imaginary magnitude

This was one of the 500lb (226.79 kg) gorillas I had on my plate, which I was delighted to finish before the end of 2007. Delighted, I say, not necessarily because it is the best book but rather that I’ve been reading it on and off for the last three years and, like a stagnant relationship, I was looking forward to the inevitable end.

I’m an involuntary Russophile. There is no Russian blood in my family, not even neighbours. I suppose it started when I was living in Alberta, just outside of Stony Plain. It was Grade 9, and we happened to be taught Russian history. I couldn’t get enough of it. I loved it more than anything I’d had shoved down my throat to that point.

Anything I can say about Russia, I can only say as someone who’s never been there and has only read about it. In other words, I only know enough to get me in trouble. However, when I read Russian authors, hear Russian music, and see Russian art, I see a tenacious, almost ruthless, intellectual veracity. If something passionate can be dispassionately analyzed and then expressed upon, the Russians will find a way to do it definitively, the first time, and do it in such a way as to set an example for the rest of the world. When you look at Russia’s cultural contributions (art, literature, dance, film), even when produced under the worst of political/economic circumstances, the sheer quantity of excellence is devastating. I won’t even go into chess…

So, when a colleague lent me their copy of Solomon Volkov’s St. Petersburg: A Cultural History, I felt obligated to read it, if only to broaden my understanding of this cold, isolated country (as opposed to mine). Volkov is best known to music aficionados for Testamony, his controversial account of composer Dmitri Shostakovich’s life in relationship to the chilling environment set by then-ruler Josef Stalin. In St. Petersburg, Volkov tells the story of what used to be more than just the cultural capital of Russia (indeed, since the time it was forged by Peter the Great, up until when the Communists decided to uproot its status in 1918, it stood above Moscow as the nation’s crown jewel). From the inspired/tyrannical vision of Peter to build a European-styled capital, through the fall of the tsars, the rise of Communism and its slow dissolution, St. Petersburg accounts for the artists whose work boldly defined the city, its people, and who helped contribute to what Volkov puts forth as a tragic mythos.

St. Petersburg’s cultural icons are represented chapter-by-chronological chapter: Pushkin, Diaghilev, Akhmatova, Balanchine, Shostakovich, Brodsky, as well as tens (if not hundreds) of others within each part. Volkov’s effort buckles under the weight of its inclusion of *every* notable figure – the book is 624 pages long. Too long, to be honest, if you’re looking for “breezy”. I’m not sure if anyone is (or should be) looking for a “breezy” historical cultural synopsis of St. Petersburg, but this ain’t it. As a result, the book is not only exhaustive in content, but exhausting as a read. However, Volkov approaches St. Petersburg with a desire to put on paper the lives and trials of everyone who mattered – a commendable effort, if difficult to absorb for anyone who isn’t working on a thesis.

Reading how St. Petersburg was renamed Petrograd during the First World War (as a measure of anti-German sentiment), only to have it re-renamed Leningrad (regardless that Lenin couldn’t stand the place) after the rise of the Soviet Union demonstrates how the city was often cruelly abused by political authority of different stripes. For me, the horrific tragedy of what happened (not only to St. Petersburg, but to the whole of the country) after the second revolution is fascinating to read. People disappearing in the night, to be killed for treason or sent to gulags with little in the way of a trial. The state criticizing your art as “formalist” as means to bury you and any reputation you have. This is the stuff that people need to understand, not just so they understand what happened specifically during Soviet rule, but so that similar developments can be thwarted in the future.

Whether this is the book people should be reading to have an understanding of St. Petersburg’s history is another question. As mentioned, it’s extremely dense and the tone is often encyclopedic, which is not exactly easy on the eyes. Volkov is successful in portraying a parallel mythology of the city that is transmuted by history, but less successful in creating any real urgency to keep reader’s attention. Constructed in chronological chapters, the sixth and final is a mess in places – obvious copyediting errors and the sense that, structurally, it was pieced together in a rush. In the end, this is a worthy reference piece for its extensive (and sometimes first-hand) information, but I wouldn’t recommend this for someone looking for a digestible (read: concise) narrative.

St. Petersburg: A Cultural History, by Solomon Volkov (ISBN: 978-0028740522), is available at a fine independent bookseller near you, or online at various sources.

Note: I would like to go to St. Petersburg some day. If you are familiar with the city and have any tips on places to stay (or not stay), sights to see, and/or cultural anomalies that a traveller should be aware of, any information would be appreciated.

“As soon as Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more […]”

Homer’s Odyssey is one of the 500lb (or 226.796kg) gorillas I’ve been reading as of late. I came to it strangely. You see, eventually I want to read James Joyce’s Ulysses (a gorilla estimated to weigh a half-tonne). I knew that it was going to be a slog, so I did some research in preparation. Lo, it was suggested I read The Odyssey, as Ulysses tends to make reference to it. And thus, the Fates, if not Athena herself, recommended my next book.

The Odyssey isn’t a novel, but rather a song/poem much in the same way as the ancient epic, Gilgamesh (and if you don’t know what that is – and no, it’s not a reference to the evil magician from the Smurfs – don’t worry about it. I’m just trying to find another example that isn’t also another Greek work from the same period). It was never originally written down, but rather carried from person to person in the same way you would hand someone a CD of a song you’d like them to hear. Preserved through history as an oratorical epic, Homer’s Odyssey is an account of Odysseus, the Achaean king/hero, and his Job-like 10 year quest to return to his homeland, Ithica, having fought a decade before in the Battle of Troy (recounted in Homer’s earlier work, The Illiad).

What’s immediately engaging about the telling of The Odyssey is its surprisingly non-linear construction. We don’t start with the fall of Troy and Odysseus’ return to Ithica. Rather, we begin with the immortal goddess, Athena, seeking to undo the curse laid upon Odysseus from the earthquake god, Poseidon. From there, she confronts Odysseus’ son, Telemachus, living with his mother, Penelope, in Odysseus’ Ithican palace, now taken over with young suitors angling to wed Odysseus’ abandoned wife, laying waste to his kingdom in the process (note: the Greek gods tended not to come down and appear to mortals as themselves, but rather as fellow mortals – presumably shy folk that they are).

It is only after this substantial preamble that we – in filmic terms – cut to Odysseus, stranded on the isle of the immortal goddess, Calypso, where she has kept him for years as her…well…is “recalcitrant love-slave” applicable? Yes? Okay then. It is only through Athena’s indirect intervention that Odysseus is allowed to leave and finish his journey. Along the way, he is eventually allowed to provide the details of his painful journey since the fall of Troy: the land of the Cyclops, the Sirens, the Lotus Eaters, the thunder of Zeus, the House of Death, the nature of Poseidon’s curse. If you have any inkling or interest in swashbuckling adventure, heroic tragedy, monsters, mythology, or men transformed into sheep, there is no reason not to follow Odysseus’ tale.

Even preserved in verse-form (read: there’s half as much text on the page as in a typical novel), The Odyssey moves at a fast clip – though its thickness may intimidate you at first glance on the shelf. It’s a legendary tale that’s not like cough syrup to read – in fact, you may just find inspiration in its construction, evocativeness, and imagination.

The Odyssey, by Homer (ISBN: 978-0140268867) is available at a fine independent bookseller near you, or at any number of online sources. Please note: this review is based on the award-winning 1996 translation by Robert Fagles, who also produced a version of Homer’s Illiad. For those on the fence, there is a very readable summary of the book and its history here.