Category Archives: The Primeval Russian Forest

Old and New

I thought that the fundamental thing the movie/documentary was trying to show was the different meaning of labor in communist times to the different ethnic groups of Magnitohorsk. As shown by the brief propaganda film, the city was founded for the production of iron ore found in the Ural Mountains. The location of Magnitohorsk is significant for it startles the two continents, Asia and Europe. Consequently, its ethnic diversity is one which is similarly spit. And the thing that brings the two ethnic groups together in Magitohorsk? Labor, work.

However, these two ethnic groups, those from eastern Russian and those relocated from Tartarstan, have very different opinions and outlooks on the labor that is forced upon them. The film follows the two families, the older Tartar couple and the old women who was married to Victor Kalmykov to display these different outlooks as well as the oppression of both groups by the ruling class.

Looking first at the Kalmykovs, they originally embodied Soviet ideals of labor. Viktor lived to work always overproducing, described as, “when he picked up a spade it was like a toy to him.” Labor to Viktor was his life purpose and he graciously did it for the good of the state. And he was rewarded for doing so, given his own room and publicly praised.

Labor for the Tartar couple showed differently. They were content in their home and forcefully removed and transported in cattle cars to Magnitohorsk in a concentration camp like inhabitants. Labor to them was imprisonment.

Both of these groups, however, regardless of their outlook on labor were eventually oppressed by the government. Where Viktor was executed (with only vague reasons given by the film) and his wife forced into interrogation, the Tatar couple remained displaced working in the factory.

The film, importantly, ends on a contemporary note showing two interviews with a mother and a single scientist. These two interviews beg the question of is this sort of forced labor over? Is the oppression that Viktor and the Tartar couple experienced done with?

Yes and no. Although not as blatant, the two interviews show a lack of opportunity for both the mother and the scientist. When asked if she thinks her son will have to work in the factory the mother responds, (paraphrased) “I hope not” with a dark glint in her eye as she ponders this likely eventuality. The scientist women when asked if she wants children responds, (paraphrased) “that is a luxury that I cannot afford” and she remarks that although she can travel freely now (paraphrased), “I cannot afford it.” The similarities of the old and the news tie to their labor and their lack of freedom are astounding.

Rocky Seas, Aivazovsky and our false security

Ivan Aivazovsky seascapes are striking for their dual display of natural beauty and ferocity. Aivazosky shows the sea’s turbulence as equally threatening and awe-inspiring forcing the viewer to consider the sea’s and ultimately nature’s superior power. The human figures in the selected paintings are small and seemingly insignificant compared to the grand natural scenery. Specifically, in The Ninth Wave and The Rainbow the human figure is seen being controlled by the natural environment and in dire circumstance: the sea is in control.

Specifically, in The Rainbow the beauty of the seascape is used as a veil to hide the eventual doom of the lifeboat. In the distance a ship is seen moments before capsizing and crashing into the shore, and in the foreground a group of thirteen men man a crammed and crowded lifeboat. The painting is particularly lightly colored, fogged in light blues and purples showing signs of the calm after the storm, indicating a sense of safety rather than distress. The large swells of the ocean, however, indicate different. With the gunwales of the life boat close to the water and large waves close behind, the small boat is most likely doomed to the same fate as the larger boat in the distance. The specific choice of warmer colors and the inclusion of the rainbow disguise the danger of the natural landscape and instead falsely indicate a certain safety and control of the men in the lifeboat over the natural landscape.

The thirteen men within the ship allude to Jesus and the twelve disciples on the Sea of Galilee. In this biblical story, although the disciples are distressed because of the storm, Jesus remains asleep, his faith un-shook by natures forces. The men on the boat in the painting seem unfazed by the storm. A Jesus like figure appears confident standing near the bow of the boat. The close viewer recognizes that this confidence is misplaced for the boat will eventually crash.

 

Perhaps Aivazovsky is using the natural symbolism of the rainbow in the light colors and the allusion to Jesus on the Sea of Galilee to remind the viewer of our false sense of control over the natural environment, specifically the sea. Regardless of faith, the boat will crash, nature will win.

Barren Mother Nature

“A ‘Pushover’ Job” is not only haunting in its descriptions of forced labor, but also its description of a barren nature, subverting the common trope of the bountiful life-giving mother nature. Of course, in winter, very little things are green or alive. The story begins with a description of the color of the winter landscape, “The hills glistened white with a tinge of blue—like loaves of sugar” (21). Loaves of sugar act as a particularly odd simile estranging the natural landscape. Of course, a loaf of sugar does not exist, but this odd imagery of a collage of bread and sugar highlight the inability of nature in winter to be bountiful. As it would be normal to make a comparison of the natural world to food during other times when the woods are teeming in life, here the narrator has to stretch for an awkward and odd comparison.  Whereas the narrator is continuing to look at nature as bountiful, his impossible comparison begins to show the falsehood of that belief causing his simile to be gibberish.

 

This falsehood of the bountiful nature persists in the narrator’s pushover job of collecting needles for snake-oil like vitamins. The narrator is sent out to collect the needles of evergreen trees, the only green and outwardly alive plant in the forest in winter. The narrator and the other needle-pickers are quite literately destroying the signs of life from the winter landscape. Their actions are pointless in that the elixir made by these needles is useless and also that their work goes unchecked. Even without meeting the quota they are left unpunished and more importantly, regardless of their harvest, they remain unfed, their soup served free of the nourishing vegetables and meat. The only outwardly available bounty of nature in winter is useless. The pointlessness of the narrator’s needle-picking in both gain of the state and gain of himself begin to highlight the false conception that nature is bountiful. The value put on these trees in their supposed cure on scurvy and their break from hard labor for the narrator are both false and constructed myths. “A ‘Pushover’ Job” demonstrates the barrenness of the northern winter landscape and the blind attempts of man to recognize it differently.

Harmony versus Disunity: Rivers in Yuri Norstein’s “Hedgehog in the Fog” and Nikolai Zabolotsky’s “Winter’s Start”

There is a clear distinction in the symbolic functions of the rivers that are present in both Yuri Norstein’s short film Hedgehog in the Fog and Nikolai Zabolotsky’s poem “Winter’s Start.” Specifically, in Norstein’s film, the river exists as a larger metaphor for the randomness of life. It both literally and figuratively intersects the routine homecoming of Hedgehog, who all along intends to return home promptly with raspberry jam for the owl. Disoriented by the fog and enamored by a majestic white horse, the hedgehog falls victim to the natural, untouched elements of the Russian forest. There is a scene where the Hedgehog loses his balance and falls into the river after being deeply distracted by both the fog and the horse. I read this as the river and surrounding environment working in unity to divert the Hedgehog in his mission to return home. Here, the Hedgehog’s self-made schedule to traverse through the Russian forest is collectively obstructed by elements of said forest. The river, portrayed as a windy labyrinth, is just an element of the random and natural aspects of the Russian forest.

Meanwhile, Nikolai Zabolotsky’s “Winter’s Start” illustrates a less harmonious interaction between a river and its natural environment. Here, instead of combining forces to obstruct the notion of routine and order, the “cold start of winter” instead “numbs” the river, causing it to “tremble” and “sense its own demise” (1; 9; 11 Zabolotsky). In other words, the weather does not work with the river, but rather works against it, causing it to freeze over and “die” (17). This time, the animals of this environment are neither enamored nor sidetracked by the elements of their environment; instead, “huge birds stare down,” “attentive” and agent of the forest around them (35-36). Because the weather works to harden the river, there seems to be more of a focus on the transition of seasons, i.e. impending winter, rather than on the animals or the narrator. There is clearly something greater to be said about the comparison between the natural environment and its harmony in Norstein’s short, versus the natural environment and its disunity in Zabolotsky’s poem. To me, it seems that when the natural environment works together in Norstein’s film, it collectively transcends the lives and routines of inhabiting beings. However, when the environment is disunited, as in “Winter’s Start,” there is shortcoming in transcending the natural world alone— a lacking that impedes connections to and influence on forest dwellers.

Do you all have any thoughts on this topic? I am interested in discussing more about how the changing of the seasons seems to represent not only a change in temperature and climate, but more so: a change in the chemistry of the environment. Any other examples of Russian literature where the transition of seasons functions as a disruption of unity, like it does here in Nikolai Zabolotsky’s poem? Or perhaps this transition preserves natural harmony, as nature exists in Norstein’s film? I would love to hear your thoughts!

Foreign Agent Law – Just like the Past

In “State Suppression of Baikal Activism,” Kate Pride Brown sheds light on the convoluted power play of the Foreign Agent Law. De facto, the law, enacted in 2012, essentially allows for the government to label NGOs as “Foreign Agents” if they are acting in a way contrary to the state’s agenda. Although it defines some specific parameters for what types of organizations are subject verse exempt from the law, these are misleading. On the other hand, some of the wording is intentionally broad, such that the state can selectively use the law to suppress certain organizations that it disagrees with;  Brown describes such execution of this law as a form of “legal nihilism.”

Brown shows the detailed ways in which the Foreign Agent law impacts one environmental organization in particular. In order to undergo the check (proverka), the state demands extensive documents in unreasonable time frames. If anything, even so simple as receiving money from another Russian company peaks the state’s interest, the organization can be fined or shut down. 

As Brown alludes to the ways in which the law is one example of how Putin’s Russia harks back on Soviet-era censorship and overstepping power. This idea connects directly to the ways in which many of our authors have commented on the distraught state of Russian life, living under Soviet regime. One work that particularly stands out to me in terms of its commentary on the oppression by the regime is Uncle Vanya. 

Sidenote: I am personally curious to learn more about how the Foreign Agent law impacts collaboration among scientists. Although they are listed as an exception, since so much science is done through NGOs with multiple missions, and since the state doesn’t really follow the exceptions guidelines anyway (as with the Baikal Environmental Wave organization), I am curious to know more!

Superfluous Dictatorship

Brown’s depiction of the Russian state in the field of power explains the “intrinsic aspect of Russian national culture that demands a ‘strong leader’ rather than wide participation” (165). The recurring trope of the superfluous man in much of the Russian literature we have read seems to mock this intrinsic “need” for a strong, overpowering male leader. Brown introduces the role of democracy as to “ensure and the rule of law  help to ensure that state power does not become overbearing,” but “the tight fist that has held state power in Russia since the days of Empire has left little opportunity for alternative powers to expand the field” (165).

In the texts that we have read, such as “Uncle Vanya” and “Amongst the Plants and Animals,” there is a lack of powerful male characters. This deficit is shown when male characters, who would traditionally be the strong head of the household, spend time in nature and do not prioritize their money-making or success. The trope of the “superfluous man,” who is often resented by his wife who wishes for more social status and a more lavish lifestyle, could be a quiet rebellion against the endless dictatorship in Russia. The female figure that demands a stronger husband is symbolic for the rejection of democracy and the many years under what Brown calls “the rule-making machine.”

‘Legal Nihilism’ and Cynicism within Russian History

The reading this week, “State Suppression of Baikal Activism” an article by Kate Pride Brown, was obviously a radical departure from the literature, poetry, and art we have been analyzing each week. But, in a way, it had the similar goal of teaching the reader about Russian identity, and its people’s relationship with their country. The article posits that “Democracy has never successfully taken root in Russian soil.” A claim the author backs up by describing a country with an ambivalent relationship to the law, an ambivalence that seems to influence every part of a Russian’s daily life.

The author defines this ambivalence as “Legal nihilism.” A term that measures the willingness of Russians to break the law and the willingness of the law to unjustly target Russians. It is the pervasive idea in Russian society that laws are political tools, meant to be broken and abused. It seems that how widespread this idea is across Russia is a testament to how cynicism is intimately tied to the mindset of the average Russian. Russian society has suffered one setback after another, not too mention facing the brunt of two world wars, countless devastating famines, and a series of autocratic regimes with an affection for prison camps. These tragedies are even more terrible when contrasted with the potential Russian society has shown throughout its history. From its immense and powerful empire to its trailblazing step as the first society to (arguably) successfully realize a Marxist revolution, Russia has often had the latent desire and means to be a truly successful world power.

Of course, this modern pessimistic mindset was exacerbated by the chaos of the fall of the Soviet Union and the turbulent nineties, but this reading makes it clear that this way of corrupt governing was present in the tsarist autocracy and throughout the span of the Soviet Union. This is clearly shown when Jennie Sutton is at the courthouse arguing against an unfounded accusation and when she succeeds in getting only the police chief on her side, her case is dismissed. Russians, correctly, see the law as situational and volatile, which makes life unpredictable and which will weigh down on the spirit of a people, as well as impact their relationship with the concept of power. And if power is malleable and impermanent, it will inspire nothing more than a culture of irreverence and skepticism.

Man vs. Man

We’ve discussed extensively the boundary between man and nature and how such boundaries have been bridged. In this sense, we’re talking about domestic vs. natural, or humans vs. animals. My favorite example of this is evident in Pasternak’s “Sister my life…”. Through his involvement with the “Futurism” movement, he embodies a positive perspective toward the future as he details the merging of the human and natural world. While present in much of the works we have read, the merging of the human and natural world was not present in Kata Pride Brown’s Saving the Sacred Sea. Typically it is nature that plays victim to man, such as in the case of deforestation or industrialization, but it seems like in this piece, nature is posing the problem to man. No longer do we see man vs. nature but more man vs. man, battling for domination and power. The Foreign Agent law was designed to target specific NGOs who “had been especially meddlesome in the affairs of the state and business elites” (184). More generally, Brown states that “law was created to serve as a weapon of the state against its opponents” (182), but it is evident through this notion of legal nihilism that laws such as The Foreign Agent law is used as a weapon against its very own people. For me, this piece had less to do with the problematic dynamic between man and nature and more to do with the conflict among humans.

F_(nature) + F_(human) = 0

Instead of my usual approach to these blog posts— to derive themes of Russian Romanticism from weekly assigned readings— I instead want to focus this week’s entry on aspects of human versus nature interaction within the poem “Art” by Nikolai Zabolotsky and last week’s fairytale “Vasilisa the Beautiful.” Specifically, I intend to find similarity between the narrator of “Art” and his deference to nature, alongside Vasilisa’s goodwill towards her environment, i.e. her tying of Baba-Yaga’s birch-tree with ribbon, and her feeding of Baba-Yaga’s guard animals with pie and bread. Together, I hope to better understand the theme of positive retribution by Nature throughout Russian Romanticism. I also hope to elaborate on the human’s place in Russian Romanticism: namely, man’s often overt control and thus destruction of The Natural World.

In revisiting Vasilisa’s escape, I want to play close attention to the portion right after Vasilisa runs out in the passage of the house; her subsequent interactions with Baba-Yaga’s cat, dog, birch-tree, and gate each illustrates a human giving back to the Natural World. In a matter of lines, Grumbler-Rumbler the Cat rushes to claw Vasilisa but Vasilisa “throws him a pie,” followed by the dog darting at Vasilisa and Vasilisa giving him a piece of bread (“Vasilisa the Beautiful” 14). Then, Vasilisa interacts with the birch-tree and the gate, each of which respectively attempts to “lash out [her] eyes” and “shut” Vasilisa in (14). Before they hinder her, she ties the birch-tree with ribbon and greases the gate’s hinges. Vasilisa’s attention to the animals, the tree, and the gate ultimately saves her from their (and Baba-Yaga’s) wrath; her thought to give back to nature yields positive retribution.

Upon waking up, Baba-Yaga becomes infuriated and after interrogating (more like berating) the cat, dog, birch-tree, and gate, each of the four reiterates Vasilisa’s attention to them—each testimony reaffirming the theme of positive retribution that ultimately saves Vasilisa.

“…I let her pass, for she gave me a pie. I served you for ten years, Baba-Yaga, but you never gave me so much as a crust of bread” (15).

“…I let her pass, for she gave me some bread. I served you for ever so many years, but you never gave me so much as a bone” (16).

“…I let her pass, for she bound my branches with a ribbon. I have been growing here for ten years, and you never even tied them with a string” (16).

“…I let her pass, for she greased my hinges. I served you for ever so long, but            you never even put water on them” (16).

Note the repetition in these verses. Even though we can assume that their repetitive nature is at large due to the mode which fairytales were passed down through Russian history (verbally and from memory), I also attribute the repetition of these phrases to emphasize the fact that in addition to nature’s powerful existence, it is also a retributive force. In lecture, we discussed a personified Nature as “both friend and enemy”(Lecture Sep. 10, 2018) I think the author of this fairytale chooses to emphasize this sentiment not only through the unforeseen compliance of these animated characters, but also through the compositional choice to repeat and draw attention to these characters and their sentiments.

In connection to this week’s poem “Art” by Nikolai Zabolotsky, I also notice both the characterization of the speaker, and Zabolotsky’s form in constructing his argument, each lend value to the theme of positive retribution by nature (and perhaps to a similar but negative force possessed by man). To start, the first four stanzas of Zabolotsky’s poem reference the ways that man reaps the benefits of his natural environment. “Tree” comes with a description of “natural column of wood;” cow is “a solid body,/ set on four endings/” with “two horns like the moon in its first quarter” (Zabolotsky 2, 9-10, 12). A house is “an edifice of wood,/ a tree-cemetery,/ a cabin of corpses,/ a gazebo of the dead—“ all for “man” who is “sovereign of the planet,/ ruler of the woodlands,/ emperor of cattle flesh” (17-20; 25-27). Notice the utilization of epithets to emphasize the severity of power that man enacts on the natural environment. Only at the end of the poem does the narrator “a faceless man,” pleasantly interact with the natural world (33). He blows through a flute, and sings to nature, his “words [flying] into the world[, becoming] objects” (36). Here, just like Vasilisa does through her interactions with the animals and nature around her, our narrator reaches harmony with his environment:

“The cow made porridge for me,/

the tree read me a story,

and the word’s dead little houses/ jumped up and down, as if alive” (37-40).

Again, take note of the repetition—namely the anaphora that begins in each line: “the cow… the tree… the word’s dead little houses.” It is stylistically similar to the writing form through which Zabolotsky introduces the cow, the tree, the houses, and man at the onset of each stanza. Each of these methods emphasizes power and in addition to the power of nature that we both felt in “Vasilisa the Beautiful,” and heard about in lecture, Zabolotsky provides us also a power initiated and sustained by man. The epithets I mention before are competing with the Natural World. There is a component to the natural environment’s “force diagram,” if you will, that was not accounted for in either “Vasilisa the Beautiful” or in many of the other pieces we have reviewed in lecture; that is—the opposing force of man, whether that is positive or negative.

Now if I continue this physics analogy, it would make perfect sense for man’s impact on the natural environment to be negative, even caustic. In order to reach net equilibrium, i.e. natural harmony, would it not be necessary for humans to reap the benefits of the world around them? Though I do not think that this conclusion is what either of these literary pieces intends to prove, I do however, think that Zabolotsky’s emphasis on man’s relentless attitude towards utilizing the natural world is an important reaction to the power of nature. What are your thoughts? Does Zabolotsky’s “Art” lead you to think differently about the themes of nature and its omnipotence throughout Russian Romantic literature?

Tolstoy and Chekov and the De-Romanticizing of Peasant Life

Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya attacks the historic idolization of the Russian country peasant life. The character’s realization of their country lives’ lack of opportunity and monotony causes a suicidal catharsis and the detrition of their already frail familial relationships. Chekhov is attempting to destroy the aggrandized peasant life shown in a novel such as Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina where members of the aristocracy vacation into manual labor and instead show the consequences and horrors of peasant country life.

Famously, Levin in Anna K temporarily inhabits peasant labor in the drawn-out mowing scene. Levin seeks out the life of his peasants for, “so he loved the peasantry in contrast to the class of people he did not love, and so he knew the peasantry as something in contrast to people in general. In his methodical mind, certain forms of peasant life acquired clear shape.” Levin exalts and vacations to peasantry for its simplicity in comparison to the highly political life of Moscow and St. Petersburg. In the simple life of labor, Levin can find purpose and clear meaning to his action.

Tolstoy’s Levin is problematic, however, in that it idolizes peasant life but does not show the harsh realities that accompany country life. Levin is able to vacation into manual labor and embedded (to use Giddens terminology) society but does not immigrate. Tolstoy fails to show the harsh realities accompanying the lifestyle Levin visits.

Chekhov does display the harsh consequences of assimilation into country life. Unlike the aggrandized praise for the natural environment presented in Anna K, Chekhov’s characters display the real hardships that accompany an embedded and labor-filled life. Astrov, the country doctor who has experienced modernized society before, remarks, “it’s our life—our provincial, parochial Russian life—I can’t stand. I despise it with my whole heart… I work harder than anyone in the district. You know that. Fate lashes out at me from all sides.” Instead of romanticizing peasant country life, Chekov accurately show is harsh reality and the poor quality of life manual labor begets. More so, Chekhov continually emphasizes the lack of opportunity and mobility in country residences—they have no opportunity like Levin. As Tolstoy’s Levin romanticizes his two days of labor, Chekov notes the consequences of such a life.