Evgeny Petrov (1903–1942)

After the joy of the Good Soldier Svejk, I searched for other classic East European satires and made a beeline for this tall tale of Ippolit Matveyevich "Kisa" Vorobyaninov and Oskar Bender in their quest to find a treasure of diamonds hidden in one of twelve chairs scattered by fate across Russia. It was a fairly diverting set of adventures and characters, especially the 'smooth operator', but the humour was too specific to the era and had not aged so well. Hard to imagine it was even that show more funny at the time, kind of slapstick. Still, had it's moments and felt like a window into the 1920s when the Soviet Union was emerging. show less

“And if you asked us now ‘What did America seem like to you?’ our honest answer would sound something like this: ‘The most advanced technology in the world and a horrifyingly oppressive, stupefying social order.”

Ilf and Petrov’s chronicle of their two-month road trip from New York to California and back again in 1935 is delightful in many ways – their humor of course, but also their keen insight and commentary on America as seen from an outsider, accompanied by the large number show more of photographs Ilf took. The context is extraordinary – America still mired in the Depression, the USSR just about to go through Stalin’s purges, and Ilf soon to die at just 39 from tuberculosis. (Petrov himself would also die young at 39, during the war). It all gives added meaning to the photographs and writing. Their observations of course are tinged with bias, given their own country’s politics at the time, but most of it is searing and truthful.

What’s interesting is that so much of what was true in 1935 is also true today – America’s obsession with cars, its advertising and culture of consumerism, and the low-brow taste of most Hollywood films. Most moving were the chapters on black people and Native Americans, which commented directly on racism, segregation, and the lack of opportunity and thus poverty for people of color.

There are also very light and amusing bits, such as being dazzled by popcorn - “kernels of corn, fried in a brazier, that have popped open and turned into little white buds (people pour butter on them, sprinkle them with salt, and eat them)…” – it’s kind of mind-boggling to think that this was less than 100 years ago. We also get little observations like “The young women in their long wide trousers of fine wool were a sign that Hollywood was close by.”

As for the American demeanor, see if these observations from the authors ring true: their incredible friendliness, helpfulness, optimism, and efficiency, but at the same time, their profound lack of curiosity, lack of appreciation for conversation around art and culture, and how quickly they eat their dinner. Ilf & Petrov honestly don’t seem to be making these types of comments for political reasons, and if anything a certain admiration shines through.

It’s not an incredibly detailed travelogue or written in diary form, which I think makes it highly readable (even if I wish it was longer). Some other miscellaneous bits that I found interesting:

- Meeting director Rouben Mamoulian and novelist Theodore Dreiser.
- Seeing the giant Redwood trees, one “only 1,684 years old” and philosophizing about man’s transience.
- Seeing Alcatraz, where Al Capone was in prison.
- Seeing Redwood City California’s sign which I myself have always chuckled over - “Climate Best by Government Test” – and to think, they were right there, under the same sign.
- Lastly, the bridge at Cameron, Arizona, built in 1911 and at the time the longest west of the Mississippi – what was interesting is that Ilf & Petrov point out that it was built with profits from oil found on a Reservation, prompted a lawsuit by Native Americans, whereas if you poke around online about this bridge, you’ll only see reference to it being built to “improve access to the Navajo and Hopi Reservation,” with no mention of those other things. It’s a random little detail, but one wonders just how much else is glossed over even today in what we find written about history.

Quotes:
On America as a meritocracy, which I found incredibly perceptive and true to this day:
“Along with Bible stories, the biographies of famous millionaires, who all, as if by previous agreement, started their careers as errand, paper, or shoeshine boys, are drilled into people’s heads from early childhood. It’s a simple ideology: anyone can become a millionaire. All these dizzying careers have been history for a long time; millionaires long ago became a closed caste that governs the country; people have been inheriting millions for a long time. Still, in schools, churches, movies, and newspapers, the same story gets crammed down people’s throats with ever-increasing insistence. That’s why American optimism is irritating.”

On American optimism, related to the above:
“Chekhov once said that he had to squeeze the slave out of himself one drop at a time. For a long time yet, drop by drop, Americans will have to squeeze out their optimism, which the combined forces of the church, school, movie industry, and newspapers strive to maintain.”

On the last images of America, ah, such a touching note:
“When the Majestic, on which we were sailing, went past Wall Street, the banking region of New York, it had already gotten dark and the lights had come on in the huge bank buildings. Golden electric light shone in the windows; maybe it was light reflecting off real gold, who knows?! That sparkling, that last golden vision, accompanies us all the way out to where we entered the open sea. After two hours, no trace of America was left. A lighthouse blinked once – that was all. The cold January wind ruffled the tall ocean waves.” show less

OK, now that was just plain old... fun.

A bit dated, sure. But it's very easy to see why it's become a classic; not only is it laugh-out-loud-in-public funny, but with some brilliant settings and character work too, all circling around a huckster character who'll sell people any get-rich-quick scheme or political/philosophical utopia with the same bravado. Almost as if there wasn't really a huge difference between appealing to Mammon or Lenin when it comes to getting people to think they're show more doing something for themselves while someone else profits. Huh. show less

More adventures with Ostap Bender, the protagonist of The Twelve Chairs and one of the great characters in Russian literature, resurrected here in The Golden Calf.

There is a lightness to this novel as it rollicks through Bender’s adventures, while at the same time satirizing the Soviet Union, religion, and stupidity in all forms. “I have developed very serious differences with the Soviet regime. The regime wants to build socialism, and I don’t,” says Ostap early on in the novel, to show more explain why he wants to get his hands on enough money to flee to Brazil. The con man comes to know of another con man who has amassed a hidden fortune while living the quiet and humble life of a clerk, and along with his cohorts, sets out to fleece him.

Ilf & Petrov write with intelligence, zaniness, and fun, particularly for their time. I loved the manager who has rubber stamps made to speed up how quickly he gets through notes that come across his desk, which start from things like “No objection” and “Make it happen”, progress to “Are they completely crazy?” and “Give me a break”, and finally a very large stamp with an all-purpose form letter. Something for everyone here.

Quotes:
On aspirations:
“Parallel to the big world inhabited by big people and big things, there’s a small world with small people and small things. In the big world, they invented the diesel engine, wrote the novel Dead Souls, built the Dnieper Hydroelectric Station, and flew around the globe. In the small world, they invented the blowout noisemaker, wrote the song Little Bricks, and built Soviet Ambassador-style pants. People in the big world aspire to improve the lives of all humanity. The small world is far from such high-mindedness. Its inhabitants have only one desire – to get by without going hungry.”

On communism:
“’The Soviet regime took everything from me,’ thought the former school district superintendent, ‘rank, medals, respect, bank account. It even took over my thoughts. But there’s one area that’s beyond the Bolshevik’s reach: the dreams given to man by God. Night will bring me peace. In my dreams, I will see something that I’d like to see.’
The very next night, God gave Fyodor Nikitich a terrible dream. He dreamt that he was sitting in an office corridor that was lit by a small kerosene lamp. He sat there with the knowledge that, at any moment, he was to be removed from the board. Suddenly a steel door opened, and his fellow office workers ran out shouting: ‘Khvorobyov needs to carry more weight!’ He wanted to run but couldn’t.
Fyodor Nikitich woke up in the middle of the night. He said a prayer to God, pointing out to Him that an unfortunate error had been made, and that the dream intended for an important person, maybe even a party member, had arrived at the wrong address. He, Khvorobyov, would like to see the Tsar’s ceremonial exit from the Cathedral of the Assumption, for starters.”

And:
“’In Soviet Russia, the only place where a normal person can live is an insane asylum,’ he said, draping himself in a blanket. ‘Everything else is super-bedlam. I cannot live with the Bolsheviks, no sir! I’d rather live here, among common lunatics. At least they aren’t building socialism. Plus, here they feed you, while out there, in bedlam, you need to work. And I have no interest of working for their socialism. Finally, I have my personal freedom here. Freedom of conscience, freedom of speech…’”

On laziness in marriage:
“Lokhankin brushed the crumbs off his beard, threw his wife a cautious, evasive glance, and quieted down on his couch. He really didn’t want to part with Barbara. Despite numerous shortcomings, Barbara had two very important merits: a large white bosom and a steady job. Basilius had never had a job. A job would have interfered with his reflections on the role of the Russian intelligentsia, the social group of which he considered himself a member. As a result, Lokhankin’s prolonged ruminations boiled down to pleasant and familiar themes: ‘Basilius Lokhankin and His Significance,’ ‘Lokhankin and the Tragedy of Russian Liberalism,’ ‘Lokhankin and His Role in the Russian Revolution.’”

On religion:
“The grand strategist didn’t care for Catholic priests. He held an equally negative opinion of rabbis, Dalai Lamas, Orthodox clergy, muezzins, shamans, and other purveyors of religion.
‘I’m into deception and blackmail myself,’ he said. ‘Right now, for example, I’m trying to extract a large amount of money from a certain intransigent individual. But I don’t accompany my questionable activities with choral singing, or the roar of the pipe organ, or silly incantations in Latin or Old Church Slavonic. I generally prefer to operate without incense or astral bells.’” show less