Author Archives: Liam McNett

Creativity and the Imagination in “Night”

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Tatyana Tolstaya’s “Night”, as Gabe previously alluded to, seems on its surface a description of Russian life for Alexei, a mentally disabled adult, and his mother.  However, there is definitely something more significant beneath the surface of Alexei and his mother’ rather mundane life.

I thought it was interesting how Alexei is depicting as wanting to be a writer and is aware of Pushkin and appears to be inspired by his work.  Additionally, the comment that “Alexei Petrovich has his world, the real one, in his head.  There everything is possible.  And this one, the outer one, is wicked and wrong.  And it’s very hard to keep in mind what’s good and what’s bad” interested me as well (189).  The idea between living in two separate worlds, an inner world of multiple possibilities, and an outer world that is oppressive could perhaps give a glimpse into what life and the creative process is like for writers, artists, etc. living in Russia during this time.  On one hand, Alexei has his inner world in which anything is possible.  Additionally, his dependence on his mother gives off a sense of innocence–he is still able to dream and imagine despite his rather unfortunate situation.  On the other hand, his mother is fully aware of his reality and acts as a guide for him.  In other words, she balances out his imagination that can sometimes run wild.  Perhaps their relationship shows the inner-workings of how the creative process works in Russia.  Artists and Alexei, like Alexei, live in two separate worlds in which they are constantly trying to balance.  In their imagination they are free, but in the contact instability of Russia they are not.

Coming of Age in the Soviet Union

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Anna was a powerful look into how one’s environment shapes their psyche and perspective.  A documentary shot over the course of 12 years, focusing on a single subject, Anna, was such a unique and personal way to reveal how the turbulent times throughout the end and eventual collapse of the Soviet Union impacted its citizens on a personal level.  I was particularly struck by the series of questions that were asked of Anna, such as “what are you scared of”, “what do you love/hate”, etc.  Although these are, on their surface, very simple questions, the responses that Anna gives throughout the course of her childhood and journey into young adulthood reflect the environment in which she is brought up.

During Anna’s first interview when she was six, she gave answers that most people would expect: she’s scared witches, talks about food she likes and dislikes, etc.  But, we experience a pretty drastic change in Anna as early as when she was nine years old.  Her fears and wants now revolve around war and the Soviet government–she is greatly impacted by the political events occurring in her country.  At first, this came off as surprising to me, as I couldn’t really imagine my nine year old self articulating my concerns around war, the economy etc.  But, I was then brought back to the amount of propaganda we have looked at this semester aimed towards children.  Anna’s perspective and her interview responses are such a great way to see how the effort of the Soviet government to engage the youth largely worked.  In other words, it seems that even childhood could not escape the uniformity of the Soviet Union–that coming of age during that time was largely dictated by the Soviet government.  In fact, I am quite confident that other nine year olds and children would have similar responses as Anna if asked the same questions during this period.

“In the Night”

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Despite its short length, “In the Night”, is an immensely powerful and unsettling story.  Throughout the story’s narration, Shalamov’s attention to detail, use of sensory, and tone causes the story to deeply impact and resonate with the reader.

The first image in the story, that of “Glebov lick[ing] the bowl and brush[ing] the bread crumbs.. into his left left palm…Without swallowing, he felt each miniature fragment of bread in his mouth coated greedily with a thick layer of saliva” is explained in such methodic detail, that the image Shalamov describes can be easily imagined by the reader.  Moreover, the comment that “taste was an entirely different thing” further inserts the reader into the narrative  by activating both senses of sight and taste.  This use of sensory through Shalamov’s detailed narration creates and intimate experience for the reader, drawing him or her in, allowing the remainder of the story to further impact the reader.

As the story progresses, Shalamov uses a rather dry, “matter of the fact” tone which is particularly haunting given the circumstances that the characters currently face.  This tone highlights the ‘new normal’ of the gulag and the alarming way in which prisoners become accustomed/indifferent to their way of life.  In particular, Glebov questioning his own past and commenting “not only the habit of judgement was lost, but even the habit of observation” demonstrates how the prison has stripped the characters of their individualism and that they are now consumed by their new reality.

The matter-of-factness that Shalamov projects is most haunting then the corpse is introduced to which Bagretsov simply remarks “he’s a young one”.  It is almost has if the scenario, finding and essentially pickpocketing and robbing a corpse is a mundane, everyday aspect of life in the story.  The feeling of normalcy is most obvious when Glebov is carrying the dead man’s underwear in an attempt to sell it in order to smoke.  The fact that an act as mundane as smoking is juxtaposed to an image as drastic as taking a corpse’s underwear demonstrates to the reader the dire circumstances being experienced.

Sharikov and the Soviet Union

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Although Heart of a Dog is clearly satirical in its nature, the backdrop of Bolshevism and the New Economic Policy are central to the novella’s themes and are among the aspects of Soviet culture and society that Bulgakov critiques.  

The aspect of the story I find most fascinating is, perhaps, the most obvious–Bulgakov’s construction and creation of a human-like figure (which is completely unnatural and artificial).  When I was first reading the story, I, like I’m sure others did, thought immediately of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, where a professor also artificially creates another being.  But, what struck me in Heart of a Dog as opposed to Frankenstein is how Sharik (or at that point Sharikov) was able to assimilate and even succeed in Soviet society.   In Frankenstein the creature is immediately neglected and rejected by society because of his foreignness, unnaturalness, and differentness.  However, Sharikov is able to succeed– he finds a state-sponsored job, and even finds a wife-of-sorts (although this doesn’t end up working out).  Additionally, he is depicted as a stereotypical Soviet man: smoking, drinking vodka, and swearing. To sum it up, despite his artificial, unnatural, and planned existence he is able to work his way through the Soviet system. I saw this fact as a commentary on the unnaturalness of the Soviet society itself–that Sharikov, despite his aburdities, is able to ‘make it’ in a  Soviet system that Bulgakov could be saying is just as unnatural, forced, and absurd as Sharikov.

On a completely random note, I know we have talked about how Шарик is a common name for dogs in Russia, was the case before this story or did that trend follow the publication of this story? 🙂 

 

Marina Tsvetaeva: An Intimate Poet-Poem Relationship

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While reading the various poets assigned, I was  intrigued by Tsvetaeva’s poems, in particular how she directly inserted herself into the poems and how she personified poetry itself.  

From the first poem we were assigned titled “For my poems”, I was immediately struck by how Tsvetaeva is addressing her work directly–speaking to her poems as they were her children.  In addition I was struck by a seeming role reversal in “For my poems”, as it seemed like the poems themselves were overpowering Tsvetaeva rather than her creating them. She remarks, “Poems storming inside me, invading like some tiny demons” and that she wrote down these poems when she “did not know I was a poet”. To me, this created an intimacy between the poet and her work I have not experienced, and it made the poems even more impactful to read.  

Going back to my comment about how it seemed as if Tsvetaeva thought of her poems as ‘children’ I was validated and further intrigued by her poem titled, “Every poem is a child of love”.   However (and I think this poem would be fascinating to discuss further), she compares her poems to a “waif born illegitimately…set at the mercy of the wind”–what does she mean by this? Again, I think further discussion on this poem would be fascinating. In all, I just found Tsvetaeva’s commentary on her own poems interesting and it was unlike other poems I have read.

Additionally, I thought that Tsvetaeva’s blatant allusions to herself in her poems was interesting as well, particularly in “Much like me” and “Longing for the motherland”.  Her use of first-person as well as detailed descriptions almost make it seem as though we are entering Tsvetaeva’s mind as her perspective in her own voice from her own point of view is being presented to us.  I found that technique resulted in a different, much more stimulating experience while reading her poems.  I felt as though I was actually beginning to experience something in someone else’s mind. I’m not sure if that makes sense, but I thought the relationship she establishes between herself and her work is extremely powerful.

 

The Russian Avant-garde: A Dramatic Retreat from the Itinerants

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When looking at the pieces of Avant-garde art, I was struck at the dramatic differences and evolution that had taken since the itinerants we had discussed just last week.  In particular, Malevich’s work stood out to me as a rather drastic retreat from previous art we have analyzed so far throughout the course.

Malevich’s treatment of the peasants in this pantings interested me in particular.  Coming from exploring Repin’s paintings which so masterfully capture the individuality, depth, and complexity of the peasantry, it is shocking to see those elements stripped away from the peasants in Malevich’s paintings. The figures depicted throughout paintings of the peasantry are faceless and appear more as a series of shapes than people. Additionally, they are stiff, standing still against an abstract backdrop which gives little insight into their experience or conditions. Furthermore, they are not depicted working–they are simply impersonal objects on a canvas.  This is such a difference from Repin and his “Barge Hauler” painting which highlights the emotions and individuality of each each peasant. In fact, there is not really a way to tell which class the subject is the the exception of the painting’s title. It this stripping away the peasant’s identity or revealing a simple equality inherent in man kind?

I think it would also be interesting to discuss the minimal works and their context/ significance as pieces of art such as “Red square” and “black cross” are intriguing especially since they are not most people think of while pondering pieces of art.

Love in “Bela”

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While reading the “Bela” section of A Hero of our Time, I was intrigued by the language used to describe love as well as the impact love had on the characters in the story.  When Pechorin first sees Bella, he is “completely absorbed” (29). However, despite this strong feeling towards Bella, the way he goes about his feelings is peculiar (along with quite problematic) to the modern reader.  The blatantly transactional road to love presented in Pechorin’s deal with Bella’s brother–that Pechorin will help him acquire a horse for “Bella in return” completely undercuts Bela’s feelings, emotions, and humanity and is quite objectifying (35).  But, it is more complex in terms of what the text is saying about love. Could it be (in a twisted way, albeit) considered romantic? Or does it comment on a larger phenomenon of Russian culture? What is love in Russian culture?  Passion? Transaction? Does one marry for love or power?

However, this idea behind love grows increasingly complex and the narrative continues.  When Pechorin first tells Bella that he loves her, she comments that she feels as though she is his “slave” and “prisoner” (40).  While women being in unhappy, oppressive relationships is, unfortunately, common throughout life and literature, the fact that Lermontov emphasizes Pechorin’s love of Bela is fascinating.  That despite being loved, Bella does not reciprocate those feelings, at first at least.  

But, as seems usual in Russian literature, happiness does not reign for long.  Soon after Bela is able to love Pechorin back, she is killed, resulting in Pechorin’s later depressed, ill state the story ends with.  All of the heartbreak and tragedy experienced at the end of the story can be traced by Pechorin’s love for Bela and his desire for her to love him too.  However, that love results in death and depression–the exact opposite of love. Perhaps “Bela” can be considered a precautionary tale of the danger of love, as love in the story lead to anything but in the long run.    Is falling in love something to look towards or something to fear in Russian culture? 

 

Is Artistic Depiction Reality?

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What struck me when looking through several of the paintings in this section was a clear focus on the mundane aspects of Russian life.  This is a stark contrast from other art that we have looked at thus far, in particular the painting of Ivan, which depicts humanity at its most extreme.  Rather, these paintings depict a life that most people could relate to, invoking a more intimate and personal reaction from the viewer.  

However, based on  past readings, particularly A Journey from Moscow to St. Petersburg as well as historical context regarding the treatment of Russian peasants as well as the institution of serfdom, I couldn’t help but ask myself whether or not these depictions of peasant life were accurate.  It seems as though the various artists are romanticizing a life that in reality is one of extreme hardship. In particular, the ‘Spring, Plowland” painting came across as rather idealized. The woman in the painting appears calm and content with her peasant life.  Additionally, the “Fortune Telling” painting suggests a life of leisure and comfort in Russia–far from the reality for most people of the lower class.   

I may be looking at these paintings too critically, and there is such beauty found in the aspects of life as depicted, but is this depiction reality?  That, I am not so sure of. But, perhaps that is the purpose of “romantic realism”, to blur the line between romance and reality.

Another small thing I noticed is that many of the peasants depicted are women, while most portraits are of men. Is this a common theme throughout Russian art, or it is just the particular sample of paintings we are looking at?  

Serfdom Exposed

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A Journey From St. Petersburg to Moscow is a scathing critique of the institution of serfdom as well as the social hierarchy and oppression present throughout Russia.  Alexander Radishchev’s compelling narrative and focus on the serfs’ humanity results in a text that pushes Russia to address the injustice of serfdom head on–which why Catherine the Great had such a strong, negative reaction to the book and banned it. 

While reading this, I was first struck by the fact that this is the first critique/account of an historical event that was written during the time it took place.  Unlike watching Soviet-era depictions of Ivan or reading literature written centuries after the period in which they cover, A Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow is a real-time account of Russian culture–but perhaps more importantly, it is a real-time reckoning about the injustices present throughout Russia.  In particular, when Radishchev describes his first interaction with the peasant, he remarks, “The words of this peasant awakened in me a multitude of thoughts.  I thought especially of the inequality of treatment within the peasant class…This thought made my blood boil” (267). In this instant, the author has been “awakened” to the cruelty of serfdom–and this awakening is mirrored in the way the the text is written.  Radishchev intimately describes a series of encounters with peasants and serfs in an attempt to reveal their stories–to demonstrates that blanket terms such as “peasants” and “serfs” are dehumanizing. And although the work was banned, it is evident that Radishchev is attempting to provoke the same type of awakening he had in his readers.  The text takes the reader on a “journey” (as the title suggests), a journey that exposes the shortcomings and injustices of Russian society.  

In addition, I found the following remark by Catherine interesting: “[Radishchev] is trying in every possible way to break down respect for authority… to stir up the people…against their superiors and against the government” (278).  To me, this shows how serfdom as an institution was so intertwined with the aristocracy of Russia, and that an attack on serfdom was an attack on the government itself.