In other words, I’m all over the place.
It was a brisk December morning when Dasha and I stepped into the bistro to get in out of the cold and grab a quick bite. It wasn’t snowing, but there was some snow on the ground, just not as much as you might expect for Moscow in mid-December. The wind wasn’t bitter cold, but the day was crisp. When a breeze kicked up, even a mild one, you felt it. Our cheeks and noses were red and our breath fogged out when we spoke. We were bundled up pretty good and the heat hit us as we entered the bistro. At first it felt good, but like most all of the buildings we entered, once inside we were ready to shed our coats after only a couple of minutes. Upon entering a good many of the public buildings that catered to crowds, you would check your coat with one of the Babushkas (Grandmothers/elderly ladies) sitting in the lobby when you walked in. Not a bistro, however.
We had been traipsing around the city all morning. Well, Dasha was running around, I was simply tagging along. Mostly, we zipped around on the metro. If you are ever in Moscow, you definitely need to check out the subway. The architecture is magnificently ornate and beautiful (obviously, I’m only referring to the inside). It’s almost as if you are standing in a museum while waiting for the train to arrive.
So, anyway, we’re standing in line at the bistro and Dasha is explaining to me about whatever it was she was suggesting for food. “It’s something like a pierogi,” she said, speaking English.
“Sounds good,” I responded. My glance left her rosy cheeks and wide-eyed, earnest expression and landed on the samovar behind the counter. I nodded. “Ya hachoo chasku chai, ee-lee coffee.” (“I want a cup of tea, or coffee.”—forgive me, the spelling isn’t correct, and ideally the phrase should be spelled out in Cyrillic. It’s not. I’m talking phonetically here, and pushing the boundaries of my knowledge of Russian at saying that much. LOL). At that moment, a cup of anything warm would have sufficed, whether tea or coffee. I didn’t bother to change the spelling of coffee, since the sound is basically the same. Mostly, Russians drink hot tea. Samovars are everywhere, and part of the cultural heritage. You would be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t grow up with one in the family household. The samovar, with its cultural significance, is sometimes ornate, and there might be a special one passed down through generations of a family. You can get coffee, of course, but most of the locals drink tea. In St. Petersburg you might find a few more coffee drinkers, as that city is a little more cosmopolitan and exposed more to western culture. But this was Moscow. I drink both tea “ee” coffee so it didn’t really matter to me.
“Excuse me, are you American?” It was more like “Ahmhereekhan?” A middle-aged Russian gentleman had turned around and was exhibiting a friendly smile. Not unusual. The Russians are generally, and genuinely, a warm and friendly people. I’m sure there are exceptions, as with anywhere else in the world. He too, was bundled up in an overcoat, a scarf tucked around his neck, and wearing a shapka (fur hat). His cheeks also had the pinkish chafing that was just now beginning to lighten. Of course, his cheeks, just like ours, would become red again due to the oppressively overheated room. His eyes sparkled with friendliness. And yes, though it seems stereotypical, he wore a mustache and goatee along with the shapka. He might have been around fifty, though it’s difficult to tell. He could have been younger. When you are younger than the person you are observing, and there is a distance of about ten years or so, it is easy to get the age wrong. I was thirty-nine at the time, though I mentally felt as though I was twenty-eight or so (just a babe in the woods).
“I am,” I confessed. I had the habit of usually not admitting it. I would try and trick the babushkas who collected the coats. They would all usually have postcards laid out on a table, or something for sale. I would ask a couple of questions in Russian, the most obvious one being how much does it cost: “Skolka etta stoit?” (the last word sounding like “stow it,” as an old Navy buddy used to tell me whenever I was deliberately messing with him). I had the accent down well enough that the babushkas would be off and running. Of course, they would be speaking so fast that I would get lost after the first couple of sentences. Dasha would simply shake her head and give me a look to let me know that the whole act was becoming annoying. She would tell the woman then that I didn’t understand a word she was saying. Then the babushka would look at me with a puzzled expression and tell Dasha that she had thought for sure I was Russian due to my proper accent.
On Language Learning:
Okay, I’m bragging. But that’s the trick of learning any language, make sure you can mimic the correct accent, no matter what the words are. Practice that until the cows come home (not sure why that saying popped into my head just now), or even if the cows don’t ever return. You have to basically imagine that you are a native speaker. If you are speaking Italian, for instance, you’ve got to feel it with your whole body. Speaking Italian is almost like you are singing a song. It is a very melodic and sing-song-like language. You can’t help but relax into it and move your shoulders and hands as you speak. You’ll always be an outsider and not master any language if you don’t get into the feel of the language. It isn’t enough to just learn the vocabulary words and speak them mechanically.
Let me confess, right here, however, that I am no master of any language. I’m more of a dabbler in several languages. I do know the process though, and what works. Like anything else, you have to enjoy the subject and be interested in it, and then put in the time and effort to really learn it.
I have been studying various languages in spurts and fits since I was about twelve. I just never mastered any of the languages over the long haul. I never put in the time that was required to acquire a sufficient vocabulary. It is true, however, and I’ll concede the fact that some languages are extremely difficult to master the accent perfectly.
Years back I was at my dad’s and The Emmy Awards show was playing on television. Bebe Neuwirth (Frazier’s wife, Lilith, on Cheers) had received an award. She stepped up to the microphone and started speaking. She was speaking in Russian. I was puzzled. I looked at my father and said, “She’s just counting.” It made no sense. She counted up through ten or twelve and was sort of running it all together to make it seem as though she was really saying something. Of course, she confessed to the audience and then went on to make her point. In general, she was pointing out that no matter the language, the expression of the words was the main thing. She tied it all up nicely as it relates to acting.
You might have heard the old joke that if a person speaks two languages, they are bilingual. If a person speaks many languages, then he or she is a polyglot. But if a person speaks only one language, then he or she is most likely an American.
That joke is telling. But, in our defense, most of us, unless we happen to grow up in say, New York City, or some other metropolitan area, or our parents are immigrants, simply aren’t exposed to other languages. Or at least that was the case in years past. Things are changing.
My grandparents spoke fluent German and English. The two often enough spoke German to each other, and heavily accented English to the rest of us. It’s strange, now that I think about it, that they would have spoken English with such a thick German accent, since they were both actually born in the U.S. (Wheaton, IL). Their parents had been the actual immigrants. I don’t know, perhaps neither ventured very far outside of the close-knit German community in which they each lived as children. My grandparents didn’t encourage my father or his siblings to learn the German language as children due to the animosity towards Germans at the time. So, my father never learned the language. German was the first language I studied, starting at twelve or so, informally, and then formally in the ninth grade.
In any case, the experts say that after the age of about twelve it is impossible to speak a language as a native speaker speaks it. They posit that you have to be exposed to the language at a young age and (I imagine) spend time exercising the vocal cords, making the proper sounds. These experts swear that it is impossible to accomplish the fluency and perfection of a native speaker otherwise.
There are examples of this. Two Scientific Studies:
In the case of a girl called Genie (not her real name), and also the Wild Boy of Aveyron, the two children were not exposed to any language, even their own native language. They weren’t able to learn. It seems, again, according to the experts, that even the syntax of a language is impossible to acquire and understand after the age of twelve. In Genie’s case, she could have been exposed, minimally at least, had her parents been less cruel.
If you are interested in learning more about her, I highly recommend the book, Genie, by Russ Rymer.
It is the tragic, but true story of a young girl being locked away in a room as an infant, tied to a potty chair(?), and not being allowed to make a sound (for years). She was finally released at age fifteen or so. After she was released, the scientists showed interest and gave her good care (even fighting over her) as long as the money was there for the research. When the money ran out, and due to other circumstances, everyone abandoned her. In the end, she then wound up in a home, at which point her spirit and enthusiasm faded away, and she reverted back to her imprisoned self. Sad. She had initially shown promise when showered with attention and care (go figure). Her spirit shines forth in the Rymer book. There is also a movie about her that was made semi-recently. I haven’t had the heart to watch more than the first few minutes of this movie. Maybe one day.
The second study is of a boy who was found living in the wild
I’ve got The Forbidden Experiment: The Story of the Wild Boy of Aveyron, by Roger Shattuck, but have yet to read it. Maybe I’ll get around to that one day also. I have heard and read about the wild boy’s story though.
Aside from these two very unique cases—and there could be others that I’m not aware of—I want to disagree with the experts. I want to believe (though I have absolutely no expertise on the subject) that, provided one grows up in a normal environment, and is allowed to learn and master one language, then that person can learn another, and even master the accent of the second. I think it is more difficult, maybe, as you get older; but even that theory (the idea that it is harder to learn as you get older) I wouldn’t swear to. And when it comes down to it, people don’t really use that many words, overall, in any language. People tend to use the same words, expressions, and phrases, over and over again, in everyday living. The pool of words used is generally quite small in the grand scheme of things. I will concede, that there is the matter of learning different alphabets in some cases, like Cyrillic (for Russian), or Arabic if you want to study any of the languages of the Middle East. Sometimes that can be a chore. Oh, and I’m not even going to touch on Chinese (or any of the Far East languages). I can’t even imagine the work involved. The experts might just be completely correct there. I don’t have a clue.
So, I did learn the Cyrillic alphabet. Quite a few of the letters are the same as our alphabet. Some are even pronounced the same or similar. Some not: H is pronounced like N, and the backwards N is pronounced “ee” or like the i in the word machine. The letter p in Russian, is pronounced like the letter r. When you see the backward facing letter R, it is pronounced like “Ya” like pronouncing the y and saying “ah,” like you’re in the doctor’s office, or like the German Ja (Ya). And if standing alone, this backwards facing letter R means I (as the personal pronoun, as in the sentence earlier where I said I wanted tea). And so, I managed to learn some Russian. Not nearly enough, but some. I could sometimes catch the gist of a conversation . . .
Back in the bistro:
And as usual, I’ve digressed.
So we’re standing there in the bistro and this gentleman proceeds to tell me that he learned English by reading Dashiell Hammett. Since he didn’t speak in the vernacular of the nineteen twenties Continental Op, I assumed he had other sources as well, somewhere along the way, like perhaps a formal English class.
We all sat together. No, wait, I believe his wife was waiting for him at a table. Dasha and I sat at the table next to theirs. His wife spoke no English, so she remained as quiet as a mouse, that’s why I’m having trouble remembering her. I can picture her, but since she didn’t participate, it is sketchy. We conversed (in English) on literature, both American and Russian.
I had read a good many of the main authors: Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, Pushkin and Turgenev, I’m vaguely familiar with Lermontov, though I’ve never dived into any of his works. I’ve read Mikhail Sholokhov’s And Quiet Flows the Don, and The Don Flows Home to the Sea. These are both excellent books, if you like Russian literature. Though there was a big dispute, or question as to whether Sholokhov actually wrote the books. I don’t remember exactly what the dispute was (might have just been propaganda of some sort). One rumor was that there were several writers who, in collaboration, wrote the books(?), not Sholokhov. I find that hard to believe.
I’ve read snippets of Bulgakhov. I’ve read Ivan Bunin’s Cursed Days. Of course, there is Alexandr Solzhenitzyn. Solzhenitzyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, is a good read. And then there is Gogol. Gogol’s “The Nose” is a bizarre story. “The Overcoat” is okay. Maxim Gorky? I haven’t read that much of Gorky, a couple of stories that I can’t remember the names of.
Russian Music Videos:
As a side note (yes, I’m digressing again), whenever I hear or see “Maxim” now, I think of the popular Russian singer from the Russian music videos. She’s had a few hits. I was mesmerized by, and enamored with, Russian Music videos a little while back. I had several Russian television channels, but ended up not watching much of anything but the music video channels. Watching these channels was like watching MTV back in the day. There are some very creative videos. Elvira T’s music video “Mope” (Sea. The p is pronounced like an ‘r’ the e is like ‘eh’ and the o is sort of between oh and ah. I always lean slightly toward ah). If you get a chance to watch the video, you’ll see that Elvira T is extremely young (I think maybe seventeen in the video, and maybe mid-twenties now.) but this young lady is super talented and creative, and made for pop celebrity status. In this particular video she is standing, holding a goldfish in a bowl. And then there is Katya Kasanova (Casanova). Not sure if I’m spelling her name right (her stage name). She’s older, and well, sexy is too tame. I think the name of the song is “Casanova” (Damn, I can’t remember, seems like there is a word before Casanova. Probably “Cheating”). In any case, Katya and her girlfriends go in and destroy her rich, cheating (married) boyfriend’s apartment. Picture the dance moves and pop-like beat of the old Britney Spears videos, as these women dance around the apartment with knives, etc. destroying the place. And then there are interspersed scenes of K.K. sliding up onto the hood of a new Mercedes, digging a knife blade into the hood as she slides back down. I cringed every time I watched that scene. About half of the music videos are rap, with young white guys jumping around wearing gold chains, sweats, tattooed up, with names like “Feat.” Seems like everyone was “T Feat,” or “G Feat,” or something with “Feat.” Or maybe it was “Feet.” I’m getting sketchy on it. It’s been a while.
Oh, as another side note, I did watch a few episodes of the eighties television show Alf while I was in Moscow. That was really weird, Alf speaking Russian.
Okay, I’m back. End of tangent.
Back to Russian Lit.
Chekhov, I can’t leave him out. I’ve read a lot of his work. Love the short stories, and the plays, of course: The Cherry Orchard, Uncle Vanya, etc.
And there is Vladimir Nabokov. I’m currently reading through a collection of his short stories. I’m not seriously enough into it to list it as “currently reading” on Goodreads. Very surreal and dreamlike, bizarre-ish in some cases. Almost as strange as Dylan Thomas. Not quite, but almost, at least with a couple of stories. A prime example would be “The Visit to the Museum.” This story becomes very surreal. It’s almost Kafkaesque. I want to say that if you combined Gogol with Kafka, and maybe added in a little Tennessee Williams (which seems strange to say, especially if you are only familiar with Williams’ plays) you would have a sense of Nabokov. The hint of Tennessee Williams might have more to do with sentence structure and perhaps stylish tendencies as far as visual descriptions go. I’m not sure. And who knows? Could that have something to do with translation? Of course, Nabokov did write some stories in English. I’m suddenly getting the urge to run to the shelf and grab the Tennessee Williams short story collection. There is a T.W. story called “Sand” that I would like to compare to a Nabokov story, which is also about an old man and woman. I can’t remember the title of the Nabokov story at the moment. I’ll have to figure out which one it was. The two stories aren’t exactly alike, but vaguely similar. This is all just hitting me now. Hmm. Oh well, anyway, the Nabokov collection I’m referring to is definitely interesting enough to check out. I guess I am becoming more interested in it now that I’ve discussed it here. I do enjoy just picking the book up a couple times a week and thumbing through to find a story to read while waiting on the coffee to brew.
I have to say that there aren’t many books I skip around in when reading. I will occasionally do this on larger collections of an author’s works. But doing so goes against the grain. I’m not inclined to skip around most times. As an author of short stories, when I compile the stories, I work very hard at finding the perfect order for them. I try to achieve a balance, or flow. I’ve even admonished friends, and told them they should read my stories in order. There is even a story in my book Rohmer’s Garden that refers back to something that happens in an earlier story in the book. The reference is subtle and I’m not exactly sure whether people will even catch it.
Hm, let’s see, getting back to Russian authors . . . how about Pasternak? I’ve tried reading Doctor Zhivago several times, but can’t seem to ever get past the first few pages. Not sure why.
Okay, back in Moscow . . .
Anyway, at the time, on the morning in question, I told this gentleman in the bistro (I wish I could remember his name) that I would read The Maltese Falcon in Russian. I made a promise to myself that I would follow through.
And back in the U.S., months later, I started reading TMF with a Russian dictionary at hand and then thought, hey, why don’t I just try the actual English version of the book, using it as a reference. Okay, so this is sort of cheating, and each time I try this I end up abandoning the Russian version altogether and just find myself reading the English version. Too lazy? Maybe. As you can see, I have a copy of Hammett and a copy of Chandler, both in Russian. Thinking about it now, it seems absurd to read a book in Russian that was initially written in English, translating it back from Russian into English as I read. If the book lost anything in the translation into Russian, wouldn’t it lose a second something being translated back into English again? Wouldn’t it be better to read a Russian work, by a Russian author? In Russian. I mean, really, that would be more akin to what that guy did.
I’ve always wanted to read Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin in Russian. It’s an epic poem. Translated, being a poem would probably make it more susceptible to loss of its lyrical beauty, no? it probably lost a good bit. Maybe I should read that in its original form. Incidentally, I highly recommend the movie, Onegin (1999), with Liv Tyler and Ralph Fiennes. A couple of Pushkin’s short stories are good, too: “The Shot,” and I think another one I really enjoyed was called “Queen of Spades.”
Of course, Nabokov’s Lolita is short. Maybe I should try that. I wonder if reading Lolita in Russian would be better than Reading Lolita in Tehran?
Okay, okay. Bad joke. I couldn’t resist. And you have to be a bibliophile to get the stupidity of the joke. It’s certainly corny. I love corny stuff like that though. But I apologize. I shouldn’t have done it.
***
Thinking of Dasha, I’m remembering standing on Red Square, and seeing all the tourists queued up to go in and see Lenin’s body, which was at that time still on display. All we had to do was walk across the square and get in line. Before I could suggest it, Dasha said: “We’re not going over there. That’s barbaric, putting a dead body on display like that.” I just smirked and shrugged it off. I have to confess, though, I wish I had seen it. It’s since been removed I believe. Of course it could be back now, maybe.
Just had a crazy thought. A mystery. Lenin’s body disappears . . . It might work. I’m sure Dasha would love to read such a story. Not wanting to view the body was an individual choice, or inclination, on her part, but Russians in general are extremely touchy when it comes to a foreigner mentioning anything slightly negative regarding their culture. I guess that is probably the case with most cultures. The Russians have had a sprawling, beautiful and tragic history/culture. As I’ve mentioned, they are a wonderful people, very friendly, generous, and gregarious. But they are also very temperamental. Of course, I’m speaking in general terms. Thinking about the Lenin question, now, I’m thinking that if I had made some remark, however slight, that had even remote negative tones or connotations, she would have grabbed me by the arm, intent on dragging me over there to prove me wrong. God love her. I say this only because there was an incident where I had said something about a Peter the Great statue. I’ll spare you the details on that one.
I have a problem these days saying “the Russians” did this or that negative thing, because I always think of the people. I love the people. We know who actually is behind it all, all the nonsense. I don’t want to get too political here, but I will say that Alexei Navalny is a true hero for our time, for the Russians and for the world. I mean HERO.
So anyway, maybe I’ll try reading the Russian version of The Maltese Falcon again. Or, maybe I’ll find and read a Russian copy of Lolita. I think I’ll read it here though, and not in . . . well, you know.
***
I just did a search on Amazon for “Pushkin Free books” and the Pushkin story “The Queen of Spades” popped up, but there was so much more. All Free. The book of “Best Russian Short Stories” was also listed. TQoS is in this book with a bunch of other stories.
And there is a very interesting review about Russian Literature that caught my eye. The review was from the page for this book of short stories. I made a screenshot of it for you:
I know I sort of breezed over Dostoevsky earlier. Who can forget Crime and Punishment? What a great book. I also like the movie version of it, the one with Julie Delpy. It might have only shown on television (I think in the ’90s). I’ve been unable to find it on Dvd. Maybe I should check again. I believe Ben Kingsley is in the movie also. I’m not sure who played the main character, Raskolnikov. I believe Kingsley played the police detective. Wow, just looked it up. Patrick Dempsey played Raskolnikov. Never would have guessed.
I’m not that taken with Notes from the Underground. And for some reason, I tend to get Dostoevsky’s shorter novels confused. I’m constantly confusing The Possessed with Poor People, (Sometimes called Poor Folk), and The Friend of the Family. My memories are of a young student (as usual) who is so poverty-stricken that he sells all of his books (again, as usual), and he follows along behind a funeral procession. And of course there is a young lady that he his desperately in love with . . . and maybe there is an older gentleman who is sort of an uncle to the young lady, but not really? Damn, I can’t remember.
Anyway, just found another “Freeby.” *****SINCE I WROTE THIS POST THE PRICE CHANGED–NO LONGER FREE***** Now the Dostoyevsky Complete novels is $1.99. I’ll leave the below link in case you might still want to check it out.
And don’t worry, I’m not an Amazon Affiliate so I don’t make a cent on you going to Amazon via any links I display. This might change at some point. But I’ll let you know when it does.
https://www.amazon.com/Fyodor-Dostoyevsky-Complete-Novels-Dostoevsky-ebook/dp/B094YPYDFS