Toska, Litost, Gemeinschaft

Last weekend I went to a wedding where the couple were getting married a second time, for the benefit of their American friends and relatives. They had first married in Israel in May, and the mother-of-the-bride got up to thank them for "bookending" with joy and love this summer, so filled with tragedy and sadness.

Israel, Syria, Afghanistan, Russia and Ukraine, not to mention Sierra Leone, Liberia, Nigeria, -- this has indeed been a terrible summer.

But I take solace in the peaceful international border crossings that continue to go on, and the excitement of the young (and old) who continue to travel and study foreign places. Some of my friends, in their early 70s, did not even consider canceling a train trip they took in August from Beijing to Moscow. A student stopped by looking for volunteering or work opportunities next summer in Russia. My own Russian friends continue to send love and news, despite the rhetoric of our leaders who are accusing each other of lies.

Perhaps it's the Daniel Radcliffe vehicle they loved,
not the Bulgakov work?

In the midst of this, I have launched a Russian Studies workshop for some kids from our local high school. One of them arrived all excited about a program she heard of that might send her to a drama festival in Russia; another is keen to learn the language; a third agreed that Bulgakov's "Notes of a Doctor" was one of her favorite books. They all wondered what "untranslatable" words they might encounter in studying Russian culture.

The first of those untranslatable words that comes to mind, of course, is toska. We will be reading some Chekhov in our workshop, and I described to the students the hero of Toska (1886), so desperate to communicate this feeling to someone. My 2014 Norton collection of Chekhov stories gives us "grief" and "misery" -- but my colleague working on a new book project on toska in 18th century Russia is more apt to use the term "anguish" to translate it. How might toska be gripping Russians today, as they observe the events unfolding on the Russian-Ukrainian border and wonder, as do I, what may be on the horizon.

Another word that sprang to mind was Milan Kundera's "litost," which he claimed in his classic novel The Book of Laughter and Forgetting is the "state of torment created by the sudden sight of one's own misery." In Polish that comes out as: „Litos” jest to bolesny stan spowodowany przez nagłe odkrycie własnej nędzy -- even though Polish has its own word, "litość," meaning "mercy" or "pity."

Anger, torment, despair -- these are surely some of the emotions being experienced in Eastern Ukraine. And now some Ukrainian citizens have become refugees and are headed further into the depths of Russia, helping to repopulate cities that can surely use an influx of young people with children. How will they feel in ten years if Ukraine becomes a NATO member state and Russia collapses in on itself?

More solace from my third word, Gemeinschaft, from the German. We usually engage in this "community" building on the sidewalk or in the grocery store, getting an inexplicable and irreplaceable feeling of joy and connection from chatting, joking, sharing news with neighbors and friends. Tonight our favorite local practitioners of Gemeinschaft are having their annual Ethiopian dinner to share news of their food security project. Now that is international cooperation: teaching women and children to garden and sharing seeds and techniques to improve nutrition and economic health in a region of the world where children still suffer from stunting.

Woman tending lettuce planted with the help of the Kossoye Development Program.

Sharing a meal with friends, talking about international ties and the things that bring us together -- raising children, keeping them safe, educating them and each other -- this is what Chekhov's hero in Toska was missing. He was miserable and alone. He reached out, and no one responded. He became sharply aware of his isolation and lack of community.

If only he had had access to some genuine Gemeinschaft.

Cringeworthy? Really??

It's so sad. I've gotten my first reaction to my new book. Well, second reaction. My sweet husband was brought to tears reading the introduction (possibly because he remembered just how many drafts of each section of the book, and of all the sections left on the cutting room floor, that he had read, and read, and read before). But now I've heard from a potential reader that his Russian friend-in-exile (and more importantly that friend's teenage son) think the title is кринжовый. Ouch. That hurts. Why do we need Russian literature? Do we? My Polish friend wrote to encourage me when she saw my linked in post about the publication and assured me that SHE and all her friends still love Russian literature ... even and despite the fact that Russians sometimes misbehave. (Some Russians more than others, and sometimes not just misbehaving--the world's reaction to the murder of Alexey Navalny in prison is noteworthy and important. We need to hold those responsible in contem...

Personal Sanctions. Second Reactions

On Thursday I fled Denver in the face of what was promising to be an epic snowstorm. (My AirBnB host, who grew up in Michigan, advised that Denver is quick to hit the panic button, but I didn't dare stick around to find out. I needed to be home before Monday!) In the plane, waiting for de-icing, I checked my e-mail and learned that I had been added to a so-called "stop-list" of U.S. citizens who are being personally sanctioned for our attitudes toward the Russian government and its internal and foreign affairs. It's not often that you end up on a list with the head of Lockheed Martin--certainly nothing I ever expected. But then, I also had never thought of myself as a Russophobe, and now that's the label that has been affixed to me by the Russian Federation. I had just been upgraded to first class--apparently not a lot of people were fleeing Denver that morning!--so I did what any Russophobe would do: I ordered a vodka from the flight attendant. An American vodka,...

RIP Randy Nolde

In everyone's life there is a teacher who motivated her to try harder, strive for more, reach beyond. Or in my case, a teacher who teased, goaded, poked, pried, laughed, lampooned, and somehow created an atmosphere where I was ready to work my tail off to make him proud. Randy Nolde, we will miss you. Mr. Nolde was my Russian teacher in high school. I first got to know him as a younger person -- the Russian Club Banquet was quite the event in my home town, and my grandmother used to take us regularly even before my sister enrolled in Russian language class. Every year, the high school cafeteria underwent a magical metamorphosis. Huge murals of scenes from Russia -- fantastic, colorful onion-domed churches, and young peasants reaping wheat, and Armenian maidens with long braids and colorful costumes -- hung all around the edges of the room. On the menu: chicken Kiev made by the cafeteria ladies, supplemented with cafeteria salad, but also khachapuri and piroshki made b...

Manic Bookstore Cafe

Search This Blog