The King of Vodka: The Story of Pyotr Smirnov and the Upheaval of an Empire by Linda Himelstein

The Barnes & Noble Review

Brunchtime Bloody Marys, cosmos with the girls, a post-work martini: Vodka-based drinks seem integral to the cocktail today, but it wasn't always so. In fact, according to Linda Himelstein's gimlet-eyed The King of Vodka: The Story of Pyotr Smirnov and the Upheaval of an Empire, vodka wasn't even seriously marketed in this country until the mid-1930s, when a Russian-American entrepreneur named Rudolph P. Kunett opened the first vodka factory in the United States, advertising his little-known product to Americans under the following slogan: "Creating a new vogue in cocktails…VODKA by Smirnoff." How right Kunett was. In just a few decades, fueled by an aggressive Smirnoff marketing campaign that would eventually include James Bond's famous "shaken not stirred" endorsement, vodka would ascend to its current status as the nation's top-selling liquor, and Smirnoff to its spot as the bestselling premium spirit in the world.

But the story of how America caught vodka fever is merely a postscript to the central saga Himelstein, who has reported for BusinessWeek and The Wall Street Journal, sets forth in The King of Vodka. The true focus of her meticulously researched and notably sober historical narrative, spanning centuries and continents, is the Smirnov family. Hitching its fortunes to a certain bracingly clear beverage, the clan hoisted itself out of serfdom in the mid-1800s and into the upper echelons of Russian society, only to be brought low again with the onset of the Bolshevik regime in 1917. As she follows cleverly orchestrated business triumphs and costly personal mistakes, from Pyotr Smirnov's birth in 1831 to the present day, Himelstein mixes into the family history a neat lesson in Russia's past and that nation's complicated relationship with alcohol. Smirnov's crafty maneuverings to withstand adverse economic and political conditions shed light on two centuries of commerce and marketing -- and remain instructive about business today.

Born into serfdom, Pyotr Smirnov set about making his way in the world as a young man by catering to the thirsts of his countrymen. "Many serfs were viewed by their masters as 'baptized property,' " Himelstein writes. "Most masters made little distinction between the people who plowed their fields and the horses that pulled the plows. Like merchandise at the community market, they could be bought, sold, or presented as gifts, almost on a whim." Yet, young Pyotr was allowed by his owner to travel first to the nearby town of Uglich, where his enterprising uncle Grigoriy ran a series of inns, and then to Moscow, where another tavern-owning relative had joined the merchant class. This, Himelstein explains, was part of an enormous social shakeup driven by the same Industrial Revolution that had already transformed much of Europe:

In the nineteenth century, Russia's tsars allowed for more free enterprise than virtually any generation since Peter the Great. A newfangled brand of capitalism and entrepreneurship blossomed…. The state could not single-handedly manage all that was needed to jumpstart economic development, from building railroads to modernizing arcane industries to establishing banking centers. Necessity, in its purest form, opened the door to dozens of ambitious go-getters -- especially those involved in less capital-intensive enterprises. Grigoriy, and later Pyotr, were just two of the thousands who seized the moment.

It's probably safe to say that Pyotr seized it more vigorously than most. After buying their family's freedom in 1857, Pyotr and his father, Arseniy, opened a wine cellar in Moscow, selling wine and vodka by the glass and in bulk. Initially, they weren't allowed to distill their own liquor, but within a few years they expanded their product line and opened additional shops -- and when the laws were changed to open the production, distillation, and sale of vodka and spirits to all, Pyotr was well positioned to capitalize. Demand for alcohol exploded in Russia, and Pyotr got moving. Procuring the space and equipment he needed, he set about perfecting his recipes, seeking to create "the tastiest most flavorful vodkas money could buy." His business quickly took off.

Here, we are treated to a wonderful example of a "premium" brand being born. "Word had begun to seep out among locals that Pyotr Smirnov cared about the taste and the purity of his drinks. Stories surfaced that he selected the purest water, finest spirits, and freshest ingredients for his mixtures. Smirnov exploited these stories, suggesting to his mostly lower-class customers that he alone was devoted to making high-quality, affordable liquor." That pure water is important -- but it's the stories that matter.

All this suggests Smirnov was less a genius of the bottle than a wizard of marketing. He launched groundbreaking advertising campaigns, wheedled his way into the upper crust, and snagged a seal of approval from the tsar himself. And, in a story that makes it clear that "viral marketing" is nothing new, he also is said to have hired a bunch of poor immigrants to go back to their neighborhoods and loudly demand his vodka in bars, paying them to make a scene and ask, "How is it possible that your respected establishment does not have such a vodka? It is absolutely the most remarkable vodka there is!" According to lore, the stunt worked like a charm, and the popularity of Smirnov's vodka quickly spread throughout Russia -- and the world.

Sad, then, to learn all the many ways Smirnov's feckless heirs -- painted here as vain playboys prone to blowing their bucks on booze, gambling, and women -- squandered the opportunities he'd handed them and allowed the family company to fall into ruin. Luckily for tipplers, one of the sons, Vladimir, who'd escaped to France after the Bolshevik Revolution and needed to make some quick cash, sold the U.S. rights to the Smirnov brand and formula to the aforementioned Kunett in 1933, who in turn sold the enterprise to another company, which successfully created demand and turned Smirnoff into what is today, a $4.7 billion global brand, owned by the British liquor behemoth Diageo. (The Smirnov family's post-perestroika attempts to lay claim to the brand -- a long legal battle that Himelstein initially reported on for BusinessWeek -- have been, according to the author, essentially thwarted.)

Like the man who is her subject, Himelstein's approach is careful, orderly, and disciplined -- she rarely allows herself to speculate, preferring to stick to facts culled from her years of research in the U.S. and Russia. Occasionally a bit dry, the book compensates for its relative lack of color with a heady sense of its historic purpose. "Americans, you know, were uninformed about Russia, but they were misinformed about vodka," Kunett told The New Yorker in 1955. After reading The King of Vodka, they'll be neither. --Amy Reiter

Amy Reiter, a former editor and senior writer for Salon, has written for The New York Times Book Review, The Washington Post Book World, Glamour, Marie Claire, Wine Spectator, and American Journalism Review, among other publications.

From the Publisher

In this sweeping history of vodka scion Pyotr Smirnov and his family, distinguished journalist Linda Himelstein plumbs a great riddle of Russian history through the story of a humble serf who rose to create one of the most celebrated business empires the world has ever known. At the center of this vivid narrative, Pyotr Smirnov comes to life as a hero of wonderful complexity—a man of intense ambition and uncanny business sense, a patriarch of a family that would help define Russian society and suffer from the Revolution's aftermath, and a loyalist to a nation that would one day honor him as a treasure of the state.

Born in a small village in 1831, Smirnov relied on vodka—a commodity that in many ways defines Russia—to turn a life of scarcity and anonymity into one of immense wealth and international recognition. Starting from the backrooms and side streets of 19th century Moscow, Smirnov exploited a golden age of emancipation and brilliant grassroots marketing strategies to popularize his products and ensconce his brand within the thirsts and imaginations of drinkers around the world. His vodka would be gulped in the taverns of Russia and Europe, praised with accolades at World Fairs, and become a staple on the tables of Tsars. His improbable ascent—set against a sobriety crusade supported by Chekhov and Tolstoy, mounting political uprisings and labor strikes, the eventual monopolization of the vodka trade by the state—would crumble amidst the chaos of the Bolshevik revolution. Only a set of bizarre coincidences—including an incredible prison escape by one of Smirnov's sons in 1919—would prevent Smirnov's legacy from fading intooblivion.

Set against a backdrop of political and ideological currents that would determine the course of global history—from the fall of the Tsars to the rise of Communism, from vodka's popularization by none other than James Bond to Smirnoff's emergence as a multi-billion dollar brand—Smirnov's story of triumph and tragedy is a captivating historical touchstone. The King of Vodka is much more than a biography of an extraordinary man. It is a work of narrative history on an epic scale.

Publishers Weekly

Journalist Himelstein recaptures Russia's golden age through the eyes of the former serf-turned vodka entrepreneur, Pyotr Arsenievich Smirnov (1831-1898). From his early days as a "small-time liquor peddler" to one of Russia's richest men, Smirnov was the nemesis of teetotaling Tolstoy-who blamed the country's late 19th-century woes on his countrymen's thirst for alcohol. As the first Russian brand architect and seller of high-quality, low-cost liquor, Smirnov makes for a fascinating subject in his trajectory and outsize ambition. He applied for the title of Purveyor to the Imperial Court, but "the tsar's refusal, rather than deflating Smirnov's outsized ambition, emboldened it. It aroused something deep inside the man, a creative spark that transformed Smirnov from a competent businessman into one of the most ingenious marketers of his time." While the dozens of obstacles, including the closure of the Imperial Archives and a dearth of information about Smirnov's years of serfdom, might have deterred lesser researchers, Himelstein has triumphed with a timeless book that entertains, informs and inspires any would-be entrepreneur to chase his dreams. (May)

John Sandstrom - Library Journal

This is an excellent book about the beginning, peak, near death, and resurrection of one of the best-selling brands of premium spirits. The name Smirnov once represented the splendor of tsarist Russia, and Pyotr Smirnov was one of the great men of his time. Himelstein (former Silicon Valley bureau chief, BusinessWeek) documents Smirnov from his beginnings as a serf in mid-19th-century Russia to his rise to the pinnacle of prerevolutionary society. She also looks at the effect vodka had on that society and the effect the revolution had on the Smirnov family (the distillery was confiscated, prompting Smirnov's business to expand beyond Russia). Himelstein continues following the brand and the family up to the present, including the machinations of various branches of the Smirnov family to regain control of the Smirnov name. This is an extremely well researched book, to be expected from a journalist of Himelstein's stature. She succeeds in making the intertwined stories of the Smirnov family and of Russia both academically rigorous and accessible to general readers curious to know more about their favorite vodka's history.

Kirkus Reviews

A heady tale of tying one on royally-and, after briefly enjoying the ride, paying the consequences. For hundreds of years, writes business journalist Himelstein, vodka has been at once Russia's curse and its fuel, the stuff whereby its soldiers brought Napoleon and Hitler to ruin but condemned themselves and their compatriots to misery as well. Pyotr Arsenievich Smirnov knew that misery well. Born into serfdom in a time of cholera and appalling infant mortality rates, he had the luck of being manumitted in the mid-19th century, at a period when the royal monopoly on certain kinds of alcohol manufacture was being relaxed. All he had to do was swear to not being a Jew, among a few other qualifications, and Smirnov was able to set up shop and acquire a fortune that, in time, "topped 10 million rubles (roughly $132.7 million), making him one of the wealthiest men in all of Russia." Smirnov's good fortune-and that of his rivals the Popovs and other distillers great and small-was that the tsarist's statisticians had acquired a keen appreciation of how much revenue alcohol sales brought the state. Of course, this had negative consequences too, and some of the most interesting passages in Himelstein's well-constructed narrative concern the delicate balance that Russia's leaders have had to strike between abstemiousness and alcoholic ruin in order the keep the wheels of the state turning. Smirnov's success came at a price to his heirs, beginning with a reimposition of the state monopoly on alcohol near the time of his death and continuing with the rise of communism, when some Smirnovs disappeared into the Gulag while others escaped to the West-including one who founded subsidiary ventures that, in1934, would see the manufacture of the storied vodka in the United States. A well-concocted blend of business and political history. Author appearances in San Francisco Bay Area

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