Between Dog and Wolf

Russian Library

by Sasha Sokolov, Alexander Boguslawski (Translator)

Sasha Sokolov is one of few writers to have been praised by Vladimir Nabokov, who called his first novel, "A School for Fools," "an enchanting, tragic, and touching book." Sokolov's second novel, "Between Dog and Wolf," written in 1980, has long intimidated translators because of its complex puns, rhymes, and neologisms. Language rather than plot motivates the story--the novel is often compared to James Joyce's "Finnegans Wake"--and time, characters, and death all prove unstable. The one constant is the Russian landscape, where the Volga is a more-crossable River Styx, especially when it freezes in winter. Sokolov's fiction has hugely influenced contemporary Russian writers. Now, thanks to Alexander Boguslawski's bold and superb translation, English readers can access what many consider to be his best work.

Genres: Fiction, Russia, Russian Literature, Literature, Classics, 20th Century, Novels

296 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1980

About the author

Sasha Sokolov (born Александр Всеволодович Соколов/Alexander Vsevolodovitch Sokolov on November 6, 1943, in Ottawa, Canada) is a paradoxical writer of Russian literature.

He became known worldwide in the 1970s after his first novel A School for Fools had been published by Ardis Publishing (Ann Arbor, Michigan) in the US, and later reissued by Four Walls Eight Windows. Sokolov is one of the most important authors of 20th-century Russian literature. He is well acclaimed for his unorthodox use of language, playing with rhythms, sounds and associations. The author himself coined the term "proeziia" for his work—in between prose and poetry.

Sokolov is a Canadian citizen and has lived the larger part of his life so far in the United States. During the Second World War, his father, Major Vsevolod Sokolov, worked as a military attaché at the Soviet embassy in Canada. In 1946 Major Sokolov (agent "Davey") was deported from Canada in relation to spying activity. After returning to the Soviet Union in 1946 and growing up there, Sokolov did not fit into the Soviet system. In 1965 he was discarded from a military university, probably because he had tried to flee the country. After that he studied journalism at Moscow State University from 1966 to 1971. Shortly after his first daughter was born in 1974 his first marriage ended.

Sokolov made several attempts to flee from Soviet Union. He was caught while crossing the Iranian border, and only his father's connections helped him to avoid long imprisonment.

He met his second wife, the Austrian-born Johanna Steindl while she was teaching German at the University in Moscow. She smuggled the text of his first novel into the West. Only after she started a hunger strike in the Stephansdom in Vienna, Austria, in 1975, was Sokolov allowed to leave the Soviet Union. Sokolov left Vienna in late 1976 for the United States after his first novel had been published. In early 1977, Johanna Steindl gave birth to Sokolov's son, who has become a journalist. He also had a second daughter named Maria Goldfarb, born in New York in 1986, who has become an artist. Sasha Sokolov later married again several times and is now married to the US rower Marlene Royle.

His second novel, Between Dog and Wolf, builds even more on the particularities of the Russian language and is deemed untranslatable. Thus, it has become a much lesser success than A School for Fools, which has been translated into many languages. His 1985 novel Palisandriia was translated as Astrophobia and published by Grove Press in the US in 1989. The complete manuscript of his fourth book is said to have been lost when the Greek house it had been written in burnt down. Sokolov, who leads a rather reclusive life, says that he keeps writing, but doesn't want to be published any more.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

“I’m fond of friendly conversation
And of a friendly glass or two
At dusk or entre chien et loup –
As people say without translation,
Though why they do, I hardly know…”
Alexander Pushkin: Eugene Onegin; translated by James E. Falen.

“Outside descend the mists of night.
How pleasantly the evening jogs
When o'er a glass with friends we prate
Just at the hour we designate
The time between the wolf and dogs –
I cannot tell on what pretence –
But lo! the friends to chat commence.”
Alexander Pushkin: Eugene Onegin; translated by Henry Spalding.

“The time between wolf and hound
Is good for a chat soul to soul.
Though the lunch isn’t lavish at all,
You’ll be able to talk round and round
With both, the wolf and the hound.”
Sasha Sokolov: Between Dog and Wolf

Early dusk of Hunters in the Snow by Pieter Bruegel the Elder and the personages of Between Dog and Wolf are portrayed as though they stepped out of this famous painting…

Gury – that’s what he was called, as long as we’re on it. Among the amusements of that particular Gury I’d reference the followin: He was the one that adored scrapin and rollin over the slick on his sharps, which additionally resulted in us losin a client, and the undertakers, in contrast, findin one. I’ll provide evidence right away. In the days of the Archer, to make it more dangerous, but more excitin, the loners of both Shallow Reach shores arrange races on the weakenin ice. It happens in the outer darkness, intentionally without heavenly lights, and the folks cut figures as well as they can and hurry-scurry playin catch and chasin each other, without seein the holes and cracks. And that’s fraughtful.

The language of the novel – vernacular, slang, pidgin, vulgarisms, archaisms and occasional nonce words – is grotesquely and poetically bizarre and absolutely unique.

It is wonderful outside – our native land. Kinda mother, but strikingly sly, deceitful. In the beginnin, overall, it appears to be – land like land, only poor, with nothin in it. But after you’ve made yourself at home, looked more carefully – there’s everythin in it…

Pariahs, outcasts, cripples, orphans, drunkards, floozies, crones and vagabonds move through the world and their existence attempting to find their own, however tiny, niche there…

And does not every Homo sapiens that is hurrying somewhere resemble Achilles? Nobody is able to catch up with one’s tortoise, reach something close by, whatever it could be. A survey of the late fall. Occupation – a passerby. Place of work – the street. The length of employment in the given field – eternity. The situation is not better with the other moving objects – they are not moving, making everything questionable. The migration of flocks lasts unacceptably long. They soar above the ribbed, dark maroon roofs, barely waving their wings.

Some are born to sweet delight, some are born in the endless twilight zone.

[Fionnuala]

Take a good look at the cover of this book.
Are there two crutches or just one?
Are there two animals or just one?
Is it a dog or a wolf?
Difficult to be certain, isn't it?

Entre chien et loup is a French phrase which translates into English as 'between dog and wolf'. In French, the phrase is used for the hour of evening when the fading light makes it difficult to distinguish things clearly. Alexander Pushkin used the phrase in his verse novel, Eugene Onegin, and Sasha Sokolov quotes Pushkin's lines in one of the two epigraphs to this book:

"I'm fond of friendly conversation
And of a glass or two
At dusk or entre chien et loup
As people say without translation."

Without translation, I wouldn't have been able to savour this story of one-legged (and therefore one-shoed) Ilya Petrikeich Zynzyrela (sounds like Cinderella) who is also fond of friendly conversation and a glass or two. In a very enigmatical style, Ilya philosophises about his life as a 'grinder' of ice-skate blades (a Sharpenhauer!) in a village on the banks of the Volga—or the Itil, as he likes to call it, the Wolf river.

He tells of his love for Orina who may or may not work for the railway company, and who may or may not have been involved in the railway accident in which he lost his leg.
He tells about killing what may have been a wolf in the dusk of an evening, and about the possible dangers of skating on thin ice.
But none of Ilya's tales are easy to make out, no matter if they happen at dawn or at dusk, so I appreciated Alexander Boguslawski's very clever translation plus explanatory notes. He took this barrel of narrative and well and truly knocked out the bung, decanting the enigmatic Russian text into spicy earthy English—while keeping its puzzles perfectly———puzzling.

So what have I read?
Were there two one-legged men or just one?
How many dogs were mistaken for wolves at dusk?
How many crutches were used to kill the dogs?
Or were they killed with guns?

Because, you see, the second epigraph Sasha Sokolov uses is from Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago, and may or may not refer to the second main character, Yakov, who may or may not have been one-legged too, but who definitely owns a gun: The young man was a hunter.



Hunting is a big theme in the book, and Sakolov seems to have used Pieter Breughel's 1566 Hunters in the Snow as a mental backdrop. Several times in the text, this painting of hunters returning at dusk is referenced, though Brueghel is never mentioned—Sokolov knows we know that he's thinking of the painting.
We are returning at dusk. There are, as a rule, several of us—huntsmen and up to a dozen dogs in the pack. It is December. One of us, in addition to the usual equipment—a dagger, a game bag, and a spear—is burdened by our shared trophy: The fox had been slain already at dawn. By the way, take a good look at our mongrels and abortzois. Horrendously long, ugly, curved monkey-like and resembling Filippov pretzels, do their tails leave at least a flicker of hope for pure blood? It is no secret—pitiful is the exterior of my hounds: skin and bones, and completely matted coats. By the way, there is among them one bloated, wobbly, with a hideously short snout—a spook matching the piglet that some simple folk roast over the bonfire in front of the tavern entrance, where, having assured us they would catch up soon, some huntsmen dropped in to wait out a very strong gust of headwind. Is there any need to mention that right now we are on the summit of a large hill, condemned, like the entire site, to the fresh Christmas snow, and our figures contrast quite well with this background? After leaving the tavern on the left, we have almost passed it and begin to descend into the valley. In front of us stretches a perennially familiar panorama. This is the dale of the river, and a town in this dale next to this river, and ponds, and barns in the distance, and the sky above everything listed. This is our country; we live here, and while some of us live in town, the others live in the village, beyond the emerald river. We easily distinguish the dike and the mill, the church and the horse carts on the roads, the library, the hospice, and the bathhouse. We see the steep roof of the invalids’ home, the grinding establishment, the shelter for the deaf, and the market. And a mass of skaters on the ice of the river and the ponds. Their voices and skates sound resonant, their faces are flushed. Here—brownish clumps of leafless trees, resembling the fur of unknown animals; there—washerwomen, rinsing the linen in an ice hole. In addition, boats frozen into ice, and levees, and birds—oh, a mass of birds both on the branches and simply in the celery-smelling space—firebirds, faded, discolored, or having completely replaced their whimsical garb with the modest feathers of magpies and crows.

How about that for a nice bit of ekphrasis! That voice was Yakov's, by the way. His voice alternates with Ilya's throughout the book, and Ilya, though his voice is less sophisticated, is capable of a bit of ekphrasis from time to time too. Here's Ilya, who may or may not be wall-eyed, recounting an adventure that could be straight out of Breughel's The Blind leading the Blind:



I met a certain blind man in an unsightly place, and he volunteered to accompany me to the water for repose. And I trudged after him, trustin him in everythin, but the darkness engulfed us and for that reason he did not notice a huntin pit and tumbled in. I also fell in, followin the leader, ’cuz my belt was tied to his with a strong rope so we wouldn’t get separated. Halloo, we did not get separated, we moaned with banged heads and with dislocations, halloo, we did not get separated, we kept jokin, continuin our journey with difficulty...

It's not for nothing that Modest Mussorgsky's piano suite, Pictures at an Exhibition (1874) provides another type of backdrop to the novel in the form of chapter headings. Mussorgsky's suite was made up of ten pieces plus a recurring section called The Promenade. The music was inspired by the composer imagining himself rambling through an exhibition of paintings, stopping here and there to examine a particular picture more closely.
That pattern more or less describes the pattern of Sokolov's work. Ilya's and Yakov's alternating narratives are interrupted by recurring sections of poetry which may or may not be written by Yakov.

Several other famous Russians can be discerned in Sakolov's work. Because I don't know a lot about Russian history and literature (and the light is bad;-), I could only make out a few with certainty. Gogol, for instance: there's a scene where a britska arrives in a yard which had me immediately thinking of the opening lines of Dead Souls. Turgenev's Fathers and Sons came to mind too when the subject of family came up. There are many puzzles about who might be related to who.

Does Ilya have a son.
Does Yakov have a father?
What does Orina have to do with both of them?
And what about Marina and Maria?
And the Lonesome Babes?

Enough, you say. Don't confuse us with further confusions.
And Yakov is echoing your voices:

Confusion—it’s an inevitable fault
Of clueless philosophers, passions, ages…
What kind of luck made me such a dolt
That I could not make sense of them all
Or rather could, but less and less, in stages?

So ok, I will finish by mentioning a Russian classic that the translator feels is the most cited in Sokolov's text but which I didn't pick up on at all: A Hero of Our Time by Mikhail Lermontov.

It's not for nothing that I'm currently reading it.

[Katia N · Rating 4 out of 5]

Update: I've read it the second time. I enjoyed the language, but the first reading left me sufficiently puzzled to figure out what is actually happening in the book. I think I've got it now. So I've updated the review below. I've put my version of events under the Spoilers alerts.

I was not sure which language to use for the review. It is my usual dilemma when I read in Russian. But here it is exacerbated by the fact that this novel seems to be better known in the West. And i have a few things to say about the translation. So I will stick to English this time.

Sasha Sokolov bears the title of the “last Russian writer” that is quite a title considering the tradition. He emigrated from the Soviet Union in the 70s. All his novels were initially published in America. In roughly 15 years between the beginning of the 70s and middle 80s, he wrote 3 novels. After that, he has stopped publishing. “Between the Dog and Wolf” is his second novel. It is based upon his personal experience of working as a gamekeeper somewhere in North Russia in the tributaries of Volga river. He had to hunt, lead other hunters and of course meet a lot of local simple folk (hunters, fishermen, gamekeepers and even poaches). He especially befriended one old man, Pyetr Krysolymov who offered Sasha to stay in his house. According to Sasha he was a soothsayer. All these impressions were the inspiration for the novel. Pyetr’s presence in the novel is very tangible. There is even a character with similar name who seems to be a single wise man in the crowd. But Sasha said his features are spread between many characters. He also requested to put the picture of Pyetr on the cover of the first addition of his book: ( https://vtoraya-literatura.com/pdf/so... )

When he published his first novel A School for Fools the critics came back with comparing that book to Nabokov’s novels. According to him, he did not read Nabokov at that time. Nabokov was banned in the Soviet Union. Interestingly, I’ve read somewhere that Nabokov actually praised his first novel. When Sokolov has arrived in the US, he has finally read Nabokov novels. And he has consciously decided to write something very different. Has he succeeded? In my view, I am not sure. I certainly felt some echoes of Pale Fire in this book. Sokolov himself always says that Joyce and Poe has had more influence on him. So he is probably very pleased that this book is compared to Finnegans Wake. I have not read the latter. But from my limited knowledge of Joyce and from reading Sokolov in the original, I do not think this comparison can be taken too far. As far as I know, Joyce has almost created his own language for his novel. Even from reading Ulysses one can gather how much attention Joyce pays to the musicality of language; how he is able to squeeze beyond the limits of its possibilities. Sokolov is good as well, but not at that level. He synthesises very successfully what is already there created by prior writers and generations. I was not totally convinced he has done something so revolutionary as Joyce in terms of the language.

However, the novel is still sparkling enough. It is told in three distinctive voices. The leading voice is Ilya Petrikeich Zynzyrela, a one legged artisan who travels from place to place and earns coins from sharpening bland objects (knives, skates anything else). His part of the text is a long rambling letter of complaint to a certain official. It is told in transgressive vernacular, wonderfully imaginative language. Sokolov incorporates a lot into his speech. The character uses the bits of the Russian people’s fairytales (russkie narodnie skazki), creates new derivatives from words, sometimes he creates new words all together which is quite common in Russian vernacular language. Understandably, Illia does not want to follow a simple thread of conversation and jumps from one topic to another often within one sentence. He also uses quite a few of Russian short satirical poems called Chastúshkas. I do not know the equivalent for these in English. I only would say that they could be quite rude and they always rhyme. Sometimes he sings and quotes traditional romances and bard songs from the 70s. Bizarrely, the puzzle of a cabbage, a goat and a wolf's transfer over the river (without being mutually eaten) plays a role in the story. All this mixture reflects Russian popular culture and how Russian peasants used to speak; the language one might still find in those lands or one might have a glimpse in the collection of Russian fairytales. All his references are easy to recognise for any native speaker being born and raised there in Russia. Sokolov also names the one of the characters after Nikolay Ugodnik which is a clear reference to St Nikolas, the one of the most prominent Orthodox Saints. This adds the dimension of religious faith preserved between the locals during the Soviet times. It also adds to the mischief as St Nikolas is also associated with Ded Moroz (Russian Father Christmas) who tends to make miracles and magic transformations. Overall, this part of the text is the most unstructured out of the whole and the most humorous as well. It reads like a stream of collective conscience of the local folk rather than a voice of a single individual.

The second voice is a voice of an observer, who lives in the city. Eventually we find out that his name is Yakov Ilyich Palamakhertov . He might be a writer, he might also be a painter. But his voice exists out of space or even time. He just observes through his mental eye either real paintings (Bruegel “Hunters in the Snow”), or more often he writes down the views from his window or his mental images. He moves from one image to another and describes them to us. These part is called “The pictures from the exhibition” after Modest Mussorgsky piano piece. Mussorgsky wrote it in a memory of his dead friend whose exhibition he has visited. The friend was an architect as well as the artist so his exhibition contained his impression from different places and stories starting from Baba Yaga’s hut and ending with Kiev’s Golden Gate. Sokolov uses it as an inspiration for his word sketches. Yakov is only half present in this part. It is what he sees is important. For me, it is the best part of the novel. It is etherial, patchy and very visual. It also contains two evident pastiches in Gogol’s and later and more briefly, Dostoyevsky’s style.

The third part is named “Notes of a hunter “ and later in the text “The notes of a binging hunter” (Zapiski Zapoinogo Okhotnika”). The allusion is evidently to Turgenev’s sketches. But the part is made in verse. There are 37 of them in total. We find out a the end that those poems are work by Yakov as well. He writes them when he lives somewhere at the same places as Illia and works as a gamekeeper. Eventually he puts all these poems in a bottle and throws into the river, presumably for us to find and assess his genius. That is how he refers to his work in the last poem. I think, this part is an attempt by Sokolov to move from very unstructured sea of a text which is Illia’s parts through descriptive language of Yakov-observer and towards a formally constrained experimentation with the verse. For me, it was the least successful part. Some of those poems are touching and original. But the majority are imitations of style of different other poets. And, in my humble opinion, they do not reach the quality of the originals.I recognised very clearly the one imitating Eugene Onegin, the one imitating an urban romance, a few - Brodskii IosifJ, a fellow emigrant and the Nobel Prize winner, at least one is clear pastiche on another Nobel Prize winner Pasternak Boris, and the whole bunch of the poem are written under direct influence of the symbolists - Alexander Blok, Andrey Bely, Brusov. There are even allusions in the poems names to these authors. With the small exception, I just did not care for many of these poems both formally and in terms of the imaginary they’ve created as they are clear imitations of style. I'd prefer him to create some original poetic technique as well. But the experiment of combining both unstructured vernacular and formal poetry within the novel is brave and should be applaud for. I think, only Nabokov's Pale Fire has pulled it off.

But what is actually going on in this novel? I think anyone who tried to read it asked himself this question. On the first reading, I could admire the language tricks and some jokes; i could picture the life of the river people. But i did not grasp the coherence of the whole or the fact there is none. On the second reading, I think I’ve got it. So below my two interpretations. I urge you not to read them unless you’ve read the novel already. It might deprive you of a pleasure to get there yourself.

Realistic version:

Ilia is father of Yakov Palamekhetov, (not the one-legged Alfeev who appeared in the hospital episode). Orina is mother of Yakov. Yakov calls her Maria for some reason. But he refers to her as “mama” in a one of the later poems. When Orina kicked Illia out, he lived for some time under the stairs (both Illia and Yakov mention this and refer to collecting of sweet wrapping). Yakov fancies a local underage girl who ends up having a fleeting affair with Illa and sailors. Later Illia has his accident in which he loses the leg and Orina potentially dies. However, it is not certain. After the hospital (and presumably quite a few years) Illia appears in Zavochie and starts working as a grinder. Yakov already grown up appears there independently and works as a hunter, drinks and makes poems. Orina might have appeared as well seducing many local men and causing somehow their premature death. Illic’s crutches got stollen for the attack on a dog he confuses with a wolf. He starts writing his letters of complaints and fires into some other dogs. The hunters potentially drown him for that. The hunters potentially include Yakov. Yakov dies as well at the end but we do not know why. We just know that he is being dragged in the sledges and does not feel any pain. He puts his poems into a bottle and throws the bottle into the river for someone to fish it out and enjoy.

Post-modern version:

Similar to the realistic one in terms of the plot. However, there is only one real character. It is Yakov Palamekhertov. He is educated person but ends up working as a gamekeeper in the North. He looks out of the window and sees the scene he compares to Bruegel’s. He has not much to do, so he drinks, imagines different scenes from the books he reads and recreating his real memories, he writes poems and recreating his real memories, he writes poems and he writes a body of work in a form of letters in a style of speech of a collective imaginary local man. He calls him Illia Zynzyrella .

My general impression is difficult to summarise. I like the ambiguity of the atmosphere this novel creates. I like the amount of stuff one can unpack within it. For example, the author is playing with the concept of death, its illusiveness, what is there to be felt on the other side. Both of his narrators experience the transition without realising it. Then, they carry on talking. They are not sure what is going on with them and we as a readers are not sure whether it is really happening. It is a powerful tool. He has used it even more successfully in his first novel. But for me it still pales compared to Pedro Páramo.

Being raised in Russian culture, I like the easiness with which I recognised the numerous cultural references. I like the ambition of encompassing so much language patterns within a single relatively slim novel. I appreciate the mixture of humour and fatalism. In general, I admire what he has done here, but I do not love it. The timing of reading as always plays a big role. I was immersed for the big chunk of this year in Latin American literature of the same period. And If I would read this novel before Pedro Páramo or The Obscene Bird of Night, I would potentially be more overwhelmed by Sokolov’s virtuosity, but not in the reverse order. I think, partly they have the same source of inspiration in Faulkner and Poe. Sokolov is visibly affected by Nabokov and the symbolists (both influences maybe totally subconscious). I talked about Joyce earlier. Maybe I will come back to this novel after eventually reading Finnegans Wake.

PS
A few words about the translation. I do not know how it could be translated adequately enough avoiding the writing of a slightly different book. Out of curiosity, I've looked at the first few pages of the English translation on kindle sample. Well, the first page was a miss for me. But then it started to flow and it was easier for me to read than the original. Below are few observations from the first page (quite superficial I admit, but still):

1) missing endings - Illia speaks perfect Russian from grammatical perspective. He creates his own words and amends the existing ones. But he does not change the grammar and he does not have a visible accent either. Not sure why he needs to have it in English; “The moonth” sounds very artificial. I do not see the reason to combine two words in English into one. Just because we have one simple word in Russian. It does not sound natural to what Illia would do.

2) In the English version Illia works in “the co-op of the individuals named after Sharpenhouer”. That was really strange choice to play with the name of the German philosopher. In the original, the co-op is named after Daniil Zatochnik, the Russian religious writer of 13th century. Zatochnik in Russian means both grinder and a person who is locked in a prison. So here we have 3 relevant facts together. While in English it might be witty but so much misses the point. Another character in English is introduced as Nikolai The Helper or something like that. In Russian he is Nikolay Ugodnik which is the Russian name for St Nicolas the Saint who makes miracles. The one of the poems is referring to him as well. This is used in the plot. But why the Helper?

I might sound too harsh. I am sure even to attempt to translate this is a tremendous accomplishment. And it reads very well in English. It just underlines how difficult and valuable is the job of a translator; how many choices have to be made. And the most fundamental is the old choice: to stay close to the original or to create? Maybe this translator has even wrote a better English book in some respects. But I thought those few things from the first page are worth mentioning to.

[Nathan "N.R." Gaddis]

A man gets his crutches stolen. Narrates that fact, digressive rich. I don't know if that's the premise or a spoiler. Careful with them crutches, Eugene.

Sokolov pub'd this one in 1980. Now freshly trans'd into English by Alexander Boguslawski in a totally fresh new series of Russian stuff from Columbia U.
https://cup.columbia.edu/series/russi...

Previously he'd pub'd A School for Fools which was English'd quite early on (1988). And just last year seems to have gotten the NYRB treatment. Nabokov loved it!

Dude was a Russian writer. You can read about him on his gr author=bio blurb or probably at wikipedia.

If the thing about a guy losing his crutches as the premise/core of a novel don't sound Wakean to you, I don't know what will.

The novel is one of them there rich things that require reading it at least twice. Love Me Two Times, Babe. Love me twice today.

There are three voices in here. They hand off from chapter to chapter like a trio of rappers passing the mic. Or something. (There's a chart/map in the Intro; which I recommend you read and set your senseless spoiler=anxiety off to one side, babe, off to one side today.) One's this here uneducated guy. The next is some kind of different narrator. The third is some poetry. But the poetry's got some narrative info in it ; so don't just totally skip it.

Our intrepid translator, iirc, spent 10 years of his life working on this thing. Not only that, but he loved the thing twice, loved it two times today ;; having previously trans'd the damn thing into Polish.

There are endnotes. They mostly do two things (Love Me Two Things!) ;; identify and discuss some of the more difficult-to-translate stuff, like his narrator's neologisms, and id the various literary allusions which your well versed Russian lit=snob would grasp like straws. But so, see, even if you 'read it in the original Russian' but weren't steeped in the Russian lit=tradition, you'd be losing a hell of a lot of stuff. So don't talk to me about "lost in translation"!!! Found in annotation, babe.

The title is from a Pushkin thing. Famous. Maybe you know it in its French :: entre chien et loup. It means :: That time at dusk when one can, sitting around a campfire, no longer distinguish between dog (friend) and wolf (threat). The solution of course is to take a horse cuz it can smell stuff.

Is it a good translation? Who the hell knows! The only way to really find out is to have one or two of those dozen folks working on yet another damn'd translation of War and Peace spend a little time on weekends working on a second and third trans of Between Dog and Wold. Trans me two times babe trans me two times this year.

I really did like this novel. I really didn't "fully" comprehend it. I'll write my dissertation on it and then I'll tell you how I completely understood it. Damn rich stuff. Really, I've "had enough" of this rich literature. Like when you push back from the table at the end of that 12 course (actually, during the final espresso and port course) sumptuous meal and declare "Ich bin saat" or joking just a bit saying "Ich bin voll"!

Either that or actually get in the habit of reading me two times reading me twice today. Instead of just talking about how important it is to read any important novel twice. Read it twice again today.

In a world where a list of 75 Notable Translations of '16 mentions neither Bottom's Dream nor Between Dog and Wolf.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I please direct your attention to ::
The Untranslated.
I don't mean to compound things (that miracle of finance!) ; I know already how depressing that Three Percent figure is. We in the Usofa don't read much in translation. And as Bottom's Dream and Between Dog and Wolf illustrate, don't even know of the existence of stuff that gets trans'd (unless its KOK or Ferrante) ---> but it's even worse in the case of stuff not translated. This is the whole thing about The BURIED Book Club rant ;; you don't even know this stuff exists. I mean to say, there are shitstacks of stuff on the level of Important WeltLiteratur, the existence of which makes you feel like a Trump=voter in epistemological relationship to Finnegans Wake. I mean stuff like Adam Buenosayres: A Critical Edition, stuff like Tutunamayanlar, and so much more stuff I won't go on because this is a rant ;; I mean not stuff I personally like (or knot) but stuff which is objectively culturally important. It's an epistemological thing ; not 'taste' thing. Yer an idiot if you talk about Russian Literature and don't know Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. At any rate, The Untranslated is a very Important Resource, especially for you who vet opinions about novels vis-a-vis have you actually read it ; because I certainly haven't (I go by spidey=sense) and but at The Untranslated there's like seven-eight languages he's literate in. So you get The Real Deal. Babe. Twice today.

Okay, I'll give it to you ::
Love Me Two Times

[Jim Elkins]

The "Finnegans Wake" of Russia, And Its Translation Problems

There are two principal voices in "Between Dog and Wolf": a knife sharpener, Ilya; and a man presented as his son, Yakov. Ilya writes in a kind of rough and wild colloquial speech; Yakov writes measured, 19th-century style prose. Yakov also writes rhymed verses; and there are also chapters in a different voice, which Sokolov, in an NPR interview, has identified as his own voice. The book alternates chapters by Ilya, by Yakov, and chapters of Yakov's poems. I read the poems and prose by Yakov, but I couldn't stand the chapters by Ilya: they are ruined, I think, by a bad translation. More on that in the third section.

1. Precedents
"Between Dog and Wolf" is touted everywhere as the Russian "Finnegans Wake." The Columbia University Press website quotes it this way: "Intricate and rewarding—a Russian Finnegans Wake." It turns out this isn't a review, but a one-line "In Short" notice which reads, in its entirety, "Sasha Sokolov’s classic Between Dog and Wolf (Columbia University) is intricate and rewarding—a Russian Finnegans Wake." Such is the depth and detail of contemporary reviewing! In fact the parallel with "Finnegans Wake" doesn't help.

The chapters written by Ilya come from a long line of inventive pseudo-patois, a tradition that includes Faulkner and Peter Matthiessen's wonderful "Far Tortuga." The alternating prose and poems by Yakov are rich with allusions to Russian literature and culture, and one of their inevitable points of reference is "Eugene Onegin"--which also fits because Nabokov, who once praised Sokolov, wrote 4 volumes of commentary on Pushkin's "novel." (I have a review of that elsewhere on Goodreads and Librarything.) "Finnegans Wake" shares as much with "Between Dog and Wolf" as it does with Arno Schmidt or Marianne Fritz, which is to say very little.

The Yakov character writes a kind of surreal, associative prose, which is reminiscent of Peter Handke's meditations on landscape. I think its ultimate model is Rilke or Trakl, in their hallucinatory poetic imagery, and in their twisting and folding of time and place. Yakov's poetry is reminiscent of a number of models, from "Eugene Onegin" to folk songs and ballads, and poets like Rimbaud and Verlaine.

2. Philosophy
In terms of the history of novels and of philosophy, "Between Dog and Wolf" has a deep romanticism, mingled with a modernist interest in words and writing. Yakov expresses the romanticism especially clearly:

"Waters are splashing,
Flow by themselves
To reach their goal;
The years are passing,
And we ourselves
Just live, that's all." [p. 143]

Or:

"Why did I, the hunter-ragpicker,
On the face of existence a blemish, a scab...
Compose all these Notes at this river's spring
And floated [sic] them down in a hurry?
Such a meaningless loss of candles and ink...
How annoying: All these years irretrievably lost,
Playing, singing, and having much fun;
You gaze in the tumbler--and you're just a ghost.
Alas, things look bad, you are done." [p. 230]

Or again, even more ecstatically, in the mode of Joyce:

"Lonely and lone among all the lone and lonely who are countless, burn, burn brightly--there, at the cobblestone highway; here, at the crossroads of turnouts, and at the dead end, where the burdock grows. Burn with white light, sinless flower, burn, bitter, burn, timid, burn, enchanting. Burn for Yakov..." [p. 180]

Yakov's prose chapters are the centerpiece of the book's modernism or postmodernism, because of what they do to time and place. The narrator's monologues fold back and forth through time, suffering from "symptoms of terminal temporal disease that distorted the natural flow of events and years, the flow of being, the course of the flow" (p. 176). Yakov's thoughts are swamped by unexpected links: not only Rilkean tropes and unexpected analogies, but constructions like "at first--just once; later--occasionally and then--constantly," and "when and whether, and if, and wherever, and while--then, therefore, and consequently" (pp. 174-75). For me these chapters are the heart of the book, because they articulate the narrators' (in the plural) sense of the sfumato of time, signaled in the book's title (which refers to the end of twilight, when it's not possible to tell a dog from a wolf) and in the setting (which is full of imagery of rivers, seasons, and time passing).

3. Translation
Stylistic contrasts are the engine of the book, and I can imagine that in Russian it might be a powerful experience. But in English it is seriously hampered, even crippled, by poor translation choices.

The translator, Alexander Boguslawski, says the NPR interview (January 28, 2017) that when he first found the novel his English wasn't good enough to translate it. Actually what he says is "But what was the problem, you know, that I read it very early, and my English wasn't good enough." Given, it's a radio interview, and no one is perfectly spoken on radio, but the Russian-English expression "what was the problem" is a warning sign. May I suggest that when it comes to idioms, his English still isn't good enough?

In the chapters written in Sokolov's voice, and in Yakov's voice, and to some extent in the poetry, the translation isn't an insuperable obstacle: I can usually tell what tone or idiom Sokolov was aiming at. But the chapters presented as written by Ilya are nearly unreadable. Here is the first line of the book:

"The moonth's clear, no catchin up with the dates, the year's current."

The translator's notes at the end of the book gloss "moonths" this way:

"Moonth: The Russian expressaion "mesiats iasen" has two meanings: the moon is bright, and the month is clear. To signal this duality, and the importance of wordplays throughout the novel, "moon" and "month" are combined into one word here. Such a combination resembles similar constructions created by the narrator and, at the same time, indicates the derivation of the word "month" in many languages (including Russian and English) from the word "mooon." [p. 231]

I think this is wholly misguided. It's bad reasoning: "moonth" sounds stupid (as if the narrator is stupid, which is partly the case), and it sounds a bit drunken. It doesn't conjure the philosophic and linguistic meanings Boguslawski thinks, especially because as Ilya's narrative goes on, there are no parallels to it.

It is extremely difficult to translate dialect, because every choice of an un-grammatical or local usage will conjure a particular ethnicity, period, or place in a native reader's mind. A translator can't just pick and choose different usages assuming they all coalesce into a new pidgin or patois. If you're going to invent a way of speaking, it's necessary to be consistent, and to have a pitch-perfect ear, as in "Clockwork Orange"; otherwise it's necessary to pick one ethnicity, time, or place, and just let it represent the speech in the original text. Chapters written by Ilya are, I think, absolutely unreadable:

"Wherever they'd settle me, I didn't mind bein down and out, didn't seriously hanker after a family, and made ends meet by askin folks for help in proportion to their means and possibilities. About that I remain remorseful, havin chosen for this purpose a co-op of individuals named after A. Sharpenhauer." [p. 1]

This is typical in its obtrusive invented abbreviated word endings (always lacking apostrophes, even though they are conventional, and even though contractions and possessives retain apostrophes). Ilya is wildly inventive and imaginative, and has a large vocabulary (and sly references to all sorts of figures in history, including Schopenhauer), so his supposedly hokey grammar rings consistently false. I have no idea what Sokolov's original sounds like: but I can't believe it raises this sort of distracting problem.

I should note that there's a more sympathetic take on the translation by Josh Billings, "Monsters of Translation: On Arno Schmidt and Sasha Sokolov," Los Angeles Review of Books, December 26, 2016), although he also ends with misgivings:

"whereas the inhabitants of Sokolov’s book can throw their language like a fishing line at the world and have it stick every time, the English reader of Between Dog and Wolf watches his own hook frequently bob up empty. This is especially true of the long sections written in verse, which swim past us meaning something (probably many things), but with an imperviousness that makes us understand why Sokolov’s book was considered untranslatable for so many years. It is not, of course — Boguslawski has proven this (and in two languages, no less: he spent 10 years producing a Polish version). And yet something essential eludes us, not because we can’t see it, but because it isn’t there. Where is it then? In the original? Presumably — although who knows."

4. The novel's place in history
The comparison with "Finnegans Wake" is right in the sense that this book belongs in the 1920s and 1930s: it is a late-romantic, post-symbolist, first-generation modernist experiment in voices and language. It isn't securely postmodern, although it is in a sense post-Gombrowicz and post-Schmidt.

[Groverd · Rating 5 out of 5]

час между волком и собакой
сбить с панталыку
поелику
гребует
снегурки
блезир
подъелдыкивать
ужовник
ветляк
бормот
наводить матату
мусикия
пачули
чебот
рапшиль
торба
мослы
дреколье
лубок
крамбамбуля
допетрить
колготиться
шикар
стрюцкий
скулёмать
грядый
вежды
обрыдл
лузь
узорочье
чапыжник
сиволдай, сивуха
крылатка
лупцевать
гомозиться
позёмка
стремнина
стапель
табакур
ягдташ
выборзок
филипповские кренделя
щипец
лессировка, глизаль
Мнемозина
краковяк
аксакал
ичиги
шобла
пороша
кляча Блед
кожан
плис
тулья
ухарь
шапокляк
таволга
канотье
чубук
шлафрок
задавать лататы
серсо
клоб
турман
козны
роздых
фатера
сеногной
репнуть
"рыбий мех"
на шермака
пенсион
выжига
пантофель
сума перемётная
вертеп
топчан
волгнуть
лярва
квелый
мантилья
иеремиада
катух
залетка
прясло
абразивные материалы
анчутка
вервие
"щёки со спины видать"
фашина
чумиза
ситуёвина
цигейка
профершпилить
шевиот
лапсердак
муар-антик
метранпаж
пахитоска
журфикс
башибузук
аркебузировать
фелука
бельвю
гунявый
шкаряты
канталупа
газыри
планида
бредень
кастелянша
мараковать
зане
Пур��арские вина
чок
веверица
берданка
Брюмер
севрюга и хаулиод
васисдас
отзынь на ..
хирагра
якиш
мормышка
йок
чекушка
эрзя
эрзац
отмездрить
чизма
тризна
повапить
калика
кубарэ
колдыб
бузотёр
туес
мухортый
ялик
анхорская кошка
тать
кулёмать
казан
дощаник
черемис
струг
ушкут
тарань
карбас
обечайка
френч

[Fran · Rating 2 out of 5]

Not all books are for everyone as this book so proves. Perhaps it would have been more enjoyable had I gotten a master's degree in English or Linguistics. The book is rather ambitious for the average reader and will almost certainly go over their heads. I have a high level degree yet "Between Dog and Wolf" often demanded more than a casual read should. This is by no stretch of the imagination a book for people who read fiction or even literary classics. The attitude of a scholar-in-training must be used for this tome. Honestly, I doubt most people will want to put forth the effort required unless assigned to read "Between Dog and Wolf" in university.

Thank you Columbia University Press and Net Galley for the opportunity to read and review "Between Dog and Wolf".

[Mariusz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Well, patience, patience, patience, patience. Four stars for patience. But who has patience today? Brilliant, but obsolete. Paradox? No.

[Jolanta (knygupė) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Masterpiece! Tai - zaismingai liudnas sedevras. Kaip ir priklauso sedevrui, ne viskas jau taip aisku ir lengva...
Labai sunkiai ir ilgai skaitesi. Zodziai velesi, reikejo skaityti pastraipas po kelis kartus ...ir tai, kartais taip ir palikdavau sakinius ...., kuriu prasmes niekaip neperpratau. Vienok, skaiciau ne be malonumo. Va toks paradoksas. Autorius, be jokios abejones, samoningai pasirinko toki istorijos pateikimo buda. Siaip jau, istorija nueina i antra plana. Svarbiausia cia - kalba! Sasha Sokolovas ispudingai zaidzia lingvistinius zaidimus, akivaizdziai smaginasi. Rusu kalba moku puikiai, vienok nebuvau susidurusi su tiek nezinomu zodziu. Skaityma apsunkino autoriaus sudetinga, tiksliau pasakius, nenaturali sakinio konstrukcija. Manau, kad tai labai avargardinis tekstas, nesuvarzytas jokiu taisykliu. Ir dar. Esu isitikinusi, kad knyga neisverciama. Sio teksto neimanoma isversti neprarandant originalo nuotaikos ir daugelio prasmiu. Tuomet kokia vertimo prasme? Knyga isversta Aleksandro Boguslawskio i anglu kalba ir isleista Amerikoje, Kolumbijos Universiteto leidyklos.
Knyga perskaityti rekomenduoju tik tiems, kas nebijo sunkaus darbo skaitant.

[Kirsty · Rating 2 out of 5]

First published in Russia in 1980, Sasha Sokolov’s Between Dog and Wolf has been recently translated from its original Russian by Alexander Boguslawski, and the novel forms part of the Russian Library at Columbia University Press. Sokolov began to write this novel, his second, before he emigrated from the Soviet Union in 1975. What inspired him was his work as a game warden in the Volga, where he spent almost a full year living in a wooden cabin with no electricity. In true Russian style, Sokolov’s chosen title comes from a quatrain in Pushkin’s wonderful Eugene Onegin.

On its publication, Between Dog and Wolf was greeted ‘with almost complete silence’, the antithesis to his Nabokov-endorsed first effort, A School for Fools. The Western world ‘failed to review the novel, while their Russian emigre colleagues produced only a small number of rather general responses, without detailed discussion of its structure, language, or importance for Russian or world literature’. Perhaps a valid reason for this omission is that the structure is so complex; it is comprised of the ‘uneducated, often dialectical, colloquial narrative of Ilya Petrikeich Zynzyrela’, as well as a poetic, impersonal style designed to reflect Russian literary tradition from the nineteenth century, and a series of poems ‘authored by Yakov’.

The introduction is, without a doubt, informative, and busies itself with allowing the reader the best inroad into this seemingly confusing novel. Its style is academic; it is intelligent and useful, but reader beware, as it does tend to give away a lot of the later plot details. In the main body of text, Ilya’s voice takes on a stream-of-consciousness style; Sokolov’s handling of dialect works well, and successfully puts across the kind of character his protagonist is.

It does take much determination to get through Between Dog and Wolf at times, but if you do reach the end, it is a book which is sure to stick with you for quite some time afterwards. For me, it was a little too all over the place, and whilst it may be a book which I would have enjoyed had I had more patience, it is one which I have given up on for the time being. It must be said that I did not abandon it because it was poor; I simply wasn’t in the mood for something so heavy going which I would have to work at considerably to enjoy.

[J Earl · Rating 4 out of 5]

Alexander Boguslawski's translation of Sasha Sokolov's Between Dog and Wolf is a challenging and, so far, rewarding work. I say so far because I have read it twice now in a fairly short time (maybe a month between the readings) and am still really coming to appreciate much about it while also thinking there are going to be some aspects I will never appreciate.

This is, from all accounts, a difficult work to translate because of the linguistic play, in Russian, which is at the heart of the novel. There are several distinct voices, two characters and the voice of the author (so he says), each different in tone and dialect or regionalism. Ilya is by far the most challenging to read and understand and it is his chapters that I may never come to fully grasp. While a large part of that inability is solidly on my shoulders I think Boguslawski is less successful here in trying to find English phrases and expressions while staying true to Sokolov's language play. The other chapters are still a challenge but much easier (less difficult?) to understand. I found the poetry to be quite understandable. I hesitate to say well translated because I have no idea what the Russian is so I can't speak to that.

In deciding whether you might want to tackle this, know now that it has been, rightfully so, compared to Finnegan's Wake. Except the comparison was with the novel in Russia and not translation. So you are wrestling with something (kinda, sorta) like Finnegan's Wake but in translation. That said, if you enjoy a book with which you must put in some effort then I would definitely suggest you consider Between Dog and Wolf. As more is written about this novel (I seem to recall that there has been more Sokolov scholarship in English in the past decade or so) I think this will become a much more rewarding book to read, study and ponder. Maybe the next translation of it will improve on Ilya's chapters.

[Kevin Tole]

I say 'reading' but I've given up and stacked this one - the second time I've done this. There are some books which necessarily have to be read in the original and not in translation - too much is lost. Finnegans Wake, Three Trapped Tigers, The King of Time. You either miss too much of the nuance in the original language or the text demands such copious notes that you have to keep a separate book of Primer Notes going beside the text. Sokolov and 'Between Dog and Wolf' is one of them. He changes every basis of the genre and so much is built on the substitution of words in a 'sounds like with allusion attached' style. I am certain that this is as important a novel in the advancement of literature as was Ulysses and that it NEEDS to be read. But it needs to be read in the original language, not in translation. And this is not the translators' fault. You could almost say that this is an untranslatable book.

After two years in Russia - Moscow and Siberia - I only managed to pick up cursory phrases and a passing knowledge of Cyrillic. Its not exactly the easiest culture to get to know or fit into and Muscovites are exceptionally stand-offish. So I doubt that I will ever get round to reading this one which is a pity.

[Sergei_kalinin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Пст! Читатель, не хочешь ли немного магии? Она - прекрасная, могучая и вневременная магия Текста - есть в этой книге: Саша Соколов "Между собакой и волком". (Но чтение не для всех. Имеющий уши да услышит!).
〰〰〰
Первое впечатление: представьте, что вам подарили бутыль экзотического дорогого вина. Вы пробуете... Хм, ничего не понятно! Пробуете ещё, и букет начинает раскрываться и играть волшебными ароматами, вкусами и послевкусиями. Незаметно и мягко сознание затуманивается, и с каждым новым глотком (строчкой 😉 ) вы всё глубже погружаетесь в удивительные грёзы... Пока (так называемая))) реальность не растворится окончательно.
〰〰〰
Простоватая такая "русская народно-разговорная" стилизация. Сюжета почти нет. Герои вычурные, бестолково толкутся и что-то мямлят. Предложения длинные, запутанные, стихи - бытовой лытдыбр. Рацио кричит: "Караул! Как можно это читать?!".
〰〰〰
Но какая-то (оборотная, настоящая) часть души резонирует и поёт от радости. Текст удивительно музыкален. Каждое слово на своём месте. Каждое крючочком цепляет следующее и рождает гармонию, в которой тонешь с головой.
〰〰〰
Уверен, что если какой-то математический лингвист заморочится, то легко докажет, что частотность использованных слов минимальна - они все уникальны. Авторские словоформы грациозны, метафоры глубоки, аллюзии бесконечны. Пир духа.
〰〰〰
Вывод: читать (сердцем, не головой), наслаждаться, менять сознание 😉
Оценка: 3 из 5 (читается нелегко; в целом на любителя)

[Blackwell Boyce · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Or maybe mysterious for you are these words of mine?" Not maybe: definitely. Trying to make sense of everything that happens would take a great deal of effort - and perhaps you'd be missing the point. But maybe missing the point is the point - because there is no point? I dunno. Nothing is clear - it's all murky - 'between dog and wolf'. But actually one thing is clear - and that this book is about language, and the language (half of it wordplay) is marvelous. The book is also packed with allusions, to other Russian writers like Pushkin, Lermontov, Turgenev, and also to famous events in Russian history, and to Russian music. Because of this, for readers not intimately familiar with that country's culture and history, i.e. most non-Russian and probably even most Russian readers, the work loses some of its power. It is almost as if Sokolov wrote this book for his own amusement, knowing that he alone would 'get' everything. That said, I give the translation five stars. I enjoyed especially the colloquial voice of Ilya, and the contrasting well-crafted verse.

[Thomas · Rating 3 out of 5]

i usually like hard to read books that play around with language but this one didn't really work for me, maybe it's the translation. the parts where its a bunch of uneducated guys in the russian countryside pining away over girls were cool though.

[Algirdas]

Odė rusų kalbai. Kietai, bet vertinti neapsiimu.

[саша · Rating 5 out of 5]

Гениальнейший слог без смс и регистраций. Читать всем

[Hannah Gadbois · Rating 3 out of 5]

"At the first sight, just an ordinary spot, damp and muddy; well, a birch tree flickers here or there, or a mountain ash. But you'll spend a borin week there, do some fishin and lie in the sward with a band of river brigands, lookin at billowin clouds and you'll utter with sobs, quietly-softly: Lord, how good it is to be here with You. Would you believe the way the water flows—as if it were molasses, flows—as if it were standin; the dome of the firmament unnoticeably sneaks the entire night toward mornin, and the Heavenly Kingdom itself is like that: Either it comes—or it doesn't. But if you look closer—the Itil is rushin, rushin with its entire liquid body. It would be wonderful, word of honor, to give up the ghost on those free patches. I'm dreamin about departin durin the forest harvest, sweetenin my lips with a handful of wild strawberries and sinkin into the Life Everlastin with them. Really, Lord, I am hangin here for no reason, and in general—what did I lose here, what didn't I see, whom did I come to visit? Or haven't I turned the coarse grindin wheel? No, I don't need nothin, I haven't lost nothin, and I belong here like a saddle on a pig. Where are you, time of my death, why do you dillydally in the distance, gimme a sign. But you return to the dry land and right away, as a result of all this fussbustle, you forget your reason, you suffer and do donkey work unlike Pyotr and them other valiant cripples that preferred a reliable rope to drudgery. Yeah, we ain't risk-takin, darin creatures; not high, upon verification, is our soarin."

[Durakov · Rating 4 out of 5]

To reflect what many others are saying: the language is the real joy of this novel. It's near impossible to follow the winding story in all its directions, but I genuinely enjoyed the journey. That being said, the novel is uneven, and I suspect (as do others here) that the problem may be one of translation.

The Ilya segments are significantly more difficult to follow and stay invested in then both the comparatively tame poetry and the also difficult but more grounded narrator chapters. So much of the issue comes down to both strange words and phrases, which I cannot with confidence say are an issue of the book or of the translation, and of references to Russian cultural history that will likely be inaccessible for most readers who aren't comfortable with Russian literature, folklore, and art. It doesn't feel quite right for that reason to fault the book for it, as another reader may really enjoy this, but I did find myself dreading his sections. Even so, he does manage to produce some very memorable and silly turns of phrase to my surprised delight.

All in all, Sokolov proves himself again to be among the most adept wordsmiths I've come across. His command of language, even in translation, stuns, shocks, and soothes the reader. I adore authors who can keep the reader invested through words alone, and Sokolov is in a class of his own in this regard.

[Sergio Bernales · Rating 3 out of 5]

Hace rato no leía algo que me dejara tan extrañado. Una prosa distante, caústica. Le doy las 3 estrellas porque ni siquiera lo entendí del todo. La premisa es básica:a un afilador le roban las muletas dos guardabosques (!) O vigilantes de caza (!!!) A partir de este misterio se vinculan tres formas de narrar esta historia: el monólogo exacerbado del afilador, las versiones escritas en varios registros por parte del ladrón que es a su vez un poeta que compone los poemas (notas) que cierran el tercer frente del texto. Todo esto alrededor del cuadro de Breughel "Los cazadores en invierno" cuya adaptada descripción repite una y otra vez el Poeta, trasunto biográfico y metaliterario del propio Sokolov, a lo largo de varios capítulos que vertebran el texto. ¿Quién narra a quien? Es la principal pregunta que se hace uno hacia el final y de paso la novela es un homenaje a la literatira rusa en general; me hizo recordar el gran vacío que tengo alrededor de ella y que debo empezar a enmendar en el 2020....más allá de Tolstoy y Dostoyevsky.

[Sasha Chewohin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Воскурили, заспорили и вышли на холод перекурить. Стали мы на пригорке; за нами град деревянен, велик, там мужик брандахлыстничает вовсю, а внизу, перед нами, плес — как на ладошке застыл. Оглянитесь, Гурий мастерам заявил, там, на правой руке, будет у нас селение Малокулебяково.

Но вместо этого, совея,
Нагуливаешь аппетит
И вместе с дворнею своею
В серсо играешь а’реtit.
А то, прослыть рискуя снобом,
Влезаешь важно в шарабан
С гербами аглицкого клоба
И катишь важно, как чурбан.

Заметив безобразие и раззор из окна, что в третьем этаже, над аркой, отворяет фортку и на всю Елоховскую бранит молодцов направленный в Москву нарочно по делам книгоиздательского товарищества Просвещение, что на Невском, петербуржский метранпаж Никодим Ермолаич Паламахтеров, прадед Якова Ильича.

[Michel Beloshitsky · Rating 4 out of 5]

Schizophrenic stories, but unbelievable catchy

[Maksim Ovtsinnikov · Rating 4 out of 5]

Русские "Поминки по Финнегану".

[David Cornell · Rating 2 out of 5]

I bought this book by accident, thinking it was one of a virtually exact title. It is written (on purpose) in a roughly-translated, schizophrenic word salad of jibberish-riddled non-sequiturs.

[Mercie · Rating 1 out of 5]

I should probably reread this book.
But I probably won’t.

It’s definitely a tough book (great job to the translator, though) and I wish the annotations had actually been connected to the text.

[Helen]

I did not read all of this book because I did not like it, but I did read up to about 100 pages before deciding to read just the poems.
Maybe this book is good, but it was lost on me.

[Mandy · Rating 1 out of 5]

As soon as I see words like inventive, intertextuality, neologisms, verbal pyrotechnics and hear that “language rather than plot motivates the story”, I begin to suspect that I’m not the intended reader of this book. Especially when I then discover it’s often compared to Finnegan’s Wake. But nothing ventured nothing gained, and as I am both student and lover of Russian Literature I embarked on Sokolov’s (to me) impenetrable novel with enthusiasm but some trepidation. A trepidation that was fully justified within a few pages and I soon gave up the unequal struggle. I don’t necessarily demand simplicity in my novels but I do demand they be at least comprehensible on a basic level or, more importantly, worth the effort required to decipher them. For me this wasn’t and I capitulated. My admiration goes to the translator, but sadly his efforts have been wasted on me.

[Kristin]

I thought this sounded intriguing. Then I opened it and started to read, and the experimental dialect-writing and formatting basically turned me into that one meme of the octopus running across the ocean floor, going NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE.