Лавър

by Eugene Vodolazkin, Евгений Водолазкин, Антония Пенчева (Translator)

„Лавър" на Евгений Водолазкин (2012) е една от най-успешните руски книги на десетилетието. Романът е преведен на повече от тридесет езика. „Гардиан" го поставя наравно с произведенията на Ф. Достоевски, У. Голдинг и Дж. Ъпдайк, а „Хъфингтън Поуст" го определя като "трудно и блестящо четиво, несъмнен шедьовър". Някои критици сравняват Е. Водолазкин с Умберто Еко, а „Лавър" - с „Името на розата".

Времето в този „неисторически роман" е накъсано, дори низвергнато, включително чрез езика. Органично са преплетени различни езикови пластове и епохи: църковнославянският език с езика на днешния ден, жаргонният с канцеларския език - и всички те съществуват едновременно. За да се постигне свободата на вечността.

Главният герой Арсений е средновековен лекар. Лекува болните от чума и ранените, бедните и страдащите и колкото повече той жертва себе си, толкова по-силно се изявява дарбата му. Животът му се превръща в житие. Но възможно ли е любовта и саможертвата да спасят душата на човека?

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, Russia, Fantasy, Russian Literature, Literature, Novels

374 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2012

About the author

Alternate spellings: Evgenij Vodolazkin, Evgheni Vodolazkin, Jevgenij Vodolazkin

Eugene Vodolazkin is a Russian scholar and author. He has worked at Russian Academy of Sciences and been awarded fellowships from the Toepfer Foundation and Alexander von Humboldt Foundation. He has written for First Things. He lives with his family in St. Petersburg.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

Once upon a time… Once upon a time everything was possible…

And then there is the fish with many legs. No matter what color stone it swims up to, it takes on that color: if it is white, it turns white, if it is green, it turns green. Some people, child, are the same: they are Christians with Christians and infidels with infidels.

Laurus is an unexpected conjunction of magic realism and hierography and the book is tragically poetical.

Ustina was not separate from his love for her. Ustina was love and love was Ustina. He carried it as if it were a candle in a dark forest. He feared that thousands of greedy night-creatures would fly toward that flame all at once and extinguish it with their wings.

The main hero was presented with a precious love, like a gift from above, but he couldn’t keep it, his love was dramatically lost. So ever after, tormented by his guilt and grief, he lived trying to redeem this irretrievable loss by healing the others and attempting to be impeccably righteous.

What is this? the new abbess asks those present, herself most of all. Is this the result of our brother Ustin’s therapeutic measures or the Lorde’s miracle, appearing independently of human action? Essentially, the abbess answers herself: one does not contradict the other, for a miracle can be the result of effort multiplied by faith.

He heals not just with the profundity of his faith but also with the power of his will and the purity of his spirit…

A city of saints, whispered Ambrogio, following the play of the shadow. They present us the illusion of life.
No, objected Arseny, also in a whisper. They disprove the illusion of death.

But who can draw that borderline after which sinful existence ends and sainthood begins?

[Dragos C Butuzea · Rating 5 out of 5]

un roman beton!

mi-a fost târșe să scriu despre romanul ăsta, dar frate! deja a trecut o groază de timp și tre' să scriu, altfel o să uit de el total. am căutat ceva pe net, pe bloguri, dar cucu, nimeni n-a avut pân-acuși sânge-n barabule să scrie (excepția e aici, la valeriu gherghel).


de ce mi-a plăcut?

1. e o carte plină de speranță, luminoasă - chiar dacă se petrece în evul mediu rusesc întunecat, de dinaintea lui ivan cel groaznic, unul plin de ciumă, de mizerie, dar și de mistică. personajul e plin de speranță și de voința de a făptui ceva.



2. e scrisă brici - propozițiile sunt scurte, percutante, arhaismele și neologismele se pupă uimitor sexy, verbele dinamizează acțiunea - și să nu cumva să lăsăm de izbeliște menționarea adrianei liciu, care a izbutit o traducere aleasă.



3. n-o închizi fără să ai bucurii la ea - imposibil să nu-ți aprindă câteva beculețe, să nu-ți zgârie câteva-ntrebări pe creier.





despre ce-i vorba?


ni se dă un bărbat de prin secolul 15 și ni se povestește viața lui. decorul e-al rusiei înapoiate, săpate de ciumă și tembelite de credințe păgân-creștine (ortodoxe, firește). personajul e crescut de bunicul, un vraci - și aici suntem dați pe spate de cunoștințele autorului despre plantele de leac arhaice, o enciclopedie - pe care-l urmează în aceeași activitate. apoi tânărul se-ndrăgostește de-o copilă de pripas, o ascunde și-i face un copil. ei bine, tragedia vieții lui e că fata moare la naștere cu tot cu copil. ceea ce-i apasă conștiința și, gata, intriga-i formată.



așa că personajul va trebui s-o ia prin lume, să străbată spațiul și timpul, să se salveze prin fapte pe el însuși, dar și pe cei doi morți - femeia și copilul.


romanul este unul de formare (bildungsroman), personajul se trans-formă, din vraci (arseni) devine nebun, din nebun (ustin) devine pelerin, din pelerin, călugăr (ambrozie). din călugăr, pustnic (laur). și din pustnic, devine mort.

ce probleme ne sunt puse de către autor?



apărut acum doi ani în rusia, acest roman,  laur , a câștigat cartea mare (Большая книга), cel mai important premiu literar rus, dar și premiul iasnaia poliana (în memoria lui tolstoi). după mine, romanul merită asupra de măsură pentru că autorul, evgheni vodolaskin e dat în pitpalacul mă-sii!

la 50 de ani, e om de știință, specialist în medievistică și literatură rusă veche. și mai și citește, căci e la curent cu ultimele tehnici literare.



folosindu-se de mentalitatea religioasă proprie acelui ev mediu întunecat când, cum spuneam, oamenii se tembeleau de credințe păgâno-creștine, și de misticisme, autorul / cititorul e liber să cugete la câteva teme esențiale, sădite beton dintotdeauna în mintea omului:
„ce ne face să fim oameni, care e relația dintre carne și spirit?“
„unde e Dumnezeu, undeva în afară sau în noi înșine?
„e credința un moft sau un sprijin?“
„fericirea depinde de noi sau de lumea dimprejur?“
„ce e timpul, un continuu sau fragmente disparate?“
„spațiul e lăuntric sau e o nevoie exterioară?“
„avem oare obligația darurilor ce ne-au fost date?“
„ce e lumea?“


deși se folosește de religie, fără să fie mistic, romanul e mai degrabă unul filozofic.
deși e un roman al călătoriilor, chiar și a celor interioare, el se folosește de locuri temporale și spațiale doar pentru relativizarea, dar și pentru bogăția discursului literar.
deși nu dă o soluție - ideea că totul e pierdere de timp e mereu reiterată -, romanul pune întrebări. alegerile faptelor noastre e numai a noastră, dar mântuirea aparține lui Dumnezeu.


există multe referințe la timp în carte și o poveste contemporană, intercalată de autor (de altfel, în mod ironic, vodolaskin face multe inserții contemporane în textul său „medieval“, bunăoară include în peisajul medieval și o sticlă de plastic), se sfârșește cu afirmația că totul e o „curată pierdere de timp“.


la fel, și călătoria personajului principal e o pierdere de timp: providența îl alege încă de la-nceput, și e de mirare pentru cititor cum toată viața / călătoria lui curge fără greș, cum trece el ca prin urechile acului prin toate pericolele. parcă singurul lucru care-i mai rămâne de făcut sfântului este să-și piardă CUMVA timpul. mânat de obsesia mântuirii. mântuire care îi e deja dată (cam protestantă idee pentru un autor ortodox).


și noi, cititorii, am putea spune că ne vom fi pierdut timpul citind cartea, însă vom fi câștigat prin lucrurile despre care se vorbește în ea. cu mult mai ușor într-un astfel de roman, petrecut în evul mediu, așa cum ne spune însuși autorul pe primul flap al copertei:


Sunt lucruri despre care este mai ușor să vorbești în contextul unei Rusii străvechi. Despre Dumnezeu, de exemplu. După părerea mea, legăturile cu El erau mai directe pe vremuri. Mai mult decât atât, pur și simplu existau. Acum natura acestor legături îi preocupă doar pe puțini, și asta este neliniștitor.



iar despre spațiu, citim:

Ce înțelegi tu prin drum - nu spațiile care rămân în spate? Ai ajuns cu întrebările tale până la Ierusalim, deși ai fi putut să le pui, să spunem, și de Mânăstirea Sfântul Kiril. Nu spun că sunt nefolositoare călătoriile: ele au sensul lor. Nu fii doar asemeni dragului tău Alexandru [cel Mare], care a avut un drum, dar nu a avut un țel. Și nu te lăsa atras peste măsură de mișcarea orizontală. (p. 269)



fast check
orășelul pskov este acela unde țarul ivan cel groaznic a venit, după ce-o făcuse la novgorod, să-i măcelărească locuitorii și unde legenda spune că un nebun întru Cristos (și personajul nostru va trece prin acest avatar), nikola salos, l-a salvat direct de la țar. i-a arătat o bucată de carne crudă și i-a zis s-o mănânce. țarul a refuzat, motivând că ține post. aa, nu mănânci carne, ții post, da' sânge de om bei! demult ai uitat nu numai de post, dar și de Dumnezeul tău!

[Valeriu Gherghel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nu numai un roman istoric. Laur este, mai degrabă, o poveste de iubire. Și abia apoi o hagiografie. Comparația cu Numele trandafirului e gratuită, nimic n-o susține. Viziunile autorilor diferă dramatic.

Citind acest roman, ceea ce m-a frapat e infailibilitatea mecanică a lui lui Arseni. Nu cunoaște eșecul. Iese mereu victorios din toate încercările. Protagonistul va purta pe rînd patru nume: Arseni, Ustin, Ambrozie și Laur(us), după vîrstele și treptele pe care le va străbate într-o viață de 80 de ani (1440 - 1520). Mai întîi, e un simplu vraci. În timpul unei epidemii de ciumă o primește în izba lui izolată pe Ustina. Îi oferă merinde, o îmbracă, îi îngrijește rănile. Apoi o ascunde de ochii celorlalți. Fac un copil. Ustina moare la naștere, peste un an. Acesta este păcatul celor doi. Cum numai Arseni supraviețuiește, mîntuirea celor trei vieți (a lui, a Ustinei și a copilului) îi revine tînărului vraci.

Povara este uriașă. Numai un sfînt o poate purta. Ca atare, Arseni va duce viața unui sfînt. Va tămădui, va deveni un nebun întru Christos, va merge în pelerinaj la Ierusalim (împreună cu un prieten italian, Ambrogio), va cere să fie monah și, către sfîrșitul vieții, pustnic (sub numele ultim de Laur). Va zdrobi orice obstacol...

N-o lungesc. Romanul lui Vodolazkin mi-a plăcut.

[lark benobi · Rating 5 out of 5]

When I got to the end of Laurus I thought: "this is the best book I've ever read." I've had that feeling before with other novels and I hope I will have it again in the future but even so Laurus will remain one of the most perfect and memorable experiences of my reading life.

It probably changed my experience to have read "The Confession of St. Patrick" before reading Laurus. Unlike Augustine's Roman intellectualism, St. Patrick's Confession describes a chaotic reality where the spiritual and the physical worlds are so intertwined that they sometimes interact in brutish ways--as when Patrick writes:

"The very same night while I was sleeping Satan attacked me violently, as I will remember as long as I shall be in this body; and there fell on top of me as it were, a huge rock,and not one of my members had any force."

St. Patrick describes the Devil as a force that can reach through from the spiritual world and manifest itself physically in this world, and the same sort of Christianity is at work in Laurus. In both Ireland and Russia Christianity developed without the mitigating rationality of Rome. This faith is visceral and unforgiving and absolute. Demons and angels are corporate. Faith healers are real. Holy fools are venerated. Future and past events can appear in dreams, and the consequences of sin and virtue are made manifest in this life: in the health of the body, in good or bad events, in the weather and the seasons.

The world view described with such tender care in this novel is very foreign to mine, and yet the writing is so grounded in physical detail, and so consistent throughout the novel, that I bought into it completely and was immersed in it entirely as I read.

I cried a lot. Even for the donkey. It's an amazing novel. It got to the absolute heart of me.

[Antonomasia · Rating 5 out of 5]

A book in a genre I've hardly read since my age hit double figures: stories of the saints. Laurus, the life of a fictional fifteenth-century Russian folk healer, holy fool, pilgrim and eventual monk is essentially an invented example. Baptised Arseny, the protagonist adopts a number of names through different phases of his life, culminating in 'Laurus'. Miracles and prophetic visions are presented as a matter of course, as in the life of a saint, not the mode of fantasy or magic realism familiar to non-religious English speaking readers. It's strangely fresh - if, that is, literal hagiographies are something you haven't encountered for a long time and if they do not exasperate you. Unlike a traditional saint's life written for the faithful, the narrative doesn't refer to God as an active force, though characters' religious beliefs are certainly part of the story. It's a clever approach that makes it possible for the book to appeal to believers and to atheists. Or at least to atheists with a touch of sympathy for mysticism - this book may frustrate readers with a strict preference for realist fiction, those who are perenially infuriated by the religious - or who like their fictional magical systems to come with clear rules. Those who grew up reading religious stories may see, as I did, that this is a familiar 'magical system', but from a time before we had read about most of the other ones in fiction. Unspoken mystery, more than logic or rules, is its governing principle.

Laurus is also an intoxicatingly atmospheric work of historical fiction. Late medieval + plague + folk religion/magic are home territory for me as history topics; in Western Europe, particularly England, that is. Russia is less familiar, though I know a little, a fair bit of it from W.F. Ryan's The Bathhouse at Midnight. (It's been a while since I looked at the Ryan, but I'd still highly recommend it.) Everything in Laurus that was not intended as deliberate anachronism and evocation of the slipperiness of time (like plastic bottles among the debris of a spring thaw) rang resoundingly true of the era. I acquired a strong sense of trust in the narrative and the research behind it - the author is an academic specialising in medieval Russian literature - yet I still craved to know the accuracy of local details. (e.g. Did people use that herb for that? Is that exactly how stoves were?) But not knowing for sure about these bits and pieces, being unable to nitpick as I might have with an equivalent novel about an English cunning-man, meant that I could get more fully lost in the story qua story. And with mysticism, that feeling of immersion is definitely part of the objective. The strength of religious and magical beliefs in Laurus are such that it feels like a more powerful evocation of the medieval world-view than is most historical fiction, which de-centres religion to fit contemporary preferences. (Not that a C20th-C21st century person ever fully know typical ways of thinking from hundreds of years before they were born.)

The untranslated original of Laurus interpolates occasional phrases of medieval Russian with a bulk of more "timeless" (to us) narrative, and the odd deliberately contemporary word. The translation renders the medieval forms into English via the readable means of extra 'e's on the end of some words and some 'y's instead of 'i', although a handful of archaic vocabulary is also used, including the adorable 'flittermouse'. I'd have liked to see something bolder done with these olde worlde fragments: phrases or adaptations from Langland and Chaucer perhaps. Although they were several decades too early for the novel's setting, Chaucer would be beautifully appropriate for the pilgrimage episode. (However, it's not as if I know The Canterbury Tales well enough to swear that there's no phrase of it lurking in Laurus.) It's understandable that the publishers would play it relatively safe with the language, despite recent acclaim for Paul Kingsnorth's The Wake and its cod-Old English; the audience for new translated fiction is not huge and difficult wordforms may put off a few more readers. (One editing choice that did seem odd, though, was to keep several Polish place names in transliterated Russian whilst other towns were given their general, local or English names correct for the time. I was glad a map is included - more novels should have them - but what was really needed was not the map of Europe and the Near East, which readers with decent general knowledge will know anyway - but one showing the Russian towns and villages Arseny travelled around.)

Skimming some blogs about Laurus and Vodolazkin, not long after starting the book, I noticed the author had wanted to write about 'a good man', in deliberate contrast to the darker or ambiguous lead characters in many contemporary novels.
This particular type of moral approach these days is uncommon in Western literary fiction. If the Anglo lit world has a dominant moral paradigm at the moment, it's about the representation of diversity and especially feminism - the other significant strand being aesthetic or hedonistic, not much different from Wilde's stance over a hundred years earlier, that books are not [morally] good or bad, they are well or poorly written. A novel by a white male author about a white male lead character inevitably has limited traction with the type of readers who select books primarily by diversity criteria.

Arseny's journey and good works are essentially, from the modern perspective, about atoning for an abusive relationship (in his teens, his girlfriend Ustina was, to his great sorrow, buried in unconsecrated ground - and possibly actually died - as a result of his possessive and controlling behaviour towards her in life): it's a canny acknowledgement of current standards that sits rather well in a medieval context without using the tired historical fiction trope of "the only modern man". (I wasn't entirely convinced about Arseny not marrying Ustina, given that he grew up steeped in religion, a world where human children come to life only at christening - if death occurs before that day, it lasts for all eternity, but as the book wore on, this creaky hinge felt increasingly irrelevant in such a large story.) Whilst the abuse is acknowledged, in a fascinating fusion of contemporary values with historical context By destroying Ustina, I deprived her of the possibility of discovering what You placed within her, of developing that, and compelling a Divine light to shine., the book concentrates on Arseny's story, and one can imagine some readers might label the novel '300 pages of manpain'. From the current popular feminist perspective, Arseny's lifelong devotion to Ustina's memory (which Western medieval Christianity might have considered heretical), and its role as the cause of good works, is going to be ambiguous. I think it's best seen in a medieval literary context: Ustina is to Arseny what Beatrice and Laura were to Dante and Petrarch. (These days, norms are very different: we meet, and see images of, so many more appealing people than a medieval person would have, and for most, after a few years even the strongest lost love fades and no longer seems quite the centre of life it once did. I also thought it was excellent that Vodolazkin how, showed during the relationship, total absorption in a partner, when one feels otherwise completely alone in the world, is not necessarily the beautiful thing old poetry might imply. If it's present, there's probably also a gnawing fear of loss, and even if there is no violence, these attempts at fusion with another independent creature can easily end up unethical and hurtful rather than lovely. I'm not sure I've read any fiction better in understanding why someone might feel like this, of its wondrousness when it is brand new, and of how it can go on to cause a horrible mess.)

The shape of time is perhaps the most metaphysical theme of Laurus. Theoretical philosophising over the nature of time doesn't really engage me; I tend to take what I need from other disciplines and find philosophy superfluous: In history, I am satisfied with linear time. In psychology I see how time may feel as if it exists in parallel when memories are sparked by something in the present, or as if it is circular when one finds situations recurring with remarkable similarity - but metaphor is fine too, phrased with "is", rather than "as if", emphasising the realness of those feelings in the immediate moment. Not just about one's own life but about places: 500 years ago, this was forest - feeling what it might be like if one's chair were surrounded by trees, on soft ground, the air colder. In 100 years time, this place might be under shallow water, and other areas I know might be covered in dense housing for millions more people. I think about this anywhere I spend much time - but characters in this book actually get, sometimes, to *see*. (I find this wonderful, as some readers of superhero comics love the powers in those.The amount of information we can now find is vast, but how exhilarating to be able to see more, beyond the horizon.) Most curious in Laurus are the visions of what, as far as I can tell, are ordinary Russians of the twentieth century and snippets of their lives. On one hand, I wanted to hear what fifteenth century men made of these moderns' outfits, gadgets and social roles, but that would have deviated from the non-judgemental yet almost holy tone of the narrative, which I loved, and which may also be the only way to carry out such a frequency of miracles under the nose of the present-day, predominantly rationalist reader.

Bringing together religion, the struggles of daily life, and attempts to determine the future, eschatology is presented as a worthy area of enquiry among the characters - as indeed it was at the time. And, perceptively, Vodolazkin shows how it was an absolutely understandable mass response at a time when most lives were filled with uncertainty, distress and upheaval. The palpable relief of everything being out of one's hands, and going to end soon, is presented overtly in Laurus, with greater empathy for the people than I remember textbooks having. (Millenarianism was one of the few areas in which historians of a couple of decades ago still appeared to look down on people of the past).

Whilst my knowledge of contemporary Russia is sketchier than my awareness of its history - it comes mostly from a few documentaries and one recent popular non-fiction bookNothing Is True and Everything is Possible by Peter Pomerantsev, I feel that Laurus is one of those novels reflective of its time and place of writing: of the recent popular resurgence of mysticism and folk traditions in Russia, the latter partly as a facet of Russian nationalism. Laurus is carefully positioned in emphasising the spiritual and aesthetic components of this tendency to celebrate the country's cultural distinctiveness, without being overtly political in a way that may alienate the hawkish or the liberal. (Pilgrims are attacked whilst travelling abroad - but on one occasion it is by other Russians. The central character helps and stands up for the unfortunate, but none of those whom we hear of individually is from a group that would be controversial for the Russian right - gay people or Muslims, for example. Yet there is space for the liberal to infer that he would help those people, because that's what his brand of goodness means from that position, especially if we grew up with the sort of liberal Christianity that frequently asserted Jesus would.) Arseny's origins near Belozersk, one of the fabled five original cities of medieval Russia (a much smaller country than it is not), cement the idea of the protagonist as a personification of essential Russian tradition.

My early feeling that the novel had something to do with the country's sense of itself was confirmed by the closing lines, from a conversation including a Danzig merchant:

You have already been in our country for a year and eight months, answers blacksmith Averky, but have not understood a thing about it.
And do you yourselves understand it? asks Zygfryd.
Do we? The blacksmith mulls that over, and looks at Zygfryd. Of course we, too, do not understand.

(Read & reviewed December 2015; edited June 2019)

[Lisa Hayden Espenschade · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book when I read it last year and love it even more now that I'm translating it. Vodolazkin's medieval setting, humor, and mix of contemporary language and old language make for a fun and pretty indescribable book about a man who's a healer, holy fool, pilgrim, and monk.

[Valeriu Gherghel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Am terminat cartea de cîteva zile, mi-am făcut note, am recitit fragmente, pagini, paragrafe, sentențe, dar tot nu mă încumet să scriu despre ea. Am găsit și cîteva recenzii în engleză...

Nu pot spune cu mare acuratețe ce este și ce semnifică Laur. Roman neistoric: este negreșit o poveste de iubire (printre multe altele), pot spune mai degrabă ce nu este. Nu este, de pildă, deși toată lumea repetă această naivitate (editorii îndeosebi), o „rescriere” a Numelui trandafirului. Pista mi se pare cu totul greșită. Cărțile nu fac parte din aceeași familie, chiar dacă acțiunea lor se petrece, deopotrivă, în Evul Mediu. Romanul lui Vodolazkin se situează, am impresia, mai aproape de Piatra filosofală, romanul lui Marguerite Yourcenar, decît de thrillerul monahal al lui Umberto Eco.

Ceea ce mă frămîntă pe mine e infailibilitatea automată a lui Arseni. Protagonistul va purta pe rînd patru nume: Arseni, Ustin, Ambrozie și Laur(us), după vîrstele și treptele pe care le va străbate într-o viață de 80 de ani (1440 - 1520). Mai întîi, e un simplu vraci. În timpul unei epidemii de ciumă o primește în izba lui izolată pe Ustina. Îi dă de mîncare, o îmbracă, îi îngrijește rănile. Apoi o ascunde de ochii celorlalți. Fac un copil, Ustina moare la naștere, peste un an. Acesta este păcatul celor doi. Cum numai Arseni supraviețuiește, mîntuirea celor trei vieți (a lui, a Ustinei și a copilului) îi revine tînărului vraci. Povara e uriașă. Numai un sfînt o poate purta. Ca atare, Arseni va duce viața unui sfînt. Va tămădui, va deveni un nebun întru Christos, va merge în pelerinaj la Ierusalim (împreună cu un prieten italian, Ambrogio), va cere să fie monah și, către sfîrșitul vieții, pustnic (sub numele ultim de Laur).

De aici încolo urmează nedumerirea mea. În lunga lui viață, Arseni pur și simplu nu mai greșește nici măcar o dată. Nici cu gîndul, nici cu fapta. Se află mereu deasupra instinctelor. Respinge cu succes toate ispitele (ce-i drept, minore), iese cu bine din toate încercările, oricît de primejdioase. Cînd e pe cale de a fi spînzurat, scapă în ultima clip din ștreang. Corabia străbate o furtună năprasnică. Catargul se rupe. Valurile imense îi aruncă pe marinari în abis. Arseni scapă. El însuși se prăbușește în mare. E ridicat numaidecît de corăbieri. Cade prizonier în mîinile tîlharilor mameluci, un individ îl lovește cu paloșul în obraz. Scapă doar cu o cicatrice.

În pofida faimei crescînde, rămîne umil, taciturn, egal cu sine, invulnerabil. Pretutindeni lumea îl primește cu maximă bunăvoință. Nu mai este un simplu muritor, a devenit un ales al lui Dumnezeu, un sfînt. Toți bolnavii care îi solicită ajutorul pleacă vindecați. Găsește pentru orice împrejurare o soluție, o ieșire, un leac, un cuvînt magic. Nu mai este un simplu vraci, ca bătrînul Hristofor, e un tămăduitor, un taumaturg. Viața îi este de multe ori amenințată, nu numai în timpul călătoriei. Prietenii mor, apropiații lui sfîrșesc mai bine sau mai rău (bunicul Hristofor, starețul Nikandru, tînărul Vlas, unul din păzitorii caravanei de negustori, prietenul Ambrogio Flecchia, starețul Inokenti), el continuă să trăiască. Poartă ciumații în spinare, doarme alături de ei. Se scoală teafăr și nevătămat. Arseni trăiește cu gîndul exclusiv, orbitor, că numai el o poate salva pe Ustina. Iar Dumnezeu îl păstrează în viață, îl păzește de cel rău, pînă la a doua încercare, ispita finală (are tot un nume feminin: Anastasia), fiindcă i-a dat o misiune, un țel aproape imposibil. Dar i-a trasat realmente un țel? De aici începe toată discuția...

Problema mea este, prin urmare, legată de providență, de determinism. Ca să trăiești precum Arseni, infailibil, invulnerabil și de neatins, ai nevoie de o asistență divină. Dar dacă o ai deja, de la bun început, nu cumva ești mîntuit fără voie și fără ca tu să fi făcut mare lucru pentru ispășire? Dumnezeu a avut, deci, un gînd și un plan cu tine. Și, în acest caz, tot efortul tău devine inutil, gratuit. Descoperi planul abia la sfîrșitul existenței. Și atunci îți dai seama că te-ai străduit degeaba. Pînă la urmă cine o răscumpără pe Ustina?

Arseni discută adesea despre determinism și liberul arbitru. El susține o formă slabă de necesitate: „Dacă istoria e un sul în mîinile Creatorului, înseamnă că tot ce gîndesc și fac eu - nu eu gîndesc și fac, ci Creatorul meu” (p.193). Ambrogio îl învață că omul e liber. Liber ca un purice care sare bezmetic într-un vas împreună cu alți purici, este drept, dar liber.

Am pomenit de Marguerite Yourcenar și de Piatra filosofală. Zenon duce o existență dramatică, se ascunde adesea, dă greș, are îndoieli, este o ființă failibilă. Din hagiografia lui Evgheni Vodolazkin tocmai dramatismul lipsește. Dincolo de întrebările mele,Laur. Roman neistoric este o carte foarte frumoasă. Vă invit s-o citiți și să meditați asupra soartei lui Arseni-Ustin-Ambrozie-Laurus... (luni, 29.12.14)

P. S. Din păcate, după scrierea textului de mai sus, am găsit în interviurile lui Vodolazkin, dar și în Istoria insulei, o ideologie profund reacționară. Îmi pare rău că trebuie s-o spun, dar trebuie s-o spun... (25.02.23, sîmbătă)

[Hugh · Rating 5 out of 5]

I hope this doesn't come across as meaningless hyperbole - this book is extraordinary and the translation is brilliant. There are some fine detailed reviews here already, notably those by Antonomasia (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...) and Paul Fulcher (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), and I accidentally left my copy on a train just after finishing it, so I'll confine myself to a brief overview.

This is the story of Arseny, a humble 15th century Russian who begins life as the orphaned grandson of a village healer. After his grandfather dies, he saves an orphan girl and takes her in, but when she dies while giving birth to their stillborn son, he begins a series of travels and adventures as a form of penance, becoming increasingly saintly in the Russian holy fool tradition. The story follows many of the conventions of mediaeval myths, so we are expected to take all sorts of miracles at face value, and also says a lot about Russian orthodoxy and what it demands of its saints. Things get stranger when his Italian travelling companion appears, since he has detailed visions of the future including many 20th century events, some of which shed light on the author's own motives, and allow him to discuss ideas with the knowledge of 20th century science. The story frequently lapses into archaic speech, for which the translator has cleverly found old English equivalents.

I am probably just scratching the surface of what could be said about this book, all I can say is read it for yourself.

[StefanP · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ponekad se dešava da dijelovi života imaju malo toga zajedničkog među sobom. Tako malo, da se može učiniti kako su ih živjeli različiti ljudi.

Ovo je moja prva knjiga od Vodolazkina. Iako sam dobio preporuku iz knjižare za Avijatičar, ipak sam se odlučio za Lavr. Nisam pogriješio. Lavr je knjiga izuzetnog stila. Snolika i mistična priča uz prizvuke hrišćanstva sa atmosferom Rusije potkraj petnaestog vijeka za vrijeme kuge. Sve je to doprinelo da sam u potpunosti zaboravio na dešavanja u svijetu. Udubio sam se u stranice koje su prosto klizile i nisam mogao da se nadivim rečenicama Vodolazkina. Svaka njegova misao je jasno izražena i sa jednom smirenom, hrišćanskom poniznošću pobija bilo kakva preuveličavanja ili superlative koja bi bila u funkciji da pojačaju efekat izloženog. Jezik koji se oslanja na arhaičnost prosto miluje vaše oči. Kakva krila i kakvo nadahnuće je pisac dobio kako bi napisao ovakvu knjigu, ne znam, stvarno nevjerovatno. Ovo je knjiga o ljubavi, požrtvovnosti i putu ka iskupljenju. U njoj se ogleda unutrašnji smisao vrline, punoća njene lijepote. Sastavi lijekova, opisi trava, isceliteljske molitve, prirodne anomalije i znakovi vremenskih prilika: sve je ovo utisnuto u stranicama knjige i današnjem čovjeku može da pomogne na putu izlječenja mnogih bolesti. Pa praktično svih bolesti. I ono što je junak Arsenije činio nije nikakvo čudo kako bi mnogi predstavili čineći im se da ne postoji granica između razuma i ludosti, već njegova iscelieljska snaga koju ljekar mora da posjeduje. Jurodivi Arsenije i angeo u snu, je li treba još nešto?

[Simona Cosma · Rating 5 out of 5]

Un roman incredibil despre timp, despre vindecare și despre mântuire prin iubire, scris într-un sublim registru tarkovskian.
După părerea mea, meritul cel mai important al acestei cărţi este că reuşeşte să se facă dezirabilă și digerabilă atât pentru evlavioşi cât şi pentru liber-cugetători, fiind lipsită de orice aroganță excesiv moralizatoare.
Spun că este o carte despre timp, deoarece arată cum şi de ce anume nu există timp fizic, ci doar veşnicia. Pentru Creator nu este nimeni mort, însă doar planul existenţei fizice este cel în care putem acţiona și putem evolua.
Spun că este o carte despre vindecare, fiindcă arată cum procesul vindecării nu se epuizează în tămăduirea trupească, nici nu se reduce la despovărarea sufletului de păcate, dar spune și de unde anume vine eliberarea completă.
Şi în fine, este o carte despre mântuire prin iubire, fiindcă Arseni împlineşte, în trista şi chinuita lui existenţa pământească, exact sintagma ce face diferenţa între Legea Veche, a lui Moise şi Legea Nouă, a lui Iisus Hristos: "Poruncă nouă vă dau vouă: iubiţi-vă unii pe alţii aşa cum v-am iubit Eu.".
Adulat sau repudiat, Arseni știe ca este singurul responsabil pentru toate relele ce i se întâmplă în viață, dar nu încetează să îi iubească și să îi aline pe toți, buni și răi, cucernici sau păcătoși, sperând iertare pentru sine și mântuire pentru Ustina, de a cărei moarte se învinuiește până la sfârșitul zilelor.
În glorie sau în mizerie, amărât sau fericit, slujește până la sacrificiul suprem aproapele, apoi părăsește lumea în oprobriul public, dar împăcat cu sine și îndumnezeit pe deplin.
Superlativul apoteozei creștine, nu-i așa?

[Malacorda · Rating 4 out of 5]

Avanti tutta: ancora un russo contemporaneo, ancora una lettura da 4 stelle e mezza, e sempre col dubbio se non sarebbe il caso di arrivare a cinque.

Tanto il singolo titolo quanto l'autore mi erano perfettamente ignoti fino a venti giorni fa, fino al momento in cui l'algoritmo di GR mi ha ficcato sotto il naso una bella copertina in cui una "L", stilizzata e ricamata alla maniera delle miniature medioevali, va a formare il muso di un lupo. Acquistato immediatamente, e grazie alla copertina dell'edizione italiana ho imparato a conoscere anche Tyukanov. E questo è solo l'inizio della storia, e non avevo nemmeno iniziato a leggerlo. Questo libro è tutto così, un oscillare vertiginoso tra estremi che finiscono incomprensibilmente per includersi l'uno nell'altro: è una perla ma è anche una miniera; è una fiaba ma è anche un testo rigorosamente storico; è antico ma anche moderno; è ligio alla religione ma è anche strafottente nei confronti del fanatismo religioso; è poetico ma è anche realistico e obiettivo nelle descrizioni.

E dire che all'inizio della lettura, per un momento mi era parso alquanto pacchiano, e di certo non ci trovavo nulla per cui gridare al capolavoro o alla scoperta dell'autentica perla. Nel primo capitolo alcuni passaggi mi sapevano vagamente di maschilismo veterotestamentario, un saporaccio davvero cattivo. Però mi sono portata avanti di buon grado perché nella scrittura si percepiva chiaramente la mano dello storico: mi pareva di ritrovare un po' del Vassalli di Marco e Mattio, e mi pareva di ritrovare molto anche di Eco, sebbene si andasse in direzioni diversissime sia da Baudolino che da Il nome della rosa. Questa curiosità storica (o forse curiosità per lo storico) è stata il motore che mi ha sostenuta nel momento di minor convincimento, ed è stato un bene, perché infine ho potuto scoprire un lavoro che quanto a erudizione non ha nulla da invidiare a Eco, e per soprammercato riesce a centrare la perfetta metà via tra i due sopracitati Baudolino e Il Nome della Rosa.

Tema principale del romanzo è la circolarità e la relatività del tempo: tempo inteso sia come tempo di una vita, ma anche come tempo storico fatto di secoli. Ed è un tema che offre infiniti risvolti: storici, religiosi, filosofici, filologici, scientifici e chissà quanti altri ancora. Tutti perfettamente riassunti, condensati ed esposti con facilità.

Le eventuali e temporanee perplessità possono nascere dal fatto che il libro non è per niente semplice da catalogare e riassumere, anzi è quasi impossibile, è un vero oggetto-non-identificato. Questo grazie al fatto che non è banale - e scusate se è poco. Riesce a non essere banale pur usando schemi fiabeschi, pur avendo un'ambientazione enormemente abusata quale è quella medioevale, pur sfruttando il tema del viaggio (altro elemento usato e strausato) e pur avendo per protagonista uno che non è solo un santone ma un autentico Santo, e si sa che i santi sono noiosi. E non entro nemmeno nei dettagli della trama perché finirebbe per sembrare ancor più una banalità. Qualunque sia il pregiudizio o la premonizione o l'impressione che uno si è formato alle prime pagine, la vedrà scardinarsi rapidamente di mano in mano che si avvicina al finale, e questo è certamente uno dei migliori obiettivi raggiungibili per un ottimo romanzo.

Come per la Stepnova una decina di giorni fa, anche oggi per Vodolazkin mi meraviglio e rammarico che il romanzo sia così poco diffuso. Questo è un gioiellino meritevole di ben maggiore popolarità.

[Gorkem · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rus Gerçeküstücülüğü

Eugene Vodolazkin Rusya'da son yıllarda adını fazlasıyla duyuran başarılı bir yazar olduğunu uluslararası edebiyat dergilerinde okumuştum. Özellikle Vodolazkin'in Laurus başarısı ve Rusya'da çok prestijli olduğu ifade edilen 2 önemli ödül sahibi olması, uluslararası anlamda da eleştirmenlerce övülmesi bu kitaba karşı ilgimi üst seviyelere taşıdı.

Vodolazkin, özellikle Ortaçağ Rusyası konusunda uzmanlaşmış bir tarihçi aslında. Bu nedenle de bu kitabın oluşturulduğunu ortaçağ kurgusu, dinsel, spirituel öğeler, mistik ve gerçeküstü olaylar kitapta sırıtmayıp oluşturulan dünyayı çok ilgi çekici kılıyor. Laurus konu olarak, bu çerçeve içerisinde gerçeklik algısını çok fazla dejenere etmeden farklı bir fantastik dünya içerisine sokuyor bizi.

Konu

Vodolazkin'in ana karakteri, yetim kalan özel güclere sahip olan Arseni'nin hacı ve aynı zaman iyileştirici (the healer) gücleri olan, doğadaki tüm bitkilerin hangi hastalıklara iyi geldiğini bilen dedesi Christopher'in Arseny'yi kendisi gibi yetiştirilmesi ile kitabımız başlıyor. Ve Arseny'nin dedesini kaybedip iyice gücsüzleşen köyünün kurtulması için yolculuğa çıkmasıyla bambaşka bir hale geliyor.

Sonuç

Bu müthiş kitap Türkçe'ye kazandırabilinir mi bilmiyorum. Fakat kazandırılırsa gerçekten gerçeküstücülükten hoşlanan Türk okurların adına inanılmaz keyif verici olacak.

Laurus metin olarak çok zor bir metin. Nedeni ise, kitapta bazı konuşmaların ortaçağ Rusçası ile yazılması, bazı ortodox ve incil göndermelerinin olmasının kitabın anlaşılırlığını az da olsa etkilemektedir. En azından hristiyanlık göndermeleri adına!

İngilizce okumak isteyenlere öneririm.Okumadan önce amazonda ön okumalarına bir bakmanızı kesinlikle öneririm

Türkçe okumak umuduyla!

[Issa Deerbany · Rating 4 out of 5]

الأدب الروسي الجميل، المليء بالتفاصيل الرائعة عن الحياة بكل ما فيها من معاناة.
لاوروس او ما انتهى اليه اسمه في نهاية الرواية. يمر بحالات مختلفة في الحياة التي عاشها من معالج بالأعشاب الى مجذوب الى سائح وحاجزي ملكوت الله الى راهب متعبد في كهفه الى قديس.

الرواية تاريخية أحداثها في القرن الخامس عشر وقت اكتشاف كولومبوس لأمريكا. وترتبط الرواية في أحداثها بتاريخ نهاية العالم والذي كان دارجًا في ذلك الوقت.
يقترف بطل الرواية ذنبا ويحاول ان يصل الى الغفران من خلال جميع افعاله واعماله التي وصلت به الزهد عن ملذات الحياة والإخلاص في العبادة ضمن إطار المسيحية الأرثوذكسية والتي تصل به الى تحقيق المعجزات في ما برع به وهو العلاج من خلال الأعشاب والأمراض السارية في ذلك العصر وخاصة الطاعون.

رواية مشوقة في تفاصيلها وتفاصيل الحياة التي التي عاشها الروس في ذلك العصر.

والترجمة رائعة

[Dalia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Cu siguranță una din cele mai bune cărți pe care le-am citit vreodată.
M-a fascinat parcursul personajului principal de la un laș incapabil să-și asume paternitatea propriului copil, născut dintr-o relație nelegitima, către omul sfânt care preia rolul de tată pentru un copil care nu-i aparține. Cercul e complet, evoluția spirituală s-a desăvârșit. Impresionantă lecție de îndumnezeire și despătimire a omului.

[Uroš Đurković · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ovo nije samo knjiga koju komotno možete kupiti nekome za slavu ili naslov koji ćete pronaći u zatamjanisanim prostorima, već izuzetno vešto napisan roman, koji u svojoj osnovi ima žitije. Vodolazkin kao malo ko uspešno kombinuje naučnu i književnu karijeru i to na način da čitaoca ne preplavi proučavalačkim sitnicama, već sa izuzetnim osećajem za meru i pripovedanje. Svako kome su ruski klasici srcu bliski, ovaj roman će smazati za tili čas, a čak i oni kojima je srednji vek daleko, a pravoslavlje još dalje, ne da treba da daju ovoj knjizi šansu, već garantujem da će biti izuzetno pozitivno iznenađeni. Retko ko danas piše ovako starovremeno, a raskošno, odmereno i to na način da oprostim svaki patos i mudroslovlje. Ovo je, tako, knjiga utemeljena na ogromnom znanju, ali tako da se to ne vidi, što je mnogo teže nego što se čini. A ko je imao makar i površan susret sa žitijinom tradicijom, zna da životi svetaca nisu obeleženi samo čudima i podvizima, nego i avanturom, tako da ova knjiga pokriva i taj registar. Uz to uspeva da dođe i do sjajne karakterizacije; formulativna poetika žitija ne dozvoljava originalnost u modernom shvatanju te reči, ali poseduje obrasce koji su izuzetno pogodni za takvu vrstu, uslovno rečeno, dopune. Vodolazkin je to prepoznao i izveo ponegde i maestralne poteze, koji se nadovezuju na toliko popularno i hvaljeno nasleđe ruskog realizma. Sve ovo, uključujući i problematizaciju niza teoloških problema, predstavlja dobitnu kombinaciju, jednu od onih retkih knjiga koje mogu da budu preporučene velikom broju čitalaca, a koja bi zainteresovala i one koji su vrlo probirljivi. I da, prevod Radmile Mečanin deluje sjajno, posebno u odnosu na izbor leksike i tok rečenice: sve klizi kao sanke na snegu.

[Lynne King · Rating 5 out of 5]

When I read Laurus in early 2013, I had no idea I’d ever translate the novel. I simply read the book, enjoying Eugene Vodolazkin’s mediaeval Russian setting and following the emotional and physical journeys of his main character, a man who seems to live four lives in one.

The more I read, the more Laurus bewitched me, keeping me up at night with accounts of pestilence, apocalyptic thoughts, mediaeval winters and pilgrimage. It wasn’t just the plot that fascinated me though. Vodolazkin’s language - which blends archaic words, comic remarks, quotes from the Bible, bureaucratese, chunks of mediaeval texts, and much more – reflects the novel’s action. Like the story itself, which sometimes judges what we think of as the natural order of time, the novel’s language spans many centuries, creating a kaleidoscopic effect that Vodalazkin develops in such a way that it feels utterly natural. Anachronisms and archaic vocabulary have a way of popping up in the book like forgotten items you find when the snow melts in the spring.

Lisa Hayden’s translation states it all. This is a magnificent saga about Arseny, a herbalist, a doctor, who cannot save his beloved Ustina and her child. He is desperate because of this and his life continues to be an atonement. Ustina continues to be a part of the work as Arseny includes her in all of his discussions. The work is amusing, witty, philosophical and religious but the beauty of it all is that it describes the Russian mentality and the era.

I am incapable of writing a review on this masterpiece. I always find that when I really love someone or something, that I cannot translate my thoughts into words.

So all I can say is that this is a magnificent work and definitely on a par with Lawrence Durrell and Umberto Eco. I applaud this author.

[booklady · Rating 5 out of 5]

A new Medieval Russian novel! When I first read about Laurus in a favorite book catalog I can’t begin to tell you how excited I was. A romantic (in the old sense of the word) travelogue as the Russians write so well; new and old at the same time. C.S. Lewis would be thrilled. He might even bend his one-old-book-for-every-new-book rule in this case.

Laurus is about one man’s life’s quest for atonement. Along his journey Laurus changed his name four times and each change represented a radical shift in his circumstances and perspective. It’s a beautiful tale; chock full of ponder-able quotes, herb-lore, wise souls, Russian Orthodox customs and beliefs. Here are a few of my favorites:

‘Do not fear death, for death is not just the bitterness of parting. It is also the joy of liberation.’

‘It is just that memory should not be too long. That you know is not for the best. After all, some things should be forgotten.’

‘You have dissolved yourself in God. You disrupted the unity of your life, renouncing your name and your very identity. But in the mosaic of your life there is also something that joins all those separate parts: it is an aspiration for Him. They will gather together again in Him.’

Can’t remember when I have read a novel as profound as this.


NOTE: Revised opening paragraph 9/18/2020 based on a GRs message pointing out that my initial observation revealed a lack of awareness of recent Russian authors.

[Emiliya Bozhilova · Rating 3 out of 5]

Bulgarian review first, followed by the English translation below

27.06.2026:

Водолазкин взема бруталния, нехигиеничен, пълен със суеверия и страх 15-ти век и го лакира като „висша, чиста духовност“, за да упрекне модерния материализъм. Използва миналото не като историческа истина, а като политическо оръжие срещу настоящето, което не харесва. Умишлено си затваря очите за това, че „моралът“ се е крепял на липсата на избор, на липсата на знание и на страха.


15.08.2022 :

Водолазкин конкретно се е заел със силата на духа, тържествуващ и умъртвяващ грешната и маловажна плът и свеждащ материята до безлична и безплътна точка почти извън поезрението на живота. Плътта и материята са грях. Само че дали - дали? Или по-скоро са “липсващи” в един несправедлив, жесток свят, където силните изяждат слабите, без каквато и да е спирачка пред произвола? И ето на - духът е безплатният, леснодостъпен “компенсатор” на всички отчайващи липси (като добро държавно и градско управление, здравеопазване, обществен ред и т.н.) Тъкмо този Водолазкинов “дух” ми изглежда като шарено дегизирано суеверие и манипулация. Но пък предимството му е, разбира се, че винаги е безплатен и общодостъпен. Нещо, което куп диктатори (светски и религиозни), включително настоящият (и неговият патриарх), ще са щастливи използват като казват на народа - “Търпи”, и той - нали си е духовен и мистичен народ с велика мисия - търпи…

“Духовността”, подплатена с невежество, може да е точно толкова опасна, сляпа и тенденциозна, колкото и консуматорският бяс на хамстера в колелото.

Интересни тенденции… Накрая май публиката ще започне да се дели на челите и продължаващите неконформисткия бунт на Солженицин, Алексиевич и Булгаков, и нечелите ги. А подозирам, че мнението на тези тримата за Водолазкин в частност нямаше да е твърде високо.

Първоначално ревю:

Русия открай време, та и днес, е страна на чудесата. На онези, които очакват своите месии и чудотворци като нещо нормално и полагащо им се, и накрая ги хвърлят на вълците или им издигат мавзолеи. И на онези, които себеотрицателно и безкористно извършват чудеса, без така и да разберат, че са избрали погрешния път.

В това “житие” проблясва тясна фасетка от така клиширалата се вече “необятна руска душа.” Размислите са с вселенски мащаби.

“На света няма повторение: съществува само подобие.”

През 1499 година за флорентинеца Америго Веспучи предстои откриването на нов континент, а в Русия очакват края на света. Именно руското световъзприятие от 15-ти век умело и сладкодумно ни поднася Водолазкин в своето "четвероевангелие" и псевдо-животоописание за светеца (друг термин е абсолютно неподходящ) за своя герой Арсений. Предвид, че авторът е специалист по руско средновековие (и ученик на прекрасния приятел на българското средновековие - Дмитрий Лихачов), прави преживяването за читателя дотолкова автентично с малките живописни детайли от средновековния бит, староруска реч и църковнославянски вметки, че потапянето е пълно и може да доведе до читателски халюцинации поради липса на кислород. Липсата на кислород се диктува и от факта, че измислица и действителност така тясно се преплитат, че в края за мен все още е спорен въпросът дали Водолазкин мрачно и дълбоко реалистично пародира руския 20-ти и 21-ви век с неприятните му явления като шовинизъм, заучена безпомощност и същевременно грандомания, съчетани с псевдорелигиозност и дълбоко невежество; или пък действително пренася този изопачен и убийствен, но пък много комфортен мистичен модел от 15-ти век като образец и поука за съвеременността, дегизиран като светла духовност във век на див материализъм. Струва си да си поблъска главата човек над въпроса, а Водолазкин вмъква своите съвременни шегички и неочаквана и фина ирония на най-невероятни места (като например разсъждение за Пушкин и съдбата му, и преки и косвени референции към 20-ти век).

Светът на Русия от 15-ти век е в пряк диалог и неразривно, макар и често неусетно и недоловимо, вписан в днешния ден - било чрез видения, умишлено модерен език на средновековни люде, които в следващия момент ще кажат нещо на църковнославянски, историческа бележка на автора или сюрреалистични случки. Епохите и времевите пластове в романа активно си говорят.

И така, ето го нашият Арсений (вероятно свети Амброзий или Лавър накрая, не помня стана ли формално светец, но имаше всички данни за това) и неговите четири “евангелия” - в една възможна интерпретация:

1. Евангелие на дейния човек и лекаря
🕯 “В желание да пробуди жизнените им сили Арсений им доказваше, че Божията помощ често се изпраща чрез дейните хора. Селяните кимаха, защото под дейни хора разбираха Арсений. Самите те не искаха да стават дейни хора.”

Младият Арсений е дете на безпросветната си епоха - в смисъл, че за него извън Библията, Александрията (средновековната версия на житието на Александър Велики, където средновековното въображение го сблъсква с хора-песоглавци и всякакви чудеса, нямащи нищо общо с реалната му биография) и наблюдението на природата без всякакво друго образование, не съществува друга храна за духа и ума. Духът, може да се каже, е подхранен повече от обилно, често пъти преяжда с вредна храна от суеверия и заблуди. Умът, от своя страна, е силно недохранен, направо на гладна диета - пък и концепцията е, че не е и много нужен, предвид благините на Отвъдното, задълженията към Вярата и задаващия се край на света.

Арсений се справя както може, и всъщност се оформя като добро и състрадателно човешко същество, съзерцателно и вглъбено, и по-трудно податливо на манипулацията спрямо масата хора. Той лекува и трупа знания, докато не среща в самотния си млад живот любовта, и не извършва фатална грешка (по релегиозному - грях), продиктувана от младежки егоизъм, страх и неопитност. Тази грешка обаче струва живот.

В средновековното платно на Русия остава открит пътят на изкуплението, който в това първо евангелие, е деен и спасяващ животи. Но една птичка пролет не прави. И Арсений е хванат в капана на пълното себеотричане в

2. Евангелие на юродивия
🕯 “Ами че руският човек не е само благочестив. ...той е още и безсмислен и безпощаден и ...всяка работа за него може да се превърне в смъртен грях.”

Средновековният човек няма уважение към кой знае какво, но божиите свети глупци и луди - юродивите - уважава. Само те могат да му казват в очите недегизираната истина за глупостта и греховете му, и да му искат сметка, и да мятат камъни по него, за да изгонят бесовете.

Арсений става Устин, и заживява без тяло и без ум, само с дух, преследващ греховете. Впримчен в капана на отвъдното, той се опитва да очисти себе си и околните. Предвид качеството на медицината, обществените грижи и устройство от онова време в Русия може да се дебатира доколко само духовната утеха помага, но пък без нея сигурно би било още по-зле... Само лудият може да говори истината и да спасява. И то без да има кой знае какви знания и квалифицирана подкрепа. Остават му подръка само чудотворните лечителски и диагностични способности, които обаче няма как да се реализират материално, а в повечето случаи оказват плацебо ефект. Вярата е заместител на всичко останало, понеже всичко останало просто липсва през 15-ти век. Но не и през 21-ви. Не винаги обаче го осъзнаваме.

Тази част си струва дори само заради шегичките на юродивия Фома. Колко много като Фома ги има и днес, и никой не ги взема насериозно, включително - уви - и те самите!

Накря Устин обаче се сдобива с мисия и поема по

3. Евангелие на пилигрима
🕯”Вие, руснаците, много обичате да говорите за смъртта. И това ви отвлича от устройването на живота.”

🕯”На мнозина изясняването на времето, когато ще настъпи краят на света, се стори почтено занятие, понеже в Русия обичат мащабните задачи.”

🕯 “Бих уподобил пресичането на човешките воли на бълхи в затворен съд: тяхното движение е очевидно, но нима те имат обща посока? Затова и историята няма цел, както няма и човечеството. Цел има само човекът. И то не винаги.”

Тук Устин отново става Арсений и поема към Йерусалим. Среща хора и вижда свят, и научава от тях невероятни опашати суеверия и предрасъдъци, разпространени през цялото средновековие - за руснаците и православните (който е чувал за тях), за хората с един крак, за такива, които са наполовина мъже и наполовина жени, но пък чува за пръв път и за лабиринта на минотваъра. Малкото стари знания, оцелели през средновековието, са удавени и изопачени от суеверия и отрицание. Възрастта на земята и точната дата на края на света, например, се изчислява със сложна формула според възрастта на пророците в Стария Завет, който е - меко казано - ненадежден източник за чиста фактология. Знание сред обикновените хора просто липсва, но гласовито мнение по всички съществени световни проблеми - не. Съвсем като днес, всъщност.

И на Арсений му остават само чудесата, а на хората край него - само да се очистват от греховете си. Други опции никой не предвижда. Само чудотворци и пророци могат да оцелеят в тази среда, но дори и за тях животът е много опасен.

Какво друго му остава на един хаджия накрая освен да напредне допълнително в кариерата в

4. Евангелие на светеца и отшелника
🕯 “Арсений започна да разбира, че вина за смъртта имаше не силата на болестта, а слабостта на неговите молитви.”

🕯 “Но знанието не предполага духовно усилие, знанието е очевидно. Усилието предполага вяра. Знанието е покой, а вярата - движение.” “И вярата им е била толкова силна, че се е превръщала в знание.”

🕯 “Всъщност знанието за края на света беше за тях по-важно от изцелението, защото потвърждаваше близостта на светопредставянето и в очите им правеше изцелението ненужно.”

В свят, в който има храна само за духа, последният етап за Арсений е да се превърне в чист дух, в чудотворец, да се нарече Амбросий и в края, изтощен, да се оттегли като отшелник в пещера. Точно каквото средновековният идеал предвижда. Лечението на чума и вскякви болести става само с дух - лекарсва не са нужни, или са само символ, а и без това липсват. Но дори стремежът към знание и прогрес са някак отхвърлени като ненужни и заместени от сляпа вяра! Освен този идеал, Арсений никога не е имал в живота си друга пътеводна светлина. Дали сам не е пожелал да я потърси (но къде пък ще я намери и то в Русия), дали нещо друго - направил е най-доброто, каквото е могъл.

Накря не мога да не изкажа възхищението си от великолепния превод и оформление. Насладата е огромна, Водолазкин с неговото елегантно перо и многопластовост е пресъздаден превъзходно.

И все пак не мога да се отърва от натрапчивото усещане, че книгата не е просто предупреждение и критика, а възприема собствения си сюжет доста наставнически. Рядко красиво написана книга с теми като нелинейността на историята и смисълът на съществуванието ни е предизвиквала у мен толкова неистова вътрешна съпротива. Има нещо много осакатено в главния герой и възприятията му за света и доброто. Ако се прочете буквално (въпреки или може би тъкмо заради предупреждението още под заглавието, че това е неисторически роман), тази осакатеност, едностранчивост и непълноценност се представят като възвишен идеал и прочитът ще захрани мелницата на глупостта, фанатизма и заблудите.

2,5⭐️




27.06.2026:

>b>Vodolazkin takes the brutal, unhygienic 15th century—full of superstition and fear—and varnishes it as "higher, pure spirituality" in order to reproach modern materialism. He uses the past not as historical truth, but as a political weapon against the present he dislikes. He deliberately closes his eyes to the fact that this "morality" was anchored in a lack of choice, a lack of knowledge, and in fear.

Initial review:

Russia has always been, and remains today, a wonderland. A land of those who expect their messiahs and miracle-workers as something normal and due to them, only to throw them to the wolves in the end or build them mausoleums. And of those who selflessly and wholeheartedly perform miracles without ever realizing they have chosen the wrong path.

And so, here is our Arseny (likely Saint Ambrose or Laurus in the end, I don't recall if he formally became a saint, but he possessed all the qualifications for it) and his four “gospels”—in one possible interpretation:

1. The Gospel of the Active Man and the Healer

The young Arseny is a child of his unilluminated era—in the sense that for him, outside of the Bible, the Alexandria (the medieval version of the life of Alexander the Great, where medieval imagination pits him against cynocephali—dog-headed people—and all sorts of wonders having nothing to do with his actual biography) and the observation of nature without any other formal education, no other food for the spirit and mind exists. The spirit, one could say, is more than abundantly fed, often overeating on a harmful diet of superstitions and misconceptions. The mind, on its part, is severely undernourished, practically on a starvation diet—after all, the concept is that it isn't particularly necessary anyway, given the blessings of the Afterlife, duties to the Faith, and the looming end of the world.

Arseny copes as best he can, and actually shapes up into a good and compassionate human being, contemplative and introspective, and less susceptible to the manipulation faced by the masses. He heals and gathers knowledge until he encounters love in his lonely young life and commits a fatal mistake (in religious terms—a sin) driven by youthful egoism, fear, and inexperience. This mistake, however, costs a life.

Within the medieval canvas of Russia, the path of redemption remains open, which in this first gospel is active and saves lives. But one swallow does not make a summer. And Arseny is caught in the trap of total self-denial in

2. The Gospel of the Holy Fool

The medieval man has respect for very little, but God's holy fools and madmen—the yurodivye—he respects. Only they can tell him the undisguised truth about his stupidity and sins straight to his face, hold him to account, and throw stones at him to drive out the demons.

Arseny becomes Ustin, and begins to live without a body and without a mind, with only a spirit chasing down sins. Caught in the snare of the afterlife, he attempts to cleanse himself and those around him. Given the quality of medicine, public care, and social structure of that era in Russia, one can debate to what extent purely spiritual consolation helps, but without it, it would surely be even worse... Only the madman can speak the truth and save. And that without having any significant knowledge or qualified support. He is left only with his miraculous healing and diagnostic abilities, which, however, have no way of being physically realized and in most cases produce a placebo effect. Faith is a substitute for everything else, because everything else is simply missing in the 15th century. But not in the 21st. We don't always realize it, though.

This part is worth it if only for the jests of the holy fool Foma. How many like Foma exist today, and no one takes them seriously, including—alas—themselves!

Eventually, however, Ustin acquires a mission and sets out on

3. The Gospel of the Pilgrim

Here, Ustin becomes Arseny once more and heads toward Jerusalem. He meets people and sees the world, learning from them incredible, far-fetched superstitions and prejudices prevalent throughout the Middle Ages—about Russians and the Orthodox (for those who had heard of them), about people with one leg, about people who are half-man and half-woman, but he also hears for the first time about the labyrinth of the Minotaur. The few bits of ancient knowledge that survived the Middle Ages are drowned out and distorted by superstitions and negation. The age of the earth and the exact date of the end of the world, for instance, are calculated using a complex formula based on the ages of the prophets in the Old Testament, which is—to put it mildly—an unreliable source for pure factuality. Knowledge among ordinary people is simply absent, but vocal opinions on all essential global matters are not. Quite like today, actually.

And Arseny is left only with miracles, and the people around him—only with cleansing themselves of their sins. No one envisages other options. Only miracle-workers and prophets can survive in this environment, but even for them, life is highly dangerous.

What else is left for a hajji in the end but to advance further in his career in

4. The Gospel of the Saint and the Hermit

In a world where there is food only for the spirit, the final stage for Arseny is to transform into pure spirit, into a miracle-worker, to take the name Ambrose, and in the end, exhausted, to retreat as a hermit into a cave. Exactly what the medieval ideal prescribes. The treatment of plague and all manners of disease happens solely through the spirit—medicines are not needed, or are merely symbolic, and they are lacking anyway. But even the pursuit of knowledge and progress are somehow dismissed as unnecessary and replaced by blind faith! Apart from this ideal, Arseny never had any other guiding light in his life. Whether he itself did not wish to seek one (but where on earth would he find it, and in Russia of all places), or something else—he did the best he could.

In the end, I cannot help but express my admiration for the magnificent translation and formatting. The enjoyment is immense; Vodolazkin, with his elegant pen and multilayered approach, is beautifully rendered.

And yet, I cannot shake the persistent feeling that the book is not merely a warning and critique, but takes its own plot rather moralistically. Rarely has a beautifully written book dealing with themes like the non-linearity of history and the meaning of our existence provoked such fierce internal resistance in me. There is something profoundly crippled about the main character and his perceptions of the world and goodness. If read literally (despite, or perhaps precisely because of the warning right below the title that this is an unhistorical novel), this crippledness, one-sidedness, and deficiency are presented as a sublime ideal, and such a reading will feed the mill of stupidity, fanaticism, and delusions.

2.5⭐️

[Graychin · Rating 2 out of 5]

An unusual and interesting, but finally unsuccessful book, I think.

Laurus has been compared by at least one critic to The Name of the Rose and by another to (of all things) Canterbury Tales, but it seems to have nothing in common with these beyond the fact that it too is set in the Middle Ages. As a fictional portrait of a medieval saint, Laurus might be better compared with Frederick Buechner’s Godric. As a work of fiction written by a medievalist (and hence with a whiff of authenticity to it), you might compare it to Frans Bengtsson’s The Long Ships. I’m afraid, however, that Laurus loses badly by each of these comparisons.

I’m not sure whether to blame the author himself or the translator. From what I understand, the translator had a difficult job here. Vodolazkin apparently falls sporadically into a medieval style of Russian in the original, which the translator tried to capture with bits of archaic English spelling and diction; but then there are jarring modern phrases and references scattered throughout as well. I did find the first 150 pages and the final 30 rather excellent. In between, however, there are unnecessary characters, aimless brief episodes, bits of comic relief that feel out of place, and seemingly pointless references (mostly through an Italian character subject to prophetic visions) of future twentieth-century events that bear little relation to the main story. It begins at a certain point to feel like self-indulgence on the part of the author.

Like the main character himself, who goes through four names and life stages in the course of the tale, Laurus is disjointed, out of sync with itself. In that respect it does read like certain medieval documents (the Travels of John Mandeville or of Marco Polo come to mind), but I’m afraid that, to my mind, it fails to satisfy as a novel.

[Susan · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a surprising, deep and mystical novel; set largely in medieval Russia but branching out to different places and sometimes different times. We know that Arseny was born in 1440 and was brought up by his grandfather, Christofer. When his grandfather dies, Arseny becomes the local healer and, one day, brings into his humble home a young woman – Ustina. When she dies in childbirth, he begins a life travelling and trying to make atonement for her death.

You will have to decide whether Arseny, who is known by several names throughout the novel, is a Saint or Holy Fool. He is revered by some, beaten by others, as he heads out across Europe and even to the Middle East, on pilgrimage. The author manages to recreate a feel for the medieval period which, although it includes visions of future times weaved in seamlessly, is a time of pestilence and plague. It is also a time when religion is all pervasive and Laurus is a man untouched by the disease around him; protected and strangely innocent.

This is a very immersive read and it felt almost strange at times to emerge into the present when you feel yourself so much in the past. A very intriguing novel, which has much to offer both the individual reader and book groups.

[Marius Citește · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Laur" o carte pentru spirit, o adevărată capodoperă a literaturii contemporane ruse, in tradiția romanelor lui Dostoievski cu o scriitură profundă încărcată cu limbaj medieval rusesc. Eroul, Laur, trăiește în Evul Mediu și trece prin patru etape ale existenței de fiecare dată sub un alt nume: Arseni, Ustin, Ambrosie și in final Laur.

Citiți "Laur", merită!

[Argos · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yevgeni Vodolazkin Eski Rus Edebiyatı konusunda çalışan, aynı zamanda Ortaçağ tarihi ile ilgili uzmanlığı olan bir Rus yazarı. Bu nedenle “Laurus”adlı romanı 15. yüzyıl yani Ortaçağ’da Rusya kırsalında yaşanılan folklorik hikayelere dayanıyor. Yazar kurgusunu yaptığı romanını geniş tarihi incelemelerden, özellikle manastırlarda bulunan el yazmalarından, kütüphane kayıtlarından elde ettiği bilgilerden oluşturmuş, yani bir anlamda gerçek. Ama anlatılanlar, yani romanın kendisi gerçeküstücü.

Roman dört kimlikli (sırasıyla Arseni, Ustin, Amvrosi ve Laurus) bir köy şifacısının yaşamını anlatıyor. Şifalı otlar ve mucizevi dokunuşlarla başta veba olmak üzere hastalıklara derman olan Arseni’nin çocukluğundan ölümüne kadar geçen olayları mistik bir dille anlatıyor. Doğaüstü güçler, mucizeler inanmadığım ve uzak durduğum, okumadığım konular, ancak bu romanda yazılanların bir tarihçinin incelemeleri sonucu edebi bir dille kaleme aktarılmış olması ilgimi çekti, tıpkı başka bir Ortaçağ romancısı Umberto Eco’nun romanları gibi.

Kitabın konusu arka kapak tanıtım yazısında var, bu nedenle ondan bahsetmeyeceğim. Yazarın titiz araştırıcılığına eklemlenen edebi olarak kuvvetli ve etkileyici anlatımına dikkat çekmek isterim. Yazar kitap içinde ortaçağ tarihçilerinin günümüz tarihçilerine benzemediğini, onların tarihsel olayları açıklamak için daima ahlaki neden aramalarını, bunun da doğal olarak dini gerekçeler ile açıklama yoluna gitmelerini, olaylar arasındaki doğrudan ilişkileri farkedemediklerini belirtmektedir.

Kitapta balta folklorik tıp olmak üzere çok şaşırtıcı bilgiler var, bir kısmı kehanetler ile ilgili ilginç kayıtlar da var, tadı kaçmasın diye örnek vermiyorum. 1185-1252 yılları arasında yaşayan İtalyan gezgin rahip Giovanni da Pian del Carpine’in Moğol İmparatorluğu’na kadar gitmesi o zamanda dahi nasıl uzun seyahatler yapıldığını göstermesi açısından şaşırtıcı. U. Eco’nun romanlarından öğrendiğimiz Vatikan merkezli Hristiyanlığın, toplum üzerindeki ağır baskısının, dini kabul ettirmk için şiddet ve cezalandırmanın (engizisyon gibi) kullanılmasının, bu romanda anlatılan Rusya’daki Ortodoks inanışta yumuşadığını, baskının kalktığını, herkesin inancını kendi istediği şekilde ve yoğunlukta yaşadığını, kısaca Avrupa’da yaşanan hristiyanlık inancının ceberrut yüzünün Rusya’da insancıl bir şekle döndüğünü okumam sonunda farkettim. Keza yine kitapta bir yerde “Ustin’in tedavilerinin insani mi, Tanrı mucizesi mi olduğu” yönündeki bir soruya verilen cevap da bu dönüşümü gösterme açısından ilginç ; “aslında biri diğeriyle çelişmiyor, çünkü mucize inançla yoğurulmuş insan emeğinin bir sonucu olabilir”.

Daha birçok ilginç kayıtlı bilgi ve hikayelerle dolu bu roman tarihsel gerçekliklerden yola çıkarak, mucize, kehanet, iyileştici güç gibi fantastik öğeleri sürükleyici bir dil ile, heyecan çıtasını hep üstte tutan, dinsel metinler hatta mitolojik öykülerle süslenmiş postmodern bir anlatı sergiliyor. Kitabın adı başta belirttiğim gibi 15. yüzyıl Rusya’sında bir folklorik hekim, köy şifacısı olan Arseni’nin son isminden alınmıştır, ki Laurus aynı zamanda Akdeniz defnesi denilen yeşil bir bitkinin de adıdır.

Metafiziğe ve doğaüstü olaylara inanmasanız da, iyi bir roman okumak istiyorsanız, önyargısız olarak, aldığı ödülleri gerçekten hakeden bu güzel kitabı listenize alın.

[Calzean · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an impressive read. In 15th Century Rus', Arseny becomes a healer, spiritualist and holy man. The book charts the four parts of his life - as an orphan living with his Grandfather who is also a healer and then lives with Ustina who dies in child birth, he then wanders and becomes a holy man, he journeys to Jerusalem, years later he returns to his birth place.
Through this there is humour, naturopathy, old language, debates on time and when the world will end, prophecies, jumps to future events, spirituality, Arseny trying to find reason for the death of Ustina, belief, plague, pestilence and life in Medieval Russia.
A wild ride on every page.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 4 out of 5]

"There were, however, those who did not want to come to terms with death but also reflected on ways to overcome it, even in the case of a universal end. It was among these people that a rumour began to spread, saying Amvrosy possessed the elixir of immortality. That Amvrosy, when he was still Arseny, had allegedly brought that elixir from Jerusalem.
...
Fearing that there would not be enough elixir for everyone when the time came, some people settled by the monastery walls and built themselves some semblance of housing. They imagined the monastery could function like a new ark that might take them in if the necessity arose.

Amvrosy came to see these people when their numbers topped one hundred. He looked at their squalid housing for a long time and then signalled to them to follow him. After entering the monastery's gates, Amvrosy led them into the Church of the Dominion of the Mother of God. A service was finishing in the church at that same time and Elder Innokenty walked through the royal doors of the iconostasis carrying the Communion chalice. A ray of morning sun broke away from a grated window. The ray of sun was still weak. It slowly fought its way through the thick smoke on incense. It devoured barely perceptible dust motes one by one: once inside, they began swirling in a pensive Brownian dance. The ray of sun brightened the church as it played on the silver of the chalice. That light was so brilliant that those who entered squinted. Amvrosy pointed to the chalice and said:

The elixir of immortality is in there and there is enough for everyone."

Laurus is ostensibly a hagiography, telling the story of a (fictitious) 15th Century "Holy Fool" ("the gaze of someone whose state of mind differs from what is generally accepted"), except he is anything but a fool:

"He came into the world in the Rukina Quarter, by the Kirrilo-Belozersky Monastry. This occurred on May 8 of the 6,948th year since the Creation of the world, the 1,440th since the Birth of our Saviour Jesus Christ, on the feast day of Arsenius the Great. Seven days later he was baptized with the name Arseny.
...
He had four names at various times. A person's life is heterogeneous, so this could be seen as an advantage. Life's parts sometimes have little in common, so little that it might appear various people lived them. When this happens, it is difficult not to feel surprised that all these people carry the same name. He also had two nicknames."

Those four names are 1. Arseny, his given birth name and one he reverts to following a period as. 2. Ustin, a name he assumes, in c.6964 after he leaves his home town following a traumatic event, which haunts the rest of his life, and becomes a largely mute, Holy fool. 3. Amvrosy, the name he takes as a monk in 6995 as he anticipates the possible end of the world in the 7000 and 4. (Spoiler alert - it doesn't happen) Laurus, as he goes into seclusion from 7000 to his death in 7028.

And the nicknames are "Rukinets", after the quarter where he was born, and more widely "Doctor", since Arseny's true gift is as a healer. At any early age he is inducted by his Grandfather Christopher into the mysteries of herbal medicine, but Christopher, and subsequently Arseny, realise that the herbs are merely a medium both for God's power and also the words of those involved:

"Christofer did not exactly believe in herbs, more likely he believed God's help would come, through any herb, for a specific matter.

And talking of Arseny:
"It is thought that the word vrach, for medical doctor, comes from the word vrati, which means to say an incantation. The role of word was more significant during the middle ages because of the limited selection of medicines.

Doctors spoke. They knew cerrtain methods for treating ailments, but they did not pass up opportunities to address disease directly. Uttering rhythmic phrases that outwardly lacked meaning, they said an incantation over the illness, smoothly convincing it to abandon the patient's body.

Patients spoke. In the absence of diagnostic technology, patients needed to describe, in details, everything occuring within their ailing bodies.

The patients' relatives spoke. They clarified their loved ones' statements or even amended them.

The defining trait of the person under discussion is that he spoke very little. He remembered the words of Arsenius the Great: I have often regretted the things I have said, but I have never regretted my silence. Most often he looked wordlessly at the patient. He might say only, your body will still serve you. Or, your body has become unsuitable, prepare to leave it; know that this shell is imperfect."

Laurus is more than a mere pastiche of a traditional hagiography, in particular it's self-aware of it's status as a 21st Century novel. This is most manifest in the character of Ambroggio, with whom Arseny makes a lengthy and hazardous pilgrimage journey to Jerusalem. For Ambroggio he can see the future, particularly the distant future, as well as the past.

At times his premonitions are a little forced e.g. when they walk past Oświęcim ("Believe me, O Arseny, this place will induce horror in centuries.") even the acknowledgement that while they await the end of the world, elsewhere (unbeknown to most) the New World is being discovered (“On the one hand, a new continent would be discovered, on the other, the end of the world was expected in Rus’”, the year 7000 corresponding to 1492 in our modern calendar.

But they work most successfully, and strikingly, when the stories are at a more micro level - premonitions of the fate of buildings down the ages or stories of relatives or people in centuries to come. This fits with one of the novels key themes - that the linear progression of time is merely an error of our limited perception.

Similarly the text contains the odd deliberate anachronism - an appearance of "yellowed plastic bottles" in a 15th Century scene, like archaeological detritus but from the future. And the language of the novel blends elements of Soviet-era bureaucratese, archaic biblical language and the odd flash of 21st Century slang ("you're not like, you know, allowed to beat Holy fools").

The translation by Lisa Hayden (http://lizoksbooks.blogspot.co.uk/ and http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/11...) copes wonderfully with the book's challenges, and was deservedly shortlisted for the Oxford-Weidenfeld Translation Prize.

The end of the novel, the last 28 years of Arseny's life, is very compact, as he himself loses the sense of linear time.

"I no longer sense unity in my life, said Laurus. My life was lived by four people who do not resemble one another and they have various bodies and various names. What do I have in common with the light-haired little boy from the Rukina Quarter? A memory? But the longer I live, the more my reminiscences seem like an invention."

And the story is brought fittingly full circle, allowing Arseny/Laurus a redemption of sorts, and also re-echoing an earlier scene where the young Arseny gazes into a fire and sees the elderly Laurus "who is sitting by the fire and sees the face of a light-haired boy and does not want the person who has entered to disturb him."

One of the main pleasures of the book to me was the sympathetic treatment of the main character. He displays a similar mixture of strong religious faith but also honest doubt, humility and intellectual curiosity as Rev Broughton in Marilynne Robinson's wonderful Gilead.

Strongly recommended

[Cindy Rollins · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

"There is vanity in excess penance. You must have sustenance -Sr Monica Joan-Call the Midwife

I am afraid Arseny found the vanity of repentance.

I am not Orthodox but since I have friends who are I am hesitant to be too critical lest I hurt their feelings. Did I enjoy reading this? Yes. I liked the style and the flow. I enjoyed reading about someone's life even though fictional and I liked Arseny-Laurus. I especially liked the idea that his name changed over and over again because he was different at different periods of his life. Still, he didn't really seem all that different. In some ways, his life was stunted by his repentance. Perhaps it was my recent reading of From Fear to Faith by Rose Marie Miller or Luther's treatise on justification, but it seems to me there is something self-righteous about trying to earn your own salvation through excessive good works. Excessive good works as an outpouring of faith is something else altogether in my mind. Obviously, my un-Orthodox views come from my own faith and belief.

So while I enjoyed this book, I struggle to see it as the BEST Book that so many of my friends and people I admire, claim it to be. This confuses me. Perhaps it just comes down to the old problem of high expectations.

[Caro the Helmet Lady · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved it. Simple and brilliant, this novel is one of those you don't get to read every day. It's one huge metaphor of time and human life itself, but at the same time it's a chronicle of life of the particular human. And it breaks your heart and makes you smile at the same time. The language is easy and beautiful, and the trick of using Old Russian language mixed together with modern words gives an extraordinary effect, sometimes puzzling, sometimes comical.

Strongly recommended.

[Paige · Rating 1 out of 5]

I know the one star rating looks bad, and I don't think this is a BAD book; but, as the stars say, I "did not like it." I was drawn in by the cover art, I suppose, and also the idea that this was a deep, character-driven myth-steeped novel with themes like redemption, time, human connection, etc. Which, I guess, isn't completely inaccurate, it's just that where I would usually like those things, it didn't work for me here.

I suppose the simplest way of describing this story is that it is set in the Russia of the Middle Ages and it follows the life of one character from infancy to death.

It's divided into four sections. For me, the first section was the best. The second section is called "The Book of Renunciation" and that's kind of exactly what it made me want to do: renounce the book. It got better after that section, and yet I still feel I would have been better served--had a more enjoyable as well as more enlightening time--if I had just watched a few episodes of Riverdale instead.

I'm not entirely sure what was so lacking for me in this book, but I will note that although we follow this main character for 350+ pages, I never really "got" him, like I don't know what he's actually like or feels or thinks, beyond just like "Ustina I love you" and "o God I am not worthye" type of stuff. Which, well, meh. In this, I guess it is kind of true to those fairy tales where everyone is like a cardboard cutout character. It works better when the story is 3 pages long, though. When stories stretch into the hundreds of pages, the characters should maybe make me feel something?

But I think the author was going in a different direction, and the book had a similar brainfeel (readerfeel? what's the literary equivalent of mouthfeel?) as Candide, Siddhartha, and other such fictional didactic works (which I did enjoy when I read them, but also, I was like 14 or 15; maybe if this book had gotten to me at an earlier, more impressionable age, I would have a better view of it). But the thing there is, I didn't feel like it was effective. It was like I knew what he was trying to get at, but he didn't make me realize it--the humanity or truth of his characters and his ideas never felt real to me. It didn't add much to my knowledge or understanding. Which on one level is fine: I do read to learn new things, see new perspectives on humanity, and expand my horizons, but I also read for entertainment, enjoyment, a good story. For me, this didn't qualify for any of that.

I think this book would have been an interesting one to discuss with others--especially because the average Goodreads rating stands at 4.26 right now. Obviously many people got a lot more out of it than I did. Discussing a book I didn't really like that much with others (especially those who have differing views of it) usually raises my opinion of it, so I'm kind of disappointed that this wasn't a book club or buddy read. Too often the book felt tedious and lacking real depth, and talking about it with others can be antidote for that. Alas, Laurus, I read you by myself, where you had free reign to annoy me just a few too many times.

[Jonfaith · Rating 3 out of 5]

We simply need to remember that only the material world needs time,

There was only a time, maybe once or twice when I earnestly considered the idea of Grace. Both instances were fleeting and predictably linked to a woman. The path I tread isn't geared to such. I watched an interview with Gunter Grass yesterday, where he ventured his preference for Camus over Sartre. When asked why, the master responded, I don't harbor any faith for God but I do worship Saint Sisyphus.


Despite the blurb on the front matter, Laurus is much closer to Dostoevsky than Eco. My favorite elements of the novel were its visible reach for the timeless and the layering of history onto the quest. The Guardian noted this is a novel about God. I saw nature. Who is to quibble?

[И~N · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5

Една от чудесните книги на 2020.
Закъснелият отзив може да се намери на познатото място: тук .

[Matt Sheffield · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book was not what I expected and my expectations of its quality were high. So when I began to travel along with the pilgrim, Arseny, I was initially left scratching my head at all the seemingly strange events that did not seem to be building toward anything. But then I read this quote from the author, Vodolazkin: "There are two ways to write about modernity: the first is by writing about the things we have; the second, by writing about those things we no longer have." "Laurus" is a book about the things we no longer have. A world infused with God, where living in the mystery brings purpose rather than mere confusion, and a life of love that is sorrowful yet always rejoicing. To inhabit the world of "Laurus" and feel a pang of longing for something of the beauty and mystery in our modern place is to have read this book well.