This volume represents a collection of 230 columns on Russian language and culture published in the English language Moscow Times. Its author describes herself as:
“...an American who learned Russian as a second language, who has lived mainly in Moscow since Brezhnev was in his dotage… For nearly all of these years I have been translating and interpreting in various contexts and for even longer I have been pondering, discovering contemplating, positing, theorizing, and occasionally arguing about what make Russians so, well, Russian and how that [compares with] what makes Americans so American.”
Many Russophiles have already discovered Berdy, waiting eagerly for her column to become available each week on the Moscow Times website. This book is suitable for any English speaker professionally involved with Russian and/or living in Russia, learners of the language of virtually any level, and general Russophiles (garden variety or exotic).
Topics Berdy covers include the political (linguistic quirks of Russian leaders), the personally serious (expressing condolences in Russian), the etymological (why the Russian equivalents of complain, pathetic, welcome and salary have the same root), the annoying (especially Moscow traffic and drivers), and the just plain essential (calling and dealing with a plumber in Russia, or excusing oneself to visit the facilities), twenty-first language slang, as well as Soviet-speak remnants. All of these are treated in an entertaining and ironic style, suffused with the author’s deep knowledge of both languages and cultures.
Berdy’s book fills this reviewer, who has been working professionally as a translator of Russian since Brezhnev, with what the Russians call “white envy.” This term describes the type of envy that is 90 percent admiration and inspires rather than embitters. What is there about this volume to give rise to such feelings? Well, there is the delightful writing style and sense of humor on every page, the perfect idiomatic translations of impossible to translate Russian words and phrases, the profound understanding of Russian language and culture and the experiences the author most certainly must have had to develop said understanding.
The book includes a Russian term index (50+ pages), making it usable as a reference. It also should be noted that it is a perfect length for reading on a flight between the U.S. and Russia (counting Frankfurt layovers for slower readers) and would make the perfect gift for anyone (oneself included) about to embark on such a trip.
— Lydia Razran Stone
If you have ever admired the somewhat cynical, jaded tone of the Economist’s reporting from Russia, then you will love this book. While the plot is rather predictable (love/hate Russia, lust/blind infatuation with a Russian woman, apartment deal slowly going sour), the writing is brilliant, infused with the gritty, jaundiced eye of someone who has spent years in Russia, sees all its dark spots, yet loves it anyway. Exhibit A: Miller’s description of a Zhiguli parked near his building:
It had mud and oil up its flanks, like a tank might after a battle, —a dark crust that, if you were frank with yourself, you knew was how your insides probably looked after a few years in Moscow, and maybe your soul too.
Exhibit B: A description of one of the main antagonists:
The Cossack had one of those senses of humour that is really a kind of warfare. Laughing at his jokes made you feel guilty, not laughing at them made you feel endangered. His personal inquiries always felt like a prelude to blackmail.
The main character, Nick Platt, a hapless, disaffected British lawyer who has spent too long in Moscow, is a bit hard to like. And Miller treads a fine line making Nick come off as both highly cynical and utterly gullible, yet he pulls it off.
But it is with his minor characters that Miller hits the high notes. Most notably Nick’s drinking buddy, Steve Walsh, an even more cynical expat, perhaps because he (like the author) is a journalist. When Nick tries to find out about the oil story Steve is working on, Steve only replies, “In Russia, there are no business stories. And there are no politics stories. There are no love stories. There are only crime stories.” Which tells you, in a nutshell, what this book is about.
There is not a lot of action in this book. It is a psychological crime story that unfolds slowly, and the reader is always two steps ahead of the clueless Nick. But we don’t mind, because that seems to be Miller’s intent. Plus, it is so enjoyable to read his pitch-perfect descriptions of Russian life [“Any Russian who has power over you (notary, ambulance man, waiter) is obliged to make you wait before they help you, so you know they can.”], that the story drags you in. Not unlike a highly profitable, but unsavory business deal.
— Paul E. Richardson
This is a deeply affecting memoir of a young woman from a privileged background who, when her father is arrested and judged as an “enemy of the people,” is caught up in the Revolution and purges. She nonetheless went on to become a famous actress, first learning her craft in the gulags of Komi. We were so moved by this book that we will be excerpting a small part of it in the summer issue (#15) of Chtenia. The book, however, deserves a full reading from anyone interested in Russian history and the power of art to preserve life. It is also invaluable for its detailed descriptions of daily life in the 1930s, both inside and outside the camps.
Hesperus has brought out a new translation of one of the finest, most overlooked works of Soviet-era literature. At once a peculiarly hilarious satire full of magic and whimsy, it is also a beautifully written work of literature, brimming with profound metaphors and brilliant turns of phrase. Aplin has done a masterful job with the translation, capturing all of Olesha’s wit and whimsy, while dulling none of his satirical barbs. This is a “fairy tale” ostensibly written for children, but which will be even more appreciated by grown-ups.
Valente is an award-winning fantasy writer who, by way of her marriage to a Russian, has been introduced to the rich, peculiar world of Russian myth and fairy tale. The result is Deathless, an inspired, rich mix of fantasy and reality.
She begins by situating this tale of Koschei the Deathless in an off-kilter Stalinist Russia. Marya Morevna — who sees birds turned into bridesmaids, then carrying off her sisters — is swept off her feet by the evil Koschei and blindly tries to do all she can to become worthy of him (Baba Yaga provides the essential three tasks). But, as is usually the case in Russian fairy tales, there is a truth-seeing simpleton — Ivan Nikolaevich — who saves the day, leading Marya back toward humanity.
Valente has a true gift for storytelling and language, and she has created a lush world (complete with domovoys and leshys) that, if not wholly believable for being so fantastic, is thoroughly enthralling.
Russian Life is a publication of a 30-year-young, award-winning publishing house that creates a bimonthly magazine, books, maps, and other products for Russophiles the world over.
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