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Volga Blues. Viaggio nel cuore della Russia
"Vista da Occidente, la Russia è oggi una terra lontana, misteriosa, ostile. Dall'invasione dell'Ucraina sembra sprofondata in un buio ancora più fitto che ai tempi più bui dell'Unione Sovietica, come un pianeta a sé stante, un mondo reso sinistramente lontano e inaccessibile dalla guerra. Sfidando i paranoici controlli dei servizi di sicurezza, Marzio G. Mian è tuttavia riuscito a viaggiare per seimila chilometri nella pancia, nel cuore e nell'anima della Russia. Per farlo ha scelto la rotta maestra della sua storia: il Volga, il fiume, totem e destino, autobiografia del popolo russo, secondo le parole di Michail Piotrovskij, direttore dell'Ermitage. Sulle sue sponde si è radicata, infatti, la fede ortodossa dopo il crollo di Costantinopoli, è sorto l'impero zarista, si è affermato quello sovietico, con la battaglia di Stalingrado e l'industrializzazione forzata di Stalin, si è consolidato il progetto neo-imperiale dell'autocrazia post-sovietica di Vladimir Putin. "Patria" dei tatari, dei cosacchi, dei monaci-santi, degli sciamani, di Razin, Pugačëv, Lenin, Kerenskij, Gončarov, Puškin, Gor'kij, Chlebnikov, della Russia arcaica e rurale, di quella metropolitana e dei grandi spazi pieni di nulla, delle steppe e dei sovchoz, delle fabbriche e delle izbe, della tradizione più reazionaria e della rivoluzione più spietata, il Volga è il fiume in cui Europa e Asia si incontrano o si dividono, a seconda che la bussola della Storia russa indichi Oriente oppure Occidente. Viaggiando da nord a sud, dalla sorgente nella regione del Valdaj, tra San Pietroburgo e Mosca, fino ad Astrakan' sul Mar Caspio, passando per Tver', Dubna, Rybinsk, Jaroslav', Nižnij Novgorod, Kazan', Ul'janovsk, Samara, Saratov, Volgograd, senza mai incontrare uno straniero, senza ascoltare altra lingua che il russo, Mian svela l'"altro fronte" del feroce scontro in atto con l'Occidente, il fronte di un popolo fatto di molte nazioni e tenuto insieme dal brutale, fragile, antico sogno di una civiltà imperiale. Sulle sponde del grande fiume che attraversa la Russia, alla ricerca delle radici di un paese travolto dal suo passato, àncora e demone, tabù e destino dei suoi tanti popoli.
319 pages, Paperback
Published September 24, 2024
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About the author
Marzio G. Mian
10 books2 followersMarzio G. Mian is an award-winning journalist, and his research has been funded by the Pulitzer Center. The author of five Italian books, he lives in Milan, Italy.
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February 18, 2026
In June 2023, roughly sixteen months after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Italian journalist Marzio Mian and his good friend, photographer Alessandro “Ale” Cosmelli, began a journey through several cities along the Volga River, “the epicentre of Russia’s culture, faith, and identity,” where the tsarist and Soviet empires originated. They set off from St Petersburg, then travelled from the river’s source near Tver’, 110 miles northwest of Moscow, to Astrakhan, where the 2,200-mile-long Volga empties into the Caspian Sea.
The Volga is of immense historic, symbolic, and economic importance to Russia. Twenty different nationalities live alongside it, and Islam is as much a part of the culture as the Russian Orthodox Church. Eight hydroelectric dams channel its power and there is abundant industry reliant on it. Since the beginning of the war, it and the Caspian Sea have allowed Russia to get around global sanctions in order to trade with Iran, send oil to India, and import what is needed. In 2017, the Volga’s waters were “sanctified” by Russian Orthodox Patriarch Kirill (Vladimir Mikhailovich Gundyaev), a close ally of Putin and former KGB agent, who would go on to declare the “special operation” in Ukraine that began in 2022 a “Holy War” against the decadence and evil of the West.
When he and his friend entered the country through Helsinki without journalism visas, Mian identified himself as a historian. He was aware of his vulnerability, as “a quick online search” could reveal his “extensive reporting on Russia in the past few years for the international press.” The risk was amplified by the fact that it happened to be an intense and unstable time in Russia, the month in which Yevgeny Prigozhin, the mercenary leader of the private army Wagner, went rogue: he staged an uprising against the government and was rolling towards Moscow. So, Mian’s trip was a daring and risky one. According to Reporters Without Borders’ 2025 World Press Freedom Index, Russia ranks near the bottom in the world: 171 out of 180. RSF notes on its website: “Since Russia’s large-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, almost all independent media have been banned, blocked and/or declared ‘foreign agents’ or ‘undesirable organisations.’ All others are subject to military censorship.” An inordinate number of Russian journalists have been violently killed.
The author and his friend travelled with two Russian fixers, whom Mian has named Vlad and Katya. For security reasons, other characters encountered along the way are also provided with pseudonyms. As if the almost 4,000-mile trip weren’t challenging enough, the fixers had “issues” which caused further anxiety for the foreigners. Entertaining, lovable, and indispensable Vlad was an alcoholic. He was trying to get clean, but the stress of the trip and his relations with the erratic Katya, his girlfriend and minder, proved to be too much. With his “penchant for excess” and propensity for self-destruction, he fell off the wagon and drank more and more heavily as the miles accumulated. Vlad assisted with translation, but he was not authorized to drive outside of Saint Petersburg (though he sometimes did); consequently, Katya, who also consumed huge quantities of alcohol, was mostly at the wheel of the van they travelled in. She made no secret of the fact that she regarded Mian and Cosmelli as “willing victims of Western fake news.” A singer of patriotic songs who occasionally mentioned government contacts, a ticking time bomb, “an enigma or something worse,” she became more and more frightening as the days passed. Mian and Cosmelli worried she’d report them to the FSB.
The author’s goal in travelling was to “descend . . . along the river to understand a Russia that, as seen from the West, has [. . . ] plunged into deeper obscurity than in the darkest days of the Soviet Union.” He wanted to know what it meant to be Russian at this moment in history “when the Russian Bear has emerged from hibernation with a hunger for revenge, expansion, and glory” to upset world order and clash with the West. To the many people he interviewed along the way, Mian repeated the story that he was gathering material on the history of the Volga. His method was to gently redirect conversations towards present-day Russia as much as possible, to probe the Russian psyche without “arousing the suspicion and patriotic zeal” that might have him and Cosmelli apprehended. Sometimes suspicion was aroused nevertheless. There were also occasional signs that Mian and Cosmelli were under surveillance.
The book succeeds and then some in providing readers with a glimpse into the “heart of a country whose future is fundamental to the fate of humanity.” Given some of the content, the notion that the destinies of Russia and the rest of humankind are intertwined is not hyperbolic. Two individuals, an octogenarian owner of a massive agricultural collective and a young priest of the “true” Orthodox Church (the Old Believers), express apocalyptic views on the possibility of nuclear war. “Obviously we’ll win [the war in Ukraine],” the octogenarian tells the author, “because we know how to fight and because we can’t lose. If we have to, we’ll use atomic weapons, we’ll destroy the earth, we’ll destroy everything.” The priest takes it even further:
Volga Blues is divided into three parts. Each of the book’s eleven chapters describes a major stop or two (in a few cases, more) on the journey—a city, town, or historical site. Highlights of conversations with individuals associated with each location are provided, and the reader is filled in on relevant historical, cultural, economic, and political background information. Mian writes with style and wry humour. He has an almost novelistic sense of character, providing telling details about each interviewee’s appearance and manner. Each person lives on the page.
The author is critical of the West. In his discussion of the collapse of the Soviet Union, he writes of the hubristic American experts brought into Russia to guide the former empire’s restructuring. Completely ignorant of Russian history and culture, they recommended measures which led to chaos—economic and social. According to Mian, with the fall of the USSR, Russia experienced shame and resentment on par with that of Germany after World War I. It is no wonder that nationalism surged. NATO’s actions in the wake of the fall of the Berlin Wall and US operations during the wars in the Balkans further sidelined, offended, and alienated Russia. It is Mian’s view that the West squandered critical opportunities for a different relationship with the country—indeed, for a different world.
Part One is entitled “Passionarnost”—a term coined by Russian intellectual Lev Gumilev to denote the cosmic motivating force, the interior energy of the nation: an ability to sacrifice oneself for the common good. According to the author, Gumilev espoused a special Russian “super-ethnos” (shared identity of multiple peoples/ethnicities) “to form a Slavic civilization that is opposite and superior to the Western one” which could “bring many nations under Moscow’s umbrella.” Mian also identifies other figures whose philosophical, political, and religious ideas have informed Putin’s neo-imperial strategy—his desire to control the space that once made up the Soviet Union—and particularly his decision to invade Ukraine.
The first section also features interviews with the well-connected abbess who has the same confessor as Putin himself; a local historian who, in describing the World War II Battle of Rzhev, proudly asks where else but in Russia would 1,300,000 “give their lives for their country” in a single battle; a propagandist fairy-tale writer chaperoning an indoctrination tour with children who may be “among the twenty thousand . . . Kyiv has declared stolen”; and a melancholy philologist reflecting on the community life of the iconic Proletarka housing complex in Tver’ where he lived as a child.
In Part Two, “Smuta: Time of Troubles,” Mian continues his interviews with Russians as he considers the many periods of instability Russia has endured. Historically, the Russian word “smuta” is used to refer to the period from 1598 to 1613, after Tsar Feodor I died without leaving an heir and anarchy ensued. However, the word is commonly used to refer to any time of chaos. Russia has plenty of them. Here, the author covers the late 20th-century collapse of the USSR, the 13th-century Mongolian invasion, and the reign of Ivan the Terrible in the 16th century. He interweaves historical background information with the conversations he had with people from the Upper Volga region—Dubna, Rybinsk, Yaroslavl, and Kostroma. Among them are:
*a Chechen brand-identity expert who claims that after the collapse of the Soviet Union the West attempted to destroy Russia’s traditional, communal, collectivist society;
*a surgeon-turned-priest who argues that the war is “our last chance of deliverance,” that Russians are standing against “a small group of people” trying “to plunge the world into the abyss of sin, vice, and malice,” that it’s not the Ukrainians who started the war, but those in the West who orchestrated the 2014 “coup”—what Ukrainians refer to as Euromaidan and the Revolution of Dignity;
*the wife and daughter of a Romani taxi driver killed in Ukraine, who say he enlisted because the money offered was close to five times the amount he’d typically make in a month
*an affluent English-speaking woman, who runs a chain of grocery stores and boldly comments on the Kremlin’s manipulative “artificial ideas” and its crackdown on Yaroslavl because the city isn’t “passive and aligned like the others”;
*a Western-leaning philosopher who rejects the “Russkiy mir” and “mysterious Russian soul” nonsense and claims he is a European.
The author notes the extent to which Russians have been shaped by their early history. He writes that in order to survive, they “drew inspiration from the despotic tactics Genghis Khan used to rule [. . . ] the western part of the Mongol Empire.” The Mongols’ total erasure of non-compliant cities and villages seems to be a military doctrine with particular appeal to Russian leaders. Now called the “Grozny model,” it was employed by Putin in Aleppo, Syria as well as in Mariupol and the rest of eastern Ukraine. The Mongol invasions and the aggressive actions of the Polish-Lithuanian Empire had shown Ivan IV “how a lack of barriers exposed Russia to external threats.” Since that time, “Russian leaders have upheld the idea that Russia must dominate its borderlands to survive.”
Mian makes clear that the Russian president has done more than adopt the strategies of the two despots; he has rehabilitated these figures. Statues have been erected to honour both Ivan IV and Stalin, and history books have been approved in which the two are represented as great reformers. Putin’s ominous meeting with 36 Russian oligarchs on the eve of the 2022 invasion of Ukraine—and the subsequent murders of around a dozen of them—is a page right of Ivan’s playbook with the 16th-century aristocrats, the boyars. Before invading Ukraine, Putin appealed to people’s national pride, just as Stalin did when he mobilized the population against the Germans in 1941 by invoking saints and heroes and calling the conflict the Great Patriotic War.
In the third and final part of his book, entitled “Na Grana,” Mian recounts his stops on the Middle and Lower Volga, including Ulyanovsk (the birthplace of Lenin; once the “Beverly Hills of Russia,” now a dying crime-ridden city and drug-trafficking hub), Togliatti (the former Soviet car capital on the steppes), Kazan (the capital of Muslim Tatarstan, with whose governor Putin pragmatically has a very close relationship), Samara (a big Putin stronghold, the alternate capital of the USSR during wartime when it looked as though Hitler might take Moscow), Volgograd (formerly Stalingrad, the site of a massive memorial complex to the infamously brutal battle there), and Astrakhan on the Caspian.
“Na Grana” is Russian for “on the brink” or “on the edge”. The phrase seems to be as much a description of Mian and Cosmelli’s intensifying trepidation about travelling with Katya and Vlad as it is a comment on the state of Russia. Katya has, if anything, become even more unpredictable and menacing, while Vlad’s demons have overtaken him and he is no longer reliable. The author and his friend feel real urgency to get out of the country. Mian evidently wonders if he’s going to make it. He begins sending daily messages to the Italian embassy in Moscow, providing their location and destination. He also takes photos of his notes and sends them to his wife.
There is a striking scene of real-life pathetic fallacy when Mian and Cosmelli have just crossed to the eastern bank of the Volga. Killing time before a scheduled meeting with a shaman, they venture onto the steppe near Nikolayevsk. Initially walking apart, both encounter snakes—Mian, a dozen of them. When they meet up with each other again near the cliffs overlooking the river, both are “disoriented and speechless.” Ale reports being chilled, “as if he’d come into contact with a malevolent presence.” And Mian senses they’re in “a powerful place, full of dark energy,” which is “heightening the tensions we already feel inside.” The turbulent water has eaten away at the sea stacks, and landslides have reduced the rock face below them. Their feet are an inch from the precipice, and after they take a few steps back from it, a massive flock of geese swoops in. Heading straight for Mian and Cosmelli—forcing them to duck—the birds then swerve and return to the middle of the river.
Much of final third of Mian’s book considers the ways in which people are coping. Some, especially those in cities, are simply carrying on, almost impervious to the war. Others are distressed. One of these is Dmitri Rusin, an academic and tour guide, who shows Mian around Ulyanovsk, Lenin’s hometown. He tells the author: “At a crucial crossroads, Russia took masochistic pleasure in going the wrong way. As if giving in to an innate attraction for the abyss.” A second man is a historical novelist who has written eight books on the Battle of Stalingrad. He grieves the loss of his nation’s honour and pride: “This is a very sick country,” he tells Mian.
In many cities you wouldn’t even know a war was going on. Artem, a political scientist and historian tells Mian:
The author’s personal perspective does come across in the book. For example, he sometimes quite boldly pushes back against those he interviews, and it is clear that he and Cosmelli are stunned by the priest’s apocalyptic take on Putin’s nuclear option. Overall, though, I think his treatment of the material reflects an impressive objectivity and impartiality.
It’s now approaching three years since Mian and Cosmelli journeyed along the Volga. I find myself wondering if attitudes within Russia have changed in that time. As for conditions there —economic, social, political, there is no reason to believe they have improved. Mian writes that when he and Cosmelli started their journey they had many questions about Russia, but “as we made our way down the Volga, we ended up asking just as many about ourselves, our world, our freedom.” In reading this illuminating but demanding book, I felt a lot of questions I had about Russia were answered, but I’d be very curious to hear about the new questions that emerged for these two intrepid travellers.
Many thanks to the publisher, W. W. Norton, and Net Galley for an advanced reader copy of this very fine book.
The Volga is of immense historic, symbolic, and economic importance to Russia. Twenty different nationalities live alongside it, and Islam is as much a part of the culture as the Russian Orthodox Church. Eight hydroelectric dams channel its power and there is abundant industry reliant on it. Since the beginning of the war, it and the Caspian Sea have allowed Russia to get around global sanctions in order to trade with Iran, send oil to India, and import what is needed. In 2017, the Volga’s waters were “sanctified” by Russian Orthodox Patriarch Kirill (Vladimir Mikhailovich Gundyaev), a close ally of Putin and former KGB agent, who would go on to declare the “special operation” in Ukraine that began in 2022 a “Holy War” against the decadence and evil of the West.
When he and his friend entered the country through Helsinki without journalism visas, Mian identified himself as a historian. He was aware of his vulnerability, as “a quick online search” could reveal his “extensive reporting on Russia in the past few years for the international press.” The risk was amplified by the fact that it happened to be an intense and unstable time in Russia, the month in which Yevgeny Prigozhin, the mercenary leader of the private army Wagner, went rogue: he staged an uprising against the government and was rolling towards Moscow. So, Mian’s trip was a daring and risky one. According to Reporters Without Borders’ 2025 World Press Freedom Index, Russia ranks near the bottom in the world: 171 out of 180. RSF notes on its website: “Since Russia’s large-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, almost all independent media have been banned, blocked and/or declared ‘foreign agents’ or ‘undesirable organisations.’ All others are subject to military censorship.” An inordinate number of Russian journalists have been violently killed.
The author and his friend travelled with two Russian fixers, whom Mian has named Vlad and Katya. For security reasons, other characters encountered along the way are also provided with pseudonyms. As if the almost 4,000-mile trip weren’t challenging enough, the fixers had “issues” which caused further anxiety for the foreigners. Entertaining, lovable, and indispensable Vlad was an alcoholic. He was trying to get clean, but the stress of the trip and his relations with the erratic Katya, his girlfriend and minder, proved to be too much. With his “penchant for excess” and propensity for self-destruction, he fell off the wagon and drank more and more heavily as the miles accumulated. Vlad assisted with translation, but he was not authorized to drive outside of Saint Petersburg (though he sometimes did); consequently, Katya, who also consumed huge quantities of alcohol, was mostly at the wheel of the van they travelled in. She made no secret of the fact that she regarded Mian and Cosmelli as “willing victims of Western fake news.” A singer of patriotic songs who occasionally mentioned government contacts, a ticking time bomb, “an enigma or something worse,” she became more and more frightening as the days passed. Mian and Cosmelli worried she’d report them to the FSB.
The author’s goal in travelling was to “descend . . . along the river to understand a Russia that, as seen from the West, has [. . . ] plunged into deeper obscurity than in the darkest days of the Soviet Union.” He wanted to know what it meant to be Russian at this moment in history “when the Russian Bear has emerged from hibernation with a hunger for revenge, expansion, and glory” to upset world order and clash with the West. To the many people he interviewed along the way, Mian repeated the story that he was gathering material on the history of the Volga. His method was to gently redirect conversations towards present-day Russia as much as possible, to probe the Russian psyche without “arousing the suspicion and patriotic zeal” that might have him and Cosmelli apprehended. Sometimes suspicion was aroused nevertheless. There were also occasional signs that Mian and Cosmelli were under surveillance.
The book succeeds and then some in providing readers with a glimpse into the “heart of a country whose future is fundamental to the fate of humanity.” Given some of the content, the notion that the destinies of Russia and the rest of humankind are intertwined is not hyperbolic. Two individuals, an octogenarian owner of a massive agricultural collective and a young priest of the “true” Orthodox Church (the Old Believers), express apocalyptic views on the possibility of nuclear war. “Obviously we’ll win [the war in Ukraine],” the octogenarian tells the author, “because we know how to fight and because we can’t lose. If we have to, we’ll use atomic weapons, we’ll destroy the earth, we’ll destroy everything.” The priest takes it even further:
We’re ready to sacrifice ourselves. Because if we don’t win, we’ll burn it all down. If we can’t build a brighter future, then what’s the point of living? Our president said what everyone is thinking. If we don’t have the Russia we want, we’re ready to martyr ourselves, sacrifice ourselves and the whole world if it’s unjust and evil. There’s no need for a world like that. [ . . . ] The West is willing to kill with nuclear weapons, but from a great distance, far from New York or Washington. We’re willing to use the atomic bomb even if we all die.
Volga Blues is divided into three parts. Each of the book’s eleven chapters describes a major stop or two (in a few cases, more) on the journey—a city, town, or historical site. Highlights of conversations with individuals associated with each location are provided, and the reader is filled in on relevant historical, cultural, economic, and political background information. Mian writes with style and wry humour. He has an almost novelistic sense of character, providing telling details about each interviewee’s appearance and manner. Each person lives on the page.
The author is critical of the West. In his discussion of the collapse of the Soviet Union, he writes of the hubristic American experts brought into Russia to guide the former empire’s restructuring. Completely ignorant of Russian history and culture, they recommended measures which led to chaos—economic and social. According to Mian, with the fall of the USSR, Russia experienced shame and resentment on par with that of Germany after World War I. It is no wonder that nationalism surged. NATO’s actions in the wake of the fall of the Berlin Wall and US operations during the wars in the Balkans further sidelined, offended, and alienated Russia. It is Mian’s view that the West squandered critical opportunities for a different relationship with the country—indeed, for a different world.
Part One is entitled “Passionarnost”—a term coined by Russian intellectual Lev Gumilev to denote the cosmic motivating force, the interior energy of the nation: an ability to sacrifice oneself for the common good. According to the author, Gumilev espoused a special Russian “super-ethnos” (shared identity of multiple peoples/ethnicities) “to form a Slavic civilization that is opposite and superior to the Western one” which could “bring many nations under Moscow’s umbrella.” Mian also identifies other figures whose philosophical, political, and religious ideas have informed Putin’s neo-imperial strategy—his desire to control the space that once made up the Soviet Union—and particularly his decision to invade Ukraine.
The first section also features interviews with the well-connected abbess who has the same confessor as Putin himself; a local historian who, in describing the World War II Battle of Rzhev, proudly asks where else but in Russia would 1,300,000 “give their lives for their country” in a single battle; a propagandist fairy-tale writer chaperoning an indoctrination tour with children who may be “among the twenty thousand . . . Kyiv has declared stolen”; and a melancholy philologist reflecting on the community life of the iconic Proletarka housing complex in Tver’ where he lived as a child.
In Part Two, “Smuta: Time of Troubles,” Mian continues his interviews with Russians as he considers the many periods of instability Russia has endured. Historically, the Russian word “smuta” is used to refer to the period from 1598 to 1613, after Tsar Feodor I died without leaving an heir and anarchy ensued. However, the word is commonly used to refer to any time of chaos. Russia has plenty of them. Here, the author covers the late 20th-century collapse of the USSR, the 13th-century Mongolian invasion, and the reign of Ivan the Terrible in the 16th century. He interweaves historical background information with the conversations he had with people from the Upper Volga region—Dubna, Rybinsk, Yaroslavl, and Kostroma. Among them are:
*a Chechen brand-identity expert who claims that after the collapse of the Soviet Union the West attempted to destroy Russia’s traditional, communal, collectivist society;
*a surgeon-turned-priest who argues that the war is “our last chance of deliverance,” that Russians are standing against “a small group of people” trying “to plunge the world into the abyss of sin, vice, and malice,” that it’s not the Ukrainians who started the war, but those in the West who orchestrated the 2014 “coup”—what Ukrainians refer to as Euromaidan and the Revolution of Dignity;
*the wife and daughter of a Romani taxi driver killed in Ukraine, who say he enlisted because the money offered was close to five times the amount he’d typically make in a month
*an affluent English-speaking woman, who runs a chain of grocery stores and boldly comments on the Kremlin’s manipulative “artificial ideas” and its crackdown on Yaroslavl because the city isn’t “passive and aligned like the others”;
*a Western-leaning philosopher who rejects the “Russkiy mir” and “mysterious Russian soul” nonsense and claims he is a European.
The author notes the extent to which Russians have been shaped by their early history. He writes that in order to survive, they “drew inspiration from the despotic tactics Genghis Khan used to rule [. . . ] the western part of the Mongol Empire.” The Mongols’ total erasure of non-compliant cities and villages seems to be a military doctrine with particular appeal to Russian leaders. Now called the “Grozny model,” it was employed by Putin in Aleppo, Syria as well as in Mariupol and the rest of eastern Ukraine. The Mongol invasions and the aggressive actions of the Polish-Lithuanian Empire had shown Ivan IV “how a lack of barriers exposed Russia to external threats.” Since that time, “Russian leaders have upheld the idea that Russia must dominate its borderlands to survive.”
Mian makes clear that the Russian president has done more than adopt the strategies of the two despots; he has rehabilitated these figures. Statues have been erected to honour both Ivan IV and Stalin, and history books have been approved in which the two are represented as great reformers. Putin’s ominous meeting with 36 Russian oligarchs on the eve of the 2022 invasion of Ukraine—and the subsequent murders of around a dozen of them—is a page right of Ivan’s playbook with the 16th-century aristocrats, the boyars. Before invading Ukraine, Putin appealed to people’s national pride, just as Stalin did when he mobilized the population against the Germans in 1941 by invoking saints and heroes and calling the conflict the Great Patriotic War.
In the third and final part of his book, entitled “Na Grana,” Mian recounts his stops on the Middle and Lower Volga, including Ulyanovsk (the birthplace of Lenin; once the “Beverly Hills of Russia,” now a dying crime-ridden city and drug-trafficking hub), Togliatti (the former Soviet car capital on the steppes), Kazan (the capital of Muslim Tatarstan, with whose governor Putin pragmatically has a very close relationship), Samara (a big Putin stronghold, the alternate capital of the USSR during wartime when it looked as though Hitler might take Moscow), Volgograd (formerly Stalingrad, the site of a massive memorial complex to the infamously brutal battle there), and Astrakhan on the Caspian.
“Na Grana” is Russian for “on the brink” or “on the edge”. The phrase seems to be as much a description of Mian and Cosmelli’s intensifying trepidation about travelling with Katya and Vlad as it is a comment on the state of Russia. Katya has, if anything, become even more unpredictable and menacing, while Vlad’s demons have overtaken him and he is no longer reliable. The author and his friend feel real urgency to get out of the country. Mian evidently wonders if he’s going to make it. He begins sending daily messages to the Italian embassy in Moscow, providing their location and destination. He also takes photos of his notes and sends them to his wife.
There is a striking scene of real-life pathetic fallacy when Mian and Cosmelli have just crossed to the eastern bank of the Volga. Killing time before a scheduled meeting with a shaman, they venture onto the steppe near Nikolayevsk. Initially walking apart, both encounter snakes—Mian, a dozen of them. When they meet up with each other again near the cliffs overlooking the river, both are “disoriented and speechless.” Ale reports being chilled, “as if he’d come into contact with a malevolent presence.” And Mian senses they’re in “a powerful place, full of dark energy,” which is “heightening the tensions we already feel inside.” The turbulent water has eaten away at the sea stacks, and landslides have reduced the rock face below them. Their feet are an inch from the precipice, and after they take a few steps back from it, a massive flock of geese swoops in. Heading straight for Mian and Cosmelli—forcing them to duck—the birds then swerve and return to the middle of the river.
Much of final third of Mian’s book considers the ways in which people are coping. Some, especially those in cities, are simply carrying on, almost impervious to the war. Others are distressed. One of these is Dmitri Rusin, an academic and tour guide, who shows Mian around Ulyanovsk, Lenin’s hometown. He tells the author: “At a crucial crossroads, Russia took masochistic pleasure in going the wrong way. As if giving in to an innate attraction for the abyss.” A second man is a historical novelist who has written eight books on the Battle of Stalingrad. He grieves the loss of his nation’s honour and pride: “This is a very sick country,” he tells Mian.
It has destroyed everything those heroes created. Stalingrad strengthened the bonds between people. Russians were pacified. Victory brought a sense of compassion for all of humanity. We knew we’d stood up to evil, whom we’d fought, and why. Now Russians have become a powerless mass, unworthy of the USSR and the real Russia. And he [Putin] . . . I don’t know whom he’s fighting or why. What I know is that we’re fighting our brothers, our own Slavic brothers! He has plunged us into barbarity. They told us our borders were violated and that we’re defending ourselves. But us who? Who are the ones defending themselves?”
In many cities you wouldn’t even know a war was going on. Artem, a political scientist and historian tells Mian:
Those fighting aren’t from the big cities. They’re from small, disadvantaged communities in destitute areas. They join up only for the money. [ . . . ] Rural and metropolitan areas are like separate hemispheres now. Depending on which one you’re from, you’ll end up in Donbas or on a dance floor. These posters in heroic Socialist Realist style, which the government uses to offer hundreds of thousands of rubles to volunteers, are directed at those who are desperate, who’ve already sold their children’s gold necklaces and have only their lives to give. Most of the urban population is not directly affected by the war. They go on with their lives, laugh and have fun. What else can they do?
The author’s personal perspective does come across in the book. For example, he sometimes quite boldly pushes back against those he interviews, and it is clear that he and Cosmelli are stunned by the priest’s apocalyptic take on Putin’s nuclear option. Overall, though, I think his treatment of the material reflects an impressive objectivity and impartiality.
It’s now approaching three years since Mian and Cosmelli journeyed along the Volga. I find myself wondering if attitudes within Russia have changed in that time. As for conditions there —economic, social, political, there is no reason to believe they have improved. Mian writes that when he and Cosmelli started their journey they had many questions about Russia, but “as we made our way down the Volga, we ended up asking just as many about ourselves, our world, our freedom.” In reading this illuminating but demanding book, I felt a lot of questions I had about Russia were answered, but I’d be very curious to hear about the new questions that emerged for these two intrepid travellers.
Many thanks to the publisher, W. W. Norton, and Net Galley for an advanced reader copy of this very fine book.
abandoned
December 14, 2024Quando ho letto "Vlad Groznyj" ho detto a voce alta "va bene, basta".
January 26, 2026
(The English review is placed beneath the Russian one)
У России всегда были хорошие отношение с политической элитой Италии и поэтому не удивительно, что книга итальянского журналиста так точно копирует путинский нарратив, т.е. тот образ нынешней России, которую так старается выстроить Кремль. Я это к тому, что у меня возникло стойкое ощущение, что эта книга была написана по заказу Кремля. Да, у меня нет твёрдых доказательств, но трудно не увидеть в книге ту картину ложной реальности, которую выстраивает Кремль, т.е. тот образ России, о котором постоянно говорит Путин.
Начнём с того, что я пропустил, но о чём пишут другие читатели в своих отзывах на эту книгу, а именно то, что автор этой книги without authorization or the proper visa прибыл в Россию в качестве «историка», хотя на самом деле выполнял работу журналиста. С моей точки зрения это либо ложь, либо автор поверил в то, что ФСБ смогло его проглядеть, т.е. что некий итальянский журналист смог обмануть бывших сотрудников КГБ. Это смешно. Конечно, ФСБ знало, зачем приехал автор этой книги и, следовательно, обеспечило этому гражданину Италии доступ к жителям России.
Почему? Почему ФСБ, с моей точки зрения, специально допустило этого человека в Россию, если он с самого начала обманывал российские власти, назвав себя «историком»? Потому что автор этой книги обрисовал именно такую Россию, о которой постоянно говорит Путин. Книга построена таким образом, что на протяжении всего путешествия по России автор беседует с гражданами России, задавая им крайне провокационные вопросы, ответы на которые могут в прямом смысле слова отправить этих людей в тюрьму по обвинению в государственной измене. Я хочу напомнить, что сегодня в России запрещено критиковать всё, что связано с войной на Украине (т.е. все, что связано с так называемой СВО). Многие люди поплатились своей свободой только из-за того что выступили против СВО, причём их выступление было очень и очень мягкий (тихим). Но нынешняя власть, в стиле советской власти, специально жестоко карает людей за любую критику действий президента. Это всё очень хорошо знают граждане России даже те, кто не пользуются интернетом, ибо за 70 лет советской власти граждане России хорошо усвоили, что у государства нет никаких ограничительных механизмов и что никто, абсолютно никто простого жителя России не защитит перед произволом российских силовиков, включая российский суд, который уже открыто выполняет функцию силового ведомства (ни о какой независимости суда в России речи уже не идёт).
А теперь представьте, что в такую страну приезжает иностранный журналист, который начинает задавать вопросы и обсуждать темы, по которым государство может репрессировать любого гражданина. Автор этой книги либо провокатор, либо агент российского государства, ибо он задаёт вопросы, на которые можно ответить либо, процитировав официальную позицию российского государства и тем самым солидаризировавшись с путинской точкой зрения либо рискнуть своей свободой и благополучием и сказать этому неизвестному иностранцу всё, что человек думает о Путине и его политике. Как вы думаете, какой вариант ответа выберет обычный человек?
Так что хотел сказать автор своей книгой? Во-первых, половина книги, а это именно столько, сколько я смог прочитать, посвящена тому, как обычный народ поддерживает «партию и правительство». Все интервью заканчиваются тем, что люди поддерживают Путина, считаю, что в Украине «фашисты», которые пришли к власти с помощью государственного переворота, что Путин всё правильно делает и что это Запад виноват в том, что случилась эта украино-российская война. И вообще, в 90-ых было всё намного хуже, но благодаря Путину «Россия встаёт с колен» (про ужасные 90-ые в книге будет очень много, кстати). Примерно такова суть всех интервью.
The war has become a sort of public subsidy, according to Zarina, but Pavel had his convictions. “He thought the United States had infected Ukraine, like a tumor that would destroy Russia,” Valentina says.
<…>
Father Ioann is extremely thin, like a marathon runner, and swift <…>“God has given me this opportunity to save my soul,” he explains. “God tests us to make us better. Like this war. It’s not a punishment, but our last chance of deliverance. Russians are ready to sacrifice their lives for their brothers.”
<…>
Our fears were confirmed in 2014, with the coup in Kyiv. All right-thinking people know this war was not started by the Ukrainian people. Ukraine is not what is at war with Russia. It’s the West.”
<…>
Her name is Tatiana, and she looks much younger than her fifty years. She speaks English well and seems to hardly believe we’re here. <…> “The West doesn’t want us anymore. But I’m getting to know my river again,” she says in a slightly amused tone.
<…>
“I’m against this fratricidal and self-destructive war, but there’s nothing I can do but wait, like everyone else. You saw how they’ve flooded Yaroslavl with Russian flags, patriotic manifestos. It’s because they know it’s not a passive and aligned city like the others. They’ve arrested a lot of people there. They manipulate us with artificial ideas. Garbage. But the West has been humiliating us for too long. Don’t we have the right to be whoever we want without having to feel like barbarians? I’m not religious or married. My friends are not religious and few of them are married. I steer clear of the priests, but I can assure you that on the matter of gender identity, for example, or overcoming biological sex, as you call it, we’re all 99 percent in agreement: We’ll never accept it. It’s not a matter of propaganda or bigotry. The culture is incompatible with ours. Russians remain true to biology,” she says with the scornful smile of someone who has no doubt that they are right.
Это может показаться странным, что в России якобы все как один поддерживают Путина, но на самом деле это вполне естественно, ведь именно такой ответ можно получить, если спросить в советские годы в любой части СССР, что обычный советский гражданин думает о «партии и правительстве» или если сегодня спросить жителя северной Кореи, Китая, Мьянмы и пр. диктатур, что они думают о своих вождях. Я хочу сказать, что глупо ждать от граждан, которые живут в жёстких диктатурах, искренних ответов, особенно учитывая, что в России даже за выход на одиночный пикет с пустым белым листком можно оказаться в отделении полиции. Сегодня в России жестокая диктатура, жители которой живут с пониманием, что любого могут посадить даже за самые, казалось бы, незначительные слова. Я думаю ни для кого не секрет, что сегодня за публичную поддержку Украины можно легко оказаться в тюрьме. Понимал ли это автор? Я думаю, он прекрасно понимал.
Однако помимо идеи, что якобы весь российский народ поддерживает Путина, есть другая и куда более важная идея, которая проходит красной нитью через всю книгу и это идея о том, что это русский народ виноват в том, что такие люди как Путин, ими правят. Другими словами, проблема не в Путине, а в русском народе. Эта идея, конечно, ложная, ибо в России никогда не было демократии, ибо российская элита никогда и не хотела, что в России была демократия, чтобы простой народ выбирал себе власть и что это именно благодаря политической элите Ельцина мы имеем диктатуру Путина. Однако это не смущает автора.
In Russia, the prospect of mass isolation pushes people together in the face of those wide-open spaces, harsh winters, or tragic turns of events. The Homo sovieticus was not created in a lab. All Communism did was violently rage against an era of widespread collective apathy, an inertia and resignation that has led many Russians to blindly entrust their lives to whatever regime, or despot, happens to be in charge.
At a 1929 dinner, after Stalin had just been promoted to head the party in Leningrad, he remained silent as his comrades spoke animatedly about the best way to lead the party, which had been without Lenin for five years at that point. Stalin suddenly stood up and started to pace, then said, “Don’t forget we live in Russia, the land of the czars. The Russian people love having one man at the helm. Of course, this man must apply the collective will.”
Stalin became the czar of Bolshevism and now Putin is the czar of neo-imperialism. The world he is addressing may not be the most advanced, but it is of this world.
<…>
For Russia, the only dogma is unity, with everything that comes with this concept, including the willingness to give up freedom and truth. This may seem like Putin’s invention or obsession, but it’s a feeling rooted in reality, it permeates the air Russians breathe when they’re together. Because deep down, we know what disintegration looks like.
Это ложное понимание России и русских. Вопрос лишь в том, сознательно ли автор себя обманывает или, как я предположил в самом начале, по просьбе Кремля?
Russia has always had good relations with Italy's political elite, so it is not surprising that the Italian journalist's book so accurately copies Putin's narrative, i.e., the image of today's Russia that the Kremlin is trying so hard to construct. What I mean is that I have a strong feeling that this book was written on behalf of the Kremlin. Yes, I have no hard evidence, but it is difficult not to see in the book the false reality that the Kremlin is constructing, i.e., the image of Russia that Putin constantly talks about.
Let's start with something I missed, but which other readers mention in their reviews of this book, namely that the author of this book arrived in Russia without authorization or the proper visa as a “historian,” although in reality he was working as a journalist. From my point of view, this is either a lie or the author believed that the FSB could overlook him, i.e., that some Italian journalist could fool former KGB employees. This is ridiculous. Of course, the FSB knew why the author of this book had come and, consequently, provided this Italian citizen with access to Russian citizens.
Why? Why, in my opinion, did the FSB deliberately allow this man into Russia if he had been deceiving the Russian authorities from the outset by calling himself a “historian”? Because the author of this book painted a picture of Russia that is exactly what Putin constantly talks about. The book is structured in such a way that throughout his journey across Russia, the author talks to Russian citizens, asking them extremely provocative questions, the answers to which could literally send these people to prison on charges of treason. I would like to remind you that today in Russia it is forbidden to criticize anything related to the war in Ukraine (i.e., anything related to the so-called SVO). Many people have paid with their freedom simply for speaking out against the SVO, even though their statements were very, very mild (quiet). But the current government, in the style of the Soviet government, deliberately punishes people severely for any criticism of the president's actions. Russian citizens are well aware of this, even those who do not use the internet, because during 70 years of Soviet rule, Russian citizens learned that the state has no restrictive mechanisms and that no one, absolutely no one, will protect ordinary Russian citizens from the arbitrariness of the Russian security forces, including the Russian courts, which already openly function as a security agency (there is no longer any question of the independence of the courts in Russia).
Now imagine that a foreign journalist arrives in such a country and begins asking questions and discussing topics for which the state could repress any citizen. The author of this book is either a provocateur or an agent of the Russian state, because he asks questions that can be answered either by quoting the official position of the Russian state and thus showing solidarity with Putin's point of view, or by risking one's freedom and well-being and telling this unknown foreigner everything one thinks about Putin and his policies. Which answer do you think the average person would choose?
So what did the author want to say with his book? First, half of the book, which is all I was able to read, is devoted to how ordinary people support “the party and the government.” All the interviews end with people saying that they support Putin, that they believe Ukraine is ruled by “fascists” who came to power through a coup d'état, that Putin is doing everything right, and that the West is to blame for the war between Ukraine and Russia. And in general, things were much worse in the 1990s, but thanks to Putin, “Russia is rising from its knees” (there will be a lot about the terrible 1990s in the book, by the way). That's pretty much the gist of all the interviews.
The war has become a sort of public subsidy, according to Zarina, but Pavel had his convictions. “He thought the United States had infected Ukraine, like a tumor that would destroy Russia,” Valentina says.
<…>
Father Ioann is extremely thin, like a marathon runner, and swift <…>“God has given me this opportunity to save my soul,” he explains. “God tests us to make us better. Like this war. It’s not a punishment, but our last chance of deliverance. Russians are ready to sacrifice their lives for their brothers.”
<…>
Our fears were confirmed in 2014, with the coup in Kyiv. All right-thinking people know this war was not started by the Ukrainian people. Ukraine is not what is at war with Russia. It’s the West.”
<…>
Her name is Tatiana, and she looks much younger than her fifty years. She speaks English well and seems to hardly believe we’re here. <…> “The West doesn’t want us anymore. But I’m getting to know my river again,” she says in a slightly amused tone.
<…>
“I’m against this fratricidal and self-destructive war, but there’s nothing I can do but wait, like everyone else. You saw how they’ve flooded Yaroslavl with Russian flags, patriotic manifestos. It’s because they know it’s not a passive and aligned city like the others. They’ve arrested a lot of people there. They manipulate us with artificial ideas. Garbage. But the West has been humiliating us for too long. Don’t we have the right to be whoever we want without having to feel like barbarians? I’m not religious or married. My friends are not religious and few of them are married. I steer clear of the priests, but I can assure you that on the matter of gender identity, for example, or overcoming biological sex, as you call it, we’re all 99 percent in agreement: We’ll never accept it. It’s not a matter of propaganda or bigotry. The culture is incompatible with ours. Russians remain true to biology,” she says with the scornful smile of someone who has no doubt that they are right.
It may seem strange that everyone in Russia supposedly supports Putin, but in fact this is quite natural, because this is exactly the answer you would get if you asked any ordinary Soviet citizen in any part of the USSR during the Soviet era what they thought about “the party and the government,” or if you asked a resident of North Korea, China, Myanmar, or other dictatorships what they think about their leaders. I want to say that it is foolish to expect sincere answers from citizens living under harsh dictatorships, especially considering that in Russia, even holding a solitary picket with a blank white sheet of paper can land you in a police station. Today, Russia is a brutal dictatorship, whose inhabitants live with the understanding that anyone can be imprisoned even for the most seemingly insignificant words. I think it is no secret that today, public support for Ukraine can easily land you in prison. Did the author understand this? I think he understood it perfectly well.
However, apart from the idea that the entire Russian people supposedly support Putin, there is another, far more important idea that runs like a thread through the entire book, and that is the idea that the Russian people are to blame for the fact that people like Putin rule them. In other words, the problem is not Putin, but the Russian people. This idea is, of course, false, because there has never been democracy in Russia, because the Russian elite never wanted democracy in Russia, because the common people would choose their own government, and because it is precisely thanks to Yeltsin's political elite that we have Putin's dictatorship. However, this does not bother the author.
In Russia, the prospect of mass isolation pushes people together in the face of those wide-open spaces, harsh winters, or tragic turns of events. The Homo sovieticus was not created in a lab. All Communism did was violently rage against an era of widespread collective apathy, an inertia and resignation that has led many Russians to blindly entrust their lives to whatever regime, or despot, happens to be in charge.
At a 1929 dinner, after Stalin had just been promoted to head the party in Leningrad, he remained silent as his comrades spoke animatedly about the best way to lead the party, which had been without Lenin for five years at that point. Stalin suddenly stood up and started to pace, then said, “Don’t forget we live in Russia, the land of the czars. The Russian people love having one man at the helm. Of course, this man must apply the collective will.”
Stalin became the czar of Bolshevism and now Putin is the czar of neo-imperialism. The world he is addressing may not be the most advanced, but it is of this world.
<…>
For Russia, the only dogma is unity, with everything that comes with this concept, including the willingness to give up freedom and truth. This may seem like Putin’s invention or obsession, but it’s a feeling rooted in reality, it permeates the air Russians breathe when they’re together. Because deep down, we know what disintegration looks like.
This is a false understanding of Russia and Russians. The question is whether the author is consciously deceiving himself or, as I suggested at the outset, at the request of the Kremlin.
У России всегда были хорошие отношение с политической элитой Италии и поэтому не удивительно, что книга итальянского журналиста так точно копирует путинский нарратив, т.е. тот образ нынешней России, которую так старается выстроить Кремль. Я это к тому, что у меня возникло стойкое ощущение, что эта книга была написана по заказу Кремля. Да, у меня нет твёрдых доказательств, но трудно не увидеть в книге ту картину ложной реальности, которую выстраивает Кремль, т.е. тот образ России, о котором постоянно говорит Путин.
Начнём с того, что я пропустил, но о чём пишут другие читатели в своих отзывах на эту книгу, а именно то, что автор этой книги without authorization or the proper visa прибыл в Россию в качестве «историка», хотя на самом деле выполнял работу журналиста. С моей точки зрения это либо ложь, либо автор поверил в то, что ФСБ смогло его проглядеть, т.е. что некий итальянский журналист смог обмануть бывших сотрудников КГБ. Это смешно. Конечно, ФСБ знало, зачем приехал автор этой книги и, следовательно, обеспечило этому гражданину Италии доступ к жителям России.
Почему? Почему ФСБ, с моей точки зрения, специально допустило этого человека в Россию, если он с самого начала обманывал российские власти, назвав себя «историком»? Потому что автор этой книги обрисовал именно такую Россию, о которой постоянно говорит Путин. Книга построена таким образом, что на протяжении всего путешествия по России автор беседует с гражданами России, задавая им крайне провокационные вопросы, ответы на которые могут в прямом смысле слова отправить этих людей в тюрьму по обвинению в государственной измене. Я хочу напомнить, что сегодня в России запрещено критиковать всё, что связано с войной на Украине (т.е. все, что связано с так называемой СВО). Многие люди поплатились своей свободой только из-за того что выступили против СВО, причём их выступление было очень и очень мягкий (тихим). Но нынешняя власть, в стиле советской власти, специально жестоко карает людей за любую критику действий президента. Это всё очень хорошо знают граждане России даже те, кто не пользуются интернетом, ибо за 70 лет советской власти граждане России хорошо усвоили, что у государства нет никаких ограничительных механизмов и что никто, абсолютно никто простого жителя России не защитит перед произволом российских силовиков, включая российский суд, который уже открыто выполняет функцию силового ведомства (ни о какой независимости суда в России речи уже не идёт).
А теперь представьте, что в такую страну приезжает иностранный журналист, который начинает задавать вопросы и обсуждать темы, по которым государство может репрессировать любого гражданина. Автор этой книги либо провокатор, либо агент российского государства, ибо он задаёт вопросы, на которые можно ответить либо, процитировав официальную позицию российского государства и тем самым солидаризировавшись с путинской точкой зрения либо рискнуть своей свободой и благополучием и сказать этому неизвестному иностранцу всё, что человек думает о Путине и его политике. Как вы думаете, какой вариант ответа выберет обычный человек?
Так что хотел сказать автор своей книгой? Во-первых, половина книги, а это именно столько, сколько я смог прочитать, посвящена тому, как обычный народ поддерживает «партию и правительство». Все интервью заканчиваются тем, что люди поддерживают Путина, считаю, что в Украине «фашисты», которые пришли к власти с помощью государственного переворота, что Путин всё правильно делает и что это Запад виноват в том, что случилась эта украино-российская война. И вообще, в 90-ых было всё намного хуже, но благодаря Путину «Россия встаёт с колен» (про ужасные 90-ые в книге будет очень много, кстати). Примерно такова суть всех интервью.
The war has become a sort of public subsidy, according to Zarina, but Pavel had his convictions. “He thought the United States had infected Ukraine, like a tumor that would destroy Russia,” Valentina says.
<…>
Father Ioann is extremely thin, like a marathon runner, and swift <…>“God has given me this opportunity to save my soul,” he explains. “God tests us to make us better. Like this war. It’s not a punishment, but our last chance of deliverance. Russians are ready to sacrifice their lives for their brothers.”
<…>
Our fears were confirmed in 2014, with the coup in Kyiv. All right-thinking people know this war was not started by the Ukrainian people. Ukraine is not what is at war with Russia. It’s the West.”
<…>
Her name is Tatiana, and she looks much younger than her fifty years. She speaks English well and seems to hardly believe we’re here. <…> “The West doesn’t want us anymore. But I’m getting to know my river again,” she says in a slightly amused tone.
<…>
“I’m against this fratricidal and self-destructive war, but there’s nothing I can do but wait, like everyone else. You saw how they’ve flooded Yaroslavl with Russian flags, patriotic manifestos. It’s because they know it’s not a passive and aligned city like the others. They’ve arrested a lot of people there. They manipulate us with artificial ideas. Garbage. But the West has been humiliating us for too long. Don’t we have the right to be whoever we want without having to feel like barbarians? I’m not religious or married. My friends are not religious and few of them are married. I steer clear of the priests, but I can assure you that on the matter of gender identity, for example, or overcoming biological sex, as you call it, we’re all 99 percent in agreement: We’ll never accept it. It’s not a matter of propaganda or bigotry. The culture is incompatible with ours. Russians remain true to biology,” she says with the scornful smile of someone who has no doubt that they are right.
Это может показаться странным, что в России якобы все как один поддерживают Путина, но на самом деле это вполне естественно, ведь именно такой ответ можно получить, если спросить в советские годы в любой части СССР, что обычный советский гражданин думает о «партии и правительстве» или если сегодня спросить жителя северной Кореи, Китая, Мьянмы и пр. диктатур, что они думают о своих вождях. Я хочу сказать, что глупо ждать от граждан, которые живут в жёстких диктатурах, искренних ответов, особенно учитывая, что в России даже за выход на одиночный пикет с пустым белым листком можно оказаться в отделении полиции. Сегодня в России жестокая диктатура, жители которой живут с пониманием, что любого могут посадить даже за самые, казалось бы, незначительные слова. Я думаю ни для кого не секрет, что сегодня за публичную поддержку Украины можно легко оказаться в тюрьме. Понимал ли это автор? Я думаю, он прекрасно понимал.
Однако помимо идеи, что якобы весь российский народ поддерживает Путина, есть другая и куда более важная идея, которая проходит красной нитью через всю книгу и это идея о том, что это русский народ виноват в том, что такие люди как Путин, ими правят. Другими словами, проблема не в Путине, а в русском народе. Эта идея, конечно, ложная, ибо в России никогда не было демократии, ибо российская элита никогда и не хотела, что в России была демократия, чтобы простой народ выбирал себе власть и что это именно благодаря политической элите Ельцина мы имеем диктатуру Путина. Однако это не смущает автора.
In Russia, the prospect of mass isolation pushes people together in the face of those wide-open spaces, harsh winters, or tragic turns of events. The Homo sovieticus was not created in a lab. All Communism did was violently rage against an era of widespread collective apathy, an inertia and resignation that has led many Russians to blindly entrust their lives to whatever regime, or despot, happens to be in charge.
At a 1929 dinner, after Stalin had just been promoted to head the party in Leningrad, he remained silent as his comrades spoke animatedly about the best way to lead the party, which had been without Lenin for five years at that point. Stalin suddenly stood up and started to pace, then said, “Don’t forget we live in Russia, the land of the czars. The Russian people love having one man at the helm. Of course, this man must apply the collective will.”
Stalin became the czar of Bolshevism and now Putin is the czar of neo-imperialism. The world he is addressing may not be the most advanced, but it is of this world.
<…>
For Russia, the only dogma is unity, with everything that comes with this concept, including the willingness to give up freedom and truth. This may seem like Putin’s invention or obsession, but it’s a feeling rooted in reality, it permeates the air Russians breathe when they’re together. Because deep down, we know what disintegration looks like.
Это ложное понимание России и русских. Вопрос лишь в том, сознательно ли автор себя обманывает или, как я предположил в самом начале, по просьбе Кремля?
Russia has always had good relations with Italy's political elite, so it is not surprising that the Italian journalist's book so accurately copies Putin's narrative, i.e., the image of today's Russia that the Kremlin is trying so hard to construct. What I mean is that I have a strong feeling that this book was written on behalf of the Kremlin. Yes, I have no hard evidence, but it is difficult not to see in the book the false reality that the Kremlin is constructing, i.e., the image of Russia that Putin constantly talks about.
Let's start with something I missed, but which other readers mention in their reviews of this book, namely that the author of this book arrived in Russia without authorization or the proper visa as a “historian,” although in reality he was working as a journalist. From my point of view, this is either a lie or the author believed that the FSB could overlook him, i.e., that some Italian journalist could fool former KGB employees. This is ridiculous. Of course, the FSB knew why the author of this book had come and, consequently, provided this Italian citizen with access to Russian citizens.
Why? Why, in my opinion, did the FSB deliberately allow this man into Russia if he had been deceiving the Russian authorities from the outset by calling himself a “historian”? Because the author of this book painted a picture of Russia that is exactly what Putin constantly talks about. The book is structured in such a way that throughout his journey across Russia, the author talks to Russian citizens, asking them extremely provocative questions, the answers to which could literally send these people to prison on charges of treason. I would like to remind you that today in Russia it is forbidden to criticize anything related to the war in Ukraine (i.e., anything related to the so-called SVO). Many people have paid with their freedom simply for speaking out against the SVO, even though their statements were very, very mild (quiet). But the current government, in the style of the Soviet government, deliberately punishes people severely for any criticism of the president's actions. Russian citizens are well aware of this, even those who do not use the internet, because during 70 years of Soviet rule, Russian citizens learned that the state has no restrictive mechanisms and that no one, absolutely no one, will protect ordinary Russian citizens from the arbitrariness of the Russian security forces, including the Russian courts, which already openly function as a security agency (there is no longer any question of the independence of the courts in Russia).
Now imagine that a foreign journalist arrives in such a country and begins asking questions and discussing topics for which the state could repress any citizen. The author of this book is either a provocateur or an agent of the Russian state, because he asks questions that can be answered either by quoting the official position of the Russian state and thus showing solidarity with Putin's point of view, or by risking one's freedom and well-being and telling this unknown foreigner everything one thinks about Putin and his policies. Which answer do you think the average person would choose?
So what did the author want to say with his book? First, half of the book, which is all I was able to read, is devoted to how ordinary people support “the party and the government.” All the interviews end with people saying that they support Putin, that they believe Ukraine is ruled by “fascists” who came to power through a coup d'état, that Putin is doing everything right, and that the West is to blame for the war between Ukraine and Russia. And in general, things were much worse in the 1990s, but thanks to Putin, “Russia is rising from its knees” (there will be a lot about the terrible 1990s in the book, by the way). That's pretty much the gist of all the interviews.
The war has become a sort of public subsidy, according to Zarina, but Pavel had his convictions. “He thought the United States had infected Ukraine, like a tumor that would destroy Russia,” Valentina says.
<…>
Father Ioann is extremely thin, like a marathon runner, and swift <…>“God has given me this opportunity to save my soul,” he explains. “God tests us to make us better. Like this war. It’s not a punishment, but our last chance of deliverance. Russians are ready to sacrifice their lives for their brothers.”
<…>
Our fears were confirmed in 2014, with the coup in Kyiv. All right-thinking people know this war was not started by the Ukrainian people. Ukraine is not what is at war with Russia. It’s the West.”
<…>
Her name is Tatiana, and she looks much younger than her fifty years. She speaks English well and seems to hardly believe we’re here. <…> “The West doesn’t want us anymore. But I’m getting to know my river again,” she says in a slightly amused tone.
<…>
“I’m against this fratricidal and self-destructive war, but there’s nothing I can do but wait, like everyone else. You saw how they’ve flooded Yaroslavl with Russian flags, patriotic manifestos. It’s because they know it’s not a passive and aligned city like the others. They’ve arrested a lot of people there. They manipulate us with artificial ideas. Garbage. But the West has been humiliating us for too long. Don’t we have the right to be whoever we want without having to feel like barbarians? I’m not religious or married. My friends are not religious and few of them are married. I steer clear of the priests, but I can assure you that on the matter of gender identity, for example, or overcoming biological sex, as you call it, we’re all 99 percent in agreement: We’ll never accept it. It’s not a matter of propaganda or bigotry. The culture is incompatible with ours. Russians remain true to biology,” she says with the scornful smile of someone who has no doubt that they are right.
It may seem strange that everyone in Russia supposedly supports Putin, but in fact this is quite natural, because this is exactly the answer you would get if you asked any ordinary Soviet citizen in any part of the USSR during the Soviet era what they thought about “the party and the government,” or if you asked a resident of North Korea, China, Myanmar, or other dictatorships what they think about their leaders. I want to say that it is foolish to expect sincere answers from citizens living under harsh dictatorships, especially considering that in Russia, even holding a solitary picket with a blank white sheet of paper can land you in a police station. Today, Russia is a brutal dictatorship, whose inhabitants live with the understanding that anyone can be imprisoned even for the most seemingly insignificant words. I think it is no secret that today, public support for Ukraine can easily land you in prison. Did the author understand this? I think he understood it perfectly well.
However, apart from the idea that the entire Russian people supposedly support Putin, there is another, far more important idea that runs like a thread through the entire book, and that is the idea that the Russian people are to blame for the fact that people like Putin rule them. In other words, the problem is not Putin, but the Russian people. This idea is, of course, false, because there has never been democracy in Russia, because the Russian elite never wanted democracy in Russia, because the common people would choose their own government, and because it is precisely thanks to Yeltsin's political elite that we have Putin's dictatorship. However, this does not bother the author.
In Russia, the prospect of mass isolation pushes people together in the face of those wide-open spaces, harsh winters, or tragic turns of events. The Homo sovieticus was not created in a lab. All Communism did was violently rage against an era of widespread collective apathy, an inertia and resignation that has led many Russians to blindly entrust their lives to whatever regime, or despot, happens to be in charge.
At a 1929 dinner, after Stalin had just been promoted to head the party in Leningrad, he remained silent as his comrades spoke animatedly about the best way to lead the party, which had been without Lenin for five years at that point. Stalin suddenly stood up and started to pace, then said, “Don’t forget we live in Russia, the land of the czars. The Russian people love having one man at the helm. Of course, this man must apply the collective will.”
Stalin became the czar of Bolshevism and now Putin is the czar of neo-imperialism. The world he is addressing may not be the most advanced, but it is of this world.
<…>
For Russia, the only dogma is unity, with everything that comes with this concept, including the willingness to give up freedom and truth. This may seem like Putin’s invention or obsession, but it’s a feeling rooted in reality, it permeates the air Russians breathe when they’re together. Because deep down, we know what disintegration looks like.
This is a false understanding of Russia and Russians. The question is whether the author is consciously deceiving himself or, as I suggested at the outset, at the request of the Kremlin.
November 29, 2024
Della Russia e dei russi non abbiamo capito un cavolo. Io per lo meno. E non è rassicurante.
January 25, 2026
I sometimes question the value of Western journalists, outsiders to oppressive regimes such as this, going into a country to cover its people in the hopes of discovering the true Russian soul. Despite the author posing as a historian, providing historical context, and changing names, I couldn't help but wonder if the people he encountered told him what they really thought, in a world where you can be imprisoned and killed for criticizing Putin.
Almost to a tee, his interview subjects were xenophobic, homophobic Russian supremacists who really believed that Putin was restoring Russia to its former imperialist glory, Ukrainians were Slavic brothers lost to Nazism, and that sanctions and war only unified the people. The author seemed committed to providing a more sympathetic view of Russia than the demonization it usually gets in the Western press, but this didn't necessarily work well amid the lines of lockstock propaganda spouted by his interview subjects. Russia is also a xenophobic, nationalist, homophobic country that makes excuses for repressive regimes, so it's hard to say what was true.
I also thought this would be a natural history of the river, but the river had very little to do with the story other than a travel route. It was mostly interviewing people who lived along the river about what they thought of what it meant to be Russian, the war, and the impact of Communist excesses in the present day. I almost felt the author's judgment and desperation through the pages, but I also felt frustrated with him that he didn't seem to recognize the great risk to his interview subjects. He did recognize his own precarious position. But it felt more like a rich Westerner taking a cruise and on a lark asking the real Russians intrusive questions before building their trust. It was heavy on politics and not natural history at all.
It is impossible to avoid politics in Russia, though, and I didn't expect that.
It was interesting to learn more about Russian history and their sense of self, though. It was a reminder that Russia is not really European, not really Asian, and Westerners misunderstand this otherworld at their peril. I also enjoyed learning more about the Old Believers, though it was disturbing how religion was linked with nationalistic fervor, and how quickly the state could turn on a religious sect with brutal consequences. In many ways Russia still seems barbaric to me. And they dress it up with cultural superiority and narrative, much like the West.
Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for the advance review copy. I am leaving this review voluntarily.
Almost to a tee, his interview subjects were xenophobic, homophobic Russian supremacists who really believed that Putin was restoring Russia to its former imperialist glory, Ukrainians were Slavic brothers lost to Nazism, and that sanctions and war only unified the people. The author seemed committed to providing a more sympathetic view of Russia than the demonization it usually gets in the Western press, but this didn't necessarily work well amid the lines of lockstock propaganda spouted by his interview subjects. Russia is also a xenophobic, nationalist, homophobic country that makes excuses for repressive regimes, so it's hard to say what was true.
I also thought this would be a natural history of the river, but the river had very little to do with the story other than a travel route. It was mostly interviewing people who lived along the river about what they thought of what it meant to be Russian, the war, and the impact of Communist excesses in the present day. I almost felt the author's judgment and desperation through the pages, but I also felt frustrated with him that he didn't seem to recognize the great risk to his interview subjects. He did recognize his own precarious position. But it felt more like a rich Westerner taking a cruise and on a lark asking the real Russians intrusive questions before building their trust. It was heavy on politics and not natural history at all.
It is impossible to avoid politics in Russia, though, and I didn't expect that.
It was interesting to learn more about Russian history and their sense of self, though. It was a reminder that Russia is not really European, not really Asian, and Westerners misunderstand this otherworld at their peril. I also enjoyed learning more about the Old Believers, though it was disturbing how religion was linked with nationalistic fervor, and how quickly the state could turn on a religious sect with brutal consequences. In many ways Russia still seems barbaric to me. And they dress it up with cultural superiority and narrative, much like the West.
Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for the advance review copy. I am leaving this review voluntarily.
October 12, 2024
Dai vari siti che lo citano, ricavo le notizie essenzili sull’autore.
Marzio G.Mian è un giornalista ,che fa parte di The Arctic Times Project, organizzazione giornalistica non profit ,che indaga sulle conseguenze della crisi climatica nell’Artico.
Ha realizzato incheste e reportage in più di 50 paesi.
E’anche autore di teatro.
E’ stato per 7 anni vice-direttore di Io Donna del Corriere della Sera, collabora con Internazionale,il Giornale,GQ Italia,Rai Sky Italia.
Giornalista e inviato in mezzo mondo, ha sviluppato un interesse particolare a cercare di capire il punto dei vista dei russi.
E’ da quando è scoppiata la guerra in Ucraina, che gli analsiti di geopolitica non sanno più a che santo votarsi, per farci capire ,che i rapporti internazionali e le guerre in paritcolare sono molto più complicate di come appaiono e che quindi l’equazione di ferro, adottata con incredibile unanime conformismo dai nostri media :,Russia invasore = cattivo/Ucraina invaso = buono ,non è semplificabile alla stregua del darby Milan-Inter, ma che va almeno contestualizzata nella storia recente.
Quindi bisogna tener conto che quando è in corso una guerra, le cronche che provengono dai paesi in guerra e loro alleati ,non sono notizie vere, ma pura propaganda.
E che per capirci veramente qualcosa ,occorre sempre partire dal cercare di afferrare il punto di vista di tutti e due i contendenti, tutti e due, non solo di quello, che ci è più simpatico o più vicino.
In parole un po più prosaiche, occorre cercare di capire l’”anima” dei paesi in guerra.
Leggi di più :
https://gmaldif-pantarei.blogspot.com...
Marzio G.Mian è un giornalista ,che fa parte di The Arctic Times Project, organizzazione giornalistica non profit ,che indaga sulle conseguenze della crisi climatica nell’Artico.
Ha realizzato incheste e reportage in più di 50 paesi.
E’anche autore di teatro.
E’ stato per 7 anni vice-direttore di Io Donna del Corriere della Sera, collabora con Internazionale,il Giornale,GQ Italia,Rai Sky Italia.
Giornalista e inviato in mezzo mondo, ha sviluppato un interesse particolare a cercare di capire il punto dei vista dei russi.
E’ da quando è scoppiata la guerra in Ucraina, che gli analsiti di geopolitica non sanno più a che santo votarsi, per farci capire ,che i rapporti internazionali e le guerre in paritcolare sono molto più complicate di come appaiono e che quindi l’equazione di ferro, adottata con incredibile unanime conformismo dai nostri media :,Russia invasore = cattivo/Ucraina invaso = buono ,non è semplificabile alla stregua del darby Milan-Inter, ma che va almeno contestualizzata nella storia recente.
Quindi bisogna tener conto che quando è in corso una guerra, le cronche che provengono dai paesi in guerra e loro alleati ,non sono notizie vere, ma pura propaganda.
E che per capirci veramente qualcosa ,occorre sempre partire dal cercare di afferrare il punto di vista di tutti e due i contendenti, tutti e due, non solo di quello, che ci è più simpatico o più vicino.
In parole un po più prosaiche, occorre cercare di capire l’”anima” dei paesi in guerra.
Leggi di più :
https://gmaldif-pantarei.blogspot.com...
June 10, 2025
Interessante lettura per conoscere una parte di Russia moderna (quella affacciata sul Volga), con riferimenti storici che arricchiscono e aumentano la comprensione di un paese complesso e censurato dallo scoppio della guerra. Sicuramente un cambio di prospettiva utile per cercare di indagare (nel limite delle possibilità che un libro concede) le cause e le origini di un conflitto non solo bellico, ma anche ideologico tra occidente e mondo russo.
February 13, 2026
Mian and a photographer Alessandro Cosmellii, accompanied by a “fixer” identified with a pseudonym and his girlfriend (why not), travel most of the length of the Volga in what is likely to be termed another of Russia’s “times of trouble”. The time covered by the book is an unnamed summer month just after the Russian invasion of Ukraine, but Mian spares details to protect his “guide-driver” and his girlfriend, who get the monikers of Vlad and Katya in the book and who more-or-less usher them down the river. The two helpers were necessary because neither Mian nor his photographer spoke Russian. How they chose this unlikely pair is a bit mysterious but likely to protect them. The girlfriend was “mercurial” to say the least, the fellow, useful but at times bibulous and moody. They might actually have been “assigned” by the powers that be—or not—one never knows in Russia these, or any other days. In either case, Vlad stuck true to the “alcoholic-fixer” version of a Russian tour guide and Katya, who is, well, a crazy-Russian-girl. The trip happened in the summer of 2023, when Ukraine was clawing back territory before the war with Russia reached a stalemate in winter of that year. Not an especially auspicious time to tour the country, no matter how academic the reason might be, Mian is a well-known Italian journalist who would not be unknown to the Russian hierarchy, and, what with sensitive borders in 2023 and the nature of the Russian state, there is no doubt he was monitored the whole way from Saint Petersburg to Astrakhan. On the trip, he explained to those who asked that he was a “historian” doing research and, the book has a lot of historical material explaining the importance of the Volga and the lands bordering the river in the evolution of Russia and its global geo-politics. At heart, the book is historical; the sequential story of the emergence of the Russian state over centuries with emphasis on those events that were tied to the Volga. The historical thread is guided by the slow-moving waters of the great river and the changes that took place along, or not far beyond, its banks. These date from the establishment of monastic outposts of the Kievan (Kyiv) Rus who displaced the Drevlians (colorfully termed “the forest people”) with a martial-Christian zeal brought by brothers Cyril and Methodius, the “equal to apostles” and anointed founders of the Russian Orthodox Church. They came from Greece to the lands of the Slavs giving them a religion, an alphabet, and the making of a common Christian “heritage” drawing on eastern Europe—as opposed to the Asian steppe—and beyond. But Russia was firmly placed between “East and West” --as almost any vodka-driven-philosopher will tell you—something I encountered in my travels and time in Russia, going as far down the Volga as Saratov. From the great river’s source near Nizhny-Novgorod, the travelers visit the mostly religious-themed spots along the shores or the places of battles between protectors and pretenders near enough to the river to connect them in the telling. There are wars and regime change and bloody battles in every century through to the 21st and great leaders and writers and composers and theoreticians who shaped what is now the Russian state of Vladimir Putin. The Volga is a commercial-historical phenomenon that flows into an inland sea—the Caspian at Astrakhan. The river “keeps to itself”. The Volga was rarely a frontier or dividing element, but a connecting and unifying feature to be exploited. Lately the exploitation has been primarily extractive to the point where it discharges much less water than it used to into the world’s largest inland body of water; which, in turn, is “facing a severe ecological crisis”; like the not-too-distant Aral Sea.
January 23, 2026
A current of tension runs throughout the chapters of Volga Blues: A Journey into the Heart of Russia. Sometimes it’s weak, and I forget that Italian journalist Marzio G. Mian and photographer Alessandro Cosmelli are traveling around Russia without authorization or the proper visas, posing instead as a historian and his friend. But then something shifts and the current picks up, reminding me of all the threats that could pull Mian and Cosmelli under: the pair’s volatile and frequently intoxicated drivers/fixers, Vlad and Katya; interview subjects who grow suspicious of a “historian” too interested in the present day; state security agents who might notice their presence and descend at any time; potholes. I feel Mian’s constant alertness as he monitors each situation and evaluates whether he and Cosmelli can ride it out or need to bail.
The two were in Russia during the summer of 2023, following the Volga River from its source southeast of St. Petersburg to the delta in Astrakhan where it meets the Caspian Sea. Along this meandering 2,000-mile course, Mian hoped to get insight into a Russia largely inaccessible to foreign reporters. Vladimir Putin had launched a war against Ukraine 18 months before, bringing sanctions upon his country and cutting it off from the rest of Europe. “Russia, as seen from the West,” Mian writes in the book’s preface, “has become distant, mysterious, and hostile—a world unto itself.”
Read the full review at my website.
Review copy provided by W.W. Norton.
The two were in Russia during the summer of 2023, following the Volga River from its source southeast of St. Petersburg to the delta in Astrakhan where it meets the Caspian Sea. Along this meandering 2,000-mile course, Mian hoped to get insight into a Russia largely inaccessible to foreign reporters. Vladimir Putin had launched a war against Ukraine 18 months before, bringing sanctions upon his country and cutting it off from the rest of Europe. “Russia, as seen from the West,” Mian writes in the book’s preface, “has become distant, mysterious, and hostile—a world unto itself.”
Read the full review at my website.
Review copy provided by W.W. Norton.
November 27, 2025
A rare and fascinating glimpse into contemporary Russia, written after the ban on foreign reporters was implemented. Volga River serves as a framing device and a route of the author's journey, so does the invasion on Ukraine: contextualized in the narrative, which moves from Orthodox Christianity through the memory of World War II to the legacy of Ivan IV The Terrible. History blends and twirls, as if there was a continuity between the nation's history (or how that history is constructed) and myths and its current geopolitical situation and aspirations. The author, however, does not claim to be a historian or an expert in geopolitics. Above all, the book is based on the interviews and encounters with Russians, offering their perspectives. This is a personal, close-up look at the country that most of us cannot travel to right now: a much-needed context and an engaging read. The only thing to remember is that this does not *fully* explain Russia or the current war, it offers a limited yet valuable perspective: which is clear to me from the book, but for some new readers it might be tempting to treat it as the only source/explanation while there are plenty!
I received an ARC from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
I received an ARC from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
September 14, 2025
(Note: I received an advanced reader copy of this book courtesy of NetGalley)
Between numerous interviews gathered while traversing down the Volga River through Russia's heartland served alongside generous amounts of historical context, author and journalist Marzio Mian provides a deep glimpse into life in much of modern day Russia and the range of self-perceptions of its citizens on what it means to be Russian. And in short, it's an absolutely fascinating range of absurdities, and often outright contradictions stacked up on one another. Volga Blues is a great new must-read for anyone who wants a sense of what it's like on a country that doesn't allow for much in the way of government-approved narratives outside of its borders.
Between numerous interviews gathered while traversing down the Volga River through Russia's heartland served alongside generous amounts of historical context, author and journalist Marzio Mian provides a deep glimpse into life in much of modern day Russia and the range of self-perceptions of its citizens on what it means to be Russian. And in short, it's an absolutely fascinating range of absurdities, and often outright contradictions stacked up on one another. Volga Blues is a great new must-read for anyone who wants a sense of what it's like on a country that doesn't allow for much in the way of government-approved narratives outside of its borders.
January 20, 2026
The Volga is the mother river of Russia. Posing as an historian, Italian journalist Marzio G. Mian managed to explore today’s great clash of civilizations—between Russia and the West—by traveling the floodplains where the Orthodox faith first took root…The Volga. What a wonderful way to tell the story of Russia and the people. Encounters included Russian intellectuals, entrepreneurs, priests, widows, mercenaries, and pacifists. For those who love history, and sociology this is a wonderful blend!
January 27, 2026
Fascinating look behind the new Iron Curtain.
February 5, 2026
Very informative look at both Russian history and current social and political trends along the Volga.
October 1, 2025
Scorre molto bene nonostante sia un reportage giornalistico abbastanza tecnico. Ho amato lo stile di scrittura di Mian (che non conoscevo affatto) e il modo in cui ha affrontato questo viaggio nel cuore della Russia putiniana.
Cosa ci lascia questo libro? Sicuramente ci fa capire che nulla è "bianco" o"nero", nessuno è "buono" o "cattivo" nel senso vero del termine. I russi si sono sentiti per anni umiliati e offesi (per citare lo scrittore russo per eccellenza) e ora sono stanchi e pieni di rivalsa. Ecco spiegato l'attaccamento, per noi occidentali inspiegabile, a Putin, un surrogato di Stalin moderno. E lo amano, i russi. Lo seguirebbero anche fino allo stremo. Terribile. Eppure vero.
Questo reportage getta una luce nuova e diversa su un Paese che si sta chiudendo sempre più in sé. Un Paese che tra un po' si isolerà ancora di più, chiuderà il sipario sul nostro mondo che, forse, non ha saputo capire abbastanza.
Bellissimo.
Unica pecca... le foto! Perché non ci sono le foto?
Cosa ci lascia questo libro? Sicuramente ci fa capire che nulla è "bianco" o"nero", nessuno è "buono" o "cattivo" nel senso vero del termine. I russi si sono sentiti per anni umiliati e offesi (per citare lo scrittore russo per eccellenza) e ora sono stanchi e pieni di rivalsa. Ecco spiegato l'attaccamento, per noi occidentali inspiegabile, a Putin, un surrogato di Stalin moderno. E lo amano, i russi. Lo seguirebbero anche fino allo stremo. Terribile. Eppure vero.
Questo reportage getta una luce nuova e diversa su un Paese che si sta chiudendo sempre più in sé. Un Paese che tra un po' si isolerà ancora di più, chiuderà il sipario sul nostro mondo che, forse, non ha saputo capire abbastanza.
Bellissimo.
Unica pecca... le foto! Perché non ci sono le foto?
November 18, 2024
Per me è stata una lettura molto interessante, ho attinto a piene mani nel percorso sul Volga alla scoperta di una cultura e di un paese che poco conoscevo.
Ti fa pensare e riflettere, riesci ad intuire cosa può vuol dire un “oceano di terra” … così come si presentano all’occhio Europeo le immense pianure Russe.
È una terra che è anche una cultura, la nostalgia di un impero, la commistione con la religione ortodossa asservita all’impero , una storia complessa, il mondo slavo contemporaneo.
Il Volga che marca il confine tra oriente e occidente, un paese immenso con culture differenti, etnie differenti , modi di vita di versi in un intreccio impressionante tra passato e presente.
Ciò che noi Europei non capiamo e non possiamo capire è l’identità di un popolo frammentato, diviso tra culture millenarie e diverse tra loro per abitudini, lingue, pensieri ,,, la necessità di un governo centrale che indirizzi e che guidi nell’immensità di spazi è il filo conduttore della storia Russa.
Noi del mondo occidentale che abbiamo appezzato Gorbaciov e la Perestrojka! Per il popolo Russo ciò ha significato una perdita di valori , la nascita di élite senza scrupoli una società orientata all’individualismo.
Per i Russi è da sempre molto forte il senso di comunità , il rimpianto dei valori fondanti della solidarietà, della ospitalità , aprire la porta al tuo simile durante una tempesta di neve.
È da queste considerazioni che possiamo comprendere la rivalutazione storica di Stalin, un richiamo alla resistenza Russa a ciò che è avvenuto a Stalingrado contro le armate Naziste nella seconda guerra mondiale.
Questo ci dice molto sul valore della reputazione di un popolo, sui giudizi che frettolosamente assegnamo alle vicende di cui siamo spettatori a volte ignoranti o ingenui.
Ti fa pensare e riflettere, riesci ad intuire cosa può vuol dire un “oceano di terra” … così come si presentano all’occhio Europeo le immense pianure Russe.
È una terra che è anche una cultura, la nostalgia di un impero, la commistione con la religione ortodossa asservita all’impero , una storia complessa, il mondo slavo contemporaneo.
Il Volga che marca il confine tra oriente e occidente, un paese immenso con culture differenti, etnie differenti , modi di vita di versi in un intreccio impressionante tra passato e presente.
Ciò che noi Europei non capiamo e non possiamo capire è l’identità di un popolo frammentato, diviso tra culture millenarie e diverse tra loro per abitudini, lingue, pensieri ,,, la necessità di un governo centrale che indirizzi e che guidi nell’immensità di spazi è il filo conduttore della storia Russa.
Noi del mondo occidentale che abbiamo appezzato Gorbaciov e la Perestrojka! Per il popolo Russo ciò ha significato una perdita di valori , la nascita di élite senza scrupoli una società orientata all’individualismo.
Per i Russi è da sempre molto forte il senso di comunità , il rimpianto dei valori fondanti della solidarietà, della ospitalità , aprire la porta al tuo simile durante una tempesta di neve.
È da queste considerazioni che possiamo comprendere la rivalutazione storica di Stalin, un richiamo alla resistenza Russa a ciò che è avvenuto a Stalingrado contro le armate Naziste nella seconda guerra mondiale.
Questo ci dice molto sul valore della reputazione di un popolo, sui giudizi che frettolosamente assegnamo alle vicende di cui siamo spettatori a volte ignoranti o ingenui.
December 19, 2024
Quando ho visto Volga blues di Marzio G. Mian sugli scaffali di una libreria e ho letto la seconda di copertina, ho pensato fosse una versione contemporanea di Buonanotte, Signor Lenin, il racconto del 1992 di Terzani del crollo dell’Unione sovietica e di una nazione in apparente cambiamento. Col senno di poi, una suggestione per nulla originale, visto l’uso massiccio fatto da tutti gli articoli riguardanti il libro reportage di Mian. Mi aspettavo il racconto della Russia di oggi e invece, via via che le pagine scorrevano, come il Volga protagonista, mi sono trovato nella Russia di ieri, incastrato nell’incubo del giorno della marmotta che questa terra sembra non riuscire mai a spezzare.
CONTINUA SUL BLOG!!!
CONTINUA SUL BLOG!!!
July 18, 2025
Molto particolare, estremamente utile per (tentare di) comprendere la complessità dell'anima russa, coacervo di incredibili contraddizioni. Molto stimolanti le osservazioni sulla storia e sulla letteratura russa.
September 11, 2025
Ho amato ogni pagina. Il racconto di una realtà totalmente diversa dalla nostra e da quella che ci viene raccontata, le spiegazioni con riferimenti culturali e storici, la tensione del trovarsi in un posto pericoloso. Consigliatissimo!
February 5, 2025
Il viaggio lungo il fiume diventa fin dall'inizio pretesto per raccontare la Russia di oggi attraverso la storia, la cultura e gli incontri più o meno casuali. E lo si fa molto bene!
July 29, 2025
Bello, bello, bello!
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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