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Doamnele din Sankt-Petersburg
Born in 1901, Nina Berberova led a life that encompassed both pre-revolutionary and post-communist Russia, and the three novellas comprising The Ladies from St. Petersburg follow the arc of their author's experience. In the title story, Varvara Ivanovna and her daughter Margarita plan a vacation in the country. True, there have been some shootings in the streets of St. Petersburg, and the trains are packed with people fleeing the city, but when Varvara expresses her fear of a "conflagration," she is assured that "all this revolution business will fizzle out very quickly. We here are all agreed that the Bolsheviks have no chance whatsoever." The sad dénouement of the tale, of course, tells a different story. Berberova continues to explore the Revolution and its aftermath in the next two novellas. "Zoya Andreyevna" follows the fortunes of a young woman caught up in the midst of the fighting. Zoya has left her worthy but dull husband and moved in with her lover. When war breaks out, the lover enlists in the White Army and Zoya is left on her own, fleeing from town to town and at the mercy of common people who despise her as much for what she has lost as for who she once was. In the final story, "The Big City," Berberova injects a note of grace into the émigré experience as she chronicles a day in the life of an unnamed narrator who discovers after a day of small adventures that
every person brings whatever he can to this big city ... some dream, or thought, or melody, the noonday heat of some treasure, the memory of a snow-drifted grave, the divine grandeur of a mathematical formula, or the strum of guitar strings. All this has dissolved on this cape and formed the life I plan to take part in too from now on. With you, who are not here with me but alive in this air I breathe.
every person brings whatever he can to this big city ... some dream, or thought, or melody, the noonday heat of some treasure, the memory of a snow-drifted grave, the divine grandeur of a mathematical formula, or the strum of guitar strings. All this has dissolved on this cape and formed the life I plan to take part in too from now on. With you, who are not here with me but alive in this air I breathe.
First published January 1, 1990
About the author
Nina Berberova
99 books105 followersNina Nikolayevna Berberova was a Russian writer who chronicled the lives of Russian exiles in Paris in her short stories and novels. She visited post-Soviet Russia and died in Philadelphia.
Born in 1901 to an Armenian father and a Russian mother, Nina Berberova was brought up in St Petersburg.[1] She left Russia in 1922 with poet Vladislav Khodasevich (who died in 1939). The couple lived in several European cities before settling in Paris in 1925. There Berberova began publishing short stories for the Russian emigre publications Poslednie Novosti ("The Latest News") and Russkaia Mysl’ ("Russian Thought"). The stories collected in Oblegchenie Uchasti ("The Easing of Fate") and Biiankurskie Prazdniki ("Billancourt Fiestas") were written during this period. She also wrote the first book length biography of composer Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky in 1936, which was controversial for its openness about his homosexuality. In Paris she was part of a circle of poor but distinguished visiting literary Russian exiles which included Anna Akhmatova, Vladimir Nabokov, Boris Pasternak, Tsvetaeva and Mayakovsky.
After living in Paris for 25 years, Berberova emigrated to the United States in 1950 and became an American citizen in 1959. She began her academic career in 1958 when she was hired to teach Russian at Yale. She continued to write while she was teaching, publishing several povesti (long short stories), critical articles and some poetry. She left Yale in 1963 for Princeton, where she taught until her retirement in 1971. In 1991 Berberova moved from Princeton, New Jersey to Philadelphia.
Berberova’s autobiography, which details her early life and years in France, was written in Russian but published first in English as The Italics are Mine (Harcourt, Brace & World, 1969). The Russian edition, Kursiv Moi, was not published until 1983.
Born in 1901 to an Armenian father and a Russian mother, Nina Berberova was brought up in St Petersburg.[1] She left Russia in 1922 with poet Vladislav Khodasevich (who died in 1939). The couple lived in several European cities before settling in Paris in 1925. There Berberova began publishing short stories for the Russian emigre publications Poslednie Novosti ("The Latest News") and Russkaia Mysl’ ("Russian Thought"). The stories collected in Oblegchenie Uchasti ("The Easing of Fate") and Biiankurskie Prazdniki ("Billancourt Fiestas") were written during this period. She also wrote the first book length biography of composer Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky in 1936, which was controversial for its openness about his homosexuality. In Paris she was part of a circle of poor but distinguished visiting literary Russian exiles which included Anna Akhmatova, Vladimir Nabokov, Boris Pasternak, Tsvetaeva and Mayakovsky.
After living in Paris for 25 years, Berberova emigrated to the United States in 1950 and became an American citizen in 1959. She began her academic career in 1958 when she was hired to teach Russian at Yale. She continued to write while she was teaching, publishing several povesti (long short stories), critical articles and some poetry. She left Yale in 1963 for Princeton, where she taught until her retirement in 1971. In 1991 Berberova moved from Princeton, New Jersey to Philadelphia.
Berberova’s autobiography, which details her early life and years in France, was written in Russian but published first in English as The Italics are Mine (Harcourt, Brace & World, 1969). The Russian edition, Kursiv Moi, was not published until 1983.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 31 reviews
July 13, 2024
Imagina estar unas semanas a régimen estricto, una dieta que te aleja de toda la basura gastronómica que te hace sentir como un dios en la tierra. Días y más días de sentarse en la mesa para simplemente alimentarte. Y al acabar con el plan, de golpe un plato de patatas fritas grande como la el ala de un aeroplano. Esa precisa comida podría hacerte llorar de la felicidad (llorar comiendo patatas fritas, vaya tela).
Algo así he sentido mientras leía la prosa de Berberova, tan ligera y a la vez consistente, que te hace tomar cada página con vivo interés. Los dos últimos escritores que he leído la verdad es que me son queridos, los respeto, pero su escritura esta vez se me hizo cuesta arriba, a veces bastante cuesta arriba. En cambio este librito de Nina Berberova es como ir en bicicleta cuesta abajo y sin obstáculos.
Se trata de dos relatos largos que al ser conjuntados forman una nouvelle, un díptico unidos por la similitud temática, pues ambos tratan a personajes femeninos a la carrera y que están en mitad de la revolución bolchevique, mucho movimiento, ajetreo, cambios en la sociedad, las cosa que funcionan parecen un milagro. La autora da buena cuenta de esas relaciones que se generan con el tránsito, los improvisados anfitriones y los huéspedes que en tiempos corrientes quizá no se habrían encontrado pero que sin embargo esa situación genera encuentros inesperados, que en este caso suelen derivar hacia situaciones dramáticas, todo descrito con sutil psicología y acertadas pinceladas que demuestran talento para el detalle cotidiano.
Lo que quizás no me ha gustado tanto ha sido el leve toque clasista de la autora. Cada vez que aparecía un personaje de extracción más popular es para demostrar formas más brutas, incluso zafias, en cambio las gentes acomodadas, como la Zoia Andréievna que protagoniza el segundo relato, reciben un trato más empático de la autora y también una caracterización más matizada.
En el post scriptum nos dicen que estos textos fueron escritos en París en al año 1927, con lo cual no hace falta ser catedrático en Historia para comprender que está exiliada y huye de los bolcheviques, con lo que se comprende entonces de dónde surge la cosmovisión. Berberova por lo tanto era otro de los rostros del populoso exilio ruso, del que también por ejemplo figuró Vladimir Nabokov, que tuvo que superar las dificultades de una vida en tránsito para elaborar su obra. Es el primer trabajo suyo que leo, por lo tanto no sabría decir cuanto ha podido madurar después o si bien ha permanecido en un perfil similar, sólo puedo decir que a pesar de su juventud ya se demuestra una narradora madura que por ejemplo muestra un vivo interés hacia las técnicas narrativas de Chéjov y que las maneja con sabiduría. Se le conocen obras más ambiciosas, sin embargo yo no dejaría pasar la oportunidad de leer este librito cuando se desee algo ligero y a la vez sustancioso.
May 31, 2022
Ms. Berberova is quite good. I don't know how it took me this long to discover her. The three stories here are very different from one another. The Ladies from St. Petersburg felt Chekhovian with the first part giving us a young spoiled Russian aristocrat bored and alienated, whose world is shaken by an untimely death that foreshadows the upheavals to come, followed by a second part where we see her a few years later after the revolution, struggling to get by one day at a time in a world where all of the rules have changed. The second story, Zoya Andreyvna, tells of an elegant, smart, beautiful woman who has left her husband for a lover, making a life for herself as an independent woman, that is upturned by revolution and civil war as she is forced to flee Kharkov as a refugee and finds herself trapped in a strange city in a communal apartment of unsympathetic characters who squeeze the last bits of joy out of her life. It is a story that has special poignancy right now in a moment where there are once again millions of Ukrainian refugees, including many from Zoya's city of Kharkov (now called Kharkiv). As I read the story I couldn't help thinking of how many of those people may have been thrown into company as grindingly unpleasant and unwelcoming as poor Zoya experiences in this story. The last story, The Big City, is from late in Ms. Berberova's career, and you can see her development as a writer. The narrator is a newly arrived immigrant in New York, confronted with a giant barely comprehensible city, whose strangeness is conveyed by a Kafkaesque perspective where a normal sense of time and space ceases to exist. But instead of giving us an insane, alienating and crushing bureaucracy as we get from Kafka, Ms. Berberova gives us hope and the narrator's sense that he will fit in and find his way in this new world that is so odd that it seems to defy the laws of physics. It's a refreshing way for a writer to depict the modern condition and reminded me of how I felt, moving to a big city and a new job when I first got out of school, dizzy with the size and newness of it, but comfortable (with only a few pangs of doubt) in my sense that I would find a way to fit in and make it my own.
May 11, 2026
Revolutions and civil wars really are not nice
April 24, 2024
Unique stories from a lost time, reflecting the turmoil of the beginning of the Russian Revolution and the immigrant life, made more profound by being drawn from the author’s own experiences.
January 31, 2021
Three short stories (the cover charitably calls them novellas) by Russian emigre novelist Berberova. I liked the first two stories, which were written in the 1920s and concerned women fleeing the revolution within Russia. In the first, a mother and daughter arrive in a country boarding house in the country. In the second, a young professional woman relocates to the interior due to revolution but does not get along with persons in the boarding house. Spoiler: not exactly happy endings in either story. The final story, written in the 1950s, which concerns a refugee in a nameless city (NYC?) was unlike the first two stories in that it was less realistic and more "magical." I did not like it, hence my star reduction. Give me Russian realism any day.
Based upon the first two stories I will definitely revisit this author. Fortunately I have another book of hers on my shelf. I hope its closer to the first two stories than the last story.
Based upon the first two stories I will definitely revisit this author. Fortunately I have another book of hers on my shelf. I hope its closer to the first two stories than the last story.
September 30, 2024
“La hubieran atado a las aspas de un molino de viento: las aspas giraban, ella emprendía el vuelo, subía, después por un espacio mínimo de tiempo sentía debajo de su cuerpo la tierra inmóvil, pero no le daba tiempo de aferrarse a ella, cuando de nuevo se encontraba girando.”
March 18, 2014
By the time the Bolsheviks finally won the Civil War against the Tsarist Whites in 1922, the nature of their regime had become abundantly clear to anyone with eyes to see. A huge number of people got the hell out of Russia while they still could, and Bruce Lincoln described that wretched mass of humanity trapped in the Crimean peninsula (of all places) as the Reds closed in, waiting for a boat that would carry them away across the Black Sea to Istanbul and safety.
By definition, a lot of these emigres were those who had the most to lose under the new regime - everyone from ministers, generals and bureaucrats to provincial merchants and members of the haute bourgeoisie. Paris was their main destination. And so we get one of the enduring images of the years between the wars - the streets of Paris clogged with Russian emigres, destitute yet haughty, their drawers stuffed with expensive baubles from the old Empire, the cafes and shops of Billancourt resounding to the thick gutturals of the Russian tongue. The ex-Tsarist general turned cab-driver is now a figure of legend (or caricature), and the feverish political intrigue of those years features in an odd little film by Eric Rohmer ("Triple Agent").
*
So much by way of introduction. Nina Berberova is one of the better-known writers of that First Wave of Russian emigration, not as famous as Nabokov, Bunin or Tsvetaeva, but well-regarded all the same. Unfortunately, I think this collection does not show off her work to the best advantage. Firstly, these are hardly novellas - they are three short stories, even if the publisher did its best to pad out the page numbers beyond 100 with the clever use of font, spacing and layout. Still, short stories are what they are.
The title story is far and away the best of the lot, a stunner whose depth and pathos the other two stories cannot hope to match. Varvara Ivanovna and her daughter Margarita booked a holiday in the countryside a few months ago. By the time they arrive by train and horse-cart at the boarding house run by a village doctor, revolution has broken out in St Petersburg. The cream of village society tend to believe that this mere disturbance will blow over in six months at most. All is well but then, suddenly one night, Varvara Ivanovna dies of a heart attack, leaving her poor daughter Margaritochka all alone in the world. The weather is warm, the corpse will not keep long, a burial must be arranged quickly. But this is old Russia: the village is twelve versts away, the roads are rudimentary, and the transports slow, rickety and painful...
This is a beautiful story, full of the sounds, smells and sensations of Mother Russia, earthy in the best sense of the word. Like the best period fiction, it transports you whole into another world. You get occasional glimpses of why revolution had to happen, why the ancien regime was asking for it. There is a wonderful coda too, a few years down the road, but I don't want to give any more away.
The next story "Zoya Andreyevna" is set in the heat of the Civil War, when it has become obvious that the Reds are sweeping all before them. The title character is a well-to-do young lady who's fled from war-torn Kharkov, on the brink of being overwhelmed by the Bolsheviks. The refugees are streaming out all over Russia, deep into the interior; even in this remote provincial town, they are everywhere. This story wouldn't have been bad really, if the author hadn't resorted to such grotesque, cartoonish villains who torment Zoya Andreyevna without mercy in her lonely refuge.
As for the third story, it is set even further along, decades later, when the anonymous narrator, blown around like a leaf in the wind, has landed in some city in a distant part of the world. Reading the biographical notes, you realize that Berberova wrote this story as a response to her arrival in New York after the war, even Paris by then being a distant memory. It's an okay story at best, nothing special really, cod-Borgesian in its concept and execution. I guess it is to Berberova's credit that when she wrote it, Borges was still a decade away from breaking into the Western world, so at least she has some claim to originality!
*
All in all, five stars for the first story, but sadly three stars for the book as a whole. I read the book in reverse, so I had to wait until the end to get to the best bit.
By definition, a lot of these emigres were those who had the most to lose under the new regime - everyone from ministers, generals and bureaucrats to provincial merchants and members of the haute bourgeoisie. Paris was their main destination. And so we get one of the enduring images of the years between the wars - the streets of Paris clogged with Russian emigres, destitute yet haughty, their drawers stuffed with expensive baubles from the old Empire, the cafes and shops of Billancourt resounding to the thick gutturals of the Russian tongue. The ex-Tsarist general turned cab-driver is now a figure of legend (or caricature), and the feverish political intrigue of those years features in an odd little film by Eric Rohmer ("Triple Agent").
*
So much by way of introduction. Nina Berberova is one of the better-known writers of that First Wave of Russian emigration, not as famous as Nabokov, Bunin or Tsvetaeva, but well-regarded all the same. Unfortunately, I think this collection does not show off her work to the best advantage. Firstly, these are hardly novellas - they are three short stories, even if the publisher did its best to pad out the page numbers beyond 100 with the clever use of font, spacing and layout. Still, short stories are what they are.
The title story is far and away the best of the lot, a stunner whose depth and pathos the other two stories cannot hope to match. Varvara Ivanovna and her daughter Margarita booked a holiday in the countryside a few months ago. By the time they arrive by train and horse-cart at the boarding house run by a village doctor, revolution has broken out in St Petersburg. The cream of village society tend to believe that this mere disturbance will blow over in six months at most. All is well but then, suddenly one night, Varvara Ivanovna dies of a heart attack, leaving her poor daughter Margaritochka all alone in the world. The weather is warm, the corpse will not keep long, a burial must be arranged quickly. But this is old Russia: the village is twelve versts away, the roads are rudimentary, and the transports slow, rickety and painful...
This is a beautiful story, full of the sounds, smells and sensations of Mother Russia, earthy in the best sense of the word. Like the best period fiction, it transports you whole into another world. You get occasional glimpses of why revolution had to happen, why the ancien regime was asking for it. There is a wonderful coda too, a few years down the road, but I don't want to give any more away.
The next story "Zoya Andreyevna" is set in the heat of the Civil War, when it has become obvious that the Reds are sweeping all before them. The title character is a well-to-do young lady who's fled from war-torn Kharkov, on the brink of being overwhelmed by the Bolsheviks. The refugees are streaming out all over Russia, deep into the interior; even in this remote provincial town, they are everywhere. This story wouldn't have been bad really, if the author hadn't resorted to such grotesque, cartoonish villains who torment Zoya Andreyevna without mercy in her lonely refuge.
As for the third story, it is set even further along, decades later, when the anonymous narrator, blown around like a leaf in the wind, has landed in some city in a distant part of the world. Reading the biographical notes, you realize that Berberova wrote this story as a response to her arrival in New York after the war, even Paris by then being a distant memory. It's an okay story at best, nothing special really, cod-Borgesian in its concept and execution. I guess it is to Berberova's credit that when she wrote it, Borges was still a decade away from breaking into the Western world, so at least she has some claim to originality!
*
All in all, five stars for the first story, but sadly three stars for the book as a whole. I read the book in reverse, so I had to wait until the end to get to the best bit.
February 3, 2013
I was a Russian major at Middlebury College and lived in Russia for a few years (including a year in the USSR!). This book reminded me of all that I love about Russian literature, though her style is much lighter than so many of the "biggies" like Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Nabokov. But the countryside-city dichotomy is there; the proletariat versus the nobility is there; the atmosphere of anything-can-happen-next-and-you-won't-be-surprised even though the author is describing normal, everyday scenes. Loved it!
December 26, 2025
În ”Doamnele din Sankt-Petersburg”, Nina Berberova explorează declinul unei clase sociale care refuză să dispară, chiar și atunci când istoria o face irelevantă. Personajele feminine nu sunt doar indivizi, ci resturi ale unei ierarhii sociale care continuă să se manifeste prin ritual, etichetă și aparență.
„Doamnele” trăiesc într-un prezent golit de putere reală, dar se agață de semnele exterioare ale distincției — maniere, amintiri, formule de politețe — ca de ultimele dovezi ale unei identități nobile. Berberova sugerează că clasa socială supraviețuiește mai mult ca reflex decât ca realitate, iar eleganța devine un mecanism defensiv, nu o expresie a prestigiului.
Declinul nu este dramatizat, ci banalizat. Nu asistăm la prăbușiri spectaculoase, ci la o uzură tăcută: camere modeste care înlocuiesc saloanele, conversații golite de conținut care mimează rafinamentul, un trecut invocat obsesiv pentru a compensa lipsa prezentului. În acest sens, Berberova este necruțătoare: ea arată cum formele supraviețuiesc conținutului și cum noblețea devine decor.
Personajele feminine nu sunt ironizate brutal, dar nici salvate. Autoarea le privește cu o luciditate rece, refuzând orice nostalgie reconfortantă. Atașamentul lor față de trecut nu este eroic, ci defensiv; este modul lor de a evita confruntarea cu pierderea totală a sensului social.
Stilul este precis, reținut, aproape clinic. Emoția apare nu prin compasiune directă, ci prin disproporția dintre pretenție și realitate. Cititorul este invitat să observe cum o clasă întreagă continuă să joace un rol, chiar și atunci când scena a fost demontată.
”Doamnele din Sankt-Petersburg” este un text puternic ca radiografie socială, dar deliberat modest ca impact emoțional. Valoarea lui stă în capacitatea de a arăta cum declinul unei clase nu se termină printr-un act final, ci printr-o prelungire mecanică a aparențelor.
„Doamnele” trăiesc într-un prezent golit de putere reală, dar se agață de semnele exterioare ale distincției — maniere, amintiri, formule de politețe — ca de ultimele dovezi ale unei identități nobile. Berberova sugerează că clasa socială supraviețuiește mai mult ca reflex decât ca realitate, iar eleganța devine un mecanism defensiv, nu o expresie a prestigiului.
Declinul nu este dramatizat, ci banalizat. Nu asistăm la prăbușiri spectaculoase, ci la o uzură tăcută: camere modeste care înlocuiesc saloanele, conversații golite de conținut care mimează rafinamentul, un trecut invocat obsesiv pentru a compensa lipsa prezentului. În acest sens, Berberova este necruțătoare: ea arată cum formele supraviețuiesc conținutului și cum noblețea devine decor.
Personajele feminine nu sunt ironizate brutal, dar nici salvate. Autoarea le privește cu o luciditate rece, refuzând orice nostalgie reconfortantă. Atașamentul lor față de trecut nu este eroic, ci defensiv; este modul lor de a evita confruntarea cu pierderea totală a sensului social.
Stilul este precis, reținut, aproape clinic. Emoția apare nu prin compasiune directă, ci prin disproporția dintre pretenție și realitate. Cititorul este invitat să observe cum o clasă întreagă continuă să joace un rol, chiar și atunci când scena a fost demontată.
”Doamnele din Sankt-Petersburg” este un text puternic ca radiografie socială, dar deliberat modest ca impact emoțional. Valoarea lui stă în capacitatea de a arăta cum declinul unei clase nu se termină printr-un act final, ci printr-o prelungire mecanică a aparențelor.
November 1, 2024
Dos relatos sobre la Rusia de inicios de la Revolución. La autora tenía 25 años cuando escribió estos relatos desde su exilio en París.
Los personajes principales son mujeres desamparadas en ambos casos y se percibe la situación social cambiante que la autora conoció de primera mano antes de su exilio.
Los personajes principales son mujeres desamparadas en ambos casos y se percibe la situación social cambiante que la autora conoció de primera mano antes de su exilio.
January 9, 2020
« Il ne manquait rien dans le panier. Le cheval mâchonnait de l’herbe entre ses vieilles lèvres roses. La terre zébrée de sillons s’élevait jusqu’au ciel. Oh, Russie! »
Courte mais puissante nouvelle, qui évoque la Révolution de ´17 et les émigrés blancs.
Courte mais puissante nouvelle, qui évoque la Révolution de ´17 et les émigrés blancs.
January 18, 2018
«Oh, Russie ! »
January 24, 2024
I liked the third story best of all. The first two were good but the third story had so much color and life and that alone made me want to read more by this author.
October 2, 2024
Nina siempre maravillosa.
April 7, 2026
Une nouvelle efficace, cruelle, aride et dure, autant que la Russie de l'époque qu'elle dépeint.
December 21, 2014
The three short stories - or novellas as they are called - in "The Ladies from St. Petersburg" study the lives of people have lost their home during the revolution. The stories glitter with nuance and must be read several times to get to visual and dramatic richness. Homelessness, or placelessness, means different things in each, but it is at the center of the experience, and there is a tenderness and hard honesty in the development of scenes and events.
The first two stories take place in Russia. In one of the previous reviews written here the writer says the stories take place in Paris, but none of these stories takes place in Paris, though Berberova did live there for a time and two of the stories were published there. "Closely similar in theme and story line, two of these three novellas were first published in Paris in 1927. In each, a well-to-do Russian woman on the run from revolutionary turmoil falls ill among unsympathetic countrymen." (NYT review)
Each character in these stories is drawn in a way that shows a basic mystery and frailty, but also a strength. I think the stories are offering dignity and individuality to people even as they fall into categories, easily. I think each story is asking a question about the way people see each other and the way people treat each other. If the stories were to answer this question, which I'm not sure they do, it might be something like this: our actions sometimes spring from our convictions, and sometimes spring from a sense of power or entitlement or curiosity, and sometimes spring from impatience or cruelty, and sometimes spring from a form of learned decorum. And sometimes our actions and our motivations hold a world of contradictions. It is possible to be uninterested in another's humanity, and still act with decency. Cruelty comes easily to anyone once they feel themselves to be in a position of power. It is possible to lose everything and to have no one to turn to for acknowledgement, comfort or understanding. Small gestures of kindness or connection, and small gestures of unkindness and disconnection, can mean the difference between life and death for the dispossessed, and perhaps for all of us. (And aren't we all always in danger of becoming so?)
The location of third story was unclear to me, though the New York Times reviewer attempts to dispel the mystery: "The unnamed city, says the story's translator, Marian Schwartz, is indisputably New York." The story is mysterious in any case, with its surreal treatment of architecture and the strange friendship between the man who looks for turpentine and the man who has it. And, of course, the binoculars. I don't want to say more, because these stories are worth reading and worth reading closely. I don't think of Nabokov when I read these, though I know there is admiration between them. Berberova's craftiness is quieter, these stories not as willing to find pleasure and humor in the pain people cause each other. I am curious to read Andrei Bely, a writer who is said to have influenced her style, especially the surrealist style of "The Big City." I do think of Bruno Schulz a little when I read these, mainly for the painstaking attention to detail and because the third story reminds me a little of "Cinnamon Shops."
The first two stories take place in Russia. In one of the previous reviews written here the writer says the stories take place in Paris, but none of these stories takes place in Paris, though Berberova did live there for a time and two of the stories were published there. "Closely similar in theme and story line, two of these three novellas were first published in Paris in 1927. In each, a well-to-do Russian woman on the run from revolutionary turmoil falls ill among unsympathetic countrymen." (NYT review)
Each character in these stories is drawn in a way that shows a basic mystery and frailty, but also a strength. I think the stories are offering dignity and individuality to people even as they fall into categories, easily. I think each story is asking a question about the way people see each other and the way people treat each other. If the stories were to answer this question, which I'm not sure they do, it might be something like this: our actions sometimes spring from our convictions, and sometimes spring from a sense of power or entitlement or curiosity, and sometimes spring from impatience or cruelty, and sometimes spring from a form of learned decorum. And sometimes our actions and our motivations hold a world of contradictions. It is possible to be uninterested in another's humanity, and still act with decency. Cruelty comes easily to anyone once they feel themselves to be in a position of power. It is possible to lose everything and to have no one to turn to for acknowledgement, comfort or understanding. Small gestures of kindness or connection, and small gestures of unkindness and disconnection, can mean the difference between life and death for the dispossessed, and perhaps for all of us. (And aren't we all always in danger of becoming so?)
The location of third story was unclear to me, though the New York Times reviewer attempts to dispel the mystery: "The unnamed city, says the story's translator, Marian Schwartz, is indisputably New York." The story is mysterious in any case, with its surreal treatment of architecture and the strange friendship between the man who looks for turpentine and the man who has it. And, of course, the binoculars. I don't want to say more, because these stories are worth reading and worth reading closely. I don't think of Nabokov when I read these, though I know there is admiration between them. Berberova's craftiness is quieter, these stories not as willing to find pleasure and humor in the pain people cause each other. I am curious to read Andrei Bely, a writer who is said to have influenced her style, especially the surrealist style of "The Big City." I do think of Bruno Schulz a little when I read these, mainly for the painstaking attention to detail and because the third story reminds me a little of "Cinnamon Shops."
November 2, 2008
Another book for a RL book group. I have to say that short stories or novellas, are not for me.
I find the shorter form is frustrating. There isn't enough background detail to make the characters real, and their short time on stage seems too abrupt to develop a story. I don't really know what is going on, and more importantly, I don't care.
The characters were flat and one dimensional, and the stories were undeveloped and uninteresting.
The first novella was of 2 women, mother and semi-grown daughter, going on vacation, at the start of the revolution, which looked to some as a minor disturbance that would soon be pacified. Of course it wasn't. The mother dies, and the daughter is bereft, and now must accept a marriage proposal that she might not have, if the mother lived. Who cares ?
The second novella is about a formerly rich woman, Zoya, who is well educated. She uses her education to land a decent job. Her institute is evacuated because of the fighting in their former city. She doesn't flaunt her past, but it is obvious from her manner and her ragged belongings that she is a woman of quality. She ends up boarding with lower class, human pigs. They are coarse, uneducated, greedy, grasping, and full of hate for anyone who has or is better than they are. They don't wish to become better, they only want to destroy those who are. Zoya becomes ill, and unable to look out for herself or protect or defend herself from those she boards with. They throw her into a cab to dump her at the hospital, hoping that she will suffer and die.
The last novella is actually the best. A refugee man comes to a new large city (NYC), and tries to understand, fit in, and make a life for himself. In his journey he finds an apartment in his building that houses a mysterious man who offers friendship. The man also has magical binoculars that not only show the current time and places, but the past as well. The refugee feels that he can connect his past to his current life. He also discovers that the city has many unexpected sights and events.
This book was translated and it read well, and flowed smoothly. One of the issues is you are never sure if the translation sucks the life out of the stories or not. There is a foreword by the translator, she actually knew the author and tries to present her intentions faithfully. Still I am not sure it succeeded for me. I am not Russian, and nothing in these pages says Russian to me, except the names.
I find the shorter form is frustrating. There isn't enough background detail to make the characters real, and their short time on stage seems too abrupt to develop a story. I don't really know what is going on, and more importantly, I don't care.
The characters were flat and one dimensional, and the stories were undeveloped and uninteresting.
The first novella was of 2 women, mother and semi-grown daughter, going on vacation, at the start of the revolution, which looked to some as a minor disturbance that would soon be pacified. Of course it wasn't. The mother dies, and the daughter is bereft, and now must accept a marriage proposal that she might not have, if the mother lived. Who cares ?
The second novella is about a formerly rich woman, Zoya, who is well educated. She uses her education to land a decent job. Her institute is evacuated because of the fighting in their former city. She doesn't flaunt her past, but it is obvious from her manner and her ragged belongings that she is a woman of quality. She ends up boarding with lower class, human pigs. They are coarse, uneducated, greedy, grasping, and full of hate for anyone who has or is better than they are. They don't wish to become better, they only want to destroy those who are. Zoya becomes ill, and unable to look out for herself or protect or defend herself from those she boards with. They throw her into a cab to dump her at the hospital, hoping that she will suffer and die.
The last novella is actually the best. A refugee man comes to a new large city (NYC), and tries to understand, fit in, and make a life for himself. In his journey he finds an apartment in his building that houses a mysterious man who offers friendship. The man also has magical binoculars that not only show the current time and places, but the past as well. The refugee feels that he can connect his past to his current life. He also discovers that the city has many unexpected sights and events.
This book was translated and it read well, and flowed smoothly. One of the issues is you are never sure if the translation sucks the life out of the stories or not. There is a foreword by the translator, she actually knew the author and tries to present her intentions faithfully. Still I am not sure it succeeded for me. I am not Russian, and nothing in these pages says Russian to me, except the names.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 1, 2009
I was thinking about this summer read last night and felt like writing something about it; weird, since I had nothing to say when I finnished it - but it came suddenly to my mind, so why not?. Looking back at the experience with it, the characters, the story and overall the atmosphere don't say anything to me anymore.
Easy read.
Berberova has this moderate, restrained from any passionate expresion of feeling tone. Cold, it gives you this event from this woman's life -the unforseen death of her mother- putting her in a delicate state of affairs, away from her home, alone. But there's no drama here. The depiction of it is quick, only notes what must be done in the situation. Daughter griefs, daughter moves on.
It's like looking fixedly at a wall in front of you: no feelings or startles. The common dinner talk; then, the great event of everyone's life.
Easy read.
Berberova has this moderate, restrained from any passionate expresion of feeling tone. Cold, it gives you this event from this woman's life -the unforseen death of her mother- putting her in a delicate state of affairs, away from her home, alone. But there's no drama here. The depiction of it is quick, only notes what must be done in the situation. Daughter griefs, daughter moves on.
It's like looking fixedly at a wall in front of you: no feelings or startles. The common dinner talk; then, the great event of everyone's life.
July 2, 2015
A quick and enjoyable read. Wonderfully descriptive writing style. To me, the following excerpt concerning America in the eyes of a recent immigrant captures the framework of our nation perfectly. "The diversity of faces which flashed by astonished me. There was no majority in this city; all the people were unusual. This was what distinguished it from the cities I had seen before. What was even more amazing was that I could not forget for a second that all these millions of women and men - or else their fathers, or their grandfathers - had taken the same journey as I had." I actually paused here and contemplated my own ancestors and their different journeys and experiences which brought them to this country.
Read
January 21, 2016Although I've only read the eponymous short story in this volume, I can easily conclude that Berberova's style is bluntly realistic. Depicting, in extremely few words, the social landscape of Revolution Russia this book is in form the equivalent of it's main concept: life is blunt, unexpected and carries on.
I can't say 'The Ladies from Saint Petersburg' convinced me to read another one of Nina Berberova's creation, but for Russian literature fans this is definitely a good one hour investment.
Enjoy it with a cup of coffee and a cigarette (literally ONE of each, because it won't take more than that to read it).
I can't say 'The Ladies from Saint Petersburg' convinced me to read another one of Nina Berberova's creation, but for Russian literature fans this is definitely a good one hour investment.
Enjoy it with a cup of coffee and a cigarette (literally ONE of each, because it won't take more than that to read it).
January 26, 2016
The first story of three in this novella is a beautiful and poetic look at life in Russia at the cusp of revolution. I was very taken with the detailed descriptions and depth of feeling evoked by the characters thoughts. Berberova really painted a vivid picture of this time and place in history. The next two stories delve deeper into the time of revolution and beyond, but were not near as interesting or as expertly crafted. I would recommend this book for the first story alone.
August 14, 2009
This is a book of three novellas, dealing with the Russian Revolution through to the émigré experience in NYC. Though the L.A. Times describes Berberova's characters as "unforgrettable" and her writing "beautiful", I found the stories very thin and the characters one-dimentional. Loved the book cover though (by Wassily Kandinsky). It's bold, colorful and expressive -- everything the book isn't.
July 26, 2011
These three "novellas" by an exiled Russian writer/icon who taught/lived in Princeton deliver clarity/subtleties on their time and place (Exiles in Paris during Russian revolution, then between the wars), but they felt more like short stories to me. Looking for some of Berberova's longer (all out of print) work to read.
December 6, 2007
two stories from 1927, one from 195-something. the first two are about russian ex-pats in paris, very chekhovian, but more poetic, less frenetic(?). the third story is a fictionalized paean to new york city, should be included in any nyc anthology. loved all three.
July 31, 2014
These novellas are amazing as testaments of displacement. Berberova draws on her own experiences as a refugee from Russia to Europe and then to America. I'm happy she lived long enough to see her works published in Russia. I can't remember how I discovered her, but I'm so glad I did.
September 12, 2007
what beautiful writing.
November 10, 2007
short stories - the last story almost always blows my socks off
October 1, 2009
dreamy account of the fallen during revolution, and life as an immigrant
June 7, 2021
Novellas and short stories are often most difficult to write due to restrictions of words. In this set of three, I found only one of them - the title piece - to have used its format most effectively.
November 2, 2013
Quintessentially Russian, these novellas give readers a Russian woman's point of view for a change. Like reading Turgenev or Chekhov but more condensed. Fine writing!
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