Does anyone remember the Cold War? The people with whom I spend most of my working life have no memory of it; they were born after the Soviet Union dissolved. In the last month, I read a pair of books published shortly before its demise (1987 and 1988); what a trip down Memory Lane. As a pair, the books neatly capture the two views of the Soviets back when I was in college: 1) they are a rather nasty bunch of people, a veritable Evil Empire vs. 2) there are just misunderstood, nice people who are trying to make their way in a world dominated by the Brutish West.
1. Moscow 2042, by Vladimir Voinovich
I have had this book on my shelf for over two decades. I was in a conversation once, where the author was mentioned as being a very funny writer. Shortly thereafter I was at a library book sale and saw this book. So I bought it for a quarter. Two decades later, I read it. (And, by the way, I have never heard the author mentioned again after that one conversation.) Why did I read it now? I was rearranging one of my bookshelves and it was taking up some needed real estate, so I figured I should read it to decide whether it was worth the shelf space.
Answer: I’ll probably keep it for now, but a) I know I’ll never read it again and b) I know I’ll never refer to it again, and c) I know at some point it will end up on the free book shelf in the library. It was good, but not even remotely Great. I enjoyed reading it, but not enough to make me think I would ever go out of my way to read another book by the author. It was worth thinking about, but not for a terribly long time.
The story is of a Russian author who has been exiled from the Soviet Union who goes forward in time to the year 2042 to see what happens to the Communists. The story then turns into a cross between 1984, Brave New World and Utopia. It reads like Utopia (endless descriptions of things that really aren’t that interesting) and has the same view of totalitarian empires as the other two books. It mocks the Communists mercilessly; there isn’t a single redeeming feature of communism, and the Empire ends up looking exactly like what one could have predicted if one were in the They are an Evil Empire Camp.
Then the book morphs into some sort of dissertation on reality and fiction, but that part is so convoluted, it isn’t ever clear whether it matters at all. (E.g., the author in the book writes a book in his Future (from the perspective of 1982) or his past (from the perspective of 2042) entitled Moscow 2042, but the book in the book is probably not the same as the book being read, but the book in the book is an awful lot like the book being read except that it can’t be the book we are reading, but if it isn’t the book we are reading, then the book doesn’t make as much sense as it would be if the book in the book we the one we were reading. That only scratches the surface of the problem, but I’ll spare you the rest.)
After reading this book, I’m convinced that Soviet Union was a rather nasty and brutish regime, and that the system itself was the problem. Then again, I believed all that before I read the book. In fact, I believed all that when it was unfashionable on college campuses to believe that. One of the funniest things I have encountered as a professor is hearing students state as a simple matter of fact (and one which nobody in the clasroom disagrees) that Communism is a bad thing, which was a rather controversial statement when I was in college. That is progress.
2. The Russia House, by John Le Carre
I am not sure why I keep reading Le Carre. His books are all the same, and the only ones I have enjoyed were the George Smiley ones. Le Carre has a persistent tone of weariness with the world which is so deeply infused in his fiction you wonder if there is going to ever be even a single moment of pure joy for anyone in the world. This book is all about how the Soviets were misguided fools who thought they were more powerful than they really were, while the West is dominated by brash, war-mongering spy agencies who cannot accept Reality. I knew lots of people in college who thought like that about the Soviets and the West. (Then there were the ones who thought the Soviets were just fantastic, amazing people who should rule the world. I think all of them became Literature professors.)
So, why do I keep reading Le Carre? I think it is because he writes well enough that I keep thinking that I’ll stumble upon a gem. His books aren’t bad, but the whole “This is a depressing world in which forces out of my control are making really stupid decisions” tone gets really tiresome. Granted, it is a sign of a good writer to be able to maintain that tone throughout a whole novel without the novel becoming unbearably boring. However, I did read an attempt of his to write a novel which is not a spy novel; The Naive and Sentimental Lover was a terrible book—again it was written well, but the book itself was a disaster. The other intriguing thing about Le Carre is that while he writes spy novels, they are not full of unrealistic action in which our hero, invariably a middle-aged male a lot like the author of the novel, accomplishes feats which a Navy SEAL would find nearly impossible, while a gorgeous, and always younger, female falls madly in love with him. Then again, the gorgeous younger female falls madly in love with the middle aged male protagonist of The Russia House, so I guess the only difference is the lack of action sequences.
It was pure coincidence that I read both these novels this summer; I love coincidences like that. As a picture of the end of the Cold War, these two books together are much better than either one was individually.
It’s also worth noting that the world is a much nicer place without the Soviets around.
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