Happy Birthday to You, Dear Corpse
How transient is life, how vain is human glory, how long and fearful is death: unless of course you're a great Russian scribe, in which case you can join in this year's dance macabre, as you celebrate yet another anniversary from beyond the grave. Cutting the cake and lighting the candles are Nabokov, Chekhov, Tolstoy, and Pasternak, all celebrating anniversaries of theirs births, deaths or publications. The world watches, voices raised in praise or chuntering in dissension. The Russian greats look gaunt and superior, their thin hands gripping quills that dissolved long ago into dust.
Joining the celebrations with his new book, despite being dead, is Nabokov with The Original of Laura. ‘Dying is Fun,’ he shouts: not really, when you can’t even steer the boat of your literary output. The Original of Laura was saved from being burned on the stack by Nabokov’s wife, then kept by his son and finally, more than 30 years after his death, it has appeared on the bookshelves. Beautifully reproduced, but insubstantial where it matters, this ‘new’ work is far from being another masterpiece. The 138 index cards set on the right-hand pages of the book can be detached, shuffled and rearranged into a new story, but the language falls short and the fractured structure betokens a deeper chaos. It is a shame that the book was published against Nabokov’s will, considering that he was a huge perfectionist. Nonetheless, it is exciting to take a bite of the forbidden fruit, even if it leaves you with a slightly unpleasant aftertaste.
Standing next to him is Chekhov, celebrating 150 years in various states of existence. His genius still influences contemporary writers: his originality, impressionism and disregard for traditional plot remain untarnished. Russia and the world celebrated his birthday by once again acclaiming Uncle Vanya, Three Sisters and The Cherry Orchard, and his early use of stream of consciousness in short stories. Britain started off the year with a theatrical star-studded celebration of Chekhov’s work at Hampstead Theatre in London, and continued by releasing audio versions of some of Chekhov’s short stories, narrated by Russian-born actor Max Bollinger.
The next dancing corpse on display is Tolstoy, with his centennial anniversary. He died in late 1910 after falling ill with pneumonia at the Astapovo train station whilst escaping from home and his bickering family. Earlier this year we could follow his last steps on the screen, as he starred in an adaptation of Jay Parini’s biopic, The Last Station. Tolstoy was an obvious choice for the silver screen: a Christian anarchist, crusading pacifist, and creator of beautiful epics and flawless tragedy, he lived a life full of highlights and high-emotion. Anyone who is into zombies, cyborgs and monster mash-ups, such as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, will be delighted to be able to digest a retooled version of Anna Karenina, called Android Karenina, which is due to be published by Quirk Classics this August. Anyone who would rather see such works consigned to the Index Librorum Prohibitorum should choke back their phlegm and re-read the original.
Then we turn to Pasternak, who died 60 years ago and has now reached the grand old age of 120. This Noble laureate, the author of one of the world’s greatest love poems, My Sister-Life, and the creator of a drama set against the backdrop of the Russian Revolution of 1917, Doctor Zhivago, is still widely celebrated in the West. This year, all Pasternak’s admirers will be enchanted by a new publication, Boris Pasternak: Family Correspondence, 1921- 1960, prepared by his nephew, Nicholas Pasternak Slater. This selection of Pasternak’s correspondence with his parents and sister draws a delightful new picture of the writer’s life and work.
So yes, it has been a great year for Russian, with its great writers so prominently praised, so nostalgically recalled and rewarded. But what about contemporary writers, seemingly cast into shadow by the spirits of those long departed? Their work is trying to poke through the snowbound streets of Moscow and the desolate steppes leading eastwards...
Find out more in my next blog..
Posted by Agnieszka on April 06, 2010.