même petit-déjeuner à l'hôtel quelle que soit la commande) donne corps à son propos sournoisement politique et peu limité à une région du monde. On y comprend entre autres que les personnages les plus importants ne sont pas ceux qui sont censés avoir écrit l'histoire, voire autre chose. D'ailleurs, est-on vraiment sûr que quelque chose a été écrit, que l'on gardera une trace de tout cela ?
• 
  Stephen

  SUMMARY - Bradbury's humour doesn't get lost in translation. I read this in European airport terminals, and transported to fictional Slaka, I enjoyed every minute of the ride.
  ______________
  Dr Petworth is an unassuming academic of Linguistics who we accompany between identikit airports from the UK to the fictional Soviet-bloc country of Slaka. Chaperoned by feisty Marisja Lubijova in a succession of curtained Volga's, we see Soviet-Bloc countries through British eyes, and Britain reflected back. 'Oh Petwit' becomes a common refrain as Lubijova is disappointed by Petworth's tardiness, misplacement of his luggage, or failure to observe local conventions. Other staff call him 'Pevert', failing to recognises the linguistic nicities of the Linguistic professor's own name.
  
  Often comedy calcifies with time, leaving a preserved but impenetrable memory of what was once funny. Kingsley Amis, early Martin Amis and Nigel Williams read as ancient history without hysterics. Not so Bradbury who writes with lucid ludicrousness about an all-too-believable failure of cultural exchange. Much of the comedy lies in faulty intercultural communication. Petworth's overweening politeness on the face of deep frustration is timelessly and recognisably British, and when confronted both with soft chiding and unintentional innuendos of his hosts, made for a comedically discomforting read.
  
  Coincidentally, I was flying and meeting the British Council at the same time I was reading this book. Those I met were inestimably more professional than those depicted, but the wider trials and tribulations echoed what I found in Bradbury's pages. Overstretched staff confronting bureaucracy and competing domestic political interests? Plus ça change.
  
  It was refreshing to read a Booker nomination set in the contemporary. 'Rates of Exchange' works at many levels, from often base (but funny) comedy to the politically satirical. Despite the jokes centred on the pidgeon-English of his Eastern-Bloc hosts, they are not the butt of the joke. It is the differences of perspective (both witting and unwitting) that allow everyone into the joke. The Slakian hosts, for instance, make jokes about the English only getting American treatment (a Volga with curtained-windows) when they can export something as useful as oil. It is delivered with a knowing wink by the character, so in fiction as in fact we are all invited to laugh. So too the propaganda for the Slakian economy and culture is palpably implausible, but so too we are reminded of British strikes and social inequality, again as the punch line for jokes.
  
  This was a lighter snapshot of early 1980s intercultural diplomacy, played for laughs, but capturing many elements of the contemporary social, cultural and political scene.
• 
  Лада Бакал

  Гомерически смешная и чуточку печальная книга о путешествии лингвиста в 80-е в вымышленную восточноевропейскую страну. Профессор Петвурт (Первурт, Первит, Провит, как только его поименуют в Слаке) по приглашению Британского совета отправляется читать лекции о Хомском студентам трех тамошних университетов и переживет множество приключений: за ним будут следить, соблазнять, очаровывать, рвать брюки и водить на стриптиз, убеждать в преимуществах социалистического образа жизни, спаивать, снова соблазнять и пытаться шантажировать. Много узнаваемых деталей, безумная жена посольского советника по культуре, навязчивая переводчица, сумасшедший профессор Плитплов, мужчина в шляпе, аппаратчики с водкой и марш социалистических писателей и поэтов. Петвурт даже переживет настоящее любовное приключение с писательницей Катей, магической реалисткой, но чарующая Катя окажется с��всем не той, кем столь опрометчиво покажется. Бедный Петвурт! Вполне неплохо для сатиры и тонкая игра слов даже в переводе.
• 
  Jarda Kubalik

  At last I got to read one the books by M. Bradbury. I especially wanted to know how the Westerners saw Eastern Europe, where I grew up. Well, Slaka is not a flattering picture, yet it is sharply to the point. All the absurdities, silly intricacies and two-faced petty existences all ring the bell.
  What I liked was the linguistic humour showing good understanding of non-native speakers of English.
  what I did not know much was the characters were sometimes 'strange' to the point of being an obstacle to the overall story by being too unstable and nonsensical.
  But overall a great reading that did not really age after almost 40 years!
• 
  Keerthi Vasishta

  The only problem with recommending Rates of Exchange is that it is now very dated. When it is funny, it is downright hilarious. Though very pointed and sometimes patronizing, Bradbury manages to satirise Cold-War Soviet high culture well. His observations on Academic philosophy and theory as well as the significant joke on the 'world historical sense' is actually something that one must reflect on, about 30 years on, though the goalposts have moved on.
  I'd only every recommend this novel to readers with a decent background in linguistics and literary theory but some pokes at genersal Marxist discourse is still graspable to all without background reading.
• 
  David Hayes

  Bradbury was a master of wit, language, and sly observation, of razor-sharp satire and low farce. And Rates of Exchange is primo Bradbury.
• 
  Dave

  Excellent book. I read it in the 1980s and again now. Very subtle and funny. If the Iron Curtain background seems no longer relevant, just imagine he is visiting China.
• 
  Maryna

  
  
  "Обменные курсы" оказались в моем вишлисте после того, как я прочитала другой роман Брэдбери "В Эрмитаж!" и поняла, что автор и умен, и пишет хорошо. Много общего межу этими двумя книгами, так как, в какой-то степени, они обе - прекрасные представители университетского романа. Но вот с "Обменными курсами" у меня отношения не сложились. Данный роман - это смесь сатиры, абсурда, какого-то политического гротеска и информации из буклетика для британских туристов, посещающих СССР в период самых сложных отношений между странами. Кстати, подобный буклетик в романе есть. Но читает его не турист, а профессор английского языка, которого по программе культурного обмена отправляют в Слаку, вымышленную столицу какой-то вымышленной социалистическо-тоталитарной страны в Восточной Европе. И вот приезжает он туда, такой себе профессоришка в помятом пиджачке, а там слежка, революции, соблазнительные женщины, на которых нельзя соблазняться, и все прочее. И все крутится, верится, сливается, события и диалоги за столом, где товарища с загнивающего Запада приветствуют партийные шишки и такие же преподаватели. Написано хорошо, местами даже очень хорошо, но... Эээ, а что мы здесь не видели? Что должно вызвать "приступы безудержного хохота", как гласит цитата из "Таймз" на обложке? Мы, блин, в этом жили и не факт, что сейчас не живем. Одним словом, мне кажется, что аудитория, которая примет на ура роман Брэдбери в пост-СССР странах, гораздо меньше, чем на, которая высоко его оценит на Западе или в Америке. Для меня "Обменные курсы" останутся, даже не смотря на их довольно значительные литературные достоинства, романом о СССР для британцев, который совершенно случайно попал мне в руки, так как никто обо мне и не думал, когда его писал. Я - не его аудитория.
  
  6 / 10
  
• 
  Jim Bowen

  This was a hard book to get into. It's about an English Lecturer (Angus Petworth) who travels to the 1980s East Bloc capital Slaka to lecture on the internationality of English. While there he struggles with the regimentation, inflexibility of the native's mentality, language issues, paperwork, and general craziness of the eastern communist mentality.
  
  The problem with the book is it's written in the 1980s, and so feels a little dated. In addition, as someone who has lived in China for 6 years (where the regimentation, inflexibility of the native's mentality, language issues, paperwork, and general craziness ARE crazy, but not as crazy as is laid out here -albeit for comic effect), the book feels mean spirited too.
  
  In short, it's not a bad read, but hardly engrossing either.
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  Daniel Simmons

  An early 80's comic satire of a bumbling Brit linguist's misadventures in the fictional Eastern European country of Slaka (a thinly veiled Romania, though it could be any one of the Iron Curtain republics, really). I found it very entertaining, with some truly laugh-out-loud moments, but perhaps the material has not aged as well as it could have. Overall I found it rather insubstantial, despite its pointedness and cleverness regarding academia, linguistic theory, and Soviet-style tourism.
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  Donal O Suilleabhain

  I liked this, reminded me of Czech in term sod environment but more of DPRK in terms of society, although DPRK was way more strict and the open conversations in this book would never have occurred there. Strange structure to the book in that the initial few days take about two thirds of the book and the rest of it really rushes through his journey.
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  Floietoss

  At first glance Dr Angus Petworth (also called Pitwit, Pervert, and Petwurt by his Soviet-bloc hosts) might appear stuffy; his is a pale-faced, middle-aged British professor of linguistics. But as soon as he sets out on a lecture tour behind the Iron Curtain and becomes embroiled in a confrontation with a matronly stewardess on the plane, it’s clear that he is off on a highly unusual adventure. Petworth makes his rounds of universities and after-hours vodka parties, weaving his way through a labyrinth of confusion, anxiety, and highly unlikely romance.