Reading In Wonderland, you will learn as much about the journal-keeper / author Knut Hamsun as you will about the Caucasus area he is chronicling. This might not be a good thing if you, like me, are a fan of Hamsun’s writing.
It’s true, reading his books, you already have to set aside artist from art. He is known as a Quisling, a Nazi-sympathizer, and here you can see why. When he runs into Jews during his travel, he is consistently snide and superior acting. But he pulls the same act in other situations.
For one, he refers to his wife as his “traveling companion” throughout. Um. OK. And once, when they arrive at a destination and she wants to set up the room they are staying in before grabbing a bite to eat, he makes a big show of having to set her straight and getting his way, almost gloating.
Armenians fare little better than Jews. Ditto the English. But Hamsun seems to have kind regards for the natives he meets and for Muslims (or Mohammedans, as he calls them) and for Americans (perhaps because he worked in the U.S. at one time – news to me).
Sounds awful to this point, but Hamsun is Hamsun and can write. Thus, you will run across some moving descriptions of the landscape that inspired so many great Russian writers (many, like Lermontov, Pushkin, and Tolstoy, who visited there themselves).
In fact, Hamsun goes on a riff about the Russkies himself. He considers Turgenev second-rate and too European and Western. Tolstoy and Dostoevsky rate higher, though he is particularly critical of Tolstoy later in life, when he became “philosophical” (one might say “religious”), which Hamsun considered a shameful sham. I guess Lermontov and Pushkin come out with high ratings by dying earlier in life, both in duels. Only the good (authors) die young, apparently.
The book, released in 1903, chronicles a Russia that would soon be no more, of course. The Revolution was just ahead, and the days of the czars (or tsars) were numbered. Hamsun, in his 40s at the time of these travels, would last many more years, not dying until 1952. Apparently his last book, On Overgrown Paths (1949) lacked remorse. The back of this book says it is “defiant to the end,” telling me that the overconfident and misguided nature of this man never changed, even after the Nazis went down.
Sad, that.