His charge was electric and ""I was stunned by the marble beauty of his satin ass"" but like any busy executive he left her behind and her yearning for ""love in suede summer nights"" drove her into various petits amours while her mother kept asking, when are you going to have a baby? So then it's 1910 and Lenin is sweet on Inessa Armand and she's washing dishes in Zurich and bingo, the revolution breaks out. Oh dear, more packing and the unpredictable narrowminded Vladimir Ilyich -- ""No wonder I'm losing my hair. I'm the only person who knows what it means to be right"" -- is off again. This first novel plays a mean trick on Krupskaya, who remained a dedicated if rather social-workerish revolutionary intellectual, by making her a suburban matron full of throttled lust and resentment of ""Ideologies, theories, ideals.