One of the largest themes in “Uncle Vanya” is the passage of time and change over time. The arrival of the professor and his young wife in this country home catalyzes self-reflections, arguments and regrets with regards to how the characters have spent their time. Starting with the doctor, Astrov, Marina tells him honestly that, “You were young then, and handsome…you’ve lost your looks. And you like your vodka” (63). Astrov and Uncle Vanya share a discontent that time is passing them by and they are facing a stark and limited future. As Uncle Vanya reports despondently, “Everything’s old. I’m the same as always. Well, maybe a bit worse” (66). Not only is time passing, but any change it brings is for the worst.

Astrov remains obsessed with this idea of change in the form of the environment. In his rant about how the forests are being destroyed by lazy Russians, he despairs, “There are fewer and fewer forests, rivers are drying up, game animals are all but extinct, the climate is being ruined, and day by day the land gets poorer and uglier” (72). These remarks appear very forward-thinking, especially for the late 19^th century. Yet the character who takes his views to heart is the young and in-love Sonya. This suggests few are as enamored with this idea of taking care of the environment. Regardless, the doctor continues later, equating healthy forests with gentler climates and thereby gentler people. This remark presents a hopeful possibility for harsh Russia (and Russians).

The artwork Astrov dedicates himself to also represents this change over time as he depicts the successive diminution of the forest in the country. In showing the pictures to Yelena, his conclusion, “What we have here is basically a picture of gradual but unmistakable decay” reiterates the negative change time has wrought. In this story, the deterioration of the environment mirrors the social decay prevalent in the household as the characters become listless; they become obsessed with beauty over their other passions and works and drink themselves silly. Yet, the ending of the story provides a sobering glance of the future as once the professor and Yelena leave, every aspect of life for the others returns to as it was before. Powerless in the face of time, the best they can do is live as the world deteriorates around them. Or do they render themselves powerless by not trying?

While reading these short stories in particular, I wonder, how, if at all, does the commentary on human and nature in these works relate to environmentalism during the time periods that they were written? What was the context of environmentalism during these times? While the concept of environmentalism as we know it now is (as far as I’ve learned) very modern, the core of valuing nature is evidently long-lived. The fact that every poem, story, and work of art that we have read has any focus on nature demonstrates that all of these authors perceive nature to be, at the very least, worth noticing. Of course, most go further to honor nature or contemplate its complexity. Ultimately, I wonder how art that values nature relates to environmentalist ideologies through time. 

The Bear Hunt gives light to that relationship on an individual scale for Tolstoy.

While this story stands out as a nonfictional anecdote, both its context and Tolstoy’s artistic narration reveal his evolving perspective on how humans and nature should interact. As Tolstoy recounts his adventure, it is sometimes unclear whether it’s a “Bear Hunt” or a “Human Hunt.” Nonetheless, the title, and the details at the end of the story both point to Tolstoy’s pride in his victory. Every characterization of the bear depicts him as either charmingly smart, or as “mad with fright.” Tolstoy builds up a strong sense of empathy for the “huge creature,” and yet the concluding lines of the story seem to show that he feels he deserves respect and victory for dominating the animal (117). He stuffs the bear, and keeps it in his room – a constant reminder of man’s ability to dominate nature. On the other hand, the bear only left minimal scars that “can scarcely be seen” (117). Although, when the bear is attacking Tolstoy, Tolstoy is obviously inferior, by the end, he juxtaposes the damage of either player against the other in terms of their ultimate outcome.

When Tolstoy wrote this piece in 1872 reflecting on his experience from 1858, he revealed a contradictory perception of nature; he acknowledges the bear’s intelligence and emotional capacity, yet he ultimately views the bear’s purpose as to serve him. However, two decades after the incident, he decided to stop hunting on “humanitarian grounds” (108). Had Tolstoy written this work 10 years later, I presume that he would have depicted the adventure, particularly the ending, very differently.

I waded through ‘Among Animals and Plants’ without really capturing the overarching theme, the topic that unites all of the story’s complex parts. I caught the first glimpse of a theme on page 161 when Platonov describes Fyodorov’s longing for the world beyond his village, stating that, “Out there was science, fame, higher education, the new Moscow Metropolitan railway, while here were only animals, the forest and his family…”. Throughout the story, the reader is reminded of Fyodorov’s desire to see the larger and more developed world. He expresses a hunger for breaking away from his small village life surrounded by animals and plants, wanting to break into the world of theater, science, fame, and the new Moscow Metropolitan railway that he hears about on the radio. Each time he brings up this different world, he compares it to his own – a depressing life with nothing to do but work and worry. We see his longing in the many instances he uses his imagination to better the dull and meaningless situation he’s in. On page 168 Fyodorov dreams up an entire world to identity unknown passengers on the train, delving deep into a fictional story about the woman’s bloody and tear-saturated handkerchief. On the following page, he describes his reading tactic of starting a book in the middle or end pages to avoid the monotony of the beginning, as the writer “is just thinking”. All of these instances combined, I had a grasp on the fact that Fyodorov was unhappy in his life, yearning for something more creative, exciting, and rewarding.

Scanning the story over once more, a quote on page 162 caught my eye: “Next a choir of young girls’ voices began a song about heroic socialism, about happy people, about interesting life…the sense of the music remained clear: people should live in bliss, not in need and torment”. The key word here is “heroic socialism” and once I caught on to that, I was able to understand living in “bliss” to mean existentialism and conversely, living in “need and torment” to represent the current socialist state of Russia at that time. With this, I found that overarching theme, then coloring the way I understood the metaphors I didn’t originally pick up on. For example, I was confused by the extreme anger Fyodorov felt toward ants at the beginning of the story, claiming that “They spend all their lives dragging goods into their kingdom; they exploit every solitary animal, both big and small, that they can dominate; they know nothing of the universal common interest and live only for their own greedy, concentrated well-being” (156). Fyodorov’s view of the ants is simply a reflection of what he sees in himself, and accordingly, his disapproval of socialism.

Something seemed off to me the first time I read this story – Fyodorov was clearly unhappy but I wasn’t able to pinpoint why. Taking into consideration the political climate of the time, it makes sense that Fyodorov feels unfulfilled, craving the freedom to dictate his own development in a socialist world.

Something that stood out to me while reading about the Russian forest and its creatures was the blurring of lines between the human and animal worlds, specifically in the Zinovieva-Annibal pieces. The two short stories, “The Bear Cubs” and “Wolves” depicted different interactions between the worlds. “The Bear Cubs” showed animals entering the human world whereas “Wolves” showed a frenzied girl cross a boundary between humans and animals.

The bear cubs in Zinovieva-Annibal’s story were introduced as the “two friends” of the narrator. Though bears are often feared in human worlds, the cubs are described as having teeth “softer than the touch of [my] hands” (4). Because the cubs are raised in the human world, they lose much of their status as terrifying creatures of the forest. As they grow larger, they regain their ability to be perceived as a threat to human safety, despite their deep love of humans and the lack of conflict between them thus far. Though the mother and daughter who raised the Mishka’s valued love over the hierarchy of humans and animals, both bear cubs died in the end of the story because of preconceived notions that animals are inherently dangerous to, as well as subject to the wrath of, humans.

The boundary crossed in Zinovieva-Annibal’s “Wolves” followed an emotional viewing of a pack of wolves being captured in a hunt and one wolf receiving a fatal wound that caused it much suffering. In order for the humans in the story to hunt wolves, they use hunting dogs. The use of an animal to hunt another animal implies a certain hierarchy of skill that humans cannot compensate for on their own. Despite this implied power dynamic, the hunters capture the wolves to bring them to the Tsar’s hunt, where they break one leg on each world so “they won’t run away too fast… and also so they can’t attack” (21). After seeing the brutality of the hunt, Verochka enters a frenzy, she howls and runs recklessly through the forest only to get tangled in one of the traps set for the wolves. Verochka is berated for her actions and laughed at, even though she is the only one seeing the wolves with compassion instead of bloodlust.

One theme represented in these short-stories that fascinated me was the idea that there is a clear and important distinction between the lives of humans and their animal counterparts. And that the different experiences are profound, so much so that it defines what it means to be human. This difference poses a difficult question: who is freer, humans or animals? While humans have criss-crossed the world with roads, trains and planes, discovered the secret laws of our universe, and literally broken through the boundary of the cosmos, humans overwhelmingly feel trapped and overwhelmed by the society that they have created. That is in sharp contrast to a bear walking through the woods, able to urinate wherever it wants (satisfy its primal urges) and be able to sleep soundly, not plagued by existential dread or the thought of billions of its kind needlessly suffering around the world. The animal’s only worry while sleeping is if it will eat that night, or be eaten.

In the short story Among Animals and Plants by Andrey Platonov, the main character Fyodorov describes when he would watch sleeping dogs, cats, and chickens: “They had chewed with their mouths and pronounced blissful sounds, sometimes half-opening eyes blind with sleep and then closing them again, stirring a little, wrapping themselves in their own bodies’ warmth and moaning from the sweetness of their own existence.” These animals aren’t burdened by their own existence the same way in which humans are. Of course, their lives are often less secure and predictable, but they have no conception of good or bad, of being embarrassed or heartbroken. Their lives are governed by the far simpler impulses of hunger, self-protection, and sexual desire.

Because of this blissful ignorance, and lack of self-reflection, Lydia Zinovieva-Annibal argues that animals don’t fear death in the same way humans do. In Wolves, Annibal argues that “‘Well, but what does it matter that we’re sinful?’ ‘Well, then, we need to repent.’ ‘Well, so?’ ‘Well, now that only God knows. Even death isn’t fearful for an animal, see, because, like I explained to you, an animal has no sin. Man’s the only one has to worry about death.’” She is arguing that because animals don’t have any conception of sin, they are liberated from the shadow of death that hangs over humans their whole life.

This is not to say that the stories are always arguing that the added complexity of human life is a negative. I was struck while reading the same story, Wolves by Annibal, the description of the invalid mother, who describes the beauty of society while telling her daughter about her connection to the broader world in spite of her disease: “I can go all over Russia, over the whole earth, through mountains and villages and cities, into the monasteries and wild forests . . . And sons and daughters-all God’s children on the earth, and you, my loved ones, are also in my heart. For there’s an endless amount of room in the human heart, and there’s more of love’s flame than is needed to set earth on fire, but that fire of love does no harm, like the burning bush, the fire did no harm, but burned, and has not burned out.” No matter the difficulty of human life, there is a profound beauty in the human heart’s capacity to love and to connect with other human’s hearts. A privilege that is (probably) found in only one species on Earth.

For this week’s blog post, I would like to pay close attention to the strong sense of subservience between animal towards man in various selections of poetry by Nikolai Zabolotsky, three anonymous fairytales, and the literary artwork of Ivan Bilibin. To begin, both of Zabolotsky’s poems “In This Birch Wood” and “The Forest Lodge” feature extensive characterization regarding animals, or “creature[s],” in regard to their human superiors. While “In This Birch Wood” speaks mostly on the interactions of men at war, and their environment, there is an instance where Zabolotsky directly intersects the narratives of man and animal: he states that in early morning, orioles sit outside their “human[s’] door[s],” and “sing matins virtuous and poor.” (“In This Birch Wood” 13-14). In response, “soldiers and men [are] still,” almost unamused by the very birds that provide them morning songs (15). Yet, when an “atomic explosion” echoes through this war-scene, man inquires why the bird goes quiet, as if there exists an expectation for the birds to serve man unconditionally (16,21). To continue, a similar expectation of servitude is communicated in Zabolotsky’s “Forest-Lodge” when a “shaggy creature” creeps up to an old man’s door in the middle of a rainstorm (“Forest-Lodge” 16). In response to site of the old man, the inhuman form becomes startled and “flees”—which is “just as any other might have done,” according to Zabolotsky (17). In both poems, there is an unspoken superiority occupied by man when confronted by animal. In “…Birch Wood,” the orioles are expected to sing routinely, and are interrogated when failing to perform, whereas in “Forest-Lodge,” the creature is expected to flee. Note this sense of expectation that exists for animal towards man, and how it distinctly characterizes animal versus man.

Furthermore, if we look at the fairy-tales “Prince Ivan and the Grey Wolf” and “Vasilisa the Beautiful,” we similarly witness the subservient relationship between animal and man, yet through longer and more developed discourses. First, the Grey Wolf completely ravages Ivan’s horse in “Prince Ivan and the Grey Wolf,” leaving “nothing but bones, picked clean” (“Prince Ivan and the Grey Wolf” 22). In response to Ivan’s dismay, the Grey Wolf graciously offers to right his wrongs, and thus assist Ivan in finding and retrieving the Fire-Bird. Even when Ivan continuously ignores the suggestions of the Grey Wolf, such as to leave the golden cage and bejeweled bridle, the Grey Wolf remains steadfast in his promise to find Ivan the Fire-Bird. In fact, there are various instances when the Grey Wolf sacrifices his own safety, simply to safeguard Ivan’s desires to keep both the Golden Mane and Yelena the Fair. For example, Grey Wolf “turn[s] a somersault, and [is] at once changed into Yelena the Fair” in order to disguise himself as sacrifice for Tsar Kusman (27). Later, the Grey Wolf again “turn[s] a somersault” and transforms into the Golden Mane to appease Tsar Afron, as well (28). As readers, we get this image of the Grey Wolf jumping head-over-heels (i.e. a somersault) in attempts to please Ivan (man). Note, however, that this is not the only fairy-tale that features this uncontested desire to please man: the small doll inherited by Vasilisa from her mother in “Vasilisa the Beautiful” ultimately channels a commandeering energy in order to save Vasilisa from Baba-Yaga. This doll invokes the help of “flocks and flocks” of birds to come and “pick over millet seed by seed” until dawn, in order to protect Vasilisa from the wrath of her capturer (“Vasilisa the Beautiful” 12). Note that gratitude for the birds and their assistance is never expressed; the birds and their services are simply expected. Similarly, this sense of expectation is likewise suggested in the artwork of Ivan Bilibin— in his pieces entitled “The Black Horseman” and “The Red Horseman,” he utilizes strong facial features and bright colors on and around the horses, which could perhaps communicate an exuberance to serve the men who ride them. Clearly, expectation is present in the fairy-tales— its presence so strong that as viewers, we trace and deduce similar sentiments from related artworks!

Please let me know if any of you also noticed themes of unquestioned subservience between animal and man within these pieces. I would love to hear your feedback!

In many of the reading so far, we’ve seen nature approached as an omnipotent uncontrollable force. The authors have manipulated an Eden like relationship where nature and wilderness are unobtainable and unconquerable. In “Forest-Lodge,” however, Zabolotsky presents man and nature as equal combatting foes, giving more developmental credit to humanity than the previous authors.

In Forest-Lodge Zabolotsky presents multiple moments of conflict between the natural and the domesticated, each of which shows a stalemate between the two forces. The very title of the poem “Forest-Lodge” is an oxymoron, similar to the famous Green Church in the mid-evil poetic epic Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Forest implies a natural space and wild space, whereas Lodge signifies a manmade artificial dwelling. A “Forest-Lodge” therefore presents a conflict of the two space, man attempting to domesticate a space within the wilderness.

The representation of animals presents further tension. When the man shoots at “a shaggy creature that loomed at the door,” the mysterious animal’s retreat is juxtaposed with descriptions of the man’s cat springing, “from the sill and hid under the stairs” and the man’s dog growling, “despondently.” The domesticated animals who inhabit a developed space react in fear of nature. Much like the space within forest lodge, they too are separated and distant from their natural and wild beginnings.

Development does not just inhabit natural space but also alters it. As the man shoots at the mysterious creature, “a shot rang out,/ shaking the forest to its foundations.” The man’s gunshot is paralleled to the lighting from the storm earlier in the poem, both being destructive forces but one natural and the other manufactured. Just as the lightning could strike the forest lodge and destroy it, so to can the man fire back at nature.

Zabolotsky leveling of natural and development forces is a novel take on the interaction between Russian culture and the environment. As before we had the perspective of humans being belittled by the grand wilderness, Zabolotsky depicts a combative relationship. Zabolotsky’s “Forest-Lodge” forces consideration of the power of nature in developed spaces, and the continual destruction and domestication of natural spaces.