Endling

by Maria Reva

Ukraine, 2022. Yeva is a loner and a maverick biologist who lives out of her mobile lab. She scours the country’s forests and valleys, trying and failing to breed rare snails while her relatives urge her to give up, settle down, and start a family. What they don’t know: Yeva already dates plenty of men—not for love, but to fund her work—entertaining Westerners who come to Ukraine on guided romance tours believing they’ll find docile brides uninfluenced by feminism and modernity.

Nastia and her sister Solomiya are also entangled in the booming marriage industry, posing as a hopeful bride and her translator while secretly searching for their missing mother—a flamboyant protestor who vanished after years of fierce activism against the romance tours. So begins a journey of a lifetime across hundreds of miles: three angry women, a truckful of kidnapped bachelors, and Lefty, a last-of-his-kind snail with one final shot at perpetuating his species. But their plans come to a screeching halt as Russia invades.

Genres: Fiction, Literary Fiction, Contemporary, Ukraine, War, Audiobook, Book Club

352 pages, Hardcover

First published June 3, 2025

About the author

MARIA REVA was born in Ukraine and grew up in Canada. She holds an MFA from the Michener Center at the University of Texas. Her fiction has appeared in The Atlantic, McSweeney's, Best American Short Stories, and elsewhere, and has won a National Magazine Award. She also works as an opera librettist.

Reviews

[Canadian Jen · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a different story. Some may even consider bizarre.

Endling is a story of the ending of existence. We meet Yeva, an ecologist, who is studying snails in Ukraine, while working in the romance tour industries to fund her studies. She has a favourite snail, Lefty, who she is trying to ensure his mating so the species does not go extinct. She keeps him in her mobile van in which she lives. The story takes a twist when she is approached by Nastia and her sister, who are in the wedding industry, wanting to abduct 12 bachelors and use Yeva's van in the hope of locating their activist mother. The story takes place in 2022 during the ongoing war with Russia.

Things get weirder once the abduction takes place. The author inserts herself at different points in the story so it did cause some confusion for this reader.
Although I found this to be a little messy, I did appreciate the writing, it's uniqueness and one I will likely contemplate more on.

Themes of war; abandonment; friendship; environment; identity.
4 ⭐️

[Jill · Rating 5 out of 5]

After turning the last page of Maria Reva’s fascinating new book, Endling, I sat still for a few minutes and asked myself, “What did I just read?”

Certainly, it’s a book of metafiction. It’s written by a Ukrainian expat who reveals herself as the puppeteer of this engrossing story. I would not call it absurdist literature because, while the themes are pessimistic, I was left with a feeling of hope, not nihilism. Nor would I call it fabulistic or dystopian or heaven forbid, romance. Endling is sui generis, and that, in my opinion, is a very good thing.

Let’s start with the title. An endling is the last known member of a species or subspecies. When the ending dies, the species becomes extinct. Yeva – whose name translates to Eve, the mother of humankind – is a scientist who studies these soon-to-disappear species. Ironically, she has no interest in marrying or procreating herself, and it’s not a stretch to think of her as closed up in her own little spiral.

Since funding is hard to come by, Yeva earns money by being part of the booming marriage industry in Ukraine. Her job is to entertain bachelors who arrive from other countries, hoping to connect with beautiful brides unfettered by modern ideas. There, she connects to two activist sisters hatching an audacious plot – to kidnap a truck full of these bachelors to shine a light on the industry's excesses.

To provide more of the plot would be to deprive readers of the delight of reading this original novel, which is threaded with fascinating insights about how the Ukrainian people are functioning and holding up in these surreal times. So many questions arise: in a country where it’s hard to hold on to the past or future, where everything is trained on the present, how do ordinary people survive? Does the illusion of romance ever equal reality? How do we tackle the forces of nihilism – and even extinction – to end up with hope? And finally, most importantly, do we have any power over the stories we tell that define our circumstances and also give us reasons not to give up? How do our stories help us survive?

All this being said, Endling is also an accessible book, that can also be read as a sort of adventure and a peephole into biology, the wedding industry, and the state of the Ukraine people today. I am thankful to Doubleday and NetGalley for enabling me to be an early reader in exchange for an honest review.

[Alexia · Rating 5 out of 5]

This compelling book intricately weaves together multiple narratives, delving into a tapestry of paths, what-if scenarios, and vivid fantasies. At its core, it examines the author's unfulfilled wishes and the haunting "what could have been" during Russia's harrowing invasion of Ukraine. As I immersed myself in the intricate possibilities and imagined worlds that the author so beautifully crafted, the stark contrast of returning to the harsh realities of war was deeply unsettling. The emotional weight of her words often brought me to tears; the profound love she has for her homeland and the devastating impact of the war on her family was truly heart-wrenching.

When I first learned, via news reports, about Russia's incursion into Ukraine, an unshakeable fear gripped me—one I had never encountered before. As a Romanian, my thoughts raced with the stark implications: if Ukraine succumbed, it could signal a domino effect, threatening the stability of neighboring countries. This visceral fear may have seemed exaggerated at the time, but this book skillfully reignited those sentiments within me, making me confront the reality of our geopolitical proximity.

The narrative skillfully intertwines two poignant stories: that of Yeva and the sisters, Nastia and Sol, alongside the author’s own personal journey. Yeva, a character marked by her quirky obsession with snails—an unusual yet endearing passion—was brought to life through the author’s masterful prose, enriching the reading experience with fascinating insights into these creatures. Meanwhile, Nastia grapples with profound trauma linked to her mother and her ambitious, often reckless plans, while Sol, ever the supportive sister, stands by her side through these turbulent times. Their dynamic creates a rich, engaging narrative that kept me engrossed from beginning to end. I also found myself amused by Pasha, whose sometimes annoying yet humor-filled perspective, along with those of other male figures, provided much-needed levity amidst the book’s heavy themes.

The author’s own story resonates with deep emotional intensity, underscoring how we, as outsiders, frequently miss the true gravity of war if it doesn’t touch our lives directly. While we can continue our daily routines, shielded from the impending threat of violence—a bomb falling from the sky or being caught in crossfire—Ukrainians endure a grim existence entrenched in fear. They live each day anxiously anticipating when this relentless war might finally come to an end. Although we might catch glimpses of incoming drones or military operations in the news, local authorities often reassure us that everything is under control, enabling us to carry on as normal, a luxury that many in Ukraine simply do not have.

In conclusion, this book deserves immense praise for its unflinching portrayal of the war, human resilience, and the perspective of someone born in Ukraine yet navigating life elsewhere. I couldn't help but feel a wave of relief when I read that Lefty the snail, representing hope amidst despair, survived and ultimately found his mate, a small yet poignant victory in a story fraught with loss.

[Daniel Shindler · Rating 5 out of 5]

ENDLING is a novel with no methodical character development, shifting time frames and murky distinctions between fiction and reality.A snail named Lefty has a central role in the ebb and flow of the action.The novel is a picaresque journey across Ukraine combining, suspense, humor and the reality of war with a dose of meta fiction.

I loved it.

The snail named Lefty is the last of his species.Yeva, a thirty something malacologist, nurtures Lefty and other tottering species while she searches the countryside in her retrofitted mobile lab looking for other endangered specimens to rescue. She has eschewed the traditional career paths chosen by most of her peers.Instead, she funds her research by entertaining men who are lured to Ukraine in hopes of finding exotic and alluring brides.

While working in the bride industry,Yeva encounters sisters Nastia and Sol.The sisters also have a mission, albeit different from Yeva’s, that drives them forward. The girls’ mother, founder of a group that protests against female objectification, has abandoned the sisters. Their participation in an industry that their mother abhors is both a rebellion against their upbringing and a plea for their mother’s return. When Yeva’s need for additional funding intersects with the sisters’ need to move their desires forward, they formulate a plan tinged with desperation and hope.

They plan to attract twelve “bachelors” into the mobile lab for an escape room party, while actually intending to take them hostage to attract media attention. As they start their journey, Russian bombs explode, propelling the Ukraine, the mobile lab and the novel into previously unanticipated directions.At the moment of the Russian invasion, the narrative fuses fiction and reality, interspersing sections of authorial pauses that ruminate on the difficulty of writing a novel about the invasion while agonizing over the well being of relatives remaining in the war zone.In this way, the novel heightens the conflict’s reality and diminishes the reader’s distance from the war.

I read this novel as a chronicle of parallel journeys of overcoming and discovery. Yeva and those in her lab struggle with individual dilemmas of personal desires as they lurch across Ukraine in the midst of bombs, seeking physical safety and personal reassurances. In her authorial interludes, Maria Riva grapples with the emotional challenges inherent in constructing a novel dealing with the Russian invasion in real time. The two strands intertwine, separate and reattach over the course of the novel.I was left contemplating the consequences for children of the diaspora watching from afar while environmental destruction and inhumanity rage in their native land. Ultimately, this reader returned to the fate of Lefty the Snail, who gradually becomes a symbol of perseverance and endurance. In the midst of the chaos and expansiveness of this big hearted novel, a tiny mollusk might offer a ray of hope as we confront these frightening times.

[Nataliya · Rating 3 out of 5]

“But why must a country be bombed before we care about it?”

Recently I’ve read a book by a Ukrainian writer investigating Russia’s crimes against humanity since the full-scale Russian invasion, and despite being a nonfiction account it at times had a postmodernist feel because it was unfinished and still partially a draft due to the author’s death in the war. And after that is was almost a little strange to read a fictional book about the same war, but with the intentional postmodernist and meta feel.

To borrow her own concept from this novel, Reva’s Endling is an intentionally strange combination of a couple of a few literary “yurts” sewn together to create “a mansion of interconnected yurts.” And it felt odd, with some parts that were hitting hard and some that left me cold. Not all yurts apparently can combine into a mansion. Let’s bow to the wisdom of mysterious Yurt Makers here, “If you want a mansion, build a mansion. Do not drag yurts into this.”

Leaving yurts aside, what didn’t work so well for me was the what ends up a novel within a novel — the one centered on a trio of women in a Kyiv who become involved in kidnapping a dozen of matchmaking tour Western clients in attempt to get attention of an activist mother of one of them.

Then this weird heist plot - the first “yurt” of this novel - gets interrupted by Russian invasion, just as the writing of that novel is, and just as the lives of everyone in Ukraine are, and war takes over everything just like it does. And that’s where we get the second novel “yurt” that resonated with me hard, that of (fictionalized, maybe?) Reva herself, a Canadian writer of Ukrainian origin who left her birthplace at eight years old, and now sees the horror befalling Ukraine from the sidelines of diaspora.

“If I really focus, I can end the war.

In its beginning, while chanting “NATO! Close the skies!” at downtown Vancouver rallies, I knew how I’d end it: a solid iron shield would slide over Ukraine, protecting its people and land from Russia’s incessant bombardment.

But why cut Ukraine off from the sun?

No, I’d cover Russia. A sarcophagus built over the entirety of Russia, much like the one built over the radioactive remains of the Chernobyl disaster, so that Russians could stop wreaking havoc on neighboring countries. Let them figure themselves out, their mysterious bottomless souls, within their own borders.

Or, another way to end it: each missile shot from Russia would stop midair, spin around, pummel into its exact point of origin.”

There is guilt for being safe in diaspora haven while being hailed as a voice of Ukraine by those Westerners who suddenly discovered the existence of Ukraine. There’s disconnect between what her Western audience appears to want to hear (the properly somber tone) versus what Reva sees as coping mechanism (Ukrainian humor and memes about the war, the laughing through tears and irreverent feel that yes, at that time many turned to so that senseless things could be survivable) through what I can only hope is fictionalized correspondence with an editor. There’s helplessness of watching from the sidelines, the helpless anger. There’s unease of profiting from the war, with literary recognition and fame and paychecks that come from tragedy.

“My first book? The irony is that it was also about Ukraine—about Soviet Ukraine, that long-gone Ukraine I’m more familiar with, since that’s the place I left—and for the book’s release I had written op-eds to be printed in newspapers, essays about growing up in Ukraine, the language politics, but they got canned when the pandemic hit. Now those same newspapers are calling me, asking me to write about Ukraine again, promising to actually publish this time, probably canning other writers’ pieces because now “my” cause is more important. I’m getting calls for magazine interviews, photo shoots, radio appearances I’d only dreamed of when my book first came out. I’m trying to be grateful. But why must a country be bombed before we care about it?”

These parts, the pain and thoughts about the war — whether coming from the real or fictionalized Reva — are where the book shines. But less so does the return to the novel-within-the-novel with the mad 900-kilometer meandering drive from Kyiv to Kherson seemingly to find a mate for the snail of a disappearing species while Russian tanks are rolling into Kherson — but in fact because (fictionalized) Reva needed to get to Kherson where a grandfather refusing to leave still lives, with authorial presence now in full swing in the novel, with fourth wall bombed out of existence. These book “yurts” do combine, sewn together by pain and grief and anger — but. Forget the endangered snails or suicidal lonely women or girls young enough to think that a grand gesture can solve parental abandonment — they pale in comparison to what feels actually real, which may be one of the points, this exact contrast — but alas, like those Western readers in that email exchange in the meta parts of the book, I also was drawn to the somber over the tragicomical, and that’s on me and not on Reva.

Although the tragicomical in Reva’s asides was actually good. This was the quote that actuallymade me read this book, the responses to the grant application to show how sharply realities diverge in war from what the world at peace concerns itself with:

Summarize in one sentence how you will ensure safe working conditions for yourself and others through proper Covid-19 safety protocol. This summary will be used in the CAF’s official reporting.
A quote from a Ukrainian MP: “One upside of this war is that we’ve finally vanquished Covid.”

Further describe how you will ensure safe working conditions for yourself and others through proper Covid-19 safety protocol.
As of the time of writing, Russian troops are withdrawing from Kyiv to focus their assault on the eastern region of Donbas, thereby rendering access to Covid-19 testing clinics possible again, if any remain. I pledge to adhere, with unwavering commitment, to any and all local Covid-19 prevention guidelines—in extraordinary instances where there are none, I will be only too pleased to observe CAF’s own—in addition to being inoculated with the latest and finest booster vaccine available. Should I find myself sheltering with members not of my household during an air raid, I will maintain the appropriate social distance of six feet and will actively assist those around me to do the same; no moment is inopportune for a little public health education. The possible malfunction or detonation of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant, currently being occupied and shelled by Russians, may pose additional challenges, but in case of a nuclear incident, should I find myself experiencing a medical exigency I will alert the emergency operator if I have, or suspect I have, Covid-19, and will be sure to don a mask when help arrives.

Oh, and I’ll be perfectly content not to read about snails (including passionate snail sex) ever again. Although maybe a dose of absurdism is all this world really deserves, other than saving something from extinction.

“Snails weren’t pandas — those oversize bumbling toddlers that sucked up national conservation budgets — or any of the other charismatic megafauna, like orcas or gorillas. Snails weren’t huggy koala bears, which in reality were vicious and riddled with chlamydia. Nor were snails otters, which looked like plush toys made for mascots by aquariums, despite the fact that they lured dogs from beaches to drown and rape them.“

3.5 stars. Two for one yurt, almost five for the other. Therefore the combined rating is needless.

——————
Also posted on my blog.

[Liz · Rating 4 out of 5]

WTF did I just listen to? Endling is a wild, complex story, full of dark humor, swerving from one crazy plot point to another. It’s not absurdist, but at times it did come close. The author even inserts herself into the book.
The story begins with Yeva, a biologist living out of her mobile lab in Ukraine, who’s trying to breed rare snails to prevent their species from dying out. (Endling means the last of a species.) She funds her research by acting as a possible bride on romance tours for Western men looking for docile wives. Nastia is also a member of this potential bride group, but she’s looking to make a statement. Her mother was a feminist who protested against these romance tours. Now, she’s missing. But Nastia and her sister are hoping a grand statement may draw their mother out. And so, with Yeva’s help, they kidnap a group of bachelors. And that’s all I’ll say about the plot because you want to be caught off guard.
The book encompasses so many themes, on both the grand and personal levels - exploitation, war, identity, ecology. As another reviewer wisely said, this is a book that demands a second reading. It would make a great book club selection.
The story is told from multiple POVs, even down to Lefty the snail, and the audiobook uses a whole cast of narrators to great effect.

[nastya · Rating 4 out of 5]

It started weak but ended strong, it won me over, surprising me with its choices and refusing to provide saccharine, melodramatic answers. It’s angry, chaotic, confused, hopeful, desperate, self-aware, always searching, always questioning, never offering neat resolutions. Truly a work of art. It’s the biggest surprise I’ve had with a book in I don’t know however long, and a reminder that sometimes, though very, very, extremely rarely, you shouldn’t bail on a book too early. This is one of those unicorns.

[switterbug (Betsey) · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’ve had my own near endlings recently with certain beloved family going through transition from familiar home to unexpected compromises. That’s not relevant to the book except that it is a lot about endings. In the novel, it is of a species of snail— a species that the young protagonist, Yeva, studies, and reveres, a snail with a conical shell that spirals to the left, making breeding all but impossible. Lefty, a tree snail, has her heart. Endling refers to the finality of species, from here to nevermore.

Yeva is a young malacologist in Ukraine and her work is what gives her the greatest bliss. Humans are difficult, and a passing gaze Yeva had with a past man and snail lover is broken or never sustained. And here we are in early 2022 meeting the odd soldier in the woods. Yeva has met and become involved with a pair of sisters, Nastiya and Solomiya, who are doing what she is doing: “romance tours” in Ukraine, dating men on the marriage market to fund their ambitions and their lives. They aren't looking for a husband. This novel mostly happens in the wild. In the forests of war, the Russians are coming; they’re here.

And so it is, when real life and fictional life merge inexplicably. The spirit of these women inspired me to find the parts of me that are most like them--adventurous, unafraid of being confronted. I feel them indivisibly. Maria Reva wrote her characters deeply in the ink, on every page they rose and expanded. The two sisters are participating in the romance tours to gain the attention of their mother, a well-known activist against the romance tours. Two sisters and a scientist thrown into chaos and danger during the throes of war illuminates a tender and tough story about survival.

These three women get finger-pointed as sex workers, basically, or sellouts, yet the men are not actually criticized for signing up and participating. There was comedy and absurdity with this clash and dashing of men who were serious wooers. I was delighted to follow the story wherever it went. It wet to Yeva's mobile snail lab in the woods of Ukraine. Delicate yet hardy, these snails are an allegory for the endurance of these women. The more you learn about malacology, the deeper you will love these little creatures, and be rooting for the three woman that dominate the pages.

I finished this a month ago, caught up in my own endings, as I said earlier, so any attempt I had to provide a linear reconstruction is dwindling. What remains and resurfaces from the novel are the daily triumphs and defeats that make a life, that honor or threaten existence during wartime and personal conflict. Navigating emotional, psychological, and geologic territory in the midst of a surrounding infantry, and driving a huge, ungainly mobile lab, Yeva, with Nestia and Soloyima, form a bond that begins when Russia invades Ukraine in the late winter of 2022.

There are thrills, suspense, action, and if you don’t fall in love with snails and these women then you aren’t opening up your senses with every page. Wordplay and metaphysics, surreal scenes in the forest and just a wisp of romance kept me enthralled. There’s also a dozen or so bachelors in the bowels of the mobile lab; they just went along for the ride. :)

While Russian tanks pummel and trample through the border and gateways of Ukrainian cities, the people of this lab on wheels cross borders of knowledge, courage, scientific research, and zones of comfort. Which stories will survive the war, even more than which people? What will the future say about the past, and how does science tell us how to live? What do people of entirely different beliefs and perceptions have to say to each other, and how do we ensure our own species survives?

As Yeva decides to chase down another Lefty (special form of tree snail) 900 kilometers away in the midst of gunfire and enemy soldiers, she and her bevy of bachelors and two sisters tread. As Yeva let out an animal roar that disturbed a flock of birds in a nearby bush, she thought of the snail she was tracking, “a lone messenger no larger than her thumbnail carried millions of years of genetic memory. For all she knew, its tree had already been burned down by the invading army. Hope for a species reappeared, and just as quickly disappeared.”

Thank you to the Knopf Doubleday publishers for sending me an ARC of Endlings to review. I was slower than a snail to finally post my review, so I suppose I got carried away...

[Henk · Rating 4 out of 5]

Deservedly long listed for the Booker prize 2025!
A daring novel on snails, the war in Ukraine, the mail order bride industry and the life of emigres, that stops itself midway. Hilarious at times while being heartfelt
Why does a country need to be bombed before we talk about it?

Maria Reva brings us a story of an asexual female scientist who is tending to 276 snails in a mobile lab in Ukraine. Yewa, whose name means Eve, tends to Endlings, last of snail species. Meanwhile she is also contemplating suicide given the hopelessness to stop the Sixth Extinction. To fund her preservation of snail species, we are transported into the world of "mail order brides" and an agency called Romeo meet Julia (prompting the wry observation: Ukraine: a bread basket and a bride basket from one of the characters. Here we have “Bachelors” and “Brides to be”, including sisters Nastia and Solomiya, desparate to find their missing mother who was part of a protest group similar to Pussyriot.

Endling: A Novel doesn't shy away from colourful characters, and in terms of themes we haven't even talked about the war of 2022 and Pasha, a kind-hearted, disillusioned engineer who grew up in Canada but now returns as a bachelor to a country he no longer knows. His perspective is interesting as it reflects the projections second generation emigrates get thrust upon them, from financial success to expectations of artistic development.

In part II of the novel the author features herself, where she is pondering her first novel, after the modest success of Good Citizens Need Not Fear: Stories. She laments George Saunders and his “elevation” from short story writer to Booker prize winner.
She gets feedback from her publisher on a character arc: She begins as a psychopath and she ends like a psychopath
And she frets on how ethical it is to write two Ukrainian tropes into the book, mail order brides and naked chests female protesters. Underneath this are concerns about identity (Am I even a real Ukrainian?) and the powerless to speak as an individual in the face of the continuous war against Ukraine.
This section of the novel is definitely my favourite, include the acknowledgments at the 40% point of the book and the note on the type, and the attestation: This book, a novel
She even dreams of the following blurb appearing on the cover: George Saunders describing her book as A mansion of interconnected yurts, sturdy and indestructible, definitely a novel

Meanwhile the narrative in Ukraine continues with dark scenes in Kherson, where Russia is filming PR for the invasion, and we get to a grandfather stuck in Ukraine, where the author is clearly no longer adhering to I’m speaking in symbols
We even have short chapters from the perspective of a snail, who don’t see well apparently.
Meanwhile some bachelors are dragged along, and find out that a belief in hoaxes and projecting interpretation on others can turn out very wrongly indeed.

The paths of the main characters diverge near the end, and are far from neat, which leads to the following observation in the book: Not very believable, an ending like that
Snails and species survival against all odds being pursued seems a metaphor for what little individuals can do, but still try, in the face of a scary world where might is right.
Anger was a proper antidote for worry according to one of the character, but maybe satire and absurdity are equally up to the task. An exciting read that is both fun, deep and fresh, featuring characters who are highly rememberable, if not fully real in my view because of the fourth wall breaking. Still, gladly rounding up my 3.5 stars for this morally uncomfortable satire with real heart. And snails.

Quotes:
The future had been a luxury, the future didn’t exist anymore

You cling to the idea of your mother because you have no other personality. Nothing in there, no one home. A pretty shell. That’s it.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 5 out of 5]

Longlisted for the 2025 Booker Prize

I need to keep fact and fiction straight, but they keep blurring together.

Endling by Maria Reva is a brilliant meta-fictional debut novel, darkly humorous but with important messages about love, survival in the face of aggression, and the need for resistance against US and Russian territorial aggression, and surely must feature in this year's Booker Prize.

The novel began as a more conventional one, although with an unusual subject matter, combining the marriage-tourism industry in Ukraine with the preservation of snail species on the verge of extinction, but which was derailed by the 2022 full-scale Russian invasion, leading the author to at first abandon the project, but then pick it up with the meta-fictional slant, where the novel contains the process of writing it:

Explain the inspiration for your project or why you wish to undertake it at this time:

My opus draws inspiration from the wellspring of narrative prowess exuded by Deb Olin Unferth's canonical work, Barn 8, wherein the notions of abduction and social justice deftly intertwine, as well as the groundbreaking metafictional elements prominently displayed within the protonovelistic oeuvre of Salvador Plascencia's The People of Paper. Thus fortified by the literary beacons that have illuminated the path before me, Endling seeks to transcend the boundaries of conventionality while being grounded in the timeless questions of the human condition. Now that Russia is conducting a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the central conflict woven into the delicate fabric of my novel, namely the influx of Western suitors into Ukraine, has been subjugated-or ripped apart, to keep with the metaphor—by a far more violent and destructive narrative. My novel (postnovel? yet-to-be defined entity?) needs further tailoring to reflect these rapidly changing circumstances.

The author has said in an interview in The Rumpus that "I think the novel is itching to be ripped apart again", and the book e.g. contains a fake ending part way through, inspired by Salvador Plascencia's book The People of Paper and this interview with him where he expresses similar sentiments. The highlight of the fake ending for me was this take on the usually rather po-faced notes on the typeface that many books include:

A NOTE ON THE TYPE
This book, a novel, was set in Serifus Libris, a typeface designed by distinguished Italian engraver Giuseppe Pizzinini (1852-1913).

Conceived as a private handkerchief embroidery type to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of his marriage to Countess Johanna Trauttmansdorff of Austria, and modernized before his untimely death by screw press, this type displays the tireless qualities of a master craftsman intent on weaving letter to letter, sentence to sentence, chapter to chapter, to create a sense of cohesion or an illusion thereof. In this way he shaped manifold manuscripts, however unshapely in their nascent form, into acceptable books. An ardent worker, Pizzinini remained steadfast at his beloved printing press even on his (rare) breaks, arranging and rearranging letter blocks with his apprentices to see who could spell the heaviest word. He has been credited as the inventor of the game now commonly known as Scrabble.

There is a further strong resonance to the novel in 2025, which Reva mentions in the Rumpus interview: "Some people are turning Trump’s rhetoric about Canada-as-fifty-first-state into a joke. But we need to feel the power of a statement like that because it’s very close to how Putin talked about Ukraine leading up to various stages of aggression. How the border is supposedly artificial, illegitimate, that all Ukrainians want to be part of Russia, all sorts of falsehoods. Trump is saying Canadians want to be part of the US, that it would help our economy and security, that we’re basically one people because of our shared language and history."

This could, if at all, only have been a late inclusion in the novel, given Trump's Putinesque rhetoric is reasonably recent (December 2024 originally, and more seriously from around March 2025). But the it is apposite that the novel does indeed contain a passing but important reference to Laura Secord, a Canadian heroine of the fight against previous American acts of aggression.

The Canadian hero Laura Secord came to his mind—she who’d waded thirty kilometers through forest and mud and mosquitoes two hundred years ago to warn the British colonies of an American attack, then become immortalized as a chocolate brand.

Henry Sandham's painting of Laura Secord, in June 1813, being escorted to the British outpost by Mohawk warriors to warn of the invasion.

Laura Secord Milk Chocolates with Hazelnuts

A tree snail, preternaturally social, whose scraggly conical shell spiraled to the left instead of the right, rendering breeding impossible with 99 percent of his species. To an already decimated population Lefty was, biologically speaking, useless. She loved him all the more.

The real-life 'Lefty the Snail', Jeremy, with two of his 'righty' i.e. clockwised shelled, offspring.

There’s this quote by Constantine Tereshchenko, a local visual artist: “Culture is the thinnest layer of moss on the body of human existence. It was shaved off with a bulldozer, now there’s an enormous wound.”

Detail from 'Take a rest' by Constantine Tereshchenko


Cover design by ChatGPT

[Michael Burke · Rating 5 out of 5]

Maria Reva's "Endling" is a book so captivating, it demands a second reading. There's a masterful complexity at play, inviting a closer look at how the author weaves everything together. There are comparisons to the work of George Saunders and Percival Everett– and this is a clue to the journey we are in for.

Set in 2022 Ukraine, there are multiple plotlines unfolding. Yeva, a struggling scientist, is on a mission to save snail species from extinction. To fund her research, she works in a “romance tour” industry where bachelors seek to meet “traditional” Ukrainian women. It is here she meets two sisters who conspire with her to kidnap thirteen of these bachelors as a protest, a way of drawing attention to the romance tours.

We are aware of what turn history is going to take, but the characters all seem to be in denial, even with the threat of Putin’s troops amassing at the border. The narrative is abruptly shattered by the onset of air strikes. The author, Maria Reva, breaks the fourth wall and inserts herself as a character. She questions the feasibility of continuing the story, expressing deep concern for her family, especially her grandfather, who she knows will refuse to evacuate.

“I need to keep fact and fiction straight, but they keep blurring together.”

Like the best novels and movies, this is an experience worth revisiting. So many facets are skillfully interwoven. There is the “Romeo Meets Yulia” pairing of desperate men seeking to expedite relationships. Yeva is looking to find a mate for Lefty, her snail who may be the end of his species (an “endling"). The kidnapping caper is fraught with almost slapstick missteps...

…and then these components are suddenly reshuffled by the carnage of war. A remarkable accomplishment, this blending of humor and tragedy.

"This novel turns corners and tables. I love works that are smarter than I am, and this is one.”– Percival Everett, author of Pulitzer Prize winner James

Trigger warning: #SnailSensuality.

Thank you to Doubleday Books and NetGalley for providing an advance reader copy in exchange for an honest review. #Endling #NetGalley

[Roman Clodia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Art is supposed to provoke reaction

And this book did provoke a reaction in me - a series of reactions which were all over the place. But that messiness and chaos probably best articulates the formation of this book which, I understand, Reva was writing when the process was disrupted by the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Her story gets upended - just as the country has been - and, in lots of ways, remains unfinished. It's this 'real time' aspect of writing in the midst of war which, in the end, explains my rating.

At the start, I noticed the energy in the writing as the plot strand of Yeva and her snails gets mashed up with Nastia and Sol, two young women who take part in 'romance tours' as Western men come to the country to find wives. But they're doing this with ulterior motives that we only learn gradually - to attract the attention of their absent radical feminist/activist mother . Mother and daughter relationships fill out the first part of the story with Yeva's own mother comically desperate to get her married. This start is sardonic and funny, knowingly leaning into stereotypes of what Reva describes as ''mail-order brides' and topless protesters'.

But then the invasion happens - and everything changes. At this point, Reva writes herself into the narrative as the meta fictional author working on this book while her feelings are in turmoil. At this point, my emotions also raised a level, not least at Reva's anxiety about her 87 year old grandfather who is refusing to leave Kherson. From here the narrative bifurcates: the whacky story of the three young women on their quirky individual quests gets overtaken by trigger-happy Russian soldiers, tanks and check-points. Reva keeps some of the sardonic humour going but it gets blacker now, inevitably: the absurdist scenes where a Russian propaganda film is being shot of 'welcoming Ukrainians' holding out bread and salt to their Russian 'liberators'.

Increasingly, it's Reva's metafictional insertions that held my attention, especially when the Masha of the fictional story metamorphoses into a version of the author, causing all kinds of subversions to both narratives. While we learn that Reva is revising this text on Day 914 of the war, the main narrative is set right at the start and perhaps pulls its punches to keep it palatable for a general audience: we see two Russian soldiers dragging away a female protester but there's no trace of the atrocities that we, in our present, know happened.

In the end, it's surprisingly Pasha who articulates issues about creating art in the middle of a war just as Reva states 'here I am again, trying to make use of another cataclysm'.

So that this is a messy narrative is not just inevitable but is what kept me reading and is perhaps the point: I'm still not sure that the whimsical snail story and the attempt to turn them into something like hope works; nor am I sure that the insertions of Reva's own personal anxieties gel with the wacky tone. But as a book which deals in real-time metafiction with a story which itself gets invaded by external events, this is fascinating. That Reva turns this into something questioning about the role of art in times of catastrophe, which is emotive without being sentimental, and which incorporates real life to reach an end without closure is hugely impressive.

[Robin · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an "it" book in my world. People in my GRs group had a buddy read, even my work book club (mainly populated by SF-loving engineers) is reading it. Maybe because it's written by someone who lives in Vancouver? Or because her debut novel has been long-listed for the Booker prize? Or because of its timely subject matter, Russia's attack on Ukraine?

Whatever the reason for it's "it-ness", I see why it's gotten so much attention, and I applaud Maria Reva for her unique and powerful book.

I feel a bit at a remove from it, though, and I wish that wasn't so. I believe this is due to the form. Endling could easily be categorized as "postmodern" and "metafiction". The author herself pops in multiple times and talks about the process of writing the book, and she re-writes certain parts. I feel really mixed about this aspect of the book. Generally, I don't love meta, as it takes me out of the story and screams artifice. I realize I'm reading a book. I realize there is a human behind the book, playing a little game of peek-a-boo. I'm holding a thing in my hand, called a book, created by this human.

In this case, the meta was so alive and interesting, I grudgingly was drawn into it... more than the story?? I almost wished the whole book was something else, something just as real and as powerful as these meta sections. Where the writer is trying to get her grandfather to open his door and leave Ukraine. Where she laments that her first book (a collection of stories) didn't sell well.

Those parts seemed much more real (because they were) and compelling than the artifice of the rest of the book, for me. The mail-order bride story and the snail-conservationist story mildly held my interest. To be sure, this is a book built by an intelligent mind, with pathos, with humour, with anger, with insight. The author plays with the idea of survival, both literally and metaphorically. And as a Canadian, I do see parallels between what has happened to Ukraine, with what has been threatened against my country since January of this year. It's no joke, and no coincidence.

So, though I feel less connected and less moved than I want to be, at the end of the reading, I do feel an admiration nonetheless. It's an art piece, and a great accomplishment for Maria Reva.

3.5 stars

[Kasa Cotugno · Rating 5 out of 5]

So far, my favorite book of this year. How Maria Reva has made the impossible accessible, that of a metafictional account of three women with distinct goals in Ukraine's early days of invasion, added to a healthy dose of scientific knowledge about of all things, snails, and one woman's attempt to track down a possible mate for what she believes to be the final remaining example of a species, or endling. To make ends meet, Yeva gets a paying job as a prospective Ukrainian wife for American "bachelors" on the prowl for suitable mates. Meeting two sisters using the same method to get the attention of their missing mother who once flashed Putin and has gone underground. Having lured 12 (make that 13) bachelors on an escape room adventure, the three find themselves confronted with the actual Russian invasion. And that's all I'll say about the plot. Reva has managed to incorporate auxiliary characters in short chapters, rounding out events. Highly recommended.

[Iryna Chernyshova · Rating 4 out of 5]

Сюжет намічу дуже пунктирно - троє дівчат викрадають іноземців-холостяків і в лабораторному трейлері колесять з ними просторами України. І все це стається акурат в ніч на 24.02.22. Навіщо вони це роблять- все в книзі.

Рівень крінжа достатньо великий, але він явно контролюємий, бо авторка часто, інколи надмірно, очевидно стібеться.

Метафора книги - равлик, на всіх рівнях, равлик, свиток, папірус - щось кругле і багатошарове.

Для мене головна проблема цієї книга в її, так би мовити, гейміфікації. Чи зі всього можна зробити проєкт, книгу, стейтмент? Як привернути увагу вестернів (і навіщо) до війни, яка не збирається закінчуватися? Зробити тупих картонкових персонажів, у яких відсутне базове почуття виживання і напихати тонну кліше? А потім текст просочити думками, де помітно, що авторка прекрасно все розуміє як воно насправді. Чи маєш право писати про далеку війну, сидячи в теплому тилу/за дохуліон кілометрів? А якщо тобі болить, а якщо в тебе там родичі? Як взагалі писати про цю війну - як про war porno, як стьоб, як жанр, як книгу - претендентку на Букера? Ви знаете? Я ні. Гадаю, що і ніхто.


Книга безумовно підходить до бук-клубів і взагалі подивимось що там відбудеться з нею далі.

[Neale · Rating 5 out of 5]

Longlisted for the 2025 Booker Prize.

The novel is set in Ukraine just before the Russians invade. Yeva is a loner and seemingly incapable of love. She tells her mother, who is terrified that Yeva will end up alone, that she likes neither men nor women. She has spent the last few years of her life trying to save many types of snails who have become endlings. Endling is the name given for the last of a species before extinction. Yeva is about to take her own life when she meets Nastia and her sister Sol.

Nastia, along with Yeva are what society used to call “Mail order brides”. Men, mainly westerners, come to the Ukraine for romance tours, pretty much a euphemism for human trafficking, hoping to take home one of the women for a wife. Nastia wants to hire Yeva’s mobile lab that she uses for the snails. Nastia wants to kidnap 100 men from the romance tour in a publicity stunt that she naïvely thinks will shut down the whole bride shopping industry. She also hopes that it will attract the attention of her activist mother who left her and her sister, presumably to hide from her last protest we are not sure.

Remarkably the kidnapping takes place, albeit with thirteen men abducted rather than one hundred, but then the Russians invade Ukraine throwing a hammer and sickle into the works.

This is where the book gets interesting. It’s not a spoiler (Reva has talked about it in interviews). Reva writes herself into the novel. Not as a character in the narrative but as herself, the author of the story. Fiction and reality clash and the novel dips into metafiction. Even if you are not a fan of metafiction, the story is strong enough to enjoy on its own. For me, I loved reading Reva’s parts of the novel. It was a great way of enlightening the reader into just how difficult it must be to write a novel set in your home country that has just been invaded, and you have family living in the war zone. What it must feel like writing in safety a world away. Writing a fictional novel while the harsh reality of a war invades that very fictional space you are writing.

The novel is also darkly humorous. Three women, thirteen abducted male hostages, driving into a warzone to save a snail. Where in the world did Reva come up with this, but trust me it all works. It’s a brilliant book, deserving of a second read and a place on the booker shortlist.

I can't wait for Reva to write another novel. :-)

[Jessica Woodbury · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars. This is a hard one to rate, it is doing so many things and that is intentional. As a work of meta fiction--a narrative about narratives--it is most effective. But strangely I found that once it took this turn it was strangely unwilling to really engage with it. That is, ultimately, what may be the most difficult about this book. It is about the war in Ukraine, a real event that is ongoing and still has people under threat every day, and part of what Reva struggles with is that once war breaks out it takes over all stories, it becomes the biggest stakes of all, whatever little story you were trying to tell now feels ridiculous. And she gives us some ways to let this play out in the novel itself, but the metaphor never fully works in the novel. The war-torn version of the story lacks stakes and character and all the things we had before. That is the point, but it also means we only have half a novel. What I wish is that Reva was able to push us even further to fill that void with something more to say. It's a struggle, and much of the book is about that: the difficulty of saying anything in the face of such horror. And yet, that is the thing that we must do. The thing Endling almost does.

[Nat K · Rating 4 out of 5]

***Longlisted for the Booker Prize 2025***

” ‘Wasn’t your novel originally going to be about a marriage agency in Ukraine?’
‘Null and void.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘The premise was irrelevant. I was writing about a so-called invasion of Western bachelors to Ukraine, and then an actual invasion happened. Even in peace time I felt queasy leaning into not one but two Ukrainian tropes, ‘mail order brides’ and topless protestors. To continue now seems unforgivable.’ .”

I've always said Russians make the best satirists. Now I'll add Ukrainian to that list. Laugh or cry. As Maria Reva says, gallows humour is often the only thing that keeps people going in times of absolute anguish.

You gotta love a book filled with gastropods 🐌 And Endlings.

”Snails were, by definition slow.”

Yeva is a tall, wild haired conservationist who only cares for her snails. The rarer the better. To the consternation of her Ukrainian mother, she shows no interest in men. Nor women either. Her focus is completely on her one footed friends.

Pasha (Paul) is in his 30s and returning to the homeland of his birth to find a bride. Though he’s spent most of his life in Canada, the pull of “home” is strong. He’s convinced this is where his future lies. Speaking lousy Ukrainian and even worse Russian, he’s determined to make his dreams come true and prove to his parents that he has made something of himself.

Sol and Nastia are the daughters of a militant feminist protestor who has gone AWOL. Working for the aptly named marriage agency Romeo Meets Yulia the two are hoping to somehow gain the attention of their mother through a cunning plan (why do I always think of Blackadder’s Baldrick when I hear that line!) to “kidnap” several hapless bachelors via the lure of a very special party in the forest. But we all know what happens when you have thirteen at dinner…

Unbeknownst to them all, rumours of an army marching across their borders turn out to be much more than that. Really bizarre and crazy situations transpire as reality and fiction meld together.

This is a really curious book that questions identity and how we determine where we belong. Is it where we are born? Where you have created your life? Your home? Can you leave behind a lifetime of possessions and memories or do you fight til your last breath to save them?

There’s a lot of very dark humour, and salty salty satire.

Buddy read with the wonderful, talented Mr.Nealski. We had quite a few interesting discussions as this is the sort of book that allows you to go down all sorts of rabbit holes. As I mentioned to him, I think that George Orwell would have a field day with this book, as it’s another case of where life is stranger than fiction. This would be a terrific choice for a Bookclub pick.

I invite you to read Neale's review at:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Book 2 of my Booker Prize longlist odyssey. This is definitely a shoe in to make it to the shortlist.

Long live all the Endlings! 🐌 Budmo!

Postscript! Wednesday 03.September.25
I've been looking at some of the very interesting reviews/thoughts/fotos about this book on Bookstagram and one reader hit the nail on the head. He described this as "absurdist" fiction. Which describes it perfectly. It's the word I was searching for and could not find. Absurdist fiction at its best.

✒️📸 Shout out to the very clever wong.numbar for coming up with just the right phrase.

https://www.instagram.com/p/DNIpql2Ir...

[Ari Levine · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5, rounded down. I know that this breakthrough novel has been getting rave reviews here and elsewhere, but problems with tone prevented me from connecting to it emotionally.

Endling begins as a whimsical character study of Yeva, a solitary conservation biologist in the Ukraine who's obsessed with preserving rare specimens of soon-to-be-extinct tree snails. Yeva finances her research by moonlighting at marriage-agency events with Western bachelors seeking Ukrainian brides, where she meets the sisters Nastia and Solo, who are also participating in the events as a potential bride and her English translator. But they're really searching for their activist mother, who had long been campaigning against the marriage market before her mysterious disappearance, and they rope Yeva into a cockamamie scheme to kidnap a dozen bachelors as an attention-grabbing protest.

The escalating level of quirkiness soon became overwhelming and even off-putting, even before the Russian invasion of February 2022 violently crashed into the narrative. Reva lurchingly shifts the novel into metafictional mode, and the novel becomes a novel about a Ukrainian-Canadian novelist named Maria Reva who's writing a novel about barbaric horrors and indiscriminate violence, as she anxiously worries about the survival of her elderly grandfather, who's chosen to stay behind in war-ravaged Kherson. But despite the deadly bleakness of the situation, and the extreme danger that our heroines have knowingly exposed themselves (and a van stuffed with kidnapped dudes) to, the novel's tone remained incongruously playful, in ways that I found grating rather than ingratiating.

The thematic elements were cleverly engineered: endangered snail, perhaps the last of its species, seeking a mate is analogous to aging American bachelors seeking Ukrainian wives. If your tolerance for self-aware kookiness is higher than mine, you will enjoy Endling more than I did.

Thanks to Doubleday and Netgalley for sharing an ARC of this in exchange for an honest and unbiased review.

[Sofia · Rating 4 out of 5]

A special salute to the ultimate romantic hero ever, Lefty.........

A book of many, many threads and permutations. In fact, I think Reva was on a special mission not to miss a single permutation. Like life which uses mutations to survive new, possibly dangerous environments, Reva also mutates her story so that we get different possibilities, alternate realities. This created a surreal effect to the whole which was already surreal enough with the absurdities of war, conflict and all that brings along.

In any conflict, apart from the reality and truth of the conflict itself we also get the added layer of the propaganda and the different perspectives pushed forward from all sides. Reva does this in her book as well. We get actions and then we also see them as filtered through the propaganda. So, fact and fiction mix and like with today’s newsreels we are left wondering what the truth is? Is there a truth? Is there a single truth?

Reva does indeed craft all the threads into a kaleidoscopic fabric where she threads in, romance, human trafficking, advocacy, immigration, extinction, survival, war, atrocities. Her fabric is a work of art in that it shifts and changes colours as different lights hit it.

Included in the Booker 2025 longlist.

The Last of it's Kind - Ed Yong - The Atlantic

[Doug · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5, rounded down.

#10 of the Booker 2025 longlist for me to have read.

Although this currently sits #3 in my personal ranking of this year's longlist, I DO think it's the one to beat and would be shocked if it were NOT to make the shortlist. I say this as it is by far the most original and quirky of the novels I've read so far and also has the advantage of being about something au courant and politically important, i.e., the invasion of Ukraine by Russia - but done in a very accessible manner.

For the most part I found it quite entertaining and often humorous, as well as thought-provoking, but where I quibble is that a lot of the time, I felt a bit adrift and like I wasn't sure exactly where I was or what was going on. I realize in retrospect such was entirely intentional, but that - and some of the metafictional elements, just did not work that well for me.

For me, this is turning out to be the 'Year of Destabilization' for the Booker Prize with nearly half of the books on the longlist using techniques to disorient and confuse the reader. Usually I can get behind that, but in my encroaching old age I often worry that not following something is a sign of my own mental decline! :-(. Still, should this take the prize, I wouldn't be upset.

[leah · Rating 4 out of 5]

endling follows yeva, an ecologist who travels around in a campervan-turned-mobile lab to conserve snails facing extinction, i.e. endlings - the last surviving member of a species. to fund her conservation work, yeva intermittently works for a company which runs ‘romance tours’ in ukraine, aka a mail-order bride business. while working there, yeva meets nastia and sol, two sisters who, inspired by their feminist activist mother, are planning a PR stunt in which they kidnap some of the foreign bachelors to protest the marriage industry. from there the book sets off as a kind of feminist heist / road trip story - but then russia invades ukraine, and the entire novel splinters, stopping us in our tracks to question what we’ve been reading.

i enjoy a meta fictional book when it’s done well, and with endling maria reva impressively demonstrates her ability to play with the form of the novel. some may not enjoy how disjointed it is, but the author uses this as a way to reckon with her own artistic concerns - art under occupation, writing during conflict, making fiction out of tragedy, the chasm between your country being invaded and the rest of the world continuing on. the author was born in ukraine but has since moved to canada, and passages of the book focus on her guilt surrounding writing about a country she’s now so far from.

the novel is smart, sharp, and full of dry humour, a necessary and also impressive feat for a book with several dark themes. the (western) world’s view of ukraine is allegorically funnelled into the snails / the endlings that yeva is trying so valiantly to conserve - even if no one else cares about saving the snails, they still deserve to survive.

[Chris · Rating 5 out of 5]

Such a wonderful novel! It’s original, topical, metafictional, serious, sad, and occasionally hilarious. The plot can hardly be explained, but it’s absolutely brilliant and so far this is my favourite book of the year!
Thank you Penguin Random House US and Edelweiss for the ARC

[Joy D · Rating 5 out of 5]

Set in Ukraine in 2022, this book follows protagonist Yeva, a malacologist (aka gastropodologist) posing as a potential bride for romance tours to make money to fund her mobile laboratory. She meets the two daughters of an activist. One is working as a potential bride, and the other is her translator. These two are planning an elaborate stunt that will expose the bride tourism industry and attract the attention of their activist mother, with whom they hope to reunite. They convince Yeva to take part in their plan.

At this point, the novel becomes metafictional, drawing attention to the fact that the author’s original intent for this book needed to change due to the Russian invasion of Ukraine. After a rather abrupt “ending” to the initial story, it picks back up with the three women in the same setting, but the plot changes to incorporate the War. A Ukrainian-Canadian man has traveled back to Ukraine to get reacquainted with his homeland. He accidentally becomes enmeshed in the stunt. The storyline involves the women journeying across Ukraine to rescue a snail species.

This book is most unusual in its structure and combination of war, environmental issues, social activism, and snail behaviors. It is a beautifully written unique novel, and quite impressive, especially for a debut novel. It will appeal to readers who enjoy creative metafiction. It is the type of book that is sure to garner literary accolades and awards. It may even become a classic.

[Lee · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very impressive, perceptive and funny but often a bit too much of a good thing. The book increasingly suffers from an overripe tonal sluggishness, a factor that keeps the novel away from 5-star territory and makes it much more slow-going than might have been the case.

[Meike]

Longlisted for the Booker Prize 2025
People seem to love this one, let's check it out!

[John Caleb Grenn · Rating 1 out of 5]

“Snails were just that. Snails.”

There’s a lot at play in this novel. Not a one of it works together.

You’ve got brides in waiting. “Yeva” and “Anastasia” meaning Eve and Resurrection. Snails hoping to mate and match up. Saving the last one. Matchmaking across borders against all odds as love finds a way. Fate? Fate. It’s about fate! Recruit 12 men to head across the country to protest current (horrific) events. 12, a bíblical, fated number. This novel is off to such a firecracker start!

There’s a mirroring of how environmental disaster leads to extinction of snail species, too slow to reach each other, with how war—the destruction of community and connection leads to the inability of men and women/“us and them” to speak with each other, truly communicate or connect any more. Women, masked, trying to kidnap men to create a statement. It’s all a big swirling commentary of connection and how we spiral away from one another and become extinct to each other over time that suddenly stops working, so the narrative takes a hard right. That’s where it lost me.

The rest of this novel turns into part writer’s memoir that essentially blames the pandemic and the war in Ukraine for the failure of the authors first novel. There’s more to it, sure, but that was my takeaway. And its commentary on how the war takes away time for humans to focus on good art.

Am I wrong that there seems to be this tendency for novels that aren’t working as a story lately to try this meta approach of “add some autofiction” and “make generalized commentary about a specific current event” that seems as if the author is trying to elevate the novel above critique? Sure, this has been done well, and been done well for YEARS (I.e. The Grapes of Wrath) but imagine if Steinbeck quit talking about the Joads, talked about how The Great Depression and publishing and the flu was why Tortilla Flat was a flop and made it about himself.

Can’t stand it.

[Ruben · Rating 4 out of 5]

4,5 - This smart novel combines a wild plot with metafictional elements that make a thought-provoking whole.

The setting is Ukraine and our main character is beautiful, independent Yeva who is obsessed with saving Ukraine's threatened snail species from extinction. To finance her mobile lab, she goes on dates with Western men who have come to Ukraine via a 'bridal agency'.

When a colleague of Yeva develops a wild plot to kidnap some of these bachelors, she decides to play along.

But when the plan finally reaches execution (at around 40% into the novel), war breaks out and the novel starts taking unexpected twists and turns as well, lifting it to another level and morphing into something unique, sharp and exciting. I just went along for the ride and thought it was excellent.

[Carl Reads · Rating 5 out of 5]

Maria Reva’s Endling is one of my favourite novels of 2025. Reva offers a blisteringly clever, metafictional work that transports the reader to Ukraine, moments just before the Russian invasion in 2022. But what sets Endling apart is its ingenious approach to this often-emotional theme, infusing the novel with dark humour, meticulous research, and a deeply personal perspective, resulting in a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts that both confront and transcend the horrors of war.

At first glance, Endling may not seem interesting, with a quirky description of Yeva, an itinerant snail scientist, cataloguing and rescuing and reintroducing endangered species across Ukraine (with Lefty, apparently the last of his kind) while working on a marriage company. Yeva eventually meets Nastia and her sister Sol, working in the same dating agency, until the moment they dare to kidnap foreign bachelors, at the same time as the war breaks out. What Reva manages to convey in her novel is nothing short of brilliance. Yeva is a charming character, and dare say an accurate caricature of a scientist grappling with endless bureaucracy and grant requests to fund her research. From the start, the reader glimpses into Yeva’s life, including her interesting/relatable/not-enough-explored sexuality, and inherent scepticism. “Rumor had it the girl was into God. Of course she was, sad thing. The religious ones made the perfect victims, used to bowing under threat from above. In the past Yeva would have risen to the rescue, but she was done caring.” The chapters alternate between introducing Nastia and Sol, and later, Pasha, a first-generation Ukrainian expatriate living in Canada (here, a parallel between Reva’s character and her nationality).

At its heart, Endling is not simply a war novel; although, paradoxically, it is. It is a layered exploration of the aggression of war that causes insufferable and irreparable loss but also rekindles the victims’ resilience and unity in the face of absurdity. Reva’s narrative leads her characters through surreal and poignant moments while they desperately try to save Lefty (and themselves). The endling Lefty serves as an allegory to Ukrainians, overlooked and probably the last of its species (harrowing). There is also a clear message of ecological preservation, and you will be surprised at how important snails are to the environment (and Ukrainians to civilization). I had the opportunity to learn about snails from a Ukrainian professor while she was developing a project using snails as rations to fight malnutrition, and fifteen years later, here I am reading and reviewing a book about a snail researcher! The marriage industry is another important point in this novel, and it parallels numerous other ‘black-marketish’ groups linked to sexual exploitation. However dark these themes are, Reva competently balances the weight of human nature with moments of surprising humour.

Reva’s writing is sharp, evocative, experimental and as ironic as COVID-19. She fuses her metafiction with vivid imagery, clever commentary, structure and formatting. To detail all would be a disservice to the reader. The brilliance of Reva’s storytelling lies in its ability to pivot between sharp humour and harrowing truths. I had the most fun reading this novel and connecting the references and inspirations between reality and fiction. A truly mind-bending, atemporal novel. Jokingly, Reva even plays with the reader as she may not be the most reliable author since she keeps correcting her memories about her life’s details, part of the metafictional aspect, smudging wishful thinking and reality (one of my favourite parts of the book). Skilful writing.

Maria Reva’s Endling is a masterpiece that deserves a place on every reader’s bookshelf or digital device. Its blending of dark humour, personal insight, irony, environmentalism, feminism, and meticulous research offers a fresh and unforgettable perspective on persistence in the face of the impossible. More than just a war novel, it is a portrayal of resilience, female rage, and humanity. Unlike other literary novels exploring the suffering caused by war, Endling stands out as a beacon of resilience. No more wars!

Rating: 5.0/5

Disclaimer: I received an Advance Reader Copy (ARC) of this book from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest and unbiased review. All thoughts and opinions expressed are my own.

Quotes might differ slightly from the final printed version:


" His words were the cruelest she’d ever heard. Finish the endlings off, just because they couldn’t fuck? The conservationist never would have said such a thing."

"Behold! the sites screamed. The phenomenon of the Ukraine Woman! Well groomed with the legs of the antelope and eyes of the feline. The Ukraine Woman keeps her hair long and body narrow, however she has a master’s degree and plays musical instruments! A former American president and owner of Miss Universe pageant confirmed: Ukraine is always well represented in the contestant demographic."

"I would also like to thank Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs for including my name on their personal sanctions list of Canadians who are now forbidden from entering their country, one of the biggest honors of my literary career."

"I need to keep fact and fiction straight, but they keep blurring together."

"In the first year of the war, when I felt guilty for crying (I’m not the one being bombed!) and then guilty for not crying (Think of those being bombed!), I wondered, uselessly, who had a proper claim to grief."

"Am I no better than a snail, sniffing out the softest, most rotten part of a log to feast on? At least a snail digests the rot and excretes nutrients, useful."

“Culture is the thinnest layer of moss on the body of human existence. It was shaved off with a bulldozer, now there’s an enormous wound.”

[Maryana · Rating 3 out of 5]

If I really focus, I can end the war. 

Ever since I first came across Maria Reva’s Endling, I’ve felt a blend of scepticism and curiosity. It has gained recognition on international lists at a time when Ukrainian literature, mainly works written in Ukrainian, is only beginning to be discovered more widely. At the same time, I do care about the voices of the diaspora, and I believe they matter. I wondered if this book could truly be a meaningful standout.

And it is, in a way, though not entirely to my personal taste. Reva’s idea is ambitious and bold. At times, it feels like she is writing the novel in real time. It starts off as a relatively conventional narrative but eventually ventures into more meta territory. The interludes - the article-like, journal-like passages are particularly striking. 

Who Has It Worse? 
I know it is a useless question, but my head is full of useless questions. Why have the Russians always been so obsessed with Ukraine? How many support Putin’s “special military operation”?

Watching a war from abroad, rather than living it, can be its own brand of horror. Moonlike, we in the diaspora watch the captured zones of our homeland ebb and flow like tides. We are aware of every wave of bombings, first in piecemeal fashion from texts, phone calls, and social media, then aggregated into numbers (deaths, injuries, scope of destruction) on the news. 

They hold a raw urgency and wit that stand apart. Yet, they also feel like declarations, almost “statements” of position rather than subtle explorations. That can make them powerful in bursts but the trade-off is that they risk flattening nuance. While I find both conventional narrative and metafictional parts (perhaps the whole novel is metafictional by now) engaging, I can’t help but sense a faltering intensity in the overall structure. The parts, while strong on their own, don’t always cohere into a greater whole.

Reva’s writing is punchy and humorous, striking a balance between realism and absurdity. When it shines, it truly excels. The satire is not just amusing but meaningful - it is a strategic subversion of tone. She astutely captures the contrast between what her Western audience seems to want to hear and what Reva believes Ukrainians view as a coping mechanism.

But why must a country be bombed before we care about it?

Last but not least - the endling of the endlings - the snail motif throughout the novel actually worked for me. Snails were, by definition, slow. Yet for some species, it was too late. Or some species are more equal than others. On one level, it captures the tension between the fragility of life and the relentlessness of circumstances, on another, it evokes the resilience of those who endure, slowly but persistently, in a world that often seems indifferent.

Ultimately, I respect the attempt more than I love the novel itself. The flashes of brilliance are undeniable. The satire is some of the best I’ve read in contemporary fiction. Although I didn’t love it as much as I wanted to, I believe it has the potential to speak across time and space, and I hope it will resonate with other readers. Perhaps I expected a slightly different work, and that is entirely my fault. Even so, Reva’s Endling leaves me unsettled in ways that matter. 

3.5/5



War and Love, Tania Yakunova, you can check her brilliant illustrations here.