Bad Education? Vita Nostra by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko

Vita Nostra 

By Marina & Sergey Dyachenko(Translated by Julia Meitov Hersey)

A baffled review

Vita Nostra was first published in Ukraine in 2007, in the original Russian. After garnering prizes and a cult following, this novel by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko is now being published by HarperCollins in an English translation by Julia Meitov Hersey. It has been compared to «The Magicians» by Lev Grossman, who has claimed that Vita Nostra «has become a powerful influence» on his own writing.  A Goodreads reviewer describes it as «Harry Potter, were it written by Lev Tolstoy».  It’s a helpful analogy, but one which does not really prepare you for the novel’s enthralling weirdness.

It starts out like a slice of post-Soviet realism, with Sasha Samokhina, the 16-year old protagonist, vacationing at a rather sordid resort with her (single) mother.  Sasha notices that she is being stalked by a stranger, whom she cannot avoid, however hard she tries.  Things soon take a turn for the bizarre.  When Sasha finally speaks to the stranger, he sets her awkward challenges which border on the abusive, and test her physical and psychological endurance to the limit.  The price for failing is high – one near-miss brings about nearly fatal consequences for the persons closest to Sasha.  It turns out all these rather disturbing goings-on are a prelude to Sasha being called to join the mysterious «Institute of Special Technologies».   Potterheads will be disappointed to learn that this is no Russian Hogwarts.  It is situated in the nondescript provincial town of Torpa; its more advanced students seem deranged or crippled; its lecturers are threatening; its curriculum, and particularly the dreaded «Specialty» lecture, seems maddeningly – and pointlessly - difficult.  And there’s a clear sense that failure is simply not an option.  Throughout the novel, Sasha considers not entering the Institute and, eventually, escaping from there.  But can she ever bring herself to do that when it would put her life and her family in mortal danger?  The atmosphere of dread never lifts – and it is accentuated by the fact that for most of the book, neither Sasha nor the readers are really aware what the course is all about, what its aims are and what it will all lead to.  Like the protagonist, we are kept in the dark and slowly discover (part of ) the truth with her.  

These gradual revelations makes Vita Nostra eminently readable, despite the fact that its plot is not really spectacular and often built on abstruse concepts.  At one level, it can be enjoyed as a coming-of-age or college novel, one in which Sasha Samokhina experiences love and grows into an independent adult. At the same time, the fantastical elements give it an added dimension, making us wonder what the heck is going on at the Institute.   By the end of the book, we notice that the novel has prodded us into considering weighty philosophical concepts, such as fate and free will – do we really have choices, or are these set by others, or by our own fears and limitations?  

This was one of the most mind-boggling, unusual and memorable books read this year – and the one with the most gorgeous cover.  If I chop off a couple of stars from my rating it is because I found the language used rather awkward – I can’t say whether it’s the translation or a quirk of the original, but I felt that the shifts from colloquial to a more high-flying style were clunky and unconvincing.  But this is, ultimately, a novel one reads for its baffling ideas – I recommend it precisely for being so strange.

***

The best soundtrack to the novel would most probably be a playlist of post-Soviet rock or dance.  But that would be well outside by comfort zone.  So what I will offer you first is a recording of Gaudeamus Igitur, the medieval student song whose lyrics inspire the novel’s title.

It’s such a well-known tune that it has often been adapted by later composers and musicians.   Brahms quotes it in his Academic Festival Overture, composed in 1880 on the occasion of his receiving an honorary doctorate from the University of Breslau (now Wrocław).  The school’s dignitaries expected a solemn, celebratory work – what they got instead was a potpourri of student driking songs, ending with Gaudeamus Igitur:

Here’s Liszt’s take on the same theme, in a version for piano duet:

To end, a Russian composer for a Russian-language novel: Tchaikovsky’s arrangement for chorus and piano.  In Russian.

Christmas Carol

With Christmas around the corner, here’s a post which will hopefully put you in good cheer – a “Christmas special”, if you will. 

It has been a tradition of mine to write a yearly poem or carol to send to friends far and near.  Unfortunately, all inspiration seems to have dried up this year,  and so I am sharing one of my older poems.  It is inspired by medieval carols, and particularly their curious mix of the sacred and profane.    There follows a review of a work of non-fiction published earlier this year on Vintage, in which Alison Weir and Siobhan Clarke reveal interesting and, sometimes obscure, details about Christmas in Tudor times.  It’s a lovely book which would make for a great stocking filler.

***

Christmas Carol

It is that time of year

when thinning calendars

shed their leaves,

like trees coyly undressing

in the snowlit glare.

These are the days which taste

of hot mince pies and wine,

which bear

the scent of incense,

of cinnamon and pine.

Come, hold my hand,

your touch as warm as winter fires.

Let us make haste

to see the Holy Child

swaddled in a blaze of light,

whilst angel choirs,

voices bright

as solstice bells

announce in all the land...

Make we joy now in this fest

In quo Christus natus est.

***

"A Tudor Christmas" by Alison Weir and Siobhan Clarke  

A book review

Up to some years ago, I used to keep to an annual Christmas ritual. Come end September, or at the latest, early October, as soon as the first rains announced the end of a gloriously long Mediterranean summer, I would uncover my collection of festive CDs and start giving them an airing. Growing older, I’ve lost some of my enthusiasm, but I still love Christmas. And so it didn’t seem strange at all for me to be reading “A Tudor Christmas” three months before December.

 
I read this book electronically, but even without its physical feel, it looked beautifully presented, with vintage-style line drawings to set the mood. It is divided into chapters based on each of the “Twelve days of Christmas”, each of which serves as the departure point for an article addressing some particular aspect of the Christmas in Tudor times – whether it be festive recipes, carol-singing, present-giving as well as the changes brought about by the various religious upheavals of the time – be it the Reformation with its banning of “popish” traditions or the more extreme Puritanical banning of Christmas. In actual fact, in order to give context to the central theme of the book (celebrations at the time of the Tudors, chiefly Henry VIII and Elizabeth I), Alison Weir and Siobhan Clarke also include information about earlier periods (such as Medieval traditions which were retained by the Tudors) and later ones (particularly Christmas under the Stuarts). The text is complemented by festive poetry by the likes of Robert Herrick (he of "What Sweeter Music Fame", memorably set to music by John Rutter).

I read the book in a couple of sittings, but its style invites dipping into, perhaps in front of a crackling fire (though there’s little chance of that in my place of the world).

***

My poem “Christmas Carol” is partly inspired by early ‘macaronic’ carols: festive songs which combined Latin text with lyrics in the vernacular.  The most famous example is probably In Dulci Jubilo.   Legend states that it was composed by the mystic Heinrich Seuse in 1328, after he heard angels singing the words and joined them in a celebratory cosmic dance.   The carol now exists in different guises, including full choral arrangements by Michael Praetorius and organ versions by J.S. Bach.  It later became popular in England, especially following its translation by Robert Pearsall.  It is here sung by the King's Singers, in suitably festive attire.

There are, however, other examples of ‘macaronic’ carols, including the medieval English Make we joy now in this fest, which I quote in the very last verse.   Here’s the original medieval version performed by The Sixteen followed by a contemporary setting by composer Steve Martland (1954-2013)

As a soundtrack to “A Tudor Christmas”, the listener is spoilt for choice, as there are several cds – especially of choral music – which explore festive music by Tudor composers.  I suggest two albums.  The first one features the Choir of Christ Church, Oxford.  Christ Church College was founded in 1546 by Henry VIII, one of the protagonists of Weir’s and Clarke’s book.   The other cd was issued in 2010 by one of Britain’s foremost early music choral ensembles – Stile Antico.  Puer Natus Est, Tudor Music for Advent and Christmas, includes music by Tudor greats such as Byrd and Tallis. 

And since we’re speaking of Henry VIII – it’s often stated that he is the composer of Greensleeves, later adapted into a Christmas carol known by the name What Child is This.  He’s (probably) not, but it’s a good excuse to end with the best-known work (not) written by the portly monarch.

 

Christmas Gothic : Charles Palliser's "The Unburied"

Christmas Gothic 

A review of Charles Palliser's "The Unburied" 

The quick and the dead : "Night Theatre" by Vikram Paralkar

"Night Theatre" by Vikram Paralkar

A Review

In a run-down clinic at the outskirts of a rural Indian village, a once-successful surgeon is bringing what remains of his career to an unassuming end.  Saheb, as the villagers respectfully call him, tries to do his job decently, despite lack of facilities, a sorely limited budget, stifling bureaucracy and institutionalised corruption.  As for assistance, he must make do with an untrained pharmacist and her handyman husband.  But he is soon to face his biggest challenge yet. One night, a young family – father, pregnant mother and infant son – present themselves at the clinic, suffering from horrific injuries inflicted by a band of bandits. It was a savage attack and no one could possibly survive the wounds they show the doctor. In fact, the would-be patients are dead, allowed to return to Earth by a friendly official of the afterlife. There’s one problem though – at dawn, blood will once again course through their veins.  In the course of one long night, the doctor must successfully complete three complex surgeries, not to save the living, but to resurrect the dead.

The dead tend to haunt ghost stories and horror fiction.  Vikram Paralkar’s Night Theatre (originally published in India as The Wounds of the Dead) is neither of the two.  Its horrors, if any, lie in the detailed surgical descriptions (Paralkar is a hematologist-oncologist and, presumably, speaks from experience) and in the quasi-existential sense of futility instilled by the evident moral failure of society.  If pressed to classify the novel, I would describe it as a work of magical realism.  Indeed, despite its fantastical premise, it feels strangely plausible, its plot driven forward by an inherent logic.  The tale has a fable-like quality (none of the characters are referred to by name) but Paralkar manages to use his surreal story as a vehicle for social critique.  At the same time, the otherworldly elements provide a springboard for ruminations about death and the meaning of life.

I must say that the book’s blurb intrigued me, but little did I expect to discover a little literary gem.  By turns tragic, darkly comic and ultimately moving, I thoroughly enjoyed this novel and can’t recommend it enough.  

Expected publication: February 21st 2019 by Serpent's Tail