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Looking Past Volodya

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Does Putin See What Is Ahead for Russia?

When we look at Russia today, do we see past Putin at all? Or has his iron will and determination proved to be an impenetrable veil which prevents us from seeing Russia as it actually is?

Vladimir (Volodya is the common Russian nickname for Vladimir) Putin has been the face of Russia as seen by our news outlets. It’s a pity because there is so much more to Russian civilization than the face of a dour tyrant who is probably even now entering the endgame of his life.

As an Eastern European myself, I have made a point of familiarizing myself with Russian literature, music, and history. What I find when I look there are many admirable things. The one thing which is not admirable is that the nation has not, by and large, been ruled by leaders who have benefited their people. The autocratic czars were replaced by equally autocratic commissars.

The result was a brave and talented people who were constantly being suppressed. That led to such strange scenes as a purge of army generals by Stalin just when Hitler decided to invade. And, when Stalin lay on the floor dying in 1953, his own associates were afraid of calling in a doctor, because the medical profession was undergoing a purge for their “disloyalty” to the régime.

To get a feeling for the absurdity of it all, see the 2017 movie The Death of Stalin, whose far-out humor is not far from the truth.

I like the Russian people that I have met. They tend to be friendly, talented, and hard-working. I enjoy reading Russian literature. My current read is the fourth novel (of six) in the Night Watch series, entitled Last Watch by Sergei Lukyanenko.

In the near future, I hope to do a post entitled “Looking Past the Donald.”

Why Didn’t Napoleon Invade England?

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Between 1803 and 1805, Napoleon started planning for the invasion of England. His planning was financed by the sale of the Louisiana Purchase to the fledgling American Republic. Yet, the invasion never took place. Why?

According to Louis Antoine Fauvelet de Bourrienne, a French diplomat close to him, when asked why the invasion was called off, Bonaparte replied:

A great battle will be fought, which I shall gain; but I must count upon 30,000 men killed, wounded or taken prisoners. If I march on London a second battle will be fought. I shall suppose myself again victorious. But what shall I do in London with an army reduced three/fourths and without hope of reinforcements. It would be madness.

It is unfortunate that Napoleon did not apply the same reasoning in his invasion of Russia a few years later. There is a famous chart which shows graphically what happened to the French forces on the way to Moscow (shown in brown) and during the retreat (shown in black). The thickness of the line graphically illustrates the truth of Napoleon’s decision not to invade Britain.

Charles Minard’s Famous Graph of the Failure of Napoleon’s Russian Invasion

Somehow, over a period of some few years, did Napoleon’s military ability suddenly vanish?

The City of Losses

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Moscow in the Rain

I am currently reading Yuri Andrukhovych’s The Moscoviad, about a Ukrainian writer living in a Moscow where it’s almost always raining during the late days of the Soviet Union. In his book, Andrukhovych has some very pointed things to say about the city:

This is the city of losses. It would be nice to level it. To plant again thick Finnish forests, introduce bears, elk, deer: let them graze around the moss-covered Kremlin ruins, let perches swim in its rivers and lakes returned to life, let wild bees focus on storing honey in the deepest fragrant tree cavities. This land needs a rest from its criminal capital. Perhaps then it will be capable of something good. Since it cannot go on forever poisoning the world with the bacilli of evil, suppression, and aggressive dumb destruction!

East Is East

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Budapest Parliament

Whenever things go blooey here in Sunny California, as they are wont to do from time to time, I remind myself that I am at the center of my being an Eastern European. I may have been born in Cleveland, Ohio, but the language that spoke most intimately to my emotions was Magyar (Hungarian).

My life has been a series of shifts from east to west and back again. That has prevented me from being depressed at setbacks that have occurred. We Eastern Europeans are used to suffering. But we have our own insane pride that prevents us from falling apart.

Consequently, I love reading literature that has been translated from Hungarian, Czech, Polish, Serbian, Romanian, Ukrainian, and Russian. And whatever my politics are—and they are certainly not on the side of Vladimir Putin—I see the stories, novels, dramas, and poems the product of a people, not a political system. The people are all right, however the politics might suck.

I have always dreamed of riding from Moscow to Vladivostok on the Trans-Siberian Railroad. To see a vast country unrolling before my eyes on the long trip to the Sea of Japan. I also see myself as reading long Russian novels during that trip. Alas, I think I am now too old for such an adventurous journey.

Currently, I am reading Eugene Vodolazkin’s The Aviator, which makes me feel these things more intensely.

Bad Weather Ahead

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Moscow in the 1920s

Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky (1887-1950) was a Soviet writer who, in his own words, was “known for being unknown.” Hopefully, that will no longer be true as New York Review Books releases more of his stories. I have just finished reading his Autobiography of a Corpse, which contains a prescient 1939 story titled “Yellow Coal.” Tell me if the first paragraph of the story, quoted below, reminds you of our present situation:

The economic barometer at Harvard University had continually pointed to bad weather. But even its exact readings could not have predicted such a swift deepening of the crisis. Wars and the elements had turned the earth into a waster of its energies. Oil wells were running dry. The energy-producing effect of black, white and brown coal was diminishing yearly. An unprecedented drought had swaddled the sere earth in what felt like a dozen equators. Crops burned to their roots. Forests caught fire in the infernal heat. The selvas of South America and the jungles of India blazed with smoky flames. Agrarian countries were ravaged first. True, forests reduced to ashes had given place to ashy boles of factory smoke. But their days too were numbered. Fuellessness was threatening machines with motionlessness. Even glacier snow-caps, melted by the perennial summer, could not provide an adequate supply of waterpower; the beds of shrinking rivers lay exposed, and soon the turbine-generators would stop.

Arkady and Boris Strugatsky

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Soviet Writers Arkady (1925-1991) and Boris (1933-2012) Strugatsky

They were by far the greatest science fiction authors who ever lived. The two brothers produced a string of masterpieces (the greatest being Roadside Picnic, or Пикник на обочине) that are unlikely to be surpassed, ever!

I am currently reading two of their novels whose chapters are artfully interleaved. They wrote Ugly Swans (Гадкие лебеди) in 1972; in 1986, they wrote Lame Fate (Хромая судьба) and shuffled the chapters together. Reading it is an amazing experience. I’ve finished about 40% of the nested novels at this point. I haven’t even encountered the science fiction yet, though I feel it is lurking and waiting to pounce.

Among the brothers’ works I have read are:

  • Space Apprentice (1962)
  • Far Rainbow (1963)
  • Hard to Be a God (1964)
  • The Final Circle of Paradise (1965)
  • The Second Invasion from Mars (1967)
  • Prisoners of Power (1969)
  • The Dead Mountaineers’ Hotel (1970)
  • Roadside Picnic (1972)
  • Definitely Maybe (1977)
  • Beetle in the Anthill (1980)
  • The Time Wanderers (1986)

Many of the Strugatskys’ titles have never been translated into English. I think that, ultimately, they will all be. I can think of few Soviet writers working in any genre that have such a large and consistently excellent body of work.

There are only a handful of science fiction writers I admire. After the Strugatsky brothers, there are Stanislaw Lem from Poland and, in the United States, Philip K. Dick and Clifford D. Simak.

Jean Gabin and the Kuleshov Effect

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Jeanne Moreau and Jean Gabin in Touchez pas au grisbi

Last week I saw a great film on Turner Classic Movies’ “Noir Alley.” It was Jacques Becker’s 1954 film Touchez pas au grisbi starring Jean Gabin, one of the all-time great actors of the French Cinema. What made him great was the opposite of what makes most American film actors today look cheesy and fake.

It all relates to what is known in cinema as the Kuleshov Effect, an experiment made by Lev Kuleshov and other Soviet filmmakers. Here is how Wikipedia describes it:

Kuleshov edited a short film in which a shot of the expressionless face of Tsarist matinee idol Ivan Mosjoukine was alternated with various other shots (a bowl of soup, a girl in a coffin, a woman on a divan). The film was shown to an audience who believed that the expression on Mosjoukine’s face was different each time he appeared, depending on whether he was “looking at” the bowl of soup, the girl in the coffin, or the woman on the divan, showing an expression of hunger, grief, or desire, respectively. The footage of Mosjoukine was actually the same shot each time. Vsevolod Pudovkin (who later claimed to have been the co-creator of the experiment) described in 1929 how the audience “raved about the acting … the heavy pensiveness of his mood over the forgotten soup, were touched and moved by the deep sorrow with which he looked on the dead child, and noted the lust with which he observed the woman. But we knew that in all three cases the face was exactly the same.”

Kuleshov’s Experiment

In today’s Hollywood, on the other hand, actors tend to overdo the mobility of their facial expressions. Add to that the fact that, when they act the part of a tough guy, they are bearded, scraggly, and tattooed.

Compare that to the acting of Jean Gabin in Touchez pas au grisbi. He always looks the same, dapper and somewhat atone-faced. This is equally true when he is romancing dance hall girls or pumping lead into a rival gangster who wants the gold bars (the grisbi, or loot) he stole in an earlier robbery. One of the reasons, I think, for the popularity of Clint Eastwood is that he acts tough without hamming it up.

Vodka and Zakuski

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Zakuski: Hors d’Oeuvres to Go with Vodka

It’s a culinary tradition in Slavic countries such as Russia and Ukraine: When you drink vodka, you eat zakuski, which literally means “something to bite after.” It sounds like a delicious culinary tradition. Except for one thing: I’ve never had vodka.

After reading Ukrainian writer Andrey Kurkov’s Jimi Hendrix Live in Lviv (2012), I just might get myself a bottle. Throughout the novel, the characters are dealing with a strange anomaly. The inland city of Lviv has strange incidents of seagulls, starfish, a stench of seaweed, and salt water crabs appearing in various places throughout the city.

Several residents band together to try to identify the problem, which they do after the consumption of a whole lot of vodka and zakuski. Their Lviv is a magical city in which the hand of the late Jimi Hendrix is buried in a local cemetery, having been supplied by the KGB with the help of Lithuanian operatives. Why? Apparently to study the speed of the spreading of rumors in Soviet society.

This is the fifth work of fiction by Ukrainian author Andrey Kurkov that I have read. They are all of them sweet and gentle—especially as they come from a land that is now mired in a brutal invasion by Russian forces. I cannot help but think that Kurkov’s whimsy can be as deadly to Putin’s aims as any weapons in his arsenal. Anyhow, let’s hope so. I have a lot more of Kurkov that I want to read; and I hope he continues to live a long and productive life.

Maxim Gorky on Anti-Semitism

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Anti-Semitic Cartoon from 1892

I have been reading Maxim Gorky’s Fragments from My Diary (Заметки из дневника) published in 1924. Here are two excerpts.

SUBSTITUTES FOR MONKEYS

Professor Z., the bacteriologist, once told me the following story.

‘One day, talking to General B., I happened to mention that I was anxious to obtain some monkeys for my experiments. The General immediately said, quite seriously:

‘“What about Jews—wouldn’t they do? I’ve got some Jews here, spies that are going to be hanged anyway—you’re quite welcome to them if they are of any use to you.”

‘And without waiting for an answer he sent his orderly to find out how many spieas were awaiting execution.

‘I tried to explain to His Excellency that men would not be suitable for my experiments, but he was quite unable to understand me, and opening his eyes very wide he said:

‘“Yes, but men are cleverer than monkeys, aren’t they? If you inoculate a man with poison he will be able to tell you what he feels, whereas a money won’t.”

‘Just then the orderly came in and reported that there was not a single Jew among the men arrested for spying—only Rumanians and gypsies.

‘“What a pity!” said the General. “I suppose gypsies won’t do either? … What a pity …!”’

The second is a paragraph excerpted from a fragment labelled:

ANTI-SEMITISM

I have read, thoroughly and attentively, a number of books which try to justify anti-Semitism. It is a hard and even repugnant duty to read books written with a definitely ugly and immoral design: to brand a nation, a whole nation. A remarkable task indeed! And I never found anything in those books but a moral ignorance, an angry squeal, a wild beast’s bellowing, and a grudging, envious grinding of teeth. Thus armed, there is nothing to prevent one from proving that Slavs, and all the other nations as well are also incurably depraved. And is not this the reason for the violent hatred of the Jews, that they, of all races of mixed blood, are the ones who have preserved comparatively the greatest purity of outward life as well as of the spirit? Is there not more perhaps of the ‘Man’ in the Jew than there is in the anti-Semite?

The Great Patriotic War

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The Battle for Stalingrad (1942-1943)

Strange things happen when, through laziness or ignorance, one too readily accepts a slanted view of history. That’s one of the reasons I don’t like talking about the Second World War, mainly because the West’s participation was not what brought down Hitler and the German military machine.

In fact, until D-Day, the United States and England were not even confronting the Nazis where they lived, except in the form of bombing raids. On the ground, we started somewhat late in North Africa and then moved to Sicily and the Italian mainland, where we slogged our way up the boot of Italy.

We might not want to admit it, but it was predominately the Soviet Union that put the kibosh on Hitler. For Stalin, the war was an existential horror. If his forces didn’t hold, Russia was in danger of being wiped off the map.

According to the Percy Schramm Kriegstagebuch des Oberkommandos der Wehrmacht: 1940—1945: 8 Bde. 1961, 68% of Wehrmacht deaths were on the Eastern Front, more than double of all other Army deaths in Europe, North Africa, Italy, France, Holland, Belgium, Norway, and the Balkans combined. The figures for wounded German soldiers was even more spectacular: 82% of all wounded were on the Eastern Front.

I do not denigrate the bravery and lost lives among the Americans and British; it’s just that the Soviet Union was the main theater of the war. Recognizing this, the Russians refer to the conflict as the Great Patriotic War. It was at places like Stalingrad and the Kursk-Orel Salient where the Nazis paid the ultimate price.