This was yet another casualty from my Russian author phase.

I wouldn't rush right out and purchase it immediately, but chances are your local library has this very book just sitting there on the shelf.

That's precisely where I discovered it.

I'm truly glad that I took the time to read it.

And, as an added bonus, it had the effect of making me feel smarter.

It's one of those books that might not seem like an essential read at first glance, but once you delve into its pages, you'll find that it offers unique insights and perspectives.

Even if you're not a die-hard fan of Russian literature, it's still worth giving this book a try.

You might be surprised at what you'll learn and how it will enrich your reading experience.

So, the next time you're at the library, keep an eye out for this hidden gem.

Who knows, it could become one of your favorite reads as well.

Maksim Gorki - Male Friend Boles

Here it is like this… As a person tastes pain, he/she seeks more comfort… But we, who are squeezed between the walls of our ancient virtues and look down on each other, cannot understand this. Our lack of understanding is very foolish and leads to very painful consequences. We say, "These are the passionate people!" What does this mean? They are also made of the same bone, the same blood, the same flesh, and the same nerves as we are. First and foremost, they are people… Day after day, for centuries, we keep hearing this phrase "passionate people". Only the devil knows how absurd all these things are! The truly passionate ones are us! And passionate in a mindless way! We have fallen into the abyss of self-love and looking down on unhappy people… Those people whose only shortcomings are that they are less cunning than us and are less able to adorn themselves as good people… Well, that's enough… These words have been said so many times that a person almost feels ashamed to repeat them again!

Gorky’s works do exude the common pessimism.

However, it is evident that this is clearly a by-product of the dreadful living conditions that Gorky and his contemporaries endured.

He begins by providing detailed descriptions of the place, which sets the stage for the unfolding of the story.

Gorky always delineates his characters with great painstakingness, bringing them to life in a vivid and realistic manner.

“Gorky is a master of the gamut of human emotion.

As glorious as I find "Birth of a Man", equally profoundly disturbing do I find his narration of the kitten's fate in "Notch."

Yet, the sarcasm that perpetually lies beneath the surface adds an extra layer of depth to his works.

Indeed, he is arguably one of the most human writers I've ever read, as he explores the full range of human experiences and emotions with such honesty and authenticity.

His works not only provide a window into the past but also offer valuable insights into the human condition that are still relevant today.

I’d been desiring to read Gorky for quite some time. Partly because he was another Russian author I needed to peruse before delving into Nabokov’s Lectures on Russian Literature. Also, several of his stories were recommended by a professor I had for a course on Pasternak, Bulgakov, and Akhmatova. And I chanced upon one, Chelkash, in Proffer’s anthology. (See that entry for Proffer’s analysis of it.)

Gorky truly devotes time to developing the place, the setting of the story. He often provides us with glimpses of the people who inhabit that space, even though they aren’t the central characters of the story. His description of them lends verisimilitude to his narrative.

He is an excellent writer and well worth reading.

My notes for some of these stories, Chelkash; Creatures That Were Once Men; can be found as individual entries.

*****Also: see Henry T. Schnittkind’s beautifully written and insightful introduction to Gorki’s Stories of the Steppe

One Autumn Evening: a touching tale of two teenagers who meet on a gloomy, rainy evening, take care of each other, then part in the morning. And he…

The Affair of the Clasps: can an illiterate boy act on a Bible passage even though he doesn’t understand the passage?

Notch: a very short, very unpleasant, short story

Chums: a sad tale, two down on their luck, then it gets worse. I can’t say precisely why, but the two reminded me of Vladimir and Estragon from Waiting for Godot

Cain and Artyom: another interesting Gorky character study. “The Jew’s name was Khaim Aaron Purvitz, but he was known as Cain. It was simpler and a more familiar name than Khaim, and, added to this, it was very insulting.” Strong versus weak; smart versus not so smart; the Good Samaritan, but with a twist at the end: you can’t change your stripes

Red: so the local bully is used/hired by the Madam to not only establish order with her brothel’s customers but also to keep her girls in line…until the tables are turned and they exact some measure of revenge, except for one who falls in love with the bully.

Evil-Doers: “A bluish-acrid smoke wavered under the low, vaulted ceiling, and stung the eyes; the smell of vodka, tobacco, and burnt oil tickled the nose…”. I like how in setting the scene, Gorky often includes the smells. He’s done this in several of the stories and I should have been grabbing examples all along. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think too many other writers overlook smells in their descriptions, unless it something obvious like stepping into a garden and then, of course, describing the smell of the flowers. Country boy goes to the city, and becomes un-countryfied as the title tells us.

Birth of a Man:
“A Turkish felucca, listing to port, is gliding to Sukhum, her sails bellied, the way an important engineer at Sukhum used to puff out his fat cheeks as he shouted:
‘Shut up! You may be smart, but I’ll have you in jail in a jiffy!’
He was fond of having men arrested, and it is good to think that worms have surely long since gnawed him to the bone.”
The above really has nothing to do with the story; it doesn’t advance the plot; yet, it adds depth and lends verisimilitude to the story

Going Home: another glimpse of the have-nots

Lullaby:
“The morning sky, pale and pink, was reflected in the placid puddles, and these reflections lent the filthy puddles an unnecessary, insulting beauty which debauched the soul.”

“Lenka’s home resembled a garbage pit, and the ugliness of poverty stared from every inch of it, wounding the senses.”

This story could bookend Birth of a Man in which the destitute mother wonders aloud what may become of her newly born son; here is one possibility: physically deformed: “his withered legs swung impotently” - but with a good soul. But she, given the description of her nose, and her activities, is suffering from syphilis.

The Hermit:
“Savel spoke with remarkable ease, showing no effort in finding the right words, dressing up his thoughts lovingly, as a little girl does her dolls. I had listened to many a Russian talker, men who, intoxicated with flowery words, often, almost always, lose the fine thread of truth in the intricate web of speech. This one spun his yarn with such convincing simplicity, with such limpid sincerity, that I feared to interrupt with questions. Watching the play of his words, I realized that the old man was the possessor of living gems, able to conceal all filthy and criminal lies with their bewitching power; I realized all that and nevertheless yielded to the magic of his speech.”

“‘Grandfather, is there such a thing as hell, do you think?’
He raised his head and said sternly and reproachfully:
‘Hell? How can that be? How can you? God—and hell? Is that possible? The two don’t go together, friend. It’s a fraud. You people who can read invented this to frighten frighten people, I cannot see. Besides, no one is afraid of that hell of yours. . . . ‘
‘And what about the devil? Where does he live, in that case?’
Don’t you joke about that. . . . ‘
‘I’m not joking. . . . ‘
‘Don’t sneer at him. To everyone his own burden. The little Frenchie might have been right about the devil bowing down to the Lord in due time. A priest told me the story of the prodigal son from the Scriptures one day —I can remember it well. It seems to me that it is a story of the devil himself. It’s he, no other than he, that is the prodigal son. . . . ‘

Karamora:
“My father was a locksmith. A large man, so very kind, and so merry. He looked for something to laugh at in everyone. He was fond of me and called me Karamora*—distributing nicknames all around was his chief amusement. There is a big mosquito, rather like a spider, commonly called Karamora. I was long and lanky…”
[*also translates to caramel]

“What shall I write? Two men lived inside me and the one didn’t stick to the other. That is all.”

This story is the most political, and the most philosophical - questioning god and institutionalized religion - and most introspective - of the stories in this collection.
And I wonder how much of this is the character talking to us or Gorky talking to us?

“No, writing is an entrancing occupation. As one writes, one feels that one is not alone in the world, that there is someone who is fond of one, towards whom one has never been guilty of anything, who understands one well and sympathizes without humiliating. One feels as one writes how much cleverer and better one becomes. It is an intoxicating job. It makes one understand Dostoevsky. He was a writer particularly inclined to intoxicate himself with the mad, stormy, irrational game of his imagination, a game played within himself. I used to read him with mistrust: it seemed to me that he exaggerated, terrifying people by the darkness of a human soul, then, in order that they should admit the necessity of God, that they should submit humbly to His unaccountable devices, His unfathomable will: ‘Surrender, be meek, proud man!’—he said….He knew how to let himself be consumed, how to press out the burning, scorching juice from his soul to the last drop.”

“I believe I did not waste a minute in hesitating as to which decision to make….i sat in the dark little room, listened to the rain pattering at the window and hearkened to a voice within me that should have protested against my decision. Nothing protested….Why do I not feel the same repugnance toward myself as I felt yesterday towards Popenko?”

Memory is a powerful and often complex phenomenon. It has the ability to both heal and hurt. For those who are unhappy, memory can be a scourge, constantly reminding them of past traumas and disappointments. However, memory also has the power to bring the past to life, to give meaning and significance to the events and experiences that have shaped us. It can turn the very stones of the past into precious treasures, and even the poison of past mistakes can be sweetened by the drops of honey that memory provides.

"Memory, the scourge of the unhappy, gives life to the very stones of the past, and even into poison drunk long ago pours drops of honey..." (30)

We should strive to embrace our memories, both the good and the bad, and use them to learn and grow. By doing so, we can turn the power of memory into a force for good in our lives.

A classic work.

But it is really very painful to read.

Each story, each situation.

The story is short but vividly portrays the characters' personalities.

The part that I like the most is Lenka's.

Lenka is a complex and charming character. Her actions and words always leave a deep impression on the reader.

She has her own beliefs and pursuits, and she is not afraid to face difficulties and challenges.

Her story is full of twists and turns, which makes people unable to put it down.

Overall, this is a very good work that is worth reading and savoring.