Julia Phillips' enthralling Disappearing Earth is told from many points of view, and it is a mother lode of riches for readers who aren't put off by the fact that the narrator changes with each successive chapter.

I learned so much about the Kamchatka peninsula-- and was led to discover even more information through additional reading. The setting, containing three active volcanoes within sight of the major town of Petropavlovsk, is stark and memorable. Traveling through a fire-ravaged wooded area, the mother of the two missing girls looks out the car window and sees her grief transformed into landscape: "The long tracks of dead forest looked like thousands of bones pushed up from their graves."

As the story runs its course from one person to the next-- all connected by the abduction of the two little girls-- we learn how the area has changed since the collapse of the USSR, how poaching has affected the ecology, how the indigenous peoples and LGBT are treated, and how difficult it can be for native people to live outside their own culture.

So far, I've concentrated on how much I learned from reading this book. Now it's time to concentrate on the story itself. Since each successive narrator is connected in some way to the missing girls, the sisters were never far from my mind. The scene describing their abduction was chilling, and as the months passed, any hope I had for their safe return died an agonizing death. There was what I call a "light bulb" moment when I knew the identity of the kidnapper, but of course, everyone in the book ignored it. And the ending? I can't decide whether to call it "jaw-dropping" or a "punch in the gut." Totally unexpected.

Disappearing Earth is an amazing piece of storytelling, one that I highly recommend you to try.

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Beautifully written, off-beat mystery that uses the disappearance of two little girls to consider wider issues, like motherhood and family, the safety of women, and life in a community on the edge, struggling with change.

This can be a frustrating read: it starts with a deeply disturbing opening chapter, in which two girls, aged 11 and 8, are abducted by a stranger. When I say "deeply disturbing" -- my granddaughter is 8 years old, and I almost gave up on it there. I'm glad I didn't, because Phillips then does something very interesting.

Subsequent chapters are from the point of view of (seemingly) random individuals, who have little or no connection to the two missing girls, except for also living on the Kamchatka Peninsula, an area of Siberia which is about as remote as it's possible to be. In each chapter, Phillips circles around characters, and they cross paths and reveal unexpected connections, until it becomes clear that these little character studies aren't so random after all.

It's frustrating, and possibly feels a little too clever, until, in another shattering and heartbreaking chapter -- this one from the POV of the mother of the two missing girls, almost one year after their disappearance -- it all (spoiler-ish) comes together.

What kept me reading through the (mild) frustration was the thoughtful and imaginative use of setting, and insights into a part of the world that is -- quite literally -- on the edge. The edge of Russia/the Soviet Union. The edge of cultural and racial politics, as Russian "in-comers" (who may have been there for generations, but are still not native) rub up against members of the indigenous population. On the edge economically, as the locals' incomes can come from herding reindeer, exactly as their ancestors have done for thousands of years, to herding tourists off the cruise ships that are now allowed to take advantage of the stunning scenery and relative proximity to Japan. On edge, as every resident of the Kamchatka Peninsula wonders what has happened to those two little girls, and looks suspiciously at his or her neighbours (native or Russian), or at the migrant workers on local construction sites, or at the Japanese tourists who come and go ...

I felt that Phillips handled the setting and its characters with great sensitivity -- whether Russian or Even (the local indigenous group of about half of the characters), there is no phony "exoticism." No odd phrasing, no italics to remind us that these people are speaking Russian or Even. Just people, talking like people.

If I have a slight hesitation, it's because I feel that this has been done before -- and, perhaps, just a little bit better -- in "Reservoir 13" by Jon McGregor. McGregor's novel has the same premise, a little girl disappears, seemingly vanishes without a trace from a British beauty spot, and the subsequent short chapters follow the residents of the nearby village as they live with the unwelcome notoriety and the uncomfortable sense that one of them might have been responsible. Why better? McGregor, I feel, makes no concession to the readers' desire for closure or answers. He doubles down on the sense that what he is describing is "life" -- no closure, no answers. Phillips -- trying to avoid spoilers -- does something different. and it might seem a bit ... neat ...

On the other hand, I'm glad I read it, and I would highly recommend it ...

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