Russian literature

[Ghazkull]

Hi comrades

Here i would like to discuss the books abou life in USSR and the communism.
Of course all of the shoul be avaibale in English.

The first one I recommend is - Front-line Stalingrad by Victor Nekasov
one of the best books about the WWII and Easter Front written by the oficcier fought at the Staligrad battle:thumbup1:

[ComradeOm]

I just finished Platonov's The Foundation Pit (Котлован). Really interesting work that provides a surreal snapshot into the madness of the collectivisation years

[Ghazkull]

Regarding the surreal snapshots of Stalin Era: The Doomed City by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky

Very good fiction

[Robespierres Neck]

Another View of Stalin by Ludo Martens.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xw4eNemNnS8

[Ghazkull]

Another View of Stalin by Ludo Martens.

When did Ludo Martens become a Russian writer? :D

[Bronco]

This is disappointing, thought this was all gonna be about Dostoevsky and shit

[thriller]

I have read a shit load of Russian literature. My favorite from the golden age, gotta be "The Idiot" by Dovstoevsky. From the silver age in the USSR, "Moscow-Patushki" is a mind fuck by Venedikt Erofeev. But my favorite all time Russian novel is "Master and Margarita" by Bulgakov.

[Ghazkull]

This is disappointing, thought this was all gonna be about Dostoevsky and shit

Dostoevsky is really boring.

IMHO the only Russian writer of XIX worth to be read is Lermontov.
His "The Hero of our time" is awesome

[Robespierres Neck]

I see you like Mayakovsky.

[Omsk]

Maxim Gorky, Alexander Seraphimovich, Alexander Fadeyev, Alexander Pushkin, these are some good authors. Reading good literature is important, and good literature can be found outside of socialist-realism, for an example, in the period of romantism, which was influenced by the French revolution, and some progressive ideas. I would still say that writters like Gorky always manage to impress a reader. He is simply a good author. Russian literature is generally among the best.

[Robespierres Neck]

Maxim Gorky, Alexander Seraphimovich, Alexander Fadeyev, Alexander Pushkin, these are some good authors. Reading good literature is important, and good literature can be found outside of socialist-realism, for an example, in the period of romantism, which was influenced by the French revolution, and some progressive ideas. I would still say that writters like Gorky always manage to impress a reader. He is simply a good author. Russian literature is generally among the best.

I agree. French literature as well (ie. symbolist poetry). Pushkin, Gorky, Lermontov, Chekhov (a friend of Gorky), Mayakovsky, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Akhmatova, Blok, Zhukovsky, and Nekrasov are just a few must-read Russian writers.

[Omsk]

Anna Akhmatova is not a must-read though, if you want non-communist author, Mikhail Bulgakov is the best one. (We should be objective in these dicussions, and to be honest, Bulgakov had a great talent, his writing skills were huge, along with his creative power, the fact that he was a reactionary is important, but we must understand his work, and read it, and that criticize it from a readers perspective.)

[Bronco]

Dostoevsky is really boring.

IMHO the only Russian writer of XIX worth to be read is Lermontov.
His "The Hero of our time" is awesome

I'm about halfway through Crime and Punishment atm, I did find it a bit boring and hard to get into at first but after about 80 pages or so I got pretty hooked, I think it's a fascinating novel

Hero of Our Time is good as well, Turgenev's "Fathers and Sons" is probably my favourite piece of Russian literature from the 19th C though

[Ghazkull]

I'm about halfway through Crime and Punishment atm, I did find it a bit boring and hard to get into at first but after about 80 pages or so I got pretty hooked, I think it's a fascinating novel

Hero of Our Time is good as well, Turgenev's "Fathers and Sons" is probably my favourite piece of Russian literature from the 19th C though

I read C&P when i was 15, at the russian literature lessons. It was really boring for me that time

[Avanti]

blue salo by vladimir sorokin.

[thriller]

Dostoevsky is really boring.

IMHO the only Russian writer of XIX worth to be read is Lermontov.
His "The Hero of our time" is awesome

Ohh god, I could not get into Lermontov to save my life, and Dostoevsky is great, currently reading "The Idiot."

[Arlekino]

Resurrection by Leon Tolstoy. Available as well on LibriVox.

[Ghazkull]

blue salo by vladimir sorokin.

Шмуля, ты?

[Ghazkull]

Does anybody read Ilf & Petrov or Michael Bulgakov?
IMHO they wrote very interesting and informative book about the USSR of 1920 - 1930 :thumbup1:

[thriller]

Does anybody read Ilf & Petrov or Michael Bulgakov?
IMHO they wrote very interesting and informative book about the USSR of 1920 - 1930 :thumbup1:

I read "Master and Margarita" twice. I thought it was phenomenal, especially with the footnotes included. I have heard that at the real massolit building (closed now?) in Moscow people have broken in and spray painted amazing artwork scene from that book. Someone recommended "The White Guard" but seems a little reactionary for me.

[Ghazkull]

Someone recommended "The White Guard" but seems a little reactionary for me.
I heard Stalin liked "The White Guard" and "The Days of Turbin family"

But IMHO the best one of his novels is "The Heart of Dog". It's about the revolution and people of 1917-1920th :)

Also, Bugakov is very good in the short humorous stories writing :)

Regarding the Illf and Petrov - "The 12 chairs" and "The golden calf" must be read by each person interest the soviet culture and the early-USSR culture
Awesome bo:cool:oks

[hetz]

Oh yeah, 12 Chairs was really funny.

[Tavarisch_Mike]

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2035490/Lena-Mukhina-Diary-Russian-teenager-survived-900-day-Nazi-siege.html

[QUOTEThe Anne Frank of Leningrad: Diary of Russian teenager who survived 872-day Nazi siege
[/QUOTE]

[thriller]

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2035490/Lena-Mukhina-Diary-Russian-teenager-survived-900-day-Nazi-siege.html

[QUOTEThe Anne Frank of Leningrad: Diary of Russian teenager who survived 872-day Nazi siege
[/QUOTE]

I've read some personal accounts of the siege on Leningrad, really quite amazing how the people stuck together and survived with each others help.

[TheCat'sHat]

Dostoevsky is really boring.

IMHO the only Russian writer of XIX worth to be read is Lermontov.
His "The Hero of our time" is awesome

That's a really unusual opinion. Obviously that doesn't make it wrong but I've never heard that. You don't think that Tolstoy, Gogol, Pushkin, Chekhov et cetera are even worth reading?

[Yuppie Grinder]

Dostoevsky is really boring.

IMHO the only Russian writer of XIX worth to be read is Lermontov.
His "The Hero of our time" is awesome

wat
Some of his stuff, mainly notes from underground, are a bit dry. Other than that he's hella fun.

[Ghazkull]

Have read this story once more after reading at school.
It impresses a lot :crying:


Vanka

By Anton Chekhov


NINE-YEAR-OLD Vanka Zhukov, who had been apprenticed three months ago to Alyakhin the shoemaker, did not go to bed on Christmas eve. He waited till his master and mistress and the senior apprentices had gone to church, and then took from the cupboard a bottle of ink and a pen with a rusty nib, spread out a crumpled sheet of paper, and was all ready to write. Before tracing the first letter he glanced several times anxiously at the door and window, peered at the dark icon, with shelves holding cobbler's lasts stretching on either side of it, and gave a quivering sigh. The paper lay on the bench, and Vanka knelt on the floor at the bench.

"Dear Grandad Konstantin Makarich," he wrote. "I am writing a letter to you. I send you Christmas greetings and hope God will send you his blessings. I have no Father and no Mummie and you are all I have left."

Vanka raised his eves to the dark window-pane, in which the reflection of the candle flickered, and in his imagination distinctly saw his grandfather, Konstantin Makarich, who was night watchman on the estate of some gentlefolk called Zhivarev. He was a small, lean old man about sixty-five. but remarkably lively and agile, with a smiling face and eves bleary with drink. In the daytime he either slept in the back kitchen, or sat joking with the cook and the kitchen-maids, and in the night, wrapped in a great sheepskin coat, he walked round and round the estate, sounding his rattle. After him, with drooping heads, went old Kashtanka and another dog, called Eel, on account of his black coat and long, weasel-like body. Eel was wonderfully respectful and insinuating, and turned the same appealing glance on friends and strangers alike, but he inspired confidence in no one. His deferential manner and docility were a cloak for the most Jesuitical spite and malice. He was an adept at stealing up, to snap at a foot, creeping into the ice-house, or snatching a peasant's chicken. His hind-legs had been slashed again and again, twice he had been strung up, he was beaten within an inch of his life every week, but he survived it all.

Grandad was probably standing at the gate at this moment, screwing up his eves to look at the bright red light coming from the church windows, or stumping about in his felt boots, fooling with the servants. His rattle would be fastened to his belt. He would be throwing out his arms and hugging himself against the cold, or, with his old man's titter, pinching a maid, or one of the cooks. "Have a nip," he would say, holding out his snuffbox to the women.

The women would take a pinch and sneeze. Grandfather would be overcome with delight, breaking out into jolly laughter, and shouting:

"Good for frozen noses!"

Even the dogs would be given snuff. Kashtanka would sneeze, shake her head and walk away, offended. But Eel, too polite to sneeze, would wag his tail. And the weather was glorious. The air still, transparent. fresh. It was a dark night, but the whole village with its white roofs, the smoke rising from the chimneys, the trees, silver with rime, the snow-drifts, could be seen distinctly. The sky was sprinkled with gaily twinkling stars, and the Milky Way stood out as clearly as if newly scrubbed for the holiday and polished with snow....

Vanka sighed, dipped his pen in the ink, and went on writing:

"And yesterday I had such a hiding. The master took me by the hair and dragged me out into the yard and beat me with the stirrup-strap because by mistake I went to sleep rocking their baby. And one day last week the mistress told me to gut a herring and I began from the tail and she picked up the herring and rubbed my face with the head. The other apprentices make fun of me, they send me to the tavern for vodka and make me steal the masters cucumbers and the master beats me with the first thing he finds. And there is nothing to eat. They give me bread in the morning and gruel for dinner and in the evening bread again but I never get tea or cabbage soup they gobble it all rip themselves. And they make me sleep in the passage and when their baby cries I dont get any sleep at all I have to rock it. Dear Grandad for the dear Lords sake take me away from here take me home to the village I cant bear it any longer. Oh Grandad I beg and implore you and I will always pray for you do take me away from here or I'll die. . . ."

Vanka's lips twitched, he rubbed his eyes with a black fist and gave a sob.

"I will grind your snuff for you," he went on. "I will pray for you and you can flog me as hard as you like if I am naughty. And if you think there is nothing for me to do I will ask the steward to take pity on me and let me clean the boots or I will go as a shepherd-boy instead of Fedya. Dear Grandad I cant stand it it is killing me. I thought I would run away on foot to the village but I have no boots and I was afraid of the frost. And when I grow up to be a man I will look after you and I will not let anyone hurt you and when you die I will pray for your soul like I do for my Mummie.

"Moscow is such a big town there are so many gentlemens houses and such a lot of horses and no sheep and the dogs are not a bit fierce. The boys dont go about with the star at Christmas and they dont let you sing in church and once I saw them selling fish-hooks in the shop all together with the lines and for any fish you like very good ones and there was one would hold a sheat-fish weighing thirty pounds and I have seen shops where there are all sorts of guns just like the master has at home they must cost a hundred rubles each. And in the butchers shops there are grouse and wood-cock and hares but the people in the shop dont say where they were shot.

"Dear Grandad when they have a Christmas tree at the big house take a gilded nut for me and put it away in the green chest. Ask Miss Olga Ignatvevna tell her its for Vanka."

Vanka gave a sharp sigh and once more gazed at the windowpane. He remembered his grandfather going to get a Christmas tree for the gentry, and taking his grandson with him. Oh, what happy times those had been! Grandfather would give a chuckle, and the frost-bound wood chuckled, and Vanka, following their example, chuckled, too. Before chopping down the fir-tree, Grandfather would smoke a pipe, take a long pinch of snuff, and laugh at the shivering Vanka. . . . The young fir-trees, coated with frost, stood motionless, waiting to see which one of them was to die. And suddenly a hare would come leaping over a snow-drift, swift as an arrow.. .. Grandfather could never help shouting:

"Stop it, stop it . . . stop it! Oh, you stub-tailed devil!"

Grandfather would drag the tree to the big house, and they would start decorating it. . . . Miss Olga Ignatyevna, Vanka's favorite, was the busiest of all. While Pelageva, Vanka's mother, was alive and in service at the big house, Olga Ignatyevna used to give Vanka sweets, and amuse herself by teaching him to read, write and count to a hundred, and even to dance the quadrille. But when Pelageya died, the orphaned Vanka was sent down to the back kitchen to his grandfather, and from there to Moscow, to Alyakhin the shoemaker. . . .

"Come to me dear Grandad," continued Vanka. "I beg you for Christs sake take me away from here. Pity me unhappy orphan they beat me all the time and I am always hungry and I am so miserable here I cant tell you I cry all the time. And one day the master hit me over the head with a last and I fell down and thought I would never get rip again. I have such a miserable life worse than a dogs. And I send my love to Alyona one-eyed Yegor and the coachman and dont give my concertina to anyone. I remain your grandson Ivan Zhukov dear Grandad do come."

Vanka folded the sheet of paper in four and put it into an envelope which he had bought the day before for a kopek. ... Then he paused to think, dipped his pen into the ink-pot, wrote: "To Grandfather in the village," scratched his head, thought again, then added:

"TO KONSTANTIN MAKARICH"

Pleased that no one had prevented him from writing, he put on his cap and ran out into the sheet without putting his coat on over his shirt.

The men at the butcher's told him, when he asked them the day before, that letters are put into letter-boxes, and from these boxes sent all over the world on mail coaches with three horses and drunken drivers and jingling bells. Vanka ran as far as the nearest letter-box and dropped his precious letter into the slit. . .

An hour later, lulled by rosy hopes, he was fast asleep. . . . He dreamed of a stove. On the stove-ledge sat his grandfather, his bare feet dangling, reading the letter to the cooks. . . . Eel was walking backwards and forwards in front of the stove, wagging his tail. . .

[Rusty Shackleford]

Read "Roadside Picnic" by the Strugatsky brothers.

Easy to read and entertaining.

Sci-fi. (inspired the film STALKER, and the game series)

[Ghazkull]

Read "Roadside Picnic" by the Strugatsky brothers.

Check the "Doomed City" out :)