Sergei DovlatovResenhas

Instead of the usual disclaimer, Dovlatov wrote:

"The names, events, and dates given here are all real. I invented only those details that were not essential.

Therefore, any resemblance between the characters in this book and living people is intentional and malicious. And all the fictionalizing was unexpected and accidental."

In the sixties Dovlatov had dropped out of university and been drafted into the Soviet Internal Troops to work as a prison guard in high security camps. Unlike the camps for political prisoners that Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote about, these camps are for criminals. They are so isolated and remote that the guards, as well as the criminals, are effectively serving a sentence. Distinctions between guards and prisoners break down.

The book is a series of first-person narrations by various guards, who appear in each other's stories from different perspectives. What they all have in common is a bleak and sardonic humour. Interspersed with the guard's narrations are letters written by the author to his New York publisher. The book is coming along in fits and starts as random sections are smuggled out from the USSR. The author's works have never been published there and have circulated in samizdat. Parts have been lost, and the author discusses with the publisher how he will manage the gaps. He talks about what he will include and what he will leave out, and his writing philosophy.

It took me a while to get into The Zone, but once I did I found it well worth the trouble. It's Dovlatov's world view that makes it fascinating.

Al igual que la mayoría de las obras de Serguéi Dovlátov, La maleta está teñida de un fuerte componente autobiográfico, algo inevitable en un autor con una intensa vida marcada por las circunstancias históricas. El protagonista de la narración se ve obligado a hacer el equipaje para emprender un largo viaje de ida sin billete de vuelta. Mientras va introduciendo en una única maleta todos los objetos que le van a acompañar -muchos menos de los que se esperaba-, el narrador va recuperando episodios de su pasado, fragmentos de una trayectoria vital que le ha llevado hasta donde está ahora, pero con la que inevitablemente debe cortar de raíz. A partir de una ingeniosa excusa narrativa, Serguéi Dovlátov va retratando con un humor corrosivo, un toque de melancolía y un lenguaje sencillo pero contundente la difícil situación que se padecía en la Unión Soviética real, tan alejada de la versión oficial que se vendía al exterior.

El libro más celebrado de Serguéi Dovlátov se recrea en el escaso contenido de la única maleta que lo acompañó en su exilio. Cada uno de los inútiles objetos que constituyeron su patrimonio nos conduce a un lugar memorable de su biografía. Mago del estilo, Dovlátov entrega aquí lo más parecido a un canon de su escritura. Preciso, despojado e irónico, el resultado es también un índice tragicómico del tejido espiritual, social y político de la URSS. La engañosa liviandad de su prosa, su disposición para reírse de sí mismo y su extraordinaria capacidad para el retrato humano han convertido a Serguéi Dovlátov en uno de los grandes maestros de las letras rusas de la segunda mitad del siglo xx.

Most entertaining book I've read in a long while.

Hmm. Had ik de recensie meteen na de laatste bladzijde geschreven, dan hadden er 4 sterren gestaan. Maar hoe langer ik er op terugblik, hoe indrukwekkender dit schijnbaar eenvoudige boekje is.

Domein werpt een korte blik op een cruciale fase in het leven van een ongepubliceerd schrijver in de Sovjetunie eind jaren '70. Hij start met een baan als gids op het domein waar Poesjkin resideerde en talrijke Russen als toerist naartoe trekken. Zijn vrouw wil met zijn dochter het land uit vluchten maar hij kan zijn moedertaal niet achterlaten. Heil zoekt hij in het glas, met alle gevolgen van dien.

In een vlotte, droge en snelle stijl neemt Dovlatov je mee naar de vuile kroegen waar de schrijver zich bedrinkt en in strakke penschetsen of spitse dialogen zie je de achterliggende tragiek van mensen die gebukt gaan onder het Sovjetregime.
Dat is wat er langzaam bezinkt, na het lezen van Domein: alles wat Dovlatov je niet rechtstreeks vertelt; maar wat in dialogen doorschemert, uit anekdotes afgeleid kan worden of wat je onderhuids aanvoelt.
Dat is de 5de ster die de dag nadien zijn recht begint op te eisen: hoeveel rijkdom Dovlatov in een korte, krachtige en heldere roman gestoken heeft, hoeveel er tussen de lijnen geschreven staat en wat je als lezer spontaan aanvoelt.
Knap.

Doblatov is a writer of my favored kind. He is sharp, witty and funny. The contents of his book are taken from the author's life, which, like many others in Soviet Russia, are not easy, to say the least, and especially those who oppose the regime and have to maneuver between their faith and their opinion and reality. What helped a lot in dealing with the conflicts was alcohol, the cheapest type made in Russia or foreign products, from another Communist source like Romania for example. Most of the text conducted between drunken periods. Although the stories in the book are not simple and describe a depressing reality, I found myself bursting out laughing because humor, as we all know, is an excellent tool for dealing with trouble. The stories took place in the 1960s when the gates of Russia opened somewhat to immigrants. Devaltov, who was able to take advantage of this opportunity, chose to remain in Russia, while his wife and daughter had emigrated to America and he joined them only later. The first story of the book described the period during his wife's migration when they separated, and he moved away to a reserve that was a museum dedicated to Pushkin and served there as a tour guide. There is something in this reserve (which exists in reality) that symbolizes the whole of Russia and the different ways that people have found to deal with life there.

The second story is a collection of beautiful stories, all related. They, too, are taken directly from Dovlatov's life.
Each story based on an item that was in the pantry with which he eventually emigrated to the United States.

"Заповедник" has some hilarious passages and lines -- one about a bullet sticks in my mind as particularly funny -- and I loved the observations about the Pushkin preserve/park. I was less enthusiastic about the portions of the book that looked more at the narrator's relationship with his wife. They certainly weren't bad, but they weren't as absurdly laugh-out-loud funny as the daily life and work of a Pushkin park employee.

Sergej Dowlatow ist aus der Sowjetunion in die USA ausgewandert. Seinen einzigen Koffer, den er mitnehmen durfte, packt er erst Jahre später aus und nimmt ihn zum Anlass, seine Geschichte zu erzählen.
V.a. Kleidungsstücke sind es, finnische Acrylsocken, ein gediegener Zweireiher, Schuhe eines Bürgermeisters, die Jacke von Fernand Léger oder das Popeline-Hemd, an denen sich die Geschichte eines Lebens in der Sowjetunion darstellen lässt. Der Autor erzählt gleichermaßen schelmisch wie wehmütig. Das Buch ist schnell und leicht gelesen, die Geschichten gehen dennoch nahe.½

Un jefe capaz de detectar burdas faltas ideológicas en el orden alfabético, un instructor que interpreta versos infantiles en clave política, una vigilia en la maternidad esperando a que nazca el ciudadano número 400.000 (presentable), bellezas proletarias sin un rublo en el bolsillo, vacas socialistas de ubres prodigiosas, un funeral de cuerpo presente con muerto equivocado... El compromiso es un volumen de historias reales, primero hilarantes y luego desoladoras, recogidas por la magistral pluma de Dovlátov, un clásico moderno de las letras rusas por descubrir en España.

Another Russian writer that I've just discovered. He was severely censured during Soviet time, so at first he was published in the West, but after his death at the still young age of 48 (in New York where he had emigrated), his works became known in his homeland as well, and not just in "underground" publications as before.

This book is quite autobiographical. Dovlatov's writing talent really shines in it. I found his style bitterly sardonic and poignant, his eye for description of things around him super sharp, while he is also brutally honest about himself and his "failings". Though it was normal history in Soviet Russia to not let any real and dissenting talent break through the rock solid censure, it still feels sad to see such writer being obscure for so long. His deep frustration at being unable to earn his living at what he does best pours out with angst in this book. And then to have a very short life of freedom in New York - he died in 1990, just about the time socialism died in Soviet Russia too - a time when he could have gone back to Russia to be recognized for who he was, a fine writer...

I read this book in the original Russian, but it has been been translated into English - and that's where I see a huge challenge for the translator: I cannot fathom how to translate some of the dialogues in it, so peculiar to the Russian language alone: Dovlatov picked up so skillfully on the colorful, hardly translatable, expressions of the local population of the village near Pushkin Hills.½

Un tuffo nell’Unione sovietica brezneviana e più precisamente un tour nel giornalismo di regime, guidati da una penna realmente anticonformista, con la capacità di mettere in ridicolo un sistema nel quale il senso del ridicolo è totalmente venuto meno.
Ogni capitolo presenta una notizia (generalmente irrilevante) confezionata e propinata ai lettori, seguita dal retroscena della notizia stessa. Viene così svelato ciò che sta dietro o sotto la narrazione ufficiale e messo sotto la lente di ingrandimento il livello di mistificazione deliberatamente e sistematicamente perseguito. Certo l’ambiente, quello dell’Estonia sovietica, nonché il tasso alcolico che accompagna queste pagine, sono lontani dal nostro mondo, ma la ricerca del consenso è un dato familiare che si ripropone sotto ogni latitudine e in ogni tipo di regime, totalitario e non. La manipolazione dell’opinione pubblica anche in contesti liberali, avviene spesso attraverso la creazione di personaggi esemplari o l’invenzione di storie destinate a suscitare interesse o emulazione. Nell’Estonia sovietica la narrazione di regime impone figure, più o meno pateticamente inventate, come la valorosa mungitrice di quantità record di latte, o il quattrocentomillesimo nato a Tallin, di famiglia integralmente e gloriosamente sovietica e dal (finto) nome eroico. Non vedo in questo gran differenza con personaggi imposti oggi dalla televisione o promossi e accreditati da certa stampa ‘gossipara’, la cui missione principale è intrattenere gli allocchi, creando presunti ’miti’ dell’effimero destinati spesso a sparire con alla stessa velocità con la quale sono stati creati. Nel nostro caso i miti sono costruiti intorno alla gioventù, alla bellezza, al successo (di qualunque tipo esso sia), nell’Unione sovietica l’ingrediente base era la produttività e l’entusiasmo per le magnifiche realizzazioni del comunismo.

Objektu gutxi batzuez beteriko maleta bat da. Dovlatovek Sobiet Batasunetik AEBetara emigratu zuenean berekin hartu zuen maleta. Emigratzeko asmotan dela, hara non esaten dioten hiru maleta besterik ezin duela eraman. Puskak biltzen hasi, eta ohartzen da hiru maleta ez, bakar bat aski duela bere ondasun guztiak sartzeko. Bere bizitza osoa maleta ezdeus batean bildurik. Eta halaxe abiatzen du kontakizuna, ipuin bat josiz maletan sartu zituen objektu bakoitzaren inguruan. Oroitzapen bat objektu bakoitzeko.
Eta halaxe harilkatzen ditu bere bizitzako zenbait pasarte, banan-banan, atzean utzi duen munduaren garratza, absurdoa eta zentzugabetasuna agerian utziz. Narrazio guztiak bere ohiko estilo arinean daude idatzirik: estilo arina, baina baita zorrotza, fina, gardena, sarkastikoa, garratza, ziztakaria ere. Eta vodkaz, vodka askoz bustirik.

Objektu gutxi batzuez beteriko maleta bat da. Dovlatovek Sobiet Batasunetik AEBetara emigratu zuenean berekin hartu zuen maleta. Emigratzeko asmotan dela, hara non esaten dioten hiru maleta besterik ezin duela eraman. Puskak biltzen hasi, eta ohartzen da hiru maleta ez, bakar bat aski duela bere ondasun guztiak sartzeko. Bere bizitza osoa maleta ezdeus batean bildurik. Eta halaxe abiatzen du kontakizuna, ipuin bat josiz maletan sartu zituen objektu bakoitzaren inguruan. Oroitzapen bat objektu bakoitzeko.
Eta halaxe harilkatzen ditu bere bizitzako zenbait pasarte, banan-banan, atzean utzi duen munduaren garratza, absurdoa eta zentzugabetasuna agerian utziz. Narrazio guztiak bere ohiko estilo arinean daude idatzirik: estilo arina, baina baita zorrotza, fina, gardena, sarkastikoa, garratza, ziztakaria ere. Eta vodkaz, vodka askoz bustirik.

А я, оказывается, потихоньку начинаю забывать, как оно было всё в Советском Союзе. Спасибо Довлатову, вспомнила, посмеялась. Всё-таки умение незло, не осуждая, смеяться над нелепостями жизни - великая вещь! Книга хороша и как очередное напоминание, что средствам массовой информации слепо верить никак нельзя. Даже самым "честным".

“Pushkin Hills” has a simple plot that really doesn’t go anywhere. Boris Alikhanov is an unpublished writer with an alcohol dependency, who is recently divorced from Tatyana and in need of money. To make matters worse, Tatyana is planning to emigrate to America with their daughter, Masha. Boris takes a job as a tour guide at the Pushkin Hills Preserve. Notwithstanding the thin plot, this autobiographical novella has much strength. Its tone is dark and ironic; it is filled with insightful observations on the Soviet culture, writing, censorship and emigration; there are humorous asides and crisp dialogue; and of course many delightful characterizations of the people Boris interacts with at the Preserve.

The narrator of this book, who shares the name and occupation of the author, left the Soviet Union with just one suitcase. Years later, he takes it out of the closet and each of the items in it gives rise to a tale about how he acquired that object, tales that illuminate life in the Soviet Union in the 70s and 80s. For example, a pair of Finnish crepe socks demonstrates how the black market worked, a double-breasted suit depicts the workings of a newspaper (and a potential spy), an officer's belt reflects a stint in the army guarding a supposedly crazy prisoner, and a pair of driving gloves illustrate an attempt to help a friend making an "underground" movie. Each of the eight tales about an object could stand alone as a short story (in fact, one was included in the collection of Russian short stories I read earlier this year), but together they build a story of the narrator's life as well as create a picture of Soviet society.

As in Pushkin Hills, Dovlatov has a wonderful satiric sense of humor, and an ability to skewer pretension and hypocrisy in just a few words or phrases. I am definitely planning on reading more Dovlatov.

In this novella, Boris Alikhanov, a recently divorced struggling writer (struggling mainly because his work couldn't be published in even the comparatively more open Khrushchev era, but also because of his fondness for drinking) takes a summer job at the Pushkin Hill Preserve, dedicated to the area where Pushkin lived and a destination for tour buses. One of the women who works there finds him lodging in a neighboring village in the completely dilapidated home of a man who stays drunk as much as possible, and he starts training as a tour guide. The reader learns from flashbacks in the form of Boris's reflections about Boris's writing, his meeting with the woman who became his wife and subsequent marriage, and the problems within the marriage that led to the divorce. Eventually, his ex-wife shows up at Pushkin Hills to inform him that she has made plans to emigrate to the west, along with their daughter; this sets Boris off on a downward spiral with a noted local alcoholic, but he manages to make it to Leningrad before they leave. One reason Boris doesn't want to emigrate with them is because he claims "In a foreign tongue we lose eighty percent of our personality. We lose our ability to joke, to be ironic. This alone terrifies me."

That's the plot. What makes this book special is Dovlatov's sparkling, albeit dark and often absurd, satire of Soviet culture - everything from the ersatz nature of the Pushkin Preserve (with objects from the era of Pushkin rather than ones Pushkin actually owned), the tour guides, the tour itself, the people who come on the tour buses, and the villagers to a KGB officer. And, oh, Dovlatov writes so delightfully, and tells such telling tales, capturing the essence of a character or a situation with a few well chosen words or phrases.

Some of this is semi-autobiographical. Dovlatov was also a writer, of course, and couldn't get his writing published in the Soviet Union, and he did work for a summer at the Pushkin Preserve. His father was Jewish, and this novel includes some exchanges that illustrate the instinctive nature of Russian antisemitism. And he did eventually emigrate to New York where he joined his wife and daughter, who has translated this novel (and provided helpful notes). I first found out about Dovlatov from a story in Russian Short Stories from Pushkin to Buida, and I would be happy to read more of his translated works.

Really fun, quick-witted satire of a man who chooses a tourist outpost in Russia as a kind of boozy comic self-imposed exile and circle of Hell. Writer Boris has to deal with his difficult writing career and estranged marriage while giving lectures on Pushkin to barely-listening tourists and living with a colorful cast of eccentrics. I loved Dovlatov's economic writing and aphoristic descriptions. So many memorable lines! You have to read slow but it's a very satisfying and rewarding book from an author about whom I want to learn more.

a collection of short stories highlighting the depressing life led in a former SSR, each story brought about via the memories of an item packed away long ago as part of the author's emigration from Estonia. Some good satire, but overall, not as well written as "the Compromise"

This is a quick read, very funny, great satire on life in the Soviet block (Estonia in this case)

Al igual que la mayoría de las obras de Serguéi Dovlátov, La maleta está teñida de un fuerte componente autobiográfico, algo inevitable en un autor con una intensa vida marcada por las circunstancias históricas. El protagonista de la narración se ve obligado a hacer el equipaje para emprender un largo viaje de ida sin billete de vuelta. Mientras va introduciendo en una única maleta todos los objetos que le van a acompañar -muchos menos de los que se esperaba-, el narrador va recuperando episodios de su pasado, fragmentos de una trayectoria vital que le ha llevado hasta donde está ahora, pero con la que inevitablemente debe cortar de raíz. A partir de una ingeniosa excusa narrativa, Serguéi Dovlátov va retratando con un humor corrosivo, un toque de melancolía y un lenguaje sencillo pero contundente la difícil situación que se padecía en la Unión Soviética real, tan alejada de la versión oficial que se vendía al exterior.

bellissimo libro!! ironico, poetico, scritto bene, divertente, malinconico.
il protagonista assomiglia ad Hans Schnier di Opinioni di un clown

Non che sia un libro fondamentale, si vive anche senza.
Non è come prescindere dal sesso, dalla poesia o dal vino.
Però è un peccato perdersi un bacio che non t'aspetti,
rinunciare alla suggestione di un suono
o ignorare il gusto di un Napareuli.

Così, tipo, non aver letto Noialtri.

One of the funniest books by a Russian writer that I've ever read. This isn't to say that it's not serious, but it manages to tackle the difficult issues of censorship and finding meaning in life in Soviet Estonia with a rather lighthearted tone that's very refreshing and a lot of fun to read. "Don't drink so much. Because then you can't make sex." is just one of many important lessons taught here. I wonder how much of "The Compromise" is autobiographical, since the narrator and protagonist is based on the author, right down to the name.½