There were at least three whackheads of the 20th century: Hitler, Mao, and Stalin. Each killed millions. While I always assumed Mao and Hitler were not all there, I had a different take on Stalin, thinking he must not have been as bad as the other two. I was wrong.
"Uncle Joe", as the Yanks called him in WWII, wasn't even Russian, having grown up in the Caucasus Mountain villages of Georgia, on the Black Sea. He was ruthless, as were the Bolsheviks in general, and rose to the top of the scum pile, even as Lenin was dying. Stalin would do anything to stay at the top, including starving millions of peasants to death, whom he hated above all else. So much for representing the lower classes.
Stalin's Mother: Joseph, what exactly are you?
Stalin: Mama, do you remember our tsar?
Stalin's Mother: Of course I do.
Stalin: Well I'm something like the tsar.
Along with obliterating many Ukrainian villages, Stalin also obliterated his former party allies, his own Red Army commanders, and 25,000 Polish army officers (he tried to blame that one on the Germans). He never stopped instilling terror, even toward the end of his life, as he started the Doctors' Plot and a new Jewish pogrom. Of course, what goes around comes around, so when Stalin had a stroke, no one helped him. His cronies, all afraid of being the next to be purged, hesitated, mainly because the doctors who could have helped Stalin...had been obliterated.
This book is not a basic biography of Stalin, but instead looks at certain episodes of his life, bringing new research into the nutbucket's legacy. Because each chapter is different, not chronological, it kept my interest. Turned out to be perfect timing, as I saw the movie, The Death Of Stalin just as I was finishing the book. Nutbuckets.
It's actually rather depressing, because while reading this, I realized that no matter what, humans will always try to outshine their fellow humans, which means power which means corruption, which means war and death. And their fellow humans will always follow new leaders in the hope of clinging to the leader's coattails on the ladder to elitism. Kinda like the workplace.
Book Season = Spring (no one left to sow the seeds)