Category history

That mural sea

Reviewing Evgeny Boratynsky and the Russian Golden Age by Anatoly Liberman, Sibelan Forrester remarks: Russians who read Anglophone poetry in the Soviet period turned to the works available, which were largely translations or original editions of poetry from the era…

Plenty of perjury

Sergei Dovlatov once remarked: “In Soviet newspapers, only misprints are truthful.” His first example was gavnokomanduyushchiy instead of glavnokomanduyushchiy — “Commander-in-Shit” for “Commander-in-Chief,” roughly speaking. Dovlatov did not live to witness the spread of spell checkers and autocorrectors. We’re all…

70 to 30

When Trump visited Moscow in 1987, he did some preliminary probing for a possible real estate deal but came back disappointed: the USSR had no private ownership of land at all and the dispute resolution procedure his Soviet counterparts proposed…

Ruins of a Theater

At the Vereshchagin retrospective in 2018, I spent some time staring at a painting of a ruined Chinese theater somewhere in Central Asia. After posting these notes on Altishar and Kashgaria, I wondered if had Vereshchagin found his theatrical ruins…

A post-Constructivist monster

This is a low-resolution view of Moscow from the Yauzsky boulevard, less than half a mile from the building I discussed in these two posts. I’m partial to this shot because it reveals (I hope) so much about the city…

Glass walls, balconies, canopies II

More pictures of the Dankman-Rusanova-Simakin campus building on the Ivanovskaya Hill in Moscow – from the well-preserved northern section on the left, rightwards to the dorm sections extending south, to the burned-out southern section. Someone tried to rebuild it but…

Too good for this life

Sobyanin seems to be consistent in his plan to make Moscow's residential districts as humanly unlivable as possible. He hates trees and low-rise buildings but adores barren skyscraper blocks based on the ugliest Chinese models.

“Boiled cabbage and old rag mats”

Orwell’s 1984 begins comically: It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. “Oh the horror of the continental (Papist) 24-hour clock! Anything but that!” sneered John Dolan. Good enough, but there’s also the obvious…