Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Yesterday, as I read the morning paper, a headline jumped out at me. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn born December 11, 1918 had died at the age of 89. I was shocked! I didn't know he was still alive to die. I had read in high school one of his master pieces, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. I even own, but haven't yet attempted since it is pretty daunting, his Nobel Prize winning The Gulag Archipelago.

Before reading his book I had a limited idea about Russia. Dad had visited/studied in Russia before my birth (see "Russian Luncheon") and Grandma Gregory had some nicknack's that he had brought back from Russia in a shadow box on the wall in the dining room. Of course after reading Solzhenitsyn's Ivan Denisovich I had met the Russian exchange students at our school (I remember being aghast at the lack of the use of deodorant but what do you expect from a sheltered high schooler). I even ended up with a Russian pen pal for a while.

Reading about Solzhenitsyn's death brought back thoughts of other books and authors I had read during or soon after high school that not only did I enjoy but opened my world to other experiences. I had always kept a list of books that I had read (my little black book), at one time I even included dates of when the books were finished but that practice has slid. But looking at my list of authors and their books I can tell what was happening in my life, partly from the memories of the book but partly by the surrounding books (I tend to read about events in my life like Islam for Beginners by N.I. Matar when I met Ra'ed, Aquamarine by Carol Anshaw when I had to make some hard choices in my life, and I Speak for this Child; True Stories of a Child Advocate by Gay Courter when I had to deal with the HORRIFIC guardian ad lietem Lisa Robechek): Elie Wiesel's Night (which Tommy, Vincent's dad actually read after I did and learned for the first time about the Holocaust, he would then state that he hated Germans...he had always been racist, now he had more to add to the hate and helped to end our relationship), Chaim Potok's My Name is Asher Lev (I remember finishing the book and crying with Tommy wondering how a book could evoke such emotion and I kept thinking how could he be so shallow) and The Chosen, Primo Levi's If Not Now, When? (which seemed appropriate not only because of it's topic but also because I was reading this during the five weeks of trial for custody of Vincent and waited for someone in the justice system to end our struggle).

It is always amazing to me how one topic can evoke memories you didn't even know were simmering below the surface. Books have always been a portal to other worlds for me, whether they were pleasant or not so pleasant, but when I think of Solzhenitsyn, I think of how his writing opened a world of serious reading. No longer were books of fantasy and adventure my only reading. Books such as To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee and the play Inherit the Wind showed me other ways the world could be perceived. Maybe with the death of Solzhenitsyn I'll finally pick up The Gulag Archpelago and again relive the horror of his time in a Russian prison as a political prisoner. Who knows what emotions and thoughts it may instill?
-- Stephanie