A few reading highlights of the year so far! 😊

As we’re over halfway through the year, I noticed that a number of fellow bookbloggers have been posting a variety of memes revealing their mid-point best-ofs. I am never that disciplined when it comes to picking favourites, and find it impossible to make a numbered list at the end of the year; and picking books to shuffle into half-yearly categories is beyond me! However, I thought it might be nice to share a few little reading highlights of my year so far – by theme mostly – so here goes!

Works in Translation

I loved to read translated books and they’re always a strong feature on the Ramblings. Of course, August is Women in Translation month and I have my sights on quite a few interesting titles. However, this year I have read some marvellous titles from publishers like Glagoslav, Columbia University Press, V&Q Books and many others.

Two particular standouts have been hybrid reads: “The Naked World” by Irina Mashinski, which combines prose and poetry; and “My Hollywood and other poems” by Boris Dralyuk, which blends original poetry with translations. Both of these works are original and striking, and will definitely make it into my year-end post. Highly recommended reading from here!

Re-reads

I don’t re-read as much as I like, as a rule, but this first half of the year has seen me revisiting some of the most important books from my younger years. The #Narniathon, which started last year, nudged me into re-reading C.S. Lewis‘s wonderful sequence, and it was such an enjoyable experience; I read these books constantly in my youth, but hadn’t gone back to them for decades!

Then there was “The Lord of the Rings“. I moved on to these books as a child after loving the Narnia ones, and in my early twenties re-read them compulsively. I’ve meant to go back to them in recent years, and in fact purchased a shabby set of the same edition I first read; but it took the #1954Club to nudge me into the re-read and I loved every minute!

Finally, there’s Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast books; another set I read in my teens and which really changed my life. I re-read the first, “Titus Groan“, a while back; but it took the wonderful Backlisted Podcast covering the sequence to nudge me into returning to “Gormenghast“. What an amazing experience it was; I really must build more re-reading into my schedule!!

Reprints

Although I do read modern works (and I’ve done so quite a lot recently), I tend towards classics or modern classics, as well as Golden Age crime, often in reprint. As usual, British Library Publishing have been spoiling me with some marvellous reprints plus new collections; a recent anthology, “The Edinburgh Mystery” was a particular treat, bringing together as it did stories related to my home country and city. Another publisher bringing out interesting reprints alongside new works is Renard Press, and their books have the addition of always being so beautifully produced.

And a recent arrival to the scene is Recovered Books with their fabulous series via Boiler House Press; the first title, “Gentleman Overboard“, was a stunner and they’re continuing to release some excellent titles! I do love a good reprint!!

The Penguin Modern Box

I have a number of ongoing Penguin Projects, most of which are moving quite slowly… But I have managed this year to finally finish my reading of the 50 books in my Penguin Modern box set. This was a really enjoyable and rewarding experience; I got to discover and explore so many marvellous new authors; and I really do need to get my act together and get on with the other projects too!!!

ReadIndies

Talking of projects, I have mostly tried to keep reading events and challenges simple so far this year. However, I was particularly pleased to co-host again with Lizzy #ReadIndies (an event which grew out of Fitzcarraldo Editions Fortnight). Indie publishers are some of my favourites, and in these difficult times when it can be a struggle for them to make ends meet, I was so happy to do what I could to help promote them. Hopefully this is an event which will return next year!

Chunky non-fiction

Several very thought-provoking, chunky, and enjoyable non-fiction books have made it onto the Ramblings recently. I’ve always enjoyed a good non-fiction read, and I find as I get older that I tend to be reading even more. Over recent months I’ve had much mental stimulation from “Letters to Gwen John” by Celia Paul, “A Spectre, Haunting” by China Mieville and “The Life of Crime” by Martin Edwards. All very different, all very chunky and all brilliant reads!

So there you have it – a few of the highlights of my reading year so far. Despite real life often being screamingly busy, I really have been lucky enough to read some marvellous books; and as there are still several months until it’s time to round up the whole year, I have plenty of reading time left for new titles and new favourites. Watch this space to see what I’m reading next – I wonder which books will finally make it onto the end of year best-of???? 🤣🤣

“…their resilience and discreetness…” #thenakedworld @IrinaMashinski

When author and translator Irina Mashinski contacted me to see if I would be interested in reading her book, “The Naked World” I didn’t hesitate for a moment; in fact, I probably bit off her hand! I’d been aware of her work since reading “The Penguin Book of Russian Poetry”, which she co-edited with Robert Chandler and Boris Dralyuk. She also works on the Cardinal Points Journal, and has published many books of poetry and essays in Russian. I hadn’t appreciated, though, how widely she’d written and “The Naked World” (her first work in English) sounded as if it would be the perfect read for me – which it was!

Mashinski was born and raised in Moscow (in the spring of 1958, “5 years, 4 months and 10 days” after Stalin’s death); she emigrated to the USA in 1991. “Naked” explores her life straddling two continents, but does so by utilising two written forms; the book blends prose and poetry, and the results are stunning.

Each time when you raise your eyes to the stars, you see the past, and each time when you raise your eyes to the moon, you see the reflected the present. Past and present blend within you like the stars and the moon and those sparks of tiny flowers on the dark Soviet apron. And if there is a rhythm, it’s muted.

The book is divided into four sections: “Patterns”, “The Myth”, “In the Right-of-Way” and “Borders”, and each examines different aspects of Mashinski’s life, from her years living under Soviet rule to her time in the West as an emigre. Her memories stretch back to Stalin’s Great Terror, which affected her grandparents who were sent into exile, and these sections were particularly moving. In fact, the book opens with Stalin’s death and the effect that had on many Russians; of Jewish heritage, her family were particularly vulnerable in the Russia of the 20th Century, and it’s clear that what happened to them has left emotional scars.

So the first two parts of the book deals mainly with the past, with Mashinski exploring her family history, reliving her memories of her forebears and their sufferings, and reflecting on her own life. Even though Stalin had died, it was still not easy to live in the USSR, and Mashinski’s family were still at risk. However, going into voluntary exile and becoming an emigre is not so easy either, and when the family flee to the West, the sense of feeling stateless, not belonging, runs through many of the writings too. Although Mashinski comes to terms with her new world, it’s clear her homeland will never leave her.

It’s the time when
dreams fill
with my dead, mountains
block what’s left of the sun

They darken toward evening,
first one, then the second, the third,
they linger, turning mauve, and move off to the west,
like leaves to the ravine.

Irina Mashinski’s story is moving, inspiring and often heartbreaking; however, what makes this book stand out particularly is the wonderful writing. An intriguing hybrid of prose, original poetry, adapated poetry and translated poetry, it captures so many moments from her past and life in lyrical and memorable writing. This is a singularly original way to tell a story and it works quite brilliantly! Her poetry in particular cuts through to the heart. Poignantly, the book ends with a section setting out “Notes on the Great Terror”; even if you know something about this (which I do), it hits hard to see the awful facts set out here in black and white.

“The Naked World” is not an easy book to categorise, encompassing as it does so much; memory, family myths, cultural history, exile and the emigre experience. It’s a work which gets under the skin, leaving images lodged in the brain of forests and patterned wallpaper and wastelands and sunsets and a new world seen through the eyes of someone leaving a complex past behind. Her memories are vivid and moving, her verse beautiful and reading the book was such an immersive experience. It’s a work with disparate elements which are woven together beautifully to create a powerful and moving whole, and I’m so glad I had the opportunity to read it.

You remember me leaving, right? One takes off filled up to the brim – and lands in a new place empty. I wanted to tell you how it feels to cross the ocean and see your own flat giant shadow on the water, and peel yourself off and recognise that you’re real… emigration is like evacuation: sacks, trunks, random acquaintances, other people’s things that try to latch on to you, and wide unknown rivers covered with ice. And then several years pass, and it turns out that you’re full again, full to the brim.

In bringing her work to English, Mashinski has had the input of a stellar collection of collaborators to aid with the translation, including Boris Dralyuk, Robert Chandler and Maria Bloshteyn; and poet Ilya Kaminsky provides a heartfelt preface. Mashinski dedicates her book to the memory of her parents and grandparents, and it’s certainly a moving memorial of their life and sufferings.

As I hoped and expected, “The Naked World” turned out to be an unforgettable read; lyrical, moving, laced with beautiful prose, poetry and imagery, it’s a work which will stay with you, and it’s definitely going to be in my end of year best-of! Irina Mashinski’s marvellous book is published by MadHat Press, and I highly recommend you track down a copy.

If you want to explore further, there’s a wonderful recording of a pre-launch discussion which includes contributions from Mashinski, Chandler, Dralyuk, Bloshteysn and others available here.

“The versifier’s bitterest, most unbearable affliction is his title…” #Pushkin #RobertChandler #ElizabethChandler @borisdralyuk

A quick look at the Russian section of my bookshelves (which is pretty large…) reveals that I possess a good number of books by, and about, Alexander Pushkin. Known as the father of Russian poetry, and often indeed as the founder of modern Russian Literature, I’ve read a reasonable amount of his works; the poems mostly in anthologies, and also a lovely little collection of short prose works translated as “Belkin’s Stories” by Roger Clarke and published by Alma Classics. It’s interesting that, although Pushkin is most known as a poet, he actually produced many prose works, finished and unfinished. So I was very excited when I heard that NYRB Classics were releasing a new collection entitled “Peter The Great’s African: Experiments in Prose”, edited by Robert Chandler, and translated by Robert Chandler, Elizabeth Chandler and Boris Dralyuk; let’s face it, I was obviously going to want to read it!

The book collects together four pieces: Peter the Great’s African, The History of the Village of Goriukhino, Dubrovsky and The Egyptian Nights. Each of these, which vary in length from short fragment to almost novella, is an unfinished work, but they’re all remarkable pieces in their own right, and the book makes fascinating reading.

In the title story, Pushkin draws on his own heritage, as his maternal great-grandfather, Abram Petrovich Gannibal, was an African who had been kidnapped and enslaved, but ended up as a favourite and godson of Peter the Great. Cleverly, Pushkin uses the backdrop of his kinsman’s story to contrast the lifestyles of Russia, with its boyars and old traditions, and Paris, with its modernity and new ways. As we follow Ibrahim, the protagonist, on his journey through French then Russian society, we can see how Peter’s reforms were making inroads into the traditional lifestyle in his country, and that this was not always welcome. As well as the modernisations, the story also tackles the reactions of the Russians to the African man; despite his virtues, there is an underlying sense that if he had not had the protection of the Tsar, attitudes might well have been different. As the story breaks off, Ibrahim has had his heart broken and is preparing to make a society marriage to cement his status; alas we will never know how Pushkin would have resolved that plot strand.

“The History of the Village…” is a short, punchy and satirical piece. The narrator and author of the history is one Belkin (who also featured in the stories I mentioned above) an impoverished nobleman. Bored while staying in the countryside, he decideds that he has the making of a man of letters and sets out to explore a number of genres. Eventually, after finding all of them unsatisfactory, he settles on writing history, but even this seems problematic. His sources are random and partial; he senses bias everywhere; and he cannot even recognise the requirements of history as opposed to fiction. As well as satirising history and historians, there’s also the sense that Pushkin is parodying himself as Belkin has many traits and life events in common with his creator; altogether, it’s a clever and entertaining piece.

“Dubrovsky” is the longest work in the book, an unfinished novel in which Pushkin explores the situation in Russia and finds it wanting. Two landowners, Troyekurov and Dubrovsky, fall out and the former determines to dispossess the latter. The local legal systems can be easily bought and Troyekurov (a nasty, vicious and obnoxious tyrant if there ever was one) has the money to do so. His actions bring about the demise of Dubrovsky the father; however, his son returns to the village to avenge his father and becomes a notorious outlaw, assisted by a group of loyal serfs who join his gang of brigands. Events come to one dramatic head, although there is much action and drama in the story, and we will never know the end of Dubrovsky’s story; but what we do have is fascinating.

Again, Pushkin is definitely critiquing the system here; the serfs are nothing more than slaves, the law belongs to whoever has most money or sway in a locality, and there is the sense that good has no power against the corrupt systems of Russian law. There is a feeling in the first three stories that the old Russian traditions are so embedded that it will be impossible to drag the country and its population screaming and kicking into any kind of modernity. Certainly, Dubrovsky’s serfs are fiercely loyal to him and want to stay with him; there’s not much of a hint that they can envisage any kind of independence or freedom, and indeed the country is not structured in a way to give them opportunities.

Charsky made every possible effort to escape the insufferable soubriquet. He avoided his fellow men of letters, preferring the company of even the most vacuous members of high society. His conversation was exceedingly banal and never touched on literature. In his dress he always followed the latest fashion with the diffidence and superstition of a young Muscovite visiting Petersburg for the very first time. His study, furnished like a lady’s bedroom, did not in any respect call to mind that of a writer; no books were piled on or under the tables; the sofa was not stained with ink; there was none of the disorder that reveals the presence of the Muse and the absence of dustpan and brush. Charsky despaired if one of his society friends discovered him pen in hand. It is hard to believe that a man endowed with talent and a soul could stoop to such petty dissimulation.

The final piece in the book explores a different aspect to the changes in Russian society. “The Egyptian Nights” tells the story of the poet Charsky, a man with a complicated relationship to his art. The obvious thing, of course, is to see Charsky as a cipher for Pushkin himself, and Robert Chandler, in his excellent afterword, feels that the fictional poet does represent something of the real one. Charsky encounters an improvvisatore who composes and performs his works on the spot, after selling tickets to his recitals and getting the audience to choose his subject. That in itself is a great talent, but Charsky is uncomfortable with the commercial element of the performance. Artists of the period depended on rich patrons and the selling of one’s services, but in the story it is clear that Charsky is finding it hard to separate the demands of patrons and society with the need for purity of his writing. I guess not much has changed over the centuries, as the conflict between the commercial and the artistic still exists today.

A particularly fascinating element of “Egyptian…” is that it features two poetic sequences, and I can’t help wondering how much more of his verse Pushkin would have worked in had he finished it. As with all four pieces in this volume, there’s great joy in reading what the great writer left behind, but a sadness in knowing that he never finished them. He may have considered his prose to be “experiments” but it’s quite clear he had singular talents in all of the various kinds of writing he chose.

As I mentioned earlier, there is an excellent and informative afterword by Robert Chandler, plus useful notes to the texts, and this really is an exemplary collection. Chandler has also produced a brilliant “Short Life” of Pushkin, which I reviewed here and can highly recommend if you want to explore the poet’s life further. “Peter the Great…” is of course wonderfully translated by the reliable team I credited above – they’re all translators I trust – and this volume is a brilliant way to bring Pushkin’s prose to a new and wider audience; I loved it! As you can see from the image above, I really *do* own a lot of Pushkin, and after the joy of reading this one I shall definitely have to read more. I think someone on Twitter might just have mentioned a “Eugene Onegin” readalong later in the year…. ;D

Many thanks to the publisher for kindly providing a review copy; the book is out today!

Tackling mortality the Russian way…. @pushkinpress #tolstoy #borisdralyuk

Lives and Deaths: Essential Stories by Leo Tolstoy
Translated by Boris Dralyuk

Following on from my last post, where I considered a lovely new collection of Gogol’s essential stories from Pushkin Press, I’m today going to be looking at a similar collection bringing together some of Tolstoy’s shorter works. Tolstoy was, of course, more prolific than Gogol (well, he lived a lot longer, for one thing…); and so translator Boris Dralyuk has perhaps had a more difficult task in choosing which works to feature. He’s made what I think is an exemplary selection, one which focuses on what seems to me to be the main thrust of Tolstoy’s shorter works – death, how we prepare for it and how we meet it (as well, I suppose, as the life we lead beforehand).

The four works Boris has translated are “The Death of Ivan Illych”, “Pace-setter: The Story of a Horse”, “Three Deaths” and “Alyosha the Pot”. Of these, two I’ve read before (“Ivan..” and “Alyosha…”) and two are new to me; and certainly I sensed similar themes in each work. “Ivan…” in particular is a very dark story, dealing in the main with the illness and impending demise of the titular man. He’s again hide-bound by that Russian civil service and rigid social structure, but aims for a happy life, marrying and settling down. A random minor accident seals his fate and we watch his gradual deterioration, his wrestling with his mortality and his attempts to reckon his life. It’s a grim struggle for him, and throws up all manner of issues for the reader, as I found before…

“Alyosha the Pot”, which I recognise but must have read pre-blog, is a short tale of the life and death of a simple peasant who spends much of his life doing things for others and can therefore meet his end with serenity. And “Three Deaths” is a fascinating story, new to me, where Tolstoy considers three different types of demise: that of a consumptive rich women, an ancient peasant and – well, of the third death I will say nothing, as does Boris in his introduction, for fear of spoiling the effect. But it is a remarkable piece of writing!

I’ve left “Pace-setter…” till last because it really is something special. It is indeed the story of a horse; the Pace-setter of the title, a piebald gelding of good breeding who nevertheless had a hard life. We initially see him as old and worn out, tormented by the younger horses and struggling to carry on. However, he speaks out at night, telling his tale to the other members of the horse community, and it’s a story of suffering at the whim of humans, cruelty and betrayal, and the loss of a master with whom Pace-setter had a strong bond. Pace-setter’s story opens the eyes of the other horses to what kind of animal their companion was, and it’s a remarkably moving and powerful piece of writing (and excruciatingly sad in places).

via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve had my struggles with Tolstoy in recent years, finding it difficult to deal with his dogmatic attitudes at times; and indeed re-reading “Ivan…” I was struck again by his need to constantly blame women for the problems of human relationships. The extreme attitudes of “The Kreutzer Sonata” were starting to creep in, and his narrator’s lack of any empathy at the changes his wife was undergoing during pregnancy is shocking (although perhaps not unusual at that time).

Nevertheless, “Pace-setter…” does much to redeem him in my eyes. It’s tempting, of course, to see the life and hardship of the horses as analogous with that of the peasants. However I think it also reflects Tolstoy’s deep connection with the natural world, an element that comes through in some of the other stories. Deep down, Tolstoy seems to be saying that we should lead a *useful* life, and if we’ve done that we can face death with equanimity. That isn’t in fact a bad philosophy and if more people adopted it nowadays, we might have a nicer world around us…

“Lives and Deaths” is, therefore, an excellent collection and gives a really good flavour of Tolstoy’s writing and core beliefs. The translations read beautifully, there are useful notes where needed, and the stories flow thematically. If you want to get to grips with the essence of Tolstoy, his beliefs distilled into his short works, there can be not better place to start.

(Review copies of this book and Gogol’s Essential Tales kindly provided by Pushkin Press, for which many thanks! Both of these books would make a wonderful introduction to these Russian authors if you haven’t read them before;  but even if you have, these collections are a great way to get reacquainted… :D)

“Life is scary…” @nyrbclassics #borisdralyuk @xelafleming @ani_goes_tweet

Rock, Paper, Scissors and other stories by Maxim Osipov
Translated by Boris Dralyuk, Alex Fleming and Anne Marie Jackson

There are certain publishers whose catalogues I always watch with interest to see what gems they’ll be issuing next; likewise, there are translators whose work I trust and who I always know will be bringing into English something worth reading. So when the two coincide it’s like a perfect storm, and the resulting book is one I’m desperately keen to read. That was the case with “Rock, Paper, Scissors”: the publisher is NYRB, and the translators are Boris Dralyuk, Alex Fleming and Anne Marie Jackson; so it was a no-brainer that I was going to want to read this!

The world doesn’t break, no matter what you throw at it. That’s just how it’s built.

As well as being a fine author (more of which later…!), Maxim Osipov is a doctor, a cardiologist in fact; so someone who comes from that fine tradition of Russian writing doctors (Chekhov and Bulgakov instantly springing to mind, and indeed the publicity makes great play with this). However, the Russia which Osipov writes about in this collection of short works might initially seem to be a very different one from the earlier authors… or maybe not.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors” collects together 12 short works of varying lengths, and I might as well come straight out with it and say that every single one of them is a gem. Osipov himself lives in the provinces (Tarusa, a small town 90 miles from Moscow) and the provinces do indeed feature regularly in his works (a factor which can’t help but make me think of Chekhov again). That distance from the centre informs much modern Russian writing I’ve read (Solovyov and Larionov, again a recent Russian read, was set away from things); and it’s very relevant to Osipov’s work – as Svetlana Alexievich comments in her preface, “Out in the provinces, everything is in full view, more exposed – both human nature and the times beyond the window.”

In subject matter the stories range far and wide: some tackle medical situations directly (“Moscow-Petrozavodsk“, “The Mill“, “The Gypsy“); in some stories, the medical element is almost incidental (“The Waves of the Sea“); and in some an encounter with a doctor is a jumping off point for something very different (“After Eternity“). The stories are peopled with actors, writers, criminals (of the lower and higher order), teachers, musicians – a fascinating array of human beings, all trying to make their way in what is an often disorientating world. This is a modern Russia, although often the stories reach back into Soviet times, and many of the characters seem to feel a lack of identity, sometimes struggling to negotiate a complex modern world. There is harshness and brutality, there are unexpected twists and there is a strong sense of melancholy running through many of the stories. I could say that’s down to the eternal “Russian Soul”, although Alexievich claims that’s a myth in her preface!

Day in, day out, she sees the cool sky, the river, the sunset, and suddenly she understands: life is such a simple and austere thing. And all of these little decorations, this tinsel we wrap our lives in – music, philosophy, literature – are completely unnecessary. There is some form of truth to them, in parts, but they themselves are not the truth. The truth can be put very simply.

Osipov’s writing is beautifully atmospheric, and whether’s he’s writing about a settlement in the far North or a clinic in the suburbs, each place and its characters are wonderfully evoked. As I read on I felt the author had a deep sense of compassion for fellow humans, struggling to negotiate new and uncertain terrain whilst keeping hold of their past to give them some kind of context. There are references to past leaders and past artists, and a feeling of continuity with those who’ve come before.

Maxim Osipov by Divot [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D

Reading short story collections can be a tricky thing; there’s the danger of the stories running into one, of not being differentiated enough, of becoming a blur when you get to the end. However, Osipov’s stories were all distinct and marvellous, and so good that I found myself taking a pause between each to simply let it settle in my soul. They’re stories that will affect you, that’s for sure, and in some cases break your heart. I really don’t know that I want to pick favourites, because when I read this collection again my reactions may change; however, I want to particularly mention “After Eternity“. Almost a novella in length, it tells the story of a theatre group in the frozen North through the notebooks of their Literary Director, and it’s one of those pieces of writing that you finish and then immediately go back to the start of, to re-read and rediscover meanings you didn’t quite get the significance of first time round – a wonderful piece of writing. And “Good People” was an incredibly moving and poignant piece, capturing quite brilliantly a woman whose mind is clouding with age. “Objects in Mirror” shows how the fear of those in authority continues, whatever the regime in charge. And the title piece is a complex story with many layers, looking at provincial politics and powerplay as well as the treatment of those from other countries.

… Bella was also emotional although she didn’t quite know why. There were more and more gaps in her mind, and the pathways and partitions between them were steadily narrowing, shrinking. She feared that the gaps would soon merge into one, and there’d be nothing left in her head but… what do you call that whitish liquid that swims up when milk goes sour? Ah, yes, that’s it: whey.

As you might have gathered, I think this is an absolutely stunning collection of stories, and one that has any number of layers which I want to go back and explore. This is the kind of writing that gets into your heart *and* your mind, the sort that changes the way you look at life and I do hope more of his work will be translated into English. As I mentioned, much has been made of the fact that Osipov draws on the Russian doctor-author tradition (and certainly Chekhov and Bulgakov are both authors whom I love). In the end, whether that comparison is relevant or not I don’t know; however, what is clear is that Opisov is a great observer of human life in all its light and shade, as well as a powerful author in his own right. So kudos to NYRB, Dralyuk, Fleming and Jackson – “Rock, Paper, Scissors” is a standout book, and will definitely be one of my reads of the year.

“…sometimes, the heart knows when it’s the last time.” @GrantaBooks #levozerov #borisdralyuk #robertchandler

Portraits without frames by Lev Ozerov
Edited by Robert Chandler and Boris Dralyuk
Translated by Maria Bloshteyn, Robert Chandler, Boris Dralyuk and Irina Mashinski

There are some books that you spot on the horizon and just *know* that they’re meant for you; and “Portraits without Frames” was one of those for me. I’m well-known for my love of Russia and its arts, and yet poet Lev Ozerov was a new name to me. I spotted the book in the NYRB catalogue, and the fact that it was rendered by such an esteemed list of translators would be recommendation enough. However, the subject matter sounded essential too, and I knew I had to read this book. Unfortunately, NYRB don’t have the rights for the UK; very fortunately, Granta *do* and they’ve been kind enough to provide a review copy.

This poor book has been carted around in my bag for days, I got so attached to it, so it has taken a bit of a battering…. 😦

Lev Ozerov was born Lev Goldberg in 1914; of Jewish Ukrainian origin, he made his name as a poet and literary critic, and was an important figure in Soviet literature. The verses in “Portraits…” were written towards the end of his life, and not published until 1999 (three years after his death in 1996). In this long and profoundly moving cycle of poems, Ozerov recalls his meetings with the great and notable in Russian arts over the Twentieth Century, and the results are breathtaking.

And I recalled
…the wall of books,
all written by a man
who lived
in times that were hard to bear.

The collection has been edited by Robert Chandler and Boris Dralyuk (which is frankly recommendation enough!) and is divided into categories, such as “The Poets”, “The Prose Writers” and “Music, Theater and Dance”. The format is free verse – readable, beautifully lyrical and haunting – and each pen portrait brings the subject vividly alive. Ozerov certainly mixed with just about all the great and good in Soviet art, and the fifty accounts of his meetings with them reminded me just how many incredible artists the country and the era produced – even if they had to write for the drawer a lot of the time. Each poem is preceded by an introduction outlining the life and work of the subject; each translation is individually credited; notes are provided when necessary to illuminate the poems; so this really is an exemplary volume and a flawless reading experience.

As for the poems themselves, they really are something special. Each verse brilliantly conjures place, character, atmosphere; each subject exists in their own right and emerges fully formed from their word portrait. The parts build to a whole which is a wonderful primer on Russian creatives but also an incredible work of art in its own right. The stunning imagery of Ozerov’s verse is lyrical and often profoundly moving, never shying away from the harsh reality many of these artists faced. There was torture, exile, imprisonment, murder – yet the art survived and the book is a lasting testament to the power of words.

But nothing in Russia lasts
like a damaged reputation.

The book opens with Akhmatova; it takes in the likes of Pasternak, Platonov, Babel, Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Tatlin, Meyerhold – so many familiar names, and yet also many new to me. And the outside world impinges; there are chinks in the Iron Curtain, when “with a painful grinding” it would part and let an artist in or out for a visit; for example, Andre Malraux makes a memorable appearance (and I may well have gone off down a rabbit hole looking up his work..)

One of the most powerful sections was that of the Yiddish poets. Boris Dralyuk has written movingly about the “Night of the Murdered Poets” and it’s chilling to see how many artists were wiped out on that one night on trumped-up charges. As well as painting portraits of the subjects, the poems gradually bring Ozerov himself to life for the reader; in his relationships with the subjects we see hints of the actions he took to help and support his fellow artists. The introduction sets out Ozerov’s life and work, and the impact and legacy of what Dralyuk calls his “quiet activism” is immense.

How does it start –
the mad day, the mad life
of a writer? What whim,
what overwhelming force
presses a pen into some poor fellow’s hand
and lead him down
through all of Dante’s
twisting circles?

Really, I can’t recommend this book enough. Even if you think you don’t like poetry, well, you can read this as poetic prose. If you think you don’t know enough about Russia and its culture, there is supporting material enough for any novice. And you’d be reading the results of work by a collection of stellar translators; no messing about with Russian books which have been rendered in English in umpteen versions already. Instead, they’re bringing us groundbreaking translations of new and wonderful works, and I for one can’t thank them enough.

Lev Ozerov – unknown photo studio, possibly before or soon after the end of World War II [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

It’s funny how I seem to stumble on works that will be standouts of my reading year as we edge closer to the end of that year; it happened in 2017 and I suspect the same may happen again in 2018. Certainly “Portraits without Frames” is an outstanding book, a haunting work of remembrance and celebration, and a book I’ll return to. I’ve ended up with a long list of poets and artist to research and explore, which will be good for my soul though bad for the bookshelves. But as well as introducing so many artists new to me, this book has also acquainted me with Lev Ozerov, a poet I really want to read more of. I do hope there are other works by him in translation…

(Review copy kindly provided by Granta Books, for which many thanks!)

Giving back the lost voices of Russian women @Dedalusbooks

Slav Sisters (The Dedalus Book of Russian Women’s Literature)
Edited by Natasha Perova

Surprisingly for someone who reads a reasonable amount (ahem!) of Russian literature, it’s only struck me relatively recently that much of what I read has been written by men. Particularly in the era before the revolution, the big names are male – Gogol, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Chekhov et al – and the women’s voices seem to be either non-existent, or possibly just not translated. I think the tide is starting to turn a little nowadays; the translations of the Columbia University Press’s Russian Library (Sofia Khvoshchinskaya already issued, and Karolina Pavlova forthcoming) are doing much to redress the balance when it comes to authors from the 19th century. The 20th is perhaps a little better represented, though mainly with poets; so I was pleased to be alerted by a post on translator Boris Dralyuk’s excellent blog to the existence of “Slav Sisters”, which had somehow slipped underneath my radar.

Dedalus Books are a publisher of literary fiction with an impressive backlist, which includes much translated literature. Laudably, Dedalus has declared it will celebrate women’s literature from 2018-2028 by publishing six titles a year for the decade to celebrate the anniversary of women getting the vote in the UK in 1918. Apparently most of these will be translated from other European languages, and “Slav Sisters” is a fine entry into that list of books.

This anthology focuses on Russian women’s writing in the 20th century, and the range of writers featured is impressive – in fact, let’s have a list of the contents and translators and celebrate them all:

1. Kishmish and Solovki by Nadezhda Teffi, translated by Robert & Elizabeth Chandler.
2. My Jobs by Marina Tsvetaeva, translated by Jamey Gambrell.
3. Autobiographical Sketches by Anna Akhmatova,translated by Andrew Bromfield.
4. Delusion of the Will by Lydia Ginzburg, translated by Boris Dralyuk.
5. The Lady with the Dog and The Death of an Official by Galina Scherbakova, translated by Ilona Chavasse.
6. What a Girl by Ludmila Petrushevskaya, translated by Joanne Turnbull
7. The Stone Guest by Olga Slavnikova, translated by Marian Schwartz.
8. The Gift Not Made by Human Hand by Ludmila Ulitskaya, translated by Arch Tait.
9. Philemon and Baucis by Irina Muravyova, translated by John Dewey.
10. Landscape of Loneliness : Three Voices by Svetlana Alexievich, translated by, Joanne Turnbull.
11. The Jewess’s Farewell by Margarita Khemlin, translated by Arch Tait.

That’s a staggering amount of talent, both in terms of the authors *and* the translators, to have featured in one volume! And indeed the contents make gripping, absorbing, moving and memorable reading.

People of my generation are in no danger of being saddened by returning to the scenes of our past – we have nowhere to return to…. (Akhmatova)

The content ranges from the factual (Alexievich’s heartbreaking interviews with Soviet women about their lives and loves; Tsvetaeva’s humorous yet dark memories of her attempts to work and survive in the wake of the Russian Revolution and Civil War) to the fictional (Scherbakova’s cynical and realistic take on Chekhov; Ludmila Ulitskaya’s sardonic tale of idealism meeting with reality). Slavnikova’s story brings us into the world of Russian gangsters before veering off into allegory; Muravyova cleverly opens her tale with an old couple’s mutual hatred and co-dependence, which is eventually revealed to result from a dark and truly horrific past. Teffi, of course, is as dry as ever, yet once again there is sadness and human suffering at the heart of her stories. Ginzburg’s genre-defying piece on the psychological landscape of guilt lingers in the mind. And Tsvetaeva and Akhmatova should need no introduction to readers of the Ramblings…

Teffi by Pierre Choumoff [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Well, I could go on and on about the jewels in this collection, but in fact each story is a gem. Editor Natasha Perova (who has an impressive pedigree, including starting the small press Glas) has chosen what I think is a perfect selection of works to not only show the variety of women’s writing from the last century, but also to tell women’s stories. That latter element was what stood out for me most strongly after reading “Slav Sisters”.These are voices that would have been silenced under Soviet rule, and it’s only with the collapse of the Communist regime that they’ve been able to find an outlet.

The human memory is constructed like a searchlight, so that it illuminates separate moments while leaving all around in impenetrable darkness. Even a person with a magnificent memory may and should forget some things. (Akhmatova)

Interestingly, I was reminded when I set out to write this post about the women authors who *were* published during the 20th century; I refer of course to those writing in the science fiction field. I’ve read a number of these authors in recent years and maybe that was one genre women could tell a story in, although many of these works were in coded form, with the actual meaning hidden under the narrative to avoid the censor’s eye.

Has anyone ever seen the place that love goes when it’s run its course? Maybe it isn’t a place at all, maybe love dissipates into molecules and atoms inside one’s own body, and the most searing of the passions turns into a horny toenail? Or maybe it all scatters like ashes, so there’s no use looking for any trace of those hungering, searching hands, or the ardent lips that kissed yours until pleasure mingled with pain. Scattered, like the white bloom of apple trees. (Scherbakova)

I could go on and on about how good these pieces are; how heartbreaking in many places; and how it’s a crime that all of these women have not been better known before. I was aware of many of the names already, of course – Teffi, Tsvetaeva, Akhmatova from the early years, plus Ulitskaya and Petrushevskaya from more recent times. However, several were new to me which makes the anthology especially valuable; I was particularly taken with Galina Scherbakova and Olga Slavnikova. The works are presented in what I assume is roughly chronological order; I *would* have liked to see a little more information included about original publication date and location for the pieces just to provide context. However, if nothing else the anthology proves that women all over the world have the same needs, desires, problems and everyday issues to deal with. We certainly are all sisters under the skin and this exceptional collection really is essential reading.

Review copy kindly provided by Dedalus Books, for which many thanks!

“We command reverence for the rights of poets” – #mayakovsky #borisdralyuk @InsertBlanc

Slap in the Face – Four Russian Futurist Manifestos
Translated by Boris Dralyuk

I got very squeally and excited last month when I finally treated myself to a copy of a lovely little book/chapbook/pamphlet/whatever you call it which brought together several pieces of writing involving my beloved Mayakovsky! “A Slap in The Face of Public Taste” was the manifesto of the Russian Futurist movement, first published in 1912; and it’s from that piece of writing that this collection takes its title.

The Russian Futurists were a group of poets and artists who adopted the Futurist movement of Marinetti which “espoused the rejection of the past, and a celebration of speed, machinery, violence, youth and industry; it also advocated the modernization and cultural rejuvenation.” There were a number of sub-groups and one called Hylaea issued “Slap”, which was signed by David Burlyuk, Aleksandr Kruchenykh, Vladimir Mayakovsky and Viktor Khlebnikov. I’d come across “Slap” before in my readings of Mayakovsky, but never the three following manifestos, with the final one “A Drop of Tar” being from December 1915 and signed by Mayakovsky alone.

“Slap” is a fascinating collection of words, showing the gradual development of the Futurist artists over the years, and Dralyuk translates the manifestos with the verve and originality with which Mayakovsky and co wrote them. They were determined to break down the constraints surrounding their art, jettisoning all that had gone before, and declared that Pushkin, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky should be tossed overboard “from the steamship of modernity”. That kind of thinking was symptomatic of the Futurist movement, although some (Mayakovsky in particular) introduced a political element which might well have been missing from the work of some of those poets and artists more interested in formal experimentation.

Entertaining as the manifestos are, much of the appeal of this book comes from the extra material included. For a start, it’s a lovely thing in its own right; printed in colour on quality paper, “Slap” is heavily illustrated with images by Mayakovsky, Goncharova, Larianov, Burlyuk and others, as well as reproductions of the covers of the original journals in which the works appeared. Innovation was at hand everywhere, with one journal even having a wallpaper cover!

The icing on the cake, however, is the conversation reproduced in the back of the book between translator Boris Dralyuk and Saul Alpert-Abrams. The discussion is fascinating and erudite, throwing much light on the futurists’ poetry as well as giving useful context if the reader isn’t familiar with the period. Interestingly, they draw comparisons between translation and issuing a manifesto, and it’s fair to say that both are optimistic acts!

I haven’t come across the publisher Insert Blanc Press before but laudably they seem to focus very much on experimental literature. Here, they’ve produced a fascinating, beautiful and instructive object which I’m so pleased to at last have on my Mayakovsky shelf!

P.S. Did I mention it’s bilingual?? I can’t read Russian but I love looking at the cyrillic! 😀

The richness of a poet’s vocabulary is his justification

The trials and travails of the seeker of translations… #russianpoetry #robertchandler #borisdralyuk #peterdaniels

At the risk of becoming a bore, I have been ruminating a lot on translated literature again. As I hinted in an earlier post, I’ve been reading a lot of Russians recently (no surprise there…) and in particular poetry. Now poetry must be the hardest thing in the world to translate, particularly from a language as far removed from English as Russian, with its completely different alphabet. I’ve read Russian poetry for decades, and never really queried too deeply who was rendering it and how until recent years. A good case in point is the work of Mayakovsky; I first discovered him in my early 20s and the versions I had were translated by Herbert Marshall (I’ve written about them before on the Ramblings). However, I’ve no way of knowing how good they are; but the problem is, his versions of Mayakovsky are imprinted in my brain and I have trouble getting on with any other versions, however much more accurate they may be!

With other Russian poets I’m trying to read across the translations now; and the wonderful Penguin Book of Russian Poetry (edited by Robert Chandler, Boris Dralyuk and Irina Mashinski, who also translate many of the works) is a marvellous resource. It features a wide range of different versions, and I’m finding it a good way to get a nuanced look at particular poems. For example, I picked up a copy of Vladislav Khodasevich‘s “Selected Poems” on a trip to London in the early summer, and I was browsing through it recently. A particular poem from that book struck me and the second verse rendered by Peter Daniels is as follows:

Here on this pea we call the Earth,
either be angel or be demon.
but to be human – what’s the worth
of that, except to be forgotten

However, the version rendered by Michael Frayn in the Penguin book is slightly different.

On this small pea in endless space
be shining angel or be demon,
But not mere man, though, for to be one
is to pass by and leave no trace.

The sense is much the same, although there is a particular emphasis in the second with the addition of the word “shining”. I like both, despite their differences, though I find those differences intriguing.

However, Marina Tsvetaeva is not so straightforward. I’m used to Elaine Feinstein’s wonderful translations, which I believe reproduce Tsvetaeva’s somewhat unusual structure and punctuation. This particular extract from “An Attempt at Jealousy” (one of my favourite Tsvetaeva works so far) is a case in point:

How is your life with the other one,
   simpler, isn’t it? One    stroke of the oar
then a long coastline, and soon
   even the memory of me

will be a floating island […]

This is given in the book “Four of Us”, translated by Andrey Kneller, which I picked up recently as:

How is living with another?
Simpler? The thud of oars! –
Memories of me soon start to
Drift like waves along the shore,

I’m the island in the distance, […]

And I confess I like the second one less; it doesn’t speak to me in the same way as the first version, and I wonder whether the structure was enforced by Kneller’s wish to make the poem rhyme (which I never really expect in a translated work). Interestingly the editors of the Penguin book chose to include Feinstein’s version of this poem, and I believe her versions are highly regarded. I had a similar issue with one of Akhmatova’s verses “Echo” which I blogged about, and the original version I had read many years ago still seems to me to be superior as verse.

So I think it’s definitely a case of exploring the various poetic translations and finding out which ones appeal to me most. Certainly the Penguin book is one I’ll return to, as I trust Chandler and Dralyuk, having read and related to many of their translations. And as long as the translators haven’t invented new bits of the works (like one hideous book I read some time ago…) I shall be content when I find the version I like. And I would urge you to search out Peter Daniels’ translation of Khodasevich‘s poem “Look For Me” which is online at various places – it’s quite stunningly gorgeous and it’s what made me buy this book.

As for Marina Tsvetaeva, as you can see I have a little collection of her works now:

Yes, there are two versions of “Letters: Summer 1926” in the pile, and yes there was a good reason for me getting the NYRB version. I have had for a while a nasty old Oxford World Classics version; it’s not nasty because it’s an Oxford book (they’re lovely) but because it’s old and tatty and has been mistreated. So I thought I would invest in the NYRB book (particularly as it apparently has a good introduction by Susan Sontag) and dispose of the OWC. Alas, that is not likely to be the case… Both books feature images, but there are complications: there are extra pictures in the NYRB version but they’re printed on ordinary paper within the text and are pale and washed out. However, the OWC version has the photos (albeit a lesser selection) in a proper glossy plate section – meaning I may well have to keep that one just for the pictures… So much for book pruning…. 😦

The inevitability of the arrival of new books…

Let’s make no bones about it – I’m a book addict. Have been since I learned to read, really, and I can’t say I’ve ever denied it. So despite the bulging nature of my shelves, there have inevitably been books arriving recently (and those of you on social media may have seen some of these already). They’re a fairly eclectic bunch as usual, with a lot of nice Russians in there, and in the spirit of sharing I thought I would post some images here! 😀

So, what have we here? Well, from top to bottom:

Penguin Modern Poets #17 – yes, I know I’ve got completely behind with my reading of this series, but I hardly ever see them second-hand, and it was 49p in the Oxfam and it has Kathleen Raine. I’ll get back to this series eventually – honest!

The Passion of New Eve by Angela Carter – why, you may ask, have I picked up another copy of this when I had such a bad experience before?????? Well – for a start it’s an original green Virago in great condition for only 99p and the one I have is a nasty modern version. But mainly, my fiercely feminist Middle Child insists that it’s a work of genius, and so I fear I should pay attention to her and give it another try with an open (and in the right frame!) mind. We shall see…

Pulse by Julian Barnes – I’ve loved my recent reads of Barnes’ work, and this is short stories. I’ve not read any of  his shorter works so for £1.49 I’m happy to have a go!

(Incidentally, the three above were all from the local Oxfam which seems to have calmed down a little with its prices and I can’t help but scream “bargain”!!!)

Lud-in-the-Mist by Hope Mirrlees – all I know about Mirrlees is that she has a Woolfian connection, so when I saw this lurking in the local BookCrossing location (Caffe Nero) I figured it should come home with me.

Letters: Summer 1926 by Pasternak, Tsvetaeva, Rilke – a nice NYRB edition at Full Price! (Eeek) There is a story attached to this which will come in a later post rambling on about Russians and poetry…

Orphic Paris by Henri Cole – another NYRB I bought at full price because I just loved the sound of it. I’m currently reading it and it’s stunning and I will write about it eventually but I am a bit behind with reviews at the moment, alas…

The Wives by Alexandra Popoff – I read about this online somewhere, and for the life of me I don’t know where. It’s about the wives of Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Bulgakov etc etc and how they were literary partners and support to their husbands. Sounds just fascinating and this is a lovely second-hand-but-in-wonderful-condition-and-very-cheap copy. Result!

The eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed a couple of spines with no writing and these are they:

This little lovely has been on my radar for a while, and as I’m having a bit of a Russian poetry binge at the moment and want to read a range of different translations, I thought “WTF! I work for a living, I shall buy books!” and sent off for it. More of the Russians in a later post, as I hinted above!

The other arrival is one I was ridiculously excited about:

Again, a lovely little chapbook I’ve been aware of for a while which is stuffed with Mayakovsky (amongst others) and translated by Boris Dralyuk! The cover image is from a Mayakovsky agitprop poster, and the inside is equally beautifully illustrated as well as containing an interview with the translator. Why have I never bought a copy before? Possibly because I’ve been trying to be good about book purchases (and, frankly, failing) and also because the price is not low as it’s from a small press. However, for some unknown reason to do with the weird vagaries of book pricing, I happened upon it the other day with the price slashed. So I ordered it, and even more weirdly the next day it had returned to full price. No, I don’t understand it either.

Fortunately, I have managed a fair amount of reading over the summer, and another purge is looming. However, it won’t necessarily be so easy to get rid of the extra books, as will be revealed in the forthcoming post about Russians and poetry…

(Oh, the mug? Fancy you asking! I saw it online – possibly Twitter or Instagram – and how could I resist? It’s Penguin orange, from M&S and yes, it describes me perfectly. It’s so beautiful I can hardly bear to use it…)