O welche Lust!

When the prisoners in Beethoven’s opera Fidelio emerge from their dark cells into the light of freedom, they sing a chorus, O welche Lust (Oh, such Joy). Only gradually do their eyes adjust to daylight and their minds to freedom. Such is my reaction on finishing a month reading Solzhenitsyn’s In the First Circle.  The sentence was a long one, and the reading experience not as edifying or rewarding as I had hoped.  But finally, yes, sweet release.

Never read (past tense) Solzhenitsyn.  Nobel Prize in Literature.  Gotta try, right?  Well, I encountered numerous obstacles:

Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here

It’s long.  Very, very long.  There are many, many characters.  (After all, it’s a Russian novel.)

It relies heavily on a thorough knowledge of Russian philosophy, history, and literature (which I don’t have).

There must be a translation issue, because I found the writing to be very bland and uninteresting.

I came away totally dispirited, to say the least. Yes, there are ‘uplifting’ moments near the end …. The end where the one quasi-heroic figure is hauled off to prison, and a bunch of intelligent men already prisoners and put in an impossible position are hauled off to a horrific labor camp, some as punishment for their lack of cooperation, others for no particular reason.  But uplifting only in comparison to the total desolation depicted in much of the book.  I guess an inch above the floor of absolute despair and meaninglessness is an inch to be treasured, but it doesn’t make for pleasant reading, not by a long shot.

I learned quite a bit about the Soviet Union in the late 40’s and early 50’s with Stalin at the height of his power.  Russians have their own peculiar blend of intellectual rigor combined with intensely felt emotion.  Contradictions abound, and cruelty is everywhere.  Much of what passes for kind and humane in the book is such only in contrast to the stunning lack of collective and even individual caring.  The justifications for that cruelty are long and numerous. And that can make for some pretty oppressive 750 pages.

Only after 200 pages did the book have any traction for me.  The focus is so broad, so many characters with little large action from any of them.  It takes a while to learn to look for the small plot turns that eventually carry the day.  In 750 pages only a few real events take place.  The rest is commentary and a series of side events.  Solzhenitsyn seems more interested in painting a very broad picture of the Soviet Union of the time, so much so that to make a particular tangential point, he simply introduces a new character for a few short chapters, then drops the character totally.  The character was there as an illustration, not as any kind of dramatic player in the action itself. This instead of a deeper dive into the psyche of a few key individuals.

Well, Solzhenitsyn was a very smart and courageous man.  Nobel Prize in Literature I’m not so sure.

I’m hoping to remove the dark glasses soon.  Daylight is painful for now, but I’m ever so grateful for the discomfort.