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Lydia Chukovskaya "Sofia Petrovna" (Persephone)





The story of a mother and son during Stalin’s Terror of the mid 1930s. Short, well-written, and chilling. And yet, as good as it is, it reminded me of Yevgenia Ginzburg’s memoir Journey Into the Whirlwind which covers the same story and is, I think, absolutely brilliant. Ginsburg’s work is actually two volumes: the first (if my memory is correct) covers the period up through her arrest and trial and the second volume (Within the Whirlwind) covers her nearly two decades of imprisonment (at the infamous Kolyma gulag) and her release. At one time, I read many memoirs of the Kolyma and the gulag more generally and, excellent as many of them were, Ginzburg’s stood out. Both the real Ginzburg and the fictional Sofia Petrovna are faithful and loyal Party members and their devotion and dedication are meaningless. The only observation that I think is even possible is that the word “terrifying” or “chilling” is drastically inadequate to describe that period and that regime. Sofia Petrovna nevertheless gives a good sense of the claustrophobia of those years and the effect of the terror on “ordinary people” and is well worth the time.

novella is a compelling portrait of the personal costs of Stalin's purges. The eponymous heroine is a faithful Soviet citizen who believes in the fairness and ultimate justice of the system and her country's leaders. When her son is arrested in a purge, her belief in her country and her belief in her son come into conflict. The disconnect between lofty Soviet ideals and the injustice of her reality ultimately drive her mad. The novella focuses on how political shifts had deeply personal costs for Soviet citizens. Its strengths are its portrayal of how public life influences private life and its description of the bewilderment of loyal citizens suddenly confronted with the deep unfairness of the purges.

Gripping.

Gareth Carr "The Boy From The Sea" (Picador)




I loved this haunting story with its beauty and grace, about fracture and repair. In 1973 Donegal, Ireland, a family is split by jealousy while coping with a changing world.

Narrated by a voice representing ‘we,’ the village, gives a timelessness to the tale.

A baby is discovered at the seashore and taken in by a Irish fishing village. The babe is shifted from house to house until Ambrose Bonnard tells his wife Christine and son DeClan they will keep him, naming him Brendan.

It is an act of charity by a family with just enough, with hopes of having money which never comes their way. Christine’s sister Phyllis is especially judgemental. She needs help with their aging father–why take on an outsider?

Declan instantly hates this interloper. He sees his father’s love for the baby that should be his.

Brendan grows into a strange child, never fitting in. He looks up to DeClan who only rejects him. He wanders alone all day, stopping to visit other lonely souls, giving them a blessing. “We were barrels adrift at sea,” the narrator says, “yet we also felt a benevolent force might be at work, a helpful current, and that was a comfort.”

Ambrose is a quiet man who fishes the old way. His friend buys bigger boats and takes in bigger hauls. Bad luck, changing economics, and lack of funds forces Ambrose to take work on the mainland, separating the family. When Christine worries about the boys, he says they will ‘sort it out.’

I loved these characters, so beautifully wrought. A storm at sea and the resulting intimate moments between Ambrose and Christine were especially moving.

The babe found in a floating barrel, the contention between brothers for the father’s love, recall to mind biblical stories. The novel has an element of the fairy tale without ever reading like a fantasy. It has a satisfying ending. Worth reading.