Being a self confessed addict of all things Russian, I was expecting this book to be an interesting and satisfying read. While I wasn't disappointed on these fronts, I found the whole experience spoiled by the condescending and, I hate to say it, rather smug style of writing employed. Throughout the book the author, Dervla Murphy, demonstrates an almost obsessive need to insert little self-congratulating asides on how she shuns the trappings of the modern world and is such a successful 'earth mother'. It's certainly refreshing to find someone with such a strong conscience, however, when she starts listing the electrical appliances she doesn't own, it can become tedious.
The descriptions of the landscape, people and politics of this area are lovingly crafted and genuinely felt, but the whole tone of the book left me feeling sadly cold.