Jenny’s review of Russian Gothic > Likes and Comments
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Yeah… it was short. And read quite smoothly? The language was fine and clear and fluent. That’s the best I can manage…
Dear Jenny,
Thank you for reading Russian Gothic, and for taking the time to share your thoughts, even if they’re critical.
What you’ve described as “male obsession” and “violence without meaning” is, in fact, a portrayal of domestic abuse — as seen from inside the fractured mind of a man suffering from PTSD, paranoia, and unresolved trauma. But make no mistake: the heart of the story is Vera, the woman enduring this violence. She is based, in part, on my beloved mother, whose life was shattered by my alcoholic father. I grew up witnessing it — the fear, the silence, the helplessness. This is not fiction for me. It is memory. Pain. Love.
I wrote Russian Gothic to expose what so many women in the Soviet Union — and in Russia today — endure behind closed doors. To show the cruelty, the confusion, the unbearable loneliness of it. Vera’s quiet presence, her stillness, her beauty — these are not simplifications, but echoes of women who had no way out, who survived by disappearing inside themselves.
If you felt horror, compassion, or anger while reading — good. That means you care. That means you’ve seen her.
But please, don’t turn that outrage against me or the book. Russian Gothic is not a glorification of madness or misogyny — it’s an attempt to bear witness to it. I’m not writing about heroes. I’m writing about victims. And about the darkness we must look at, if we ever want to change it.
Warm regards,
Aleksandr Skorobogatov
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Heidi
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Dec 02, 2024 01:14AM
Yeah… it was short. And read quite smoothly? The language was fine and clear and fluent. That’s the best I can manage…
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Dear Jenny,Thank you for reading Russian Gothic, and for taking the time to share your thoughts, even if they’re critical.
What you’ve described as “male obsession” and “violence without meaning” is, in fact, a portrayal of domestic abuse — as seen from inside the fractured mind of a man suffering from PTSD, paranoia, and unresolved trauma. But make no mistake: the heart of the story is Vera, the woman enduring this violence. She is based, in part, on my beloved mother, whose life was shattered by my alcoholic father. I grew up witnessing it — the fear, the silence, the helplessness. This is not fiction for me. It is memory. Pain. Love.
I wrote Russian Gothic to expose what so many women in the Soviet Union — and in Russia today — endure behind closed doors. To show the cruelty, the confusion, the unbearable loneliness of it. Vera’s quiet presence, her stillness, her beauty — these are not simplifications, but echoes of women who had no way out, who survived by disappearing inside themselves.
If you felt horror, compassion, or anger while reading — good. That means you care. That means you’ve seen her.
But please, don’t turn that outrage against me or the book. Russian Gothic is not a glorification of madness or misogyny — it’s an attempt to bear witness to it. I’m not writing about heroes. I’m writing about victims. And about the darkness we must look at, if we ever want to change it.
Warm regards,
Aleksandr Skorobogatov
