The Birdcage Archives

Thursday 27 February 2014

There Once Lived a Girl, Who Seduced Her Sister’s Husband, and He Hanged Himself

Hello Gentle Reader

Lyudmila Petrushevskaya uses the subtitle of this collection: “Love Stories,” ironically. Many people may know Lyudmila Petrushevskaya for her collaboration with the director Yuriy Norshteyn, on the great animated film – often voted “the greatest animated film of all time,” – “Tale of Tales.” A short film of surreal images, and flashes of the fantastic possibilities. When watching it there is often a sense, that it is a dark childhood fairy tale. A twisted recollection of memories; placed in a mismatched order. Yet still one is hypnotized by its sepia tones and muted colours. What Norshteyn and Petrushevskaya cooked up is something magical, surreal, horrifying and all too wonderful to place any words on it. Readers may have already been acquainted with Petrushevskaya novella “The Time: Night,” shortlisted in nineteen-ninety two for the Russian Booker Prize. More recently English readers may know Petrushevskaya from the collection of short stories: “There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby,” with the subtitle “Scary Fairy Tales.” This was a New York Times bestselling book, and published by the large publisher Penguin Books. One can only imagine these “Scary Fairy Tales,” to be elegiac and surreal as “Tale of Tales.”

Yet Lyudmila Petrushevskaya was not always so critically acclaimed, and well received by readers alike. The Soviet censors in charge of party approved ‘reality,’ found Petrushevskaya’s work to be unacceptable. The work was not politically dissident from the party’s ruling ideology. Her work did not touch taboo subjects. She did not criticise leading political leaders. What Petrushevskaya did, with an unflinching eye was, depict the domestic horrors of a state that had abolished the self and the individual. Petrushevskaya was accused of blacking reality. Her Pessimistic realism was not approved. For that she was banned from publication. Yet Petrushevskaya did not stop writing. She wrote plays when she could. Made a living of articles and whatever else she could do. Yet throughout it all she continued to write. She saw the truth, behind the attempted forcefulness of the censored reality. There were no Snow Queens, in furs and porcelain skin that sparkled like blue ice. There were no strong jawed Proletariat women, who conquered the bourgeoisie, with turnip and sickle in hand. Yet neither of these are true. They did not live in icy castles, of sculpted snow and ice statues. Nor did they live in some picturesque farmhouse or garret. What these characters looked like, were the typical Russian and Eastern European woman. Hard as a stone. Headscarf wrapped around their faces. Black circles for eyes. A mouth that appears not to know how to smile. All wrapped up in blacks, and browns and greys. They lived in communal cement apartments. So thoroughly divided and subdivided, as well as cut up, that only corners remained for people and families to live. Forget privacy and a moment of peace. Petrushevskaya herself lived as a child under her mentally ill grandfather’s desk. It is in these same cement dwellings – these crowded burrows – Petrushevskaya writes about the misplaced love, office trysts, one night stands, accidents, and failed relationships. She writes about ungrateful children; monstrous parents; quarrelling lovers. All stuck in cauldrons of cement, cramped like ghoulish pigs in gestation crates.

In an interview Lyudmila Petrushevskaya, once talked about Russia as being a home of women Homers.

“Russia is a land of women Homers, women who tell their stories orally, just like that, without inventing anything. They're extraordinarily talented storytellers. I'm just a listener among them.”

This may explain why the writing of Petrushevskaya often has the feeling of being orally told. The stories have a precise economic use of words. The seventeen stories in this collection, roughly amount to about ten pages each. The entire collection is split up into four sections. Each sections deals with the theme of love and family – all with ample supply of fatalistic bleak realism that Petrushevskaya delivers it with. Yet don’t be fooled. There is a lot of ironic humour within this collection. Despite it all though these are realistic stories, of loveless lives – unromantic relationships, murky fates all wrapped up in a barbwire bow of unhappiness. They are prickly dead roses.

“This is what happened. An unmarried woman in her 30s implored her mother to leave their studio apartment for one night so she could bring home a lover.”

This is what you expect from a great deal of this collection: precise and blunt form of storytelling. Ms. Petrushevskaya plays are famous for their use of colloquial speech, as well as more formal and educated speech. There is no wonder why; the stories sometimes come across as if one has been hit over the head with a cast iron skillet. The first story “A Murky Fate,” (where the above line comes from) is short and somewhat pondering kind of story. Does this woman, who brings home this narcissistic toad of a man, truly love him? What is she after? These questions are asked, and show why the title, is adequately called “A Murky Fate,” – is this woman just one more woman who has found tragic love and have lost it? Her fate is unclear, as are a lot of the characters and their helpless pathetic lives.

Each story is blunt, and straight to the point. Often it feels like the stories are noted down jots, of gossip exchanged in the subway; over tea or coffee; during dinner, and in the dingy laundromat. The woman cooing around each other, the desperate and failed loves of those that they know those that they raised. Others cackle and caw about their hapless and ungrateful children. Constantly getting themselves into trouble. Or how they guffaw about their grandchildren – though they disapprove of their mothers, who their delightful son had married – surely he could have done so much better. Not wasting his time with the neighbourhood tart. Throughout it all one can picture Petrushevskaya this black clad figure, sitting slightly off to the side. Jotting down some notes, or carefully listening to how these women tell their stories. They tell them quickly. Tell them bluntly. They get to the point. They are not up to wasting time. Each of them is impatiently waiting to tell her own story, or her own piece of gossip. Each one listens to the news that transverses the streets. Slips inside the cracks; echoes in the alleyways. It blows on the close lines. It can be heard drunkenly muttering and arguing with itself in the mirror; it rides the subways and buses. It’s all around. It is the story of the everyday. These are the stories that Petrushevskaya picks up in the dead night. She works away, telling the stories of the everyday; of their trials and tribulations.

“Milgrom,” shows how subdued the author can be as well, describing the mundane with a slight poetic flare:

“A girl is sewing herself a dress for the first time. She bought three meters of cheap fabric (just over a ruble a meter), but the fabric turns out to be surprisingly pretty, black with bright bursts of dots, like a nighttime carnival.”

But one must always note that, there is no mincing of words. One gets straight to the point. This is one of the strengths of this collection, but also a bit of a hindrance. If one had to add some criticism, is that Petrushevskaya tells her stories, in a sense of an oral tradition. But sometimes she misses out on what she could achieve. Petrushevskaya could in fact, write some beautiful bleakly realistic stories, with a poetic flare with her well-chosen economic use of words, and not have such a strong authorial presence. It sometimes stifles the characterization, and almost feels like the objective is very well tinted with the subjective. It leaves me to wonder how this same style (if it is used) flares in longer formats like a novella or short novel. That being said, what Petrushevskaya does succeed at is, how these bleak little lives, have a glint of light in them. Such as “The Goddess Parka,” or even “Two Deities,” which does end in some grizzly grim forbearance. Yet still there is that stark bleakness to their lives, with the slightest glimmer of hope, which fills the pages with its light, because of the circumstances that surround. Yet still these stories carry with it the oral tradition of folk tales, and fairy tales – with an acute sense of speech, and understanding of day to day living.

The best story by far of this collection though is “Young Berries.” It appears to be autobiographical in tone, and discusses young love, of a young girl for her tormentor; but also faces down her tormentors, her alienation, and finds her voice, as she begins to write. Yet it is the precise use of language, of orally telling a tale, and poetic juxtaposition and metaphor as well as imagery, that leads for this story to succeed so well.

“The circle of animal faces had never crushed the girl; the terror remained among the tall trees of the park, in the enchanted kingdom of young berries.”

As childhood is sense through the lenses of animals and a forest. A kingdom of young berries. It almost carries on those descriptions a surreal image. Petrushevskaya goes on to describe how this young girl continues a monologue within her head in order not to be shunned and alienated and kicked aside. In cruel circumstances, we give birth to savage mongrels of wolves and mangy foxes.

“Excreted was the word for such children. The girl herself had known excreted kids in her schoolyard. The excreted were outside the commune, up for grabs – anyone could abuse them in any way. The thing to do was stalk them, then slam them into a wall in plain view. The excreted wore the look of dumb cattle; two or three stalkers tailed them.”

So is a brief study of someone being the tormentor – the wolf or the fox; or the dumb cattle or chicken that is to be chased and taken down like a hunted animal. The weak are prey for the strong. The strong can only survive.

Throughout “Young Berries,” there comes more poetic passages, which shows Petrushevskaya at the height of her power:

“The girl pulled on her new boots and trudged through the snowy park to meet her mother – her time in paradise was up; she was going home. At the winter palace, among crystals and corals of frozen trees, Tolik was living the final hours of his reign.”

The last story of this collection “A Happy Ending,” shows Petrushevskaya’s irony. A woman wounded by emotional abandonment of her son, and her philandering husband; inherits an apartment. Yet with cruel irony, Petrushevskaya places the man in an infantile situation. He cannot cook for himself; he cannot clean himself; he doesn’t even know how to use the telephone.

In the end Lyudmila Petrushevskaya has written the small odysseys of the women. The women in the line for bread and potatoes; the women on the subway or in the bus; the women knitting or gossiping over tea or coffee. She writes of the ghostly flaps of laundry lines and the clothes left out to dry. She tells the stories of shrewd mothers; drunken fathers; and ungrateful children. She recounts childhood torments, and victories, and love found and lost. Written in a strikingly blunt tone.. All seasoned with a good dose of scathing irony. It has its pitfalls and its criticism. Yet for the most part, it’s a well-rounded collection, which depicts a harrowing landscape of bleak and stone cold people, who get by on survival, and live by telling their stories. That live in their gossips and the tales they hear. They comfort one another with that sense that each one is not better off then another.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*

M. Mary

Sunday 23 February 2014

Closing Ceremony for the Sochi Winter Olympics

Hello Gentle Reader

Through the entire Winter Olympics, there has been a lot of controversy. The legislature, that bans the discussion and dialogue of homosexuality – referred to as ‘propaganda.’ There has been discussion of the stifling and crack down, on freedom of speech and freedom of expression; which had prompted numerous international authors to sign a petition, condemning this. Then the humorous, and yet slightly disturbing photos, that athletes sent out in regards to their accommodations. Then of course there was the discussion, that there were very severe security threats and many wondering, about the security budget itself – and the fact that it was the costliest Olympics held to date. However, with the end of the Olympics and the closing ceremony, one is forced to put aside, these acerbic and acidic criticisms, and in a sense bitter sweetly, wave goodbye, shed a tear, and blow out the flame. Despite all the controversy, putting aside the issues, and the flaws; one comes to understand, that in a sense, the Olympics have achieved what they set out to achieve: the building of relationships between nations, in the spirit of sportsmanship, and friendly competition. I may not like the Olympics. In fact, I would say that they are boring; and overtly political – even though they adamantly and vehemently protesting, that they are politically neutral and merely want all nations to participate, in peaceful competition in athletic fields. So it comes to no surprise, that I only watch the Olympics for the cultural portions. In other words: the opening and the closing ceremony.

It is unfortunate, but I ended up missing the opening ceremonies of this year’s Winter Olympics. However, thanks to my luck, I was able to catch the closing ceremonies for this year’s Winter Olympics. Though admittedly, I was not overly impressed with the ballet portion. Truth be told, dancing – ballet; is odd to me. I cannot quite comprehend how these awkward and disjointed and disconnected movements equal “poetry in movement.” Personally the flailing of the arms, and the dainty overtly porcelain like movements, just appear to me silly. That being said, I do not doubt that the physical and strenuous workout and training that those dancers do, for the love they have for it, is by any means easy; and therefore they have my admiration. Personally, ballet and dancing, in all forms has not – as far as I can remember; ever held my interest. However, when it came to the carnivalesque acrobatics, held my interest, and truly was quite a sight to behold. The way the performers have so much trust in their fellow performers, and the slightest margin of error, would result in serious injury or death, is by all means, quite a risk. However, the performance went without a hitch, and admittedly, I was glued to my screen, with enjoyment.

Then in typical fashion, it was – cut to commercial – well they had cut to commercial many times before hand.

The best part though, was the nostalgic end, where the mascot – closed the ceremony; by extinguishing the flame, in a magical array of robotics. With a blow, and then a tear, the bear, said a bittersweet, goodbye. However, winter cannot last forever – and Russia then happily welcomed a dramatic and theatrical spring performance; with a magical fantasy boat ride, gliding overhead, showering the stadium floor with golden seeds (confetti) sprinkled to the grown; and stocks of golden grass were waved, and flocks of seagulls, over head of children running beneath them, soared throughout. Spring is welcomed; though the snow that still batters Canada is getting tiring; but still, through it all, Russia says goodbye to the world, and the world says farewell for the time being to Russia.

What one could say about these Olympics in a positive light is that Russia showed how far they have come since, the thaw. With the passing of these Olympics, there are chants “this is our Russia,” “modern Russia,” “the new Russia.” Hopefully these statements are true, and that Russia can go back on their setbacks, and continue to improve as a nation.

In the end, and on a personal note: in comparison of this closing ceremony, to the disaster that the Canadian closing ceremony was – which was in effect, a good natured attempt at showcasing Canada’s sense of humor; however it was a satirical farce, that failed: where Canada’s main objective was to playfully throw the pie into every cliché about Canada, in the end, Canada slipped on the banana peel, and fell face first into the pie; and made a mockery of itself; rather than the clichés – these closing ceremony were done in good taste though in the end; and showcased Russia’s rich history, and cultural integrity, and impact that they have, and will continue to have.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*

M. Mary

Literary Awards and Readers Reviews

Hello Gentle Reader

When it comes to large and prestigious literary awards, there is a lot of hype. There is the race, which takes place over a period of weeks, in which the shortlisted authors each compete to showcase their literary talents. However, it appears that literary awards, have a – at times, negative effect on the books in which they have promoted. Though sales skyrocket, for the book and the author; a study recently conducted, shows that, readers have opposing views of the critics who praise the works that have won the award. A major note was, when Julian Barnes won the Booker Prize in two-thousand and eleven – during the Booker Crisis. Though the recognition poured in for Barnes, for his achievement; at winning the Booker Prize, readers of the book eventually, showed their opposing views.

“What happened to Barnes's book flies in the face of much research on the effects of social status.”

Writes, Amanda Sharkey and Balázs Kovács; the two academics, took the reviews, of many readers off of the literary social media site GoodReads. Amanda Sharkey and Balázs Kovács believe that the reason this happens to award winning books, is because readers are not drawn to the book, by instinctual taste or personal choice. They are drawn to the book based on the award that has been attached to it, and because of the hype, there is a lot of room to be let down, and disappointed.

It’s an interesting study. Perhaps its’ not rocket science, but it proves just how engulfed, individuals are in a consumerist society. Literary awards are meant, to distinguish the merit of a: book; poem; collection; or story – and showcase it, in these lights, based on the opinions of a group of judges. However much like sheep running to the new green grass, to graze; individuals run to everything, that has a award to it, because it ‘must be good,’ and it comes to no surprise that our high expectations – utopian and over idealized; may come to disappointment.

For further information on the study and the original article by “The Guardian,” please visit the following link:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/feb/21/literary-prizes-make-books-less-popular-booker

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*

M. Mary

Thursday 20 February 2014

Mavis Gallant Passes

Hello Gentle Reader

When the Swedish Academy’s Permanente Secretary read the citation for Alice Munro, as the reason why she was chosen as the Nobel Laureate in Literature of twenty-thirteen – it was short simple and direct: “Contemporary Mastery of the Short Story.” On February 18th of two-thousand and fourteen, Alice Munro lost one of her own contemporary compatriots, who is also known for her short stories; the expatriate and severely overlooked Mavis Gallant. With her passing, there were no public eulogies, in regards to her career, and her life’s work and achievement. Ms. Gallant lived to be ninety-one years old; and had lived her entire working life, and career in Paris, France; in order to seriously peruse writing. As Mavis Gallant pointed out, in Paris she found the attitude to the writer different:

“I found for the first time in my life, as a society that you could say you were a writer, and not asked for three months’ rent in advance.”

In this sense, Mavis Gallant accomplished what many now could only dream. After the Second World War, life was cheap, and there were a lot places available to set up home or shake. In this sense, Gallant ran off to Paris and became a writer. In this sense, she became disassociated from North America and North American society; and was able to write about it, from an objective point of view.

If there is one aspect that Mavis Gallant and Alice Munro share. It is that both women, have taken the short story – the poor cousin of the novel; and have turned it into its own genre; separate of preconceived notions; that it lacks the necessary detail or personal gravities, that the novel can achieve and exploit. What both authors have proven is that the short story can be filled with depth, and momentous achievements in literary quality. Characters have as much depth in their short stories, as any character in any five hundred page novel. One separates these authors from the novelists, is that they achieve more in what is not said. All meaningless detail is quickly shredded and deleted. Everything is precisely planned, and precisely worded to have the most impact on the reader, or to make the story a success.

Mavis Gallant maybe an extremely well kept secret in Canadian literature. Perhaps due to her expatriate status; however she has proven over and over again that she was a literary force to be reckoned with. She proved to herself, and to those around her that she had made the right decision by turning to Paris, and working as a writer. Sustaining her entire life by her pen; by her words, by her imagination and by the stories she wrote. Her work maybe at times dark, but Gallant has shown that she has a penchant for the gentle comedy and absurdity of life; especially in its continual transience nature.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*

M. Mary

The Missing Head of Damasceno Monteiro

Hello Gentle Reader

Many authors try their hands, at genre fiction. Some actually take the confines or the structure of genre fiction, and use it in their own unique way. For example Orhan Pamuk’s “The Black Book,” takes the detective novel, as its structural format. Though with Pamuk this simply a guise. Pamuk uses the mysterious disappearance as a structural format, on the most superficial elements, from where he decides to develop and indulge his preoccupations, obsessions and fantasy’s. What lies in the details however, is the stories, the individuals, and the landscape of Istanbul, and all its beauty. With such vivid detail, Pamuk had written an entertaining, and enlightening novel, that sprawled, but in an always enjoyable way. Sofi Oksanen’s novel “Purge,” was often hailed by western critics, as a new Nordic crime novel. The Nordic countries maybe full of crime writers. Novels about the frigid landscape, the pale blue lipped corpses, hair stiff with snow, and eyes frozen in place. That being said, they follow the traditional concept of a crime novel. There is a murder. The rest of the novel is spent, discovering the murderer, the motive, and delivering that swift and brutal justice. Of course in some instances this has changed. The detectives, these days, are poor pathetic creatures. Heavy drinkers, and graduates from the school of hard knocks – as the saying goes. They chain smoke, live in a rundown apartment building, their marriage has fallen apart, and they have resentful children. Their miserable lives, is only dragged along, by their career. Their sarcastic and cynical career. Solving murders, like some common, everyday hero. There’s almost resent in their choice of a career. But that is where Orhan Pamuk and Sofi Okansen differentiate from their genre compatriots.

Orhan Pamuk’s novel, “The Black Book,” offers no real clues, and no real chance for the reader to the solve the mystery. It is more of an exploration of the individual stories, and landscape of Istanbul; hidden with precision, under the guise of a detective/mystery novel. Sofi Oksanen’s novel “Purge,” may deal with the sex trade; and it might deal with crimes of another era, of family, and deceit and disloyalty. But that is about as far as it goes. Oksanen’s novel is socially aware. It discusses the sex trade, and the past soviet crimes, with an objective point of view. It presents it, as a cold dish of reindeer meat. You’re not quite sure what you are looking at, and even more apprehensive about eating it. Yet all the same you are forced with the brutal reality, of sociological issues, that go without notice; as well as the historical horrors, that we have been quick to cover up, in favour of our acts of valor and heroism. For what is history but a grand story, of villains and heroes?

Antonio Tabucchi’s foray into this same, experiment, was less, then what Tabucchi is capable of. As a reader, and perennial lover, of Tabucchi’s fiction, it seemed to be rather disappointing with this foray into, the crime novel. It lacked Tabucchi’s, more successful characteristics of his other works. It lacked his experimentation, his whimsical ruminations. The novel itself, felt . . . undeveloped like cold soggy eggs served with cold burnt toast. It did not have Tabucchi’s former way of doing things. It felt contrived, and superficial. It certainly appeared to lack serious depth. When “The Missing Head of Damasceno Monteiro,” is held up against the previous works of Tabucchi that I have read such as: “Pereira Declares,” also titled as “Pereira Maintains,” or “Its Getting Later All the Time,” or “Requiem: A Hallucination,” it felt as if Tabbuchi needed to write something, but was uncertain of what he was going to write, and decided to write a flimsy attempt at crime novel, with some judicial philosophical discussion and theories put in place.

Seasoned readers of crime fiction will read “The Missing Head of Damasceno Monteiro,” will be frustrated and disappointed with the novel. “This is not a crime novel,” will be their agreement. One in which I can concur. It’s marketed – if only loosely; as a crime novel. But make no mistake: it is not a crime novel. It’s a literary novel, attempting to utilize the crime novel, as attempt at, literary ventriloquism. A complicated, literary puppet show. In this specific case, it did not succeed. However, though in general the novel failed – Tabucchi is an author of the highest redeeming qualities.

Firmino is a journalist of literary ambitions working and living in Lisbon; as a special correspondent for a newspaper. He reports on murders, and crimes. Scandalous acts of violence that frightens and sadistically entertains us. These same acts, that require us to defend, prosecute and deliver judgement. However Firmino is not entirely, fulfilled with his work. At twenty-seven years old, he’s reported on enough homicides, and acts of barbaric sadism, that he would rather write a thesis on the Portuguese novel. Still Firmino is sent to Oporto, a provincial city in Portugal – which enjoys its tripe – which is not fish; as I had first thought. What follows is the novel. Yet it’s not straightforward, mystery novel either.

As a reader, we are well aware that the missing head discovered by the gypsy is that of Damasceno Monteiro – hence the title. This is the first stop for Firmino. He is to interview the said gypsy. Who according the back of the book, I thought was going to make, and leave a much larger impression then he did. From there, on out, he is assisted by Dona Rosa, the owner of the pension in which he resides, on this investigation. However Miss Rosa’s characterization is seriously lacking. She seems to be a woman of much higher quality and taste; and has an air of refined sensibility. That being said how she ended up running the pension, and her background is vague and seriously lacking.

However redemption comes with a large presence. A fat beacon of light. The entrance of Don Fernando, also known as Attorney Loton, because of his resemblance to the English actor Charles Laughton, offers great redemption the novel. This is classic Tabucchi. Don Fernando/ Attorney Loton; is that odd, quirky character, with the philosophical bent, that makes Tabucchi such a great writer; his ability to create a compelling character, with intellectual and philosophical pursuits, and not be pretentious or patronizing to the reader in the process. I Don Fernando/ Attorney Loton’s, shoulders to be broad and large, but I doubt they are broad enough to carry the weight of the novels failings entirely. However they are broad enough to hold up at least part of it.

The discussions that Firmino has with Don Fernando/Attorney Loton are stimulating and baffling. They range from Lukacs – a Hungarian Marxist philosopher; however it’s his literary theories that are of interest in this book; all the way to the Austrian legal and judicial theorist and philosopher Hans Kelsen. Continental philosophy is discussed openly and freely. At times, a bit baffling, but a welcome, back of what Tabucchi can truly offer, and deliver with exceptional skill. Redemption was sweet. Still however, the entire novel ended, on the most disappointing of ways. It does not, tie up nicely, but attempted to, only to do a loop backwards, and get tangled into a larger mess. As if information was handed out far too late, for it to even matter. Though the judicial system is known to be a long and complicated process; one in which a case can go on, unsolved, or unresolved for years – until an appeal on some grounds is made. This rationalization makes the ending, that more understandable, it felt forced and unnecessary. I know for a fact that Tabucchi could do better. In fact, I think this novel could have been better, but I think it’s execution was not planned appropriately.

Tabucchi had a lot that was working well in the novel: Don Fernando/Attorney Loton, the discussions between the attorney and Firmino; discussions of judicial philosophy, obscure literature, and continental philosophy were fascinating, if at times over wrought, as well as meditation on the legal process, and torture and dignity and humanistic tendencies. However, a lot worked against this work. The lack of characterization and background, the forced and awkward ending; details that appeared to be unimportant and could have been omitted; and it lacked the Tabucchi flare, that the author was capable of, and had been proven to be capable of, on many different times, with many different novels.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*

M. Mary

Sunday 9 February 2014

Postscript of a Previous Post

Hello Gentle Reader

In my previous post, there was discussion of writers from around the world that included many large names, from Nobel Laureates like: Gunter Grass, Elfriede Jelinek, Orhan Pamuk and Wole Soyinka – to bestseller authors like Margaret Atwood and Salman Rushdie; as well as Russian writers, like Ludmila Ulitskaya. These authors have signed a petition, in protest against Putin’s new moral laws, and religious defamation legislation – which they have argued, strangles freedom of speech and freedom of expression. This along with the controversies surrounding the Winter Olympics, in its budget, and its serious lacking accommodations for the athletes; this petition is only more publicity to one large publicity machine. Which one could say is an added example of a new tradition of the Olympics themselves.

Ulitskaya has stated that one of the books she has worked on, is now being investigated because it has broken the ‘gay propaganda,’ laws that were passed in Russia. The authorities have stated that this is not true. The book in question, is part of a series of books, for teenagers whose subject matter, are anthropological. In one book where family life and structure is discussed; has garnered the suspicions of the cultural authorities or moral police. “The Family in Our Country and Others,” by Vera Timenchik has caused quite a controversy; because the book states that some of the families in the world are Homosexual. Vera Timenchik has stated that she has been questioned by the authorities; and has informed Ludmila Ulitskaya that the authorities wish to talk to her as well. The authorities – The Investigative Committee of Russia; have denied this, and have stated that Ulitskaya has not been summoned to testify or being questioned in the accusations.

Whether or not Ludmila Ulitskaya is being called to an inquiry, it does show however, that the fears of these authors are not unjustified. The cultural ideology in which Russian society is being forced to accept is akin to that of Soviet-era Propaganda.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Download Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong*

M. Mary

Thursday 6 February 2014

Controversial Winter Olympics – and Writers Protest

Hello Gentle Reader

Since the passing of the law, that prohibits the discussion of homosexual lifestyle – what the legislators and government of Russia has called: “propaganda of non-traditional sexual relations,” alongside other ‘blasphemy,’ laws; such as: religious insult, and its re-criminalisation of defamation towards religion or religious beliefs, this year’s Winter Olympics have, been a firestorm of political controversy. Now some two hundred authors are taking a stance against Putin’s moral conservative and draconian law, as a choke hold on freedom of speech and freedom of expression. These authors include, Salman Rushdie, Margaret Atwood and Ariel Dorfman; alongside Nobel Laureates: Wole Soyinka, Gunter Grass, Elfriede Jelinek, and Orhan Pamuk. Even google has made a small protest of the celebration of Olympics, with a doodle in the renowned homosexual symbol – the Rainbow flag; depicting winter sports from skiing, to hockey, to curling and figure skating.

International renowned authors and authors from a diverse set of countries are not the only, ones to criticise Russia’s moral law. Russian authors themselves have had an ambivalent (at best) understanding towards these laws that have been passed. Lyudmila Ulitskaya, one of Russia’s foremost writers, has also signed the petition; and has called contemporary Russia as a ‘lost chapter from Orwell.’ Ulitskaya has also points out that the authorities are imposing: “a cultural ideology that, in many respects, mimics the style of Soviet-era propaganda.”

All of this comes around the time of the Winter Olympics. A time when the host country (this case Russia) is on central stage, to unveil their cultural significance to the world, as well as welcoming with open arms the world to enter their homeland, and share in the spirit of sportsmanship and good natured competitive drive, to showcase that mankind goes beyond borders, and can come together as one celebrate. However with these laws, many feel that a minority is being excluded and that once again the Olympics have been given to a country with a poor human rights track record. Perhaps it was poor timing for Russia to enact their new laws; when they are under the scrutiny of the international community.

These authors point out that the laws that under the guise as a: ‘moral law,’ or a how to morally conduct oneself; not only discriminate against homosexual individuals and transgender individuals; but also are taking away the freedoms of speech, the freedom of expression, to disagree, and to debate and converse in a intelligent and mature manner – this may mean disagree with religious beliefs held by the majority or by the government. To which I agree with the following statement from the open letter organized by PEN International and signed by the above authors and others:

“A healthy democracy must hear the independent voices of all its citizens; the global community needs to hear, and be enriched by, the diversity of Russian opinion.”

May the Olympics go without an issue; but may these real issues be highlighted, not only for the Russian people, but for the people that will surely suffer under them. A country should not come so far, only to fall so far back.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*

M. Mary