Tag: classics

Book: Robert A. Heinlein “Orphans of the Sky”

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Well, since we’re on a classics streak, after the Soviet Those Who Survive it’s time to talk about Robert A/ Heinlein’s novel Orphans of the Sky.

Originally, the book was written as two separate parts, published independently as novellas in Astounding Science Fiction magazine back in 1941: Universe and Common Sense. Only twenty years later, in 1963, were the two novellas published together as a single work under the title Orphans of the Sky. Russian readers know the book as Stepsons of the Universe, as it was rendered as Stepsons by its first Russian translator, Yuri Zarakhovich.

For Soviet readers, the novel was first published in Zarakhovich’s translation in 1977 (incidentally, the year I was born), serialized across five issues of Vokrug Sveta (Around the World) magazine. I don’t know the exact reason, but for that magazine publication Zarakhovich produced an abridged translation. Nevertheless, it was this version that became the canonical one for many years and continued to be reprinted right up until 2003. Only in 2003 did a complete Russian translation of the novel appear, by Elena Belyaeva and Alexander Mityushkin. Neither of them were professional translators, yet their work still received an award. In addition to restoring the full text, they also slightly revised some terminology that had become “familiar” over decades of reprints of Zarakhovich’s version.

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Musical “Les Misérables”

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When I wrote my review of Victor Hugo’s novel Les Misérables, I admitted that what pushed me to read it was the Hollywood adaptation of the musical based on the same book. Before the musical, I only knew the broad strokes about the novel. The musical interpretation, though a bit on the superficial side, turned out to be very engaging. I rewatch it from time to time, and many of the songs have made their way into my playlist.

At some point I got interested in the history of the musical itself. And it turned out not to be some little-known production. So I’ll try to give a brief overview.

The first staging of a musical based on the famous book was in France, in 1980—and of course in French. But that production ran on stage for only three months. And perhaps no one would have heard of it if, in 1983, a recording hadn’t been passed to Cameron Mackintosh, the producer of the Broadway version of the great musical Cats, with a proposal to create an English-language version. The text was rewritten for an English audience; a prologue and several new numbers were added; and most importantly, all the non-musical spoken dialogue was removed. This version premiered in London in 1985.

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Book: Arkady & Boris Strugatsky “Monday Starts on Saturday”

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Ah, it’s hard to write about such a classic, one that has been known to everyone for many decades. But I still decided to give it a try.

The thing is, Monday Starts on Saturday was the very first book by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky that I ever read. And that was back in my distant childhood. I remember laughing out loud at some episodes, trying hard not to show it, since I had to read some of them in a clinic while waiting my turn for physiotherapy.

Since then, the book has retained a sense of eternal joy and a smile for me, and that is why in my adult years I was very afraid to reread the story: what if I perceived it completely differently, and those childhood impressions faded? Nevertheless, the second time I also enjoyed it, and now I have read it for the third time. But this time I had a specific goal — to think about what had changed in my feelings and perception of the story compared to childhood, and also after so many years separating the everyday life of the book’s characters from today’s realities.

The book tells about the work of a programmer in an institute of sorcery and magic. Nothing less. Complete with all the trappings of Soviet research institutes of the 1960s–70s.

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Book: Ilya Ilf, Yevgeny Petrov “The Golden Calf”

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Earlier, I wrote that I had decided to reread the duology about Ostap Bender, which I had previously read only as a teenager. After finishing the “most complete” version of The Twelve Chairs, I picked up a similar edition of the second novel, The Golden Calf. This one is also presented as “The complete version of the novel without omissions or cuts.”

According to legend, the authors hadn’t planned to write a second novel—the first was self-contained, and Ostap Bender dies at the end. The authors even claimed they flipped a coin to decide whether he would live or die. But after the wild success of the first book, it would have been odd if they hadn’t gone ahead with a sequel. Although there is an opinion that the continuation had been planned much earlier, and the rest is just a neat and officially supported legend.

In the first novel, there were two main characters—Kisa Vorobyaninov and Ostap Bender himself. But it was clear who was playing the first violin, who was the thinker and driving force in the duo. Without Ostap, Kisa likely wouldn’t have recovered a single chair. That’s why the second book has no connection to the “leader of the Russian nobility” and instead puts the resurrected Ostap fully in the spotlight, now accompanied by new helpers who are significantly more useful (though still no match for him). As for his death, Ostap mentions it only in passing: someone did try to kill him, but brave Soviet medicine managed to save his life. The only reminder is a clearly visible scar from a razor cut on his neck.

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Book: Ilya Ilf, Yevgeni Petrov “The Twelve Chairs”

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The first time I read the books about Ostap Bender was in my teenage years. I don’t think that’s the best age for such reading, but the book was on our shelf, I had heard a lot about it, and I already liked the film version of The Twelve Chairs directed by Mark Zakharov. Probably because of the songs — but still, I liked it.

I remember that I read both The Twelve Chairs and The Little Golden Calf back to back. I really enjoyed the first book, while the sequel left me with a feeling of melancholy. That impression of the duology stayed with me for years. However, I recently decided to reread them as an adult, to see how my perception might have changed.

Looking at the editions currently available, I came across an expanded version titled “the most complete edition.” That piqued my interest, so I chose to read that one.

In case someone out there either doesn’t remember or has never heard of this book (which would be hard to believe), here’s a brief summary. The setting is the 1920s. A former nobleman, Ippolit Matveyevich Vorobyaninov, lives a modest life as a registry office clerk when he suddenly learns that during the revolution, his mother-in-law hid the family jewels inside one of the chairs from their noble furniture set. He throws himself into a frantic search — and is unexpectedly joined by a stranger, Ostap Bender. In reality, it’s Ostap who takes the lead in the hunt. Thanks to his wit and the skill of a “great schemer,” he masterfully navigates even the trickiest situations. Poor Ippolit Matveyevich is hardly a match for him.

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Book: Victor Hugo “Les Misérables”

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Almost everyone from my generation is familiar with Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables in one way or another, even if they don’t realize it. How is that possible, you ask? Easily! During my childhood, there were a few heroes every Soviet schoolchild was expected to look up to. Off the top of my head: Malchish-Kibalchish, Arkady Gaidar himself (legend has it that he commanded a regiment as a teenager), Pavlik Morozov (whose heroism is now questioned, but back then he was unequivocally a hero who suffered for the revolution), and—Gavroche. The boy who was shot by cruel soldiers at the French barricades while trying to gather bullets for the rebels.

We all knew about Gavroche because the episode of his death was included in the school curriculum for foreign literature. It was even explicitly noted that this was an excerpt from Victor Hugo’s novel Les Misérables. However, I doubt many paid much attention to that detail back then. Moreover, the way literature was taught in schools was such that few students were inspired to revisit or explore the works of these authors in depth later on.

So, I knew about the novel, I fully understood that it was a classic of world literature, and I could even point out exactly where it sat on the bookshelf at home 😉 But I never really felt inclined to read it. Then, in 2012, Hollywood released a film adaptation of the musical based on the book. Since I enjoy musicals, I watched it with great pleasure—without having the faintest idea what it was about. I loved Hugh Jackman’s performance (I like him in everything, really) and Russell Crowe’s as well. And a couple of scenes with Sacha Baron Cohen as Thénardier were pure burlesque! Several songs made their way into my playlist, and the story itself seemed intriguing, even though the musical presented it in a very superficial way, often leaving questions about what was left out. That’s when I decided—it was finally time to read the book.

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