a satirical, very funny and clever dystopian novel

For irony and surrealism this story is a ten. It is, again, a wrenching look at Soviet life, and another Voinovich masterpiece. I won't retell the plot because another reviewer did that well. The society of Moscow in 2042 is based on the droll equation - "Output=Input", and whatever one receives is directly proportional to what one turns in in the way of output. And this is just what it sounds like. Read this book and hope it doesn't happen.

The famous dissident writer Vladimir Voinovich wrote this book a couple of years before the downfall of the Sovient Union. So, in how far this satire about life in the communist "Moscow Republic" of 2042 is still relevant?

I would not exclude the alarming possibility that Russia might still evolve in something like the nightmare of "Moscow 2042".

In this book the Russian author Kartsev, living in München in 1982, makes a time travel to the Moscow of 2042. After the "Great August Revolution" the new leader "Genialissimus" has changed the Soviet Union ... up to a certain point. After Lenins dream of a world revolution and Stalins experiment of 'Socialism within one country', Genialissimus has decided to build "Communism within one city", Moscow. The ideology has changed somewhat, into a hotchpotch of marxism-leninism and Russian orthodoxy (Genialissimus himself is also patriarch!) The decay, from which the Soviet Union suffered, has gone further and further. The rest of the Soviet Union, where people barely survive, has been separated by a Berlin type of wall from the "paradise" of Moscow, where communism has been (sort of) realised. Within the wall everyone gets everything "according to his needs". Only their needs are not decided by themselves, but by the wise Genialissimus. And of course, most people have "ordinary needs", but a chosen few have "extraordinary needs". For the first class, life is dismall even within the priviliged "Moscow Republic". At last, the situation gets so desperate, that people throw themselves in the arms of a "liberator", a fellow dissident writer and (kind of) friend of Kartsev, the extreme Slavophile Sim Karnavalov(probably inspired by Solzjenytsin), who enters Moscow on a white horse and proclaims himself Tsar Serafim the First. Now a new kind of nightmare starts...

This novel is a masterpiece of satire, almost as funny as "The life of Iwan Chonkin" and "The pretender to the trone" of the same author. In my opinion, Voinovich is entiteld to the next Nobel prize for literature.

Janusz Korczak (pseudonym for Henryk Goldszmit) is one of Poland's most beloved children's authors. There is not only this story, but also a sequel... . (One can see why an American publisher might not have wanted to publish the translation.) I am only sorry that neither of these stories are always in print in English. If you can read German you can get both it and its sequel in German from Amazon.de.

The first English translation, brought out by Roy Publishing, was one of the joys of my childhood. I was lucky - a decade or so later I wrote to the librarian at the library where I had checked it out so often in childhood - I wanted the publishing information so I could look for it - and she sent me the book! It is one of my cherished possessions, and I bless that dear librarian always. I like to write, and Januzs Korczak is one of my primary influences, others being C.S. Lewis and Francis Hodgson Burnett (for stories about children who become kings or queens). If you can't read King Matt's story, I recommend those authors, and also E. Nesbit, Connie Willis, Arthur C. Clarke, Ray Bradbury, R.A. MacAvoy, James Blaylock... This list could go on forever, but I will always think it imperfect as long as Korczak cannot be at the top because his stories are unavailable in English.

Lourie's translation gives more of a European flavor to the story; the earlier translation is softer, and it appears that some detail was omitted. My guess is that the earlier translators wanted to present an impression of the story that did not show as much of the sad, or the tongue-in-cheek, quality of the original, because the Polish people were then under occupation by the Nazis. I rather wish Lourie would translate the sequel, and that both books would stay in print in English FOREVER.

This is a truly unique book. The author has a great understanding of the way a kid thinks. The main character is a young boy who is crowned king. He has various adventures as he learns about the world of grownups: going to war, starting a parliament for kids, traveling, etc. My only regret is that I read a library copy and I want to own my own but it is out of print.

World War II is on and Chonkin is imprisoned in this sequal to his extraordinary adventures. Chonkin figures less prominently in this sequal. I think, the major character here is the social system itself. Voinovich does not spare anyone or anything: Joseph Stalin, the Soviet military planning, and the prison system--all are criticized. Bumbling bureaucrats continue to bludner like there was no tomorrow. For example, they capture and execute an honest junior officer as a spy, while the real spy continues to work undisturbed. And the bumbling of this sort is pittance in comparison to what has just gone on--the 1937/38 terror. Most outstanding people have been destroyed on no greater basis than wild accusations and Stalin's paranoia. It turns out that the most potent weapon in the war on the cream of society's crop is a simple pencil! Write an accusation on someone who works hard in his field and has his head in the clouds, not paying attention to politics, and that person is soon arrested and executed. Given this absurd atmosphere of repression and the pressure and fear put on the government by war, Chonkin must languish in prison on suspicion of being a descendant of a noble Russian family which is trying to overthrow the government and open the gates to the Germans!

Voinovich's satire is right on target. This book is funny and educational. If you live in a Western democracy you will, at a minimum, reap one important benefit from reading this--you will appreciate even more what you have in your country today. I assigned a number of Russian writers in my Modern Russian Politics class last year, and this is exactly what the impact was. Read Voinovich--his books are humorous and different.

"Pretender to the trone" is the sequel to "The Extraordinary Adventures of Private Iwan Chonkin", and almost as funny (in a grim way)! Those who enjoyed "Iwan Chonkin" should also read this sequel. In the Russian edition I read, they were joined in one volume.

Andrei Chikatilo was the most infamous Russian serial killer of all time, and with good reason. His reign of terror was as long as his court antics were bizarre. He is in the first rank of cannibal killers, right up there with more familiar monsters like Jeffrey Dalmer and Ed Gein. Although within the police state of the Soviet Union he was able to operate much longer. But this book is as much about the pursuer as the pursued, indeed Inspector Issa Kostoev really takes center stage. The story is told from a cop's perspective and even details the politics that surround the investigation. Especially interesting are the appearances of other less well-known deviants that Kostoev encounters along the way (like Anthony Slivko). Also of interest were the cat and mouse techniques that Kostoev used to break Chikatilo during interrogation, and how the killer's party affiliation helped him early in his career. There is a lot of interesting stuff here, but those seeking understanding of the why of what Chaikatilo did must look elsewhere.

The thing that separates most Polish authors from other Western authors is the sense of responsibility they bring to writing. Minor Apocalypse is a prime example of this. Konwicki's use of self-reference and surrealism is not only breath-taking and provoking, it allows him to make very bold (for the time) comments on post-war Poland and the machinery of politics, propoganda, and activism.

You follow the author around on what might be his last day on Earth and in that day he lives an enitre lifetime. He forms and breaks friendships, he falls in and out of love (within a few paragraphs), he is awoken and handed his destiny.

But most of all, this book, while profound, is very funny. You will find yourself laughing at the ridiculousness of it all...

The book is a very vivid and colorful picture of a jewish boy's childhood -- his best friend, their friendship and his cherished memories of that time. Time they spent together, described with unforgettable language, full of laughs and happy smiles. There is also a clear answer to 'why there is no heaven on earth' -- sincere and heart-breaking. The book is writen softly with delicate love and dedication. You'd find yourself different once you close the last page -- as with all books written by E. Sevela

I wasn't expecting this book to be as accessable as I found it. I know next to nothing about life in Russia during the outbreak of WWII, and I knew going in that this was a novel about a man in the Russian army. I figured there'd be numerous names and references to people, places, and policies I'd have to gloss over, and just hope I'd get an idea of the book. I was wrong.

I was also wrong in thinking that it wouldn't be that funny. I found it amusing and entertaining to see slapstick in a "European Classic". But, it wasn't stupid humor. It seems as though Voinovich had a lot of thought behind it, twisting it around so it not only made the reader laugh, but also tied into the plot.

The only thing I thought it may have lacked was character development. It is a short novel, but I felt as if I didn't really get to know Gladishev, Chonkin, or Nyura. Perhaps given a few more pages, I could have identified with these characters a bit more. But, since they are from a culture so foreign to myself, perhaps it would have taken a lot more for me to identify with the characters. Perhaps it's my own sheltered way of life that inhibited a stronger connection with this novel.

If anything, this book is a fabulous introduction into Russian culture at the beginning of WWII. Being that it is a fiction/comedy however, there may not be a lot of accuracy in its content, but it at least leaves one with a sense of lifestyle to which these characters live.

This was the selection of my book club. I was a little leery, because unless it's EXTREMELY well done, satire doesn't work for me - it's an all-or-nothing proposition. Anything less than Mark-Twain-level and I can't be bothered.

Well, "Private Chonkin" was a pleasant surprise. I had the feeling that the writer and/or translator had a lot of fun with this one - I kept hearing a giggle off the page as I read. As is always the case with satire, it helps to be somewhat familiar with the reality that's being skewed, but in this case, it's not a requirement for enjoying the book.

The premise is pretty good, and ripe for satire - hapless nudnik of a soldier is assigned to guard a downed plane in a remote village in the Soviet Union just before the beginning of WW II. His superiors forget about him as he settles into the life of the village, and when they finally remember him, all hell breaks loose as he proves to be a lot smarter than any of them. The author skewers everyone and everything, but none as savagely as the Party and the Army.

The depictions of life in remote areas can be hair-raising; the villages, the people, and their lives are pretty primitive. I had the sense that this part of the world hadn't changed in centuries. And I also had the feeling that these were accurate descriptions, rooted in some pretty harsh realities. The only parts that I felt bordered on tedium were the lengthy descriptions of Private Chonkin's dreams; they played a role in the overall satire but otherwise didn't move the story forward.

With translations, it's hard to tell what you're really appreciating: the art of the writer or that of the translator. Obviously, the translator has to have something to work with, but the nuances could be credited to either. That said, I found this book well-written and highly amusing, and I recommend it to anyone who appreciates this kind of writing.

Voinovich was expelled from the Soviet Writers' Union, because of his poignant satire. The guardians of the communist order could not stand his free, humorous exposition of the follies of the Soviet society. "Private Chonkin" is his masterpiece. Voinovich shows much that plagued the Soviet society: pervasive alchoholism, bureaucratic intransingence, sychophantic officials, horrific abuse of power, and the spread of pseudo-science (much fun is made in the book of Lysenko's approach to evolution.)

Voinovich is not bitter or angry. He finds a place for good-natured humor, even amid the appalling conditions of Russian's brutal rural communism. This book is invaluable to all those who want to be acquainted with the character and spirit of communist despotism in Russia in the twentieth century. But in the end, one does not put down this book feeling discouraged and sad. Orwellian gloom does not prevail here. And why is that? Because people retain the ability to laugh at themselves and at the life around them, not taking too seriously grave doctrines and events. Chonkin survives the advent of terror, and his simplicity and good nature prove superior to dogma and repression, suggesting, at least to me, that a single human being is generally more valuable than all utopian doctrines and insane plans for implementing them.

Sakharov was the father of the Russian atomic program; he was Oppenheimer, Teller, and Feynman, all rolled into one. The book traces Russia from before his birth to his death, as it rises against Germany and sinks into the depths of Stalin's Terror and Kuruschev's reign. Sakharov, given immense importance under Stalin and Kuruschev, finds himself at odd with what he created. He wants so much to redeem himself that he devotes the remaining of his life to the Russian resistance. And he suffers for this - all the perks and medals he earned for his work on Russia's atomic program are summarily taken back by the state. He is exiled to Gorky and is spied on by KGB. His memoirs are stolen on two occassions by the KGB; depressed, almost suicidal, he rewrites them from memory. This was an excellent look into a very interesting country in the context of an equally interesting protagonist. It is said that mathematicians (and probably theoritical physicists) have a short career; their inventions and discoveries are made when they are young, and they whittle away in their middle- and old ages. Could be that Sakharov, having contributed to many such inventions and discoveries, figured that joining the resistance is a far better legacy. Being considered the father of the atomic program of a country is a big burden to bear; I am reminded of Oppenheimer's words when he witnessed what he had created. All he could think about was Lord Krishna's words in the Bhagavad Gita: "I am death, shatterer of worlds, annhilating all things." I would recommend this book for a great insight into Russia through the eyes of one of its best known (and loved) citizens.

I read this book slowly. The author has gathered a lot of details and his interest in Russia is the main context in which the subject is considered. With the emphasis in this book on how extraordinary the Communist regime of the Soviet Union had been in ruthlessness even before it had the opportunity to acquire atomic weapons, I was afraid that its approach to what I was really interested in would be too tame and toothless for my taste. More than most nuclear scientists, Andrei Sakharov has been recognized as a great dissident. Many thought that this was some kind of folly. "In a joke of the time a dog explains glasnost: `The chain is longer, the food is still far away, but you can bark all you want.'" (p. 373). Jokes were a major feature of the situation. There is a paragraph early in the book, about a mannerism of a great Russian poet, who announced his appreciation for the best of his own work with the words, "`O Pushkin, you . . . !' At moments of insight, rubbing his hands in delight, Sakharov would repeat those words aloud." (p. 48) The big joke about Pushkin was most appropriate a hundred years after his death, after the official Pushkin Year of 1937, when a few people still had the nerve to say: "If Pushkin had lived in our times, he still would have died in '37." (p. 46). Sakharov grew up in tough times, but his sense of reality grew in proportion to the responsibilities which he assumed. When he was picked on in a personal manner, and he felt that the Soviet system reacted in a way that seemed inappropriate to him personally, he was capable of exhibiting his own toughness. When Tatiana, Bonner's daughter, was expelled from Moscow University, he was capable of losing the restraint with which people are expected to submit to those who sit in positions of authority. Poor Ivan Petrovsky, rector of Moscow University. "Sakharov lost his temper and pounded the table twice with his fist. Later that day Petrovsky dropped dead from a heart attack, and in some quarters, including the Academy, Sakharov was considered complicit in Petrovsky's death." (p. 248). Joseph Shklovsky, author of FIVE BILLION VODKA BOTTLES TO THE MOON, considered himself a leader "because of his mastery of cursing, an art he had learned as a construction foreman." (p. 59). Reporting on a month which Sakharov and Shklovsky spent on a train fleeing Moscow as students during World War II, Shklovsky reported, "One day he asked me a preposterous favor: `Do you have anything I can read on physics?' . . . My first impulse was to send this mama's boy and his ridiculous request straight to hell." (p. 59). Years later, concerning Petrovsky, Shklovsky said, "I can't forgive Andrei Sakharov for the sharp rebuke he delivered to the poor rector." (p. 248).

Since Sakharov was seeking convergence with the rest of the world more than anything else, it made sense for him to go see everyone "From Margaret Thatcher to Daniel Ellsberg" (p. 360) when he had the chance. He even "had half an hour alone with Edward Teller before a formal banquet honoring Teller on his birthday." (p. 375) Later he convinced Solzhenitsyn's wife to call Solzhenitsyn to a phone in Cavendish, Vermont so that "there should be nothing left unsaid between us." (p. 376). With Elena, he met "both the head of the Italian Socialist Party and the pope. And, in an event that captures the flavor of that year of wonders, Sakharov and the pope discussed perestroika in the Vatican." (p. 379).

He finally met Gorbachev on January 15, 1988, (p. 366) and the two found themselves in an interesting political situation. After elections on March 26, 1989, Sakharov was to represent the Academy of Sciences in the First Congress of People's Deputies on May 25. "Yeltsin won Sakharov's admiration when he demanded live television coverage of the congress." (p. 381). Gorbachev had a committee to draft a new constitution approved "when someone noticed all its members were communists." (p. 384). Sakharov was added to the committee and became the major opponent of Article 6 of the constitution, which gave the Communist Party a monopoly on power. Open debate was new to those who had been involved in officially secret proceedings, and Sakharov found himself involved in arguments in which Gorbachev said, "I'm against running around like a chicken with its head cut off." (p. 385). When the fight turned to Afghanistan, Sakharov had said things which rankled the usual superpower thinking on the Soviet side, and continued to insist, "The real issue is that the war in Afghanistan was itself a crime, an illegal adventure, and we don't know who was responsible for it." (p. 386). There were shouts in opposition to his views, but polls for the best deputy "showed Sakharov number one, Yeltsin two, and Gorbachev seventeenth." (p. 386). When he died, a "crowd of fifty thousand" came to his funeral. (p. 401).

In the last chapter of THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JOSEPH STALIN, it is a week after the August 1940 assassination of Leon Trotsky in Mexico City, and the Soviet dictator is wrapping up his narrative history of the events that led up to the successful ax murder of his archrival by a conspiracy that he personally directed. In previous chapters, Stalin tells the story of his life as a young boy in Russian Georgia, as a young communist revolutionary, as an associate of Lenin before and after the Revolution, and as the dictator that assumed total power after Lenin's death in 1924 by destroying all of his old Bolshevik comrades. All events are related in the context of his paranoid fear and hatred of Trotsky who, in his Mexican exile, is apparently assembling a biography of the Soviet leader - a biography that will reveal to the world Stalin's ultimate crime against Russia and the Revolution, and which will hopefully spark his downfall. Thus, according to Stalin, the necessity of having to effect Trotsky's murder. (After all, even paranoids have enemies.)

Of course, Stalin wrote no autobiography for the world to ponder. This book is a novel written by Richard Lourie. It is absorbing and interesting only to the degree that the facts of Stalin's life and Trotsky's death, as related herein, are historically true. Since Lourie has a Ph.D. in Russian, and has written previously on Russian history, I give him the benefit of the doubt. I was both absorbed and fascinated by the author's Stalin, a personality so isolated and megalomaniacal as to be able to "write" at the very end:

"Now I know what my name really means: Stalin is the strength to bear a world in which there is only nothing and yourself. At last I have defeated God at loneliness".

If Joseph Stalin had possessed a sense of humour, he never would have been Joseph Stalin, and then and only then could he possibly have possessed the insight to write this "autobiography" by Richard Lourie, who has in this book created the greatest book of Russian fiction in decades.

The novel is darkly hilarious, hilariously dark, mordant, pungent, historically accurate, psychologically sound, and line-for-line breathtaking in the baneful beauty of its sentences and its insights into the mind of the Greatest Dictator of them all. It reads like a lost novel by Nabokov by way of Doestoyevsky and Henry Miller.

Once you have learned Stalin's three great truths from this book, you will come to understand upon what rocks the Soviet Union was really established.

The book is every bit as brilliant and imaginative as Stalin was evil.

Yes, I know it's fiction, but a piece of fiction like this has to navigate all the cliffs of historical truth (or what we think is historical truth) to get us to suspend our disbelief, and it succeeds brilliantly. I've read a LOT of biographies of Stalin (Ulam, Deutscher, De Jonge, Volkogonov, Tucker, Conquest and a few others. I much prefer Tucker) and this book just doesn't put a foot wrong. But more than that, it's..compelling. Of COURSE Stalin thinks Trotsky is trying to kill him! After all, he is trying to kill Trotsky, and he assumes Trotsky is as driven as he is, although he fears Trotsky will obtain much more lethal weaponry than an icepick. A wonderful, appalling book. Of course it only covers a part of Stalin's world - personally, I would have loved to have seen more of his views of his supporters, such as Kaganovich, Kalinin, etc. - but it's a novel, keep saying that to yourself, it's a novel, not an autobiography in the usual sense. Obligatory reading.

This book bordered on the surreal due to Sakharov's irony free style. He would describe some craziness involving KGB interference in his life or Soviet life in general and then suddenly break off to describe theoretical quantum physics for three pages. This juxtaposition between the irrational and rational makes the book unexpectedly comic at times.