This is a well-written but graphically brutal WWII novel that tells the story of two young Russian men thrown together during the war. Their conversations often tend toward coarse discussions about sexuality which seem to offer them only slight distractions from the horrors they witness and experience. If you enjoy WWII fiction, this one definitely offers a unique plot and perspective, and may be one you want to read, if you can handle the brutality and coarseness of the telling. 

“I’m not important. You’re not important. Winning the war, that’s the only important thing.”
 
“No,” I said, “I disagree. Markov was important. So am I and so are you. That’s why we have to win.”
 
Kolya raised his eyebrows, impressed that I was standing up to the little fanatic. “I’m especially important,” he announced. “I’m writing the great novel of the twentieth century.”

City of Thieves is an exploration of individualism against the backdrop of war, where collectivism commonly dominates the public attitude.

In the midst of a siege, two young men risk their lives in search of a dozen eggs. While it did take me some time to come to appreciate this unusual premise, I ultimately found the book engaging and original. Benioff places emphasis on the ordinary - simple things do not disappear in chaos. If anything, they ground us. Our reality is built upon friendship, sex, poetry, literature, chess, and eggs.

The story is told in first-person by Lev, a Jewish teen living alone in Leningrad during World War II. Lev’s narration is a stream of consciousness, often reminiscing or philosophizing mid-action. This style suits the story well, breaking up the nonstop movement of the main plot.

The reader, privy to the entirety of Lev’s inner monologue,  hears the worst of him- his selfishness, his immaturity (especially in his perception of women), his weakness, and his cowardice. Think Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye.
 
However, I couldn’t help but warm to Lev. Since the main plot of the book only spans a single week, there isn’t room for traditional character development. It would be unrealistic to shove a full character evolution into such a brief window. 

But Benioff is clever. Rather than rushing a change in Lev, he forces the reader to question and reframe their original perception of the character. Lev’s wit, empathy, and stubborn will to survive are all revealed throughout the course of the story. We’re left feeling that Lev had these qualities all along, they only needed to be unearthed.
 
Much of this character revelation is enabled through Kolya, who serves as a perfect foil to Lev. When Lev freezes in the face of danger, Kolya is impulsive to a fault. While Lev treats life with a healthy amount of cynicism, Kolya romanticizes everything from women to literature. Their odd couple dynamic and budding friendship is the heart of the book.
 
In contrast to the slow start, the ending is executed quite well (although I predicted fairly early on that

Kolya would die

). The final chapters are remarkably tense; delivering triumph, tragedy, and bitterness without missing a beat. 
 
Only one aspect of this conclusion fell flat. The romance

between Lev and Vika

felt forced.

While I enjoyed Vika as a character, I didn’t see anything beyond platonic chemistry between her and Lev. It seems that he only likes her because he’s ridiculously horny (as Benioff takes every opportunity to remind us), and she only likes him because he saved her life. Their happy ending, while sweet, seemed tonally misaligned with the rest of the story.