Brodsky’s attitude towards language throughout “Less than One” conveys the powerful sentiments of the dehumanization and lack of individuality that many Russians fell victim to. First, he describes his attitude towards his Judaism: “I remember that I always felt a lot easier with a Russian equivalent of “kike”: it was clearly offensive and thereby meaningless, not loaded with allusions. A one-syllable word can’t do much in Russian” (8). He is frustrated with the less offensive word for Jew because it is “loaded with allusions”, while he embraces the far more offensive word because of its clarity. The word “kike” does offer a role for a Jew in society, though it is not a particularly flattering role whereas the more benign word for Jew is so complicated and multifaceted that it fails to offer any clarity. He describes the Russian language as inadequate when it comes to offering language that enables humanity and individualism. He continues to describe a lack of power: “verbs and nouns change places as freely as one dares to have them do so” (9). He recognizes words as a form of censorship—it seems as if the words drive the content of the conversation, rather than the content determining the words used.

He offers another example of this notion at the end of the piece, “I merely regret the fact that such an advanced notion of Evil as happens to be in the possession of Russians has been denied entry into consciousness on the grounds have having convoluted syntax” (31). He argues that the sentiment behind the word “Evil” is not one that is properly expressed in the Russian language; while Russians, of course, have the capacity for evil, they don’t have the language necessary to talk about it. Brodsky laments the intricacies of the Russian language for indirectly contributing to the battle against freedom of speech.

Early on in “Hope against Hope”, Nadezhda describes her early relationship with M., “Whenever they met they were cheerful and carefree like children, as in the old days at the Poets’ Guild. ‘Stop it,’ I used to shout, ‘I can’t live with such chatterboxes!’”(4). Returning to this sentence after having read the whole piece, the notion of any of these characters as “chatterboxes” seems utterly out of place. This stark contrast is clear at the end, when she writes, “An existence like this leaves its mark. We all became slightly unbalanced mentally—not exactly ill, but not normal either: suspicious, mendacious, confused and inhibited in our speech, at the same time putting on a show of adolescent optimism” (88). “Adolescent optimism” replaces their previous “cheerful and carefree like children” behavior. Similarly, instead of being “chatterboxes” they have become “inhibited in our speech”.

The effect of terror and its influence on speech really struck me in this piece. The fact that writers and poets, those who clung to words and speech for their livelihood, were most targeted and silenced was particularly striking when Nadezhda writes, “But a poet, after all, is just a human being like any other, and he is bound to end up in the most ordinary way, in the way most typical for his age and his times, meeting the fate that lies in wait for everyone else. None of the glamour and thrill of special destiny, but the simple path along which all were ‘herded in a herd’” (10). The realization of these dejected poets that they will likely die without “glamour and thrill” goes hand in hand with the realization that poets, too, are vulnerable and can be silenced by the government. The pain of a deflated artist is particularly poignant and representative of the pervasiveness of the terror.

Zoshchenko paints two different caricatures of “village idiots” in his satirical stories “The Wedding” and “The Earthquake”. Volodka of “The Wedding” fails to recognize his own wife, and proceeds to embrace a young woman who is not, in fact, his wife. He acknowledges that he was, indeed, “a bit hasty” and that he “had never really taken a good look at his bride”. He sees his failures as merely minor errors, mistakes any smart, though confused, young fellow could have made, but her relatives think otherwise. They “ganged up and kicked him out on the staircase” after having already “popped him on the head with a bottle”. Both sides of the argument behave in an uncivilized fashion.

In “The Earthquake”, Snopkov the drunk sleeps through an earthquake, and then proceeds to wander “In nothing but his underpants”. Zoshchenko inserts himself into this story at the very end: “The author is raising his voice energetically against drunkenness. The sting of this literary satire is aimed precisely against drinking and against alcohol”. He, sarcastically, inserts this neat moral at the end of the story, offering a mockingly simple solution to a problem that one “village idiot” deals with. After discussing the classic characters and story lines, Zoshchenko has established a picture of old, rural Russia for the reader.

He offers an image of a more modern Russia as well, challenging our notion of progress. In “Poverty”, “electrification” simply serves to illuminate the narrator’s problems and state of life, rather than ameliorate any issues that he might be dealing with. Zoshchenko establishes the past as more satisfying than the present / future because this “progress” only brings new problems. Using this language to look at our two “village idiots”, I could say that they are both living in a world before “electrification”—a world whose problems are so old and so worn in that they are practically hidden.

Last class, we dissected Zinaida Serebriakova’s self-portrait “At the Dressing Table”. We appreciated the incredible brushstrokes and her captivating gaze and the ornate detailing of her perfume bottles. After noting that her hair was in the process of being coiffed and her undergarments not even completely on, we determined that this piece was modern in its unpolished portrayal of Serebriakova. She is beautiful even before she brushed her hair and donned her dress. We discussed the clear deviation from the slew of pieces focused on the male gaze to this piece that focuses distinctly on the female gaze.

“Light Breathing” offers a similar expression of beauty: “To think how carefully some of her schoolmates did their hair, how meticulous they were about their persons, how they watched their every controlled movement! But she was afraid of nothing—neither inkstains on her fingers, nor a reddened face, nor tousled hair, nor a knee suddenly bared if she fell when running’ (124). Olya is also beautiful in her unpolished manner.  She is beautiful as she draws or writes (“inkstains”) and runs (“reddened face”) and neglects her hair (“tousled hair”) and adventures (“a knee suddenly bared”). Both Zinaida and Olya possess a natural, raw, dignified beauty. The glint in Zinaida’s eyes reflects the wildness we see in Olya’s behavior, as she is “naughty and quite unimpressed with the sermons preached to her by her grade supervisor”. The two women and their notable heads of hair shed light on the role of Russian women during this era—they are cultivating the female gaze.

Both Ivan Kramskoi and Nikolai Ge’s portraits of Christ combine a traditional, neoclassical subject matter with some additional, more progressive elements, representing the tumultuous, transitioning influences under which both artists were working. Ivan Kramskoi’s famous “Christ in the Dessert” is traditional in the sense that it adheres closely to realist tendencies. The beautiful landscape and Christ’s weathered face and simple, but carefully documented robes are all accurate and detailed and traditional, particularly in their religious subject matter. His weathered and burdened face are of a different era, however, in their emotional and psychological depiction. The deep creases on his face mirror the ridges in the rocks around him, and his coloring echoes and the coloring in the background. He is of the earth. His face is as weathered as the rocks around him and he carries his burden heroically. This painting serves as a combination of a more regal and formal portrait with the natural landscapes that were growing more and more popular at the time. The psychological portrayal of Christ and the beautiful landscape are both more modern and interpretative, while the realistic depiction of Christ is more traditional.

In his second depiction of Christ in “Christ in the Crown of Thorns”, Christ is equally as rugged and his clothing as worn. His eyes are sunken and his hair disheveled and he looks drained and resigned emotionally. His coat and the blood on his neck and the color of his hair are all the same brick red, contrasting starkly with his waxy, pale skin. The wild crown he wears, paired with the noose tied loosely around his neck make him look both threatening and threatened. The realistic depiction of Christ was traditional for the time, but the deep psychological side of it and the wild portrayal is more modern.

Nikolai Ge offers an entirely different interpretation of Christ’s portrait. His thick brush strokes and use of 3 main colors deviate profoundly from art trends at the time. Ge painted many portraits throughout his lifetime, and this one is technically a portrait, but it doesn’t completely glorify the subject. Instead, he depicts Christ looking gaunt and practically dead. The only color he uses is a couple of strokes of red on Christ’s forehead, and the rest of the painting is painted in an eerie green-tinted white. This painting represents the major shift of the artistic trends at the time in its untraditional coloring and stylistic choices and in its nuance portrayal of the subject matter.

These 19th Century Russian portraits certainly serve as a tribute to Russian peasants. Each painting captures individuals working–sewing, feeding animals, working in the fields–focusing on the individual, rather than the work. This trend fits in with the larger one of romantic realism: these painters do paint the individuals of the Russian working class (realism), but they do so in a very romantic light, that doesn’t truly capture the harshness of their grueling work day (romantic). Alexander Ivanov’s work clearly depicts that phenomena. In his 1830s painting of “A Girl from Albano Standing in a Doorway”, he paints a classic country woman.

He really romanticizes the country life. She isn’t working and she is wearing an overly pristine white dress. The clean white conveys purity and a certain degree of luxury; after a day (or week’s) work her dress should be ragged and filthy, but it remains simply well worn and clean. The state of her dress, paired with the pop of pink color on her head contrasts deeply with her dirty, broken in shoes and the beaten up door, and the deeply sad and pensive look on her face. All of these contradictions and surprising pairing encourage the trend of romantic realism that focuses on an idealized version of country life.

Alexei Venetsianov is known for his emphasis on peasant life and natural landscapes. His work contributes to this trend.

This scene is set in a barn, with working individuals. This is fitting for the time and the working styles of the era. This painting does also frame the working life as one of beauty and purity and simplicity. The backlight is overly rosy and its characters remarkably well dressed; the red and green hats stand out to me. The emphasis on landscape is characteristic of Venetsianov work, and the barn’s beautiful glow is really the focus of this almost fantastical piece.