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- <text id=92TT0191>
- <title>
- Jan. 27, 1992: Peering into the Russian Soul
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1992
- Jan. 27, 1992 Is Bill Clinton For Real?
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- BOOKS, Page 60
- Peering into the Russian Soul
- </hdr><body>
- <p>By Brigid O'Hara-Forster
- </p>
- <qt>
- <l>SLEEPWALKER IN A FOG</l>
- <l>By Tatyana Tolstaya</l>
- <l>Translated by Jamey Gambrell</l>
- <l>Knopf; 192 pages; $19</l>
- </qt>
- <p> The people of what is still the largest country on earth
- are playing Russian roulette with history, producing a dizzying
- rush of events that defy comprehension. Tatyana Tolstaya, the
- great-grandniece of Leo Tolstoy, helps us make human sense of
- the game and the gamblers.
- </p>
- <p> Tolstaya's eight stories, while never more than obliquely
- political, illustrate the forces that have gnawed away the
- structure of the world she describes. At a high school reunion,
- a fat and happy apparatchik sweeps up in his limo to be greeted
- with cold shoulders instead of warm hugs as his former
- classmates berate him for the oppressive privileges of the
- nomenklatura. Another character believes ideological purity will
- win him a plum diplomatic appointment. He not only forbids his
- wife to subscribe to a literary magazine and crosses out all
- suspiciously surnamed acquaintances from his address book, but
- also finally smashes all jars of imported food in the house,
- even the Bulgarian apple jam. The life of a third character is
- so drab that even a tiny gift from Paris, a red plastic spoon,
- lends his days a sudden radiance.
- </p>
- <p> Tolstaya so obviously loves her language, "the Russian
- word, so powerful and poisonous and yet loving and lithe," that
- even in translation she carves indelible people who roam the
- imagination long after the book is put down. Like the quirky,
- clinical images of photographer Diane Arbus, Tolstaya's
- portraits embrace the strange, even the monstrous, who must not
- be pushed away uncontemplated, because they are part of us.
- </p>
- <p> Russian sentimentality can be honey sweet, but Tolstaya
- spikes it with the vinegar of the circumstances that afflict her
- hapless dreamers. The story of an 80-year-old mother who has
- spent most of her life caring for her retarded son is told in
- the voice of that man-child. His burbling narrative takes us
- through his day as he waits for his mother to rise, dress her
- thickened body and take up the constant guard she can never
- relinquish. Like the immobile, anonymous soldier guarding a
- tomb, she is always present but never animated as the pain of
- her predicament seeps into us.
- </p>
- <p> While Tolstaya is a caustic chronicler of perpetual
- yearning and casual cruelty, she can also be wildly funny,
- capturing the lunatic humor that leavens these hardscrabble
- lives. Lyonechka, a rarely employed writer who has already
- thrown away one newspaper job by introducing an unwelcome
- sardonic note to the obituary column, lasts no longer at a
- women's magazine after he starts a recipe with the words "Let's
- be frank--there ain't nothing to eat."
- </p>
- <p> Tolstaya roams the nighttime city, taking us behind the
- flickering blue lights of a thousand windows. We share the
- unsought intimacy of overpeopled apartments where "another
- person's wall darkens and swells with autumn anguish." Those who
- suffer must not only endure their plight; they must also
- surrender the peculiarly human right to be themselves: to lust,
- to scheme, to betray, to generally behave badly. Tolstaya is
- there to remind us that not even history at its most reckless
- can rob individuals of the right to their own stories.
- </p>
-
- </body></article>
- </text>
-
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