I shall now Frodo dust off Yevski. This is pure stream of consciousness, maybe, straight from my heart, a birthday greeting to the Frodo, Frodo Dust Off Yevski, or so I first heard the words Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Ginny Heinlein said she learned Russian just so she could see what all the fuss about Russian novels was, and found something is LOST in translation. The originals are much more paranoid and claustrophic. I found that to be true of them in English at least, even Checkov, but what do you expect from a language with a word like nichevo, which means It cant be helped but without the sense of hope the English phrase implies. Zamyatin made it work in We, a model Orwell barely improved. Ayn Rand (my third fav Russian writer to actually have to read) turns paranoia into an exalted religion, the speed freak! The rest, nichevo! Frodo made it work. I adore the K Bros, and the untranslatable Pranksters, and the last five pages of the Idiot, in the context of 565 pages of vile boredom coupled with an unfulfilled premise, which it finally fulfilled in one of the most horrifying apotheosis (or at least, sanctification) I have read. Frodo was one of the living dead. Arrested, convicted, condemned to death for plotting to kill the Tsar, he recounted his last journey, when thirty minutes seemed better than nothing, fifteen an eternity in leaves and clouds, and five time to find infinity in a grain of sand, and still being alive each time a companion in crime was killed, a miracle, but being reprieved and sent to Siberia merely anticlimactic! youtube/watch?v=VG9WwIkIBD0
Posted on: Wed, 12 Nov 2014 02:26:27 +0000
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