Sunday, October 30, 2011

old endings and new beginnings

This Halloween I was going to fulfill another teenage dream: be a Playboy Bunny. But instead of going to the party in San Fransisco yesterday, I stayed home, contemplated and then streamed “Jesus Christ Superstar” with Critical Companion on netflix.

«Но тут уж начинается новая история, история постепенного обновления человека,
история постепенного перерождения его, постепенного перехода из одного мира в другой,
знакомства с новою, доселе совершенно неведомою действительностью.
Это могло бы составить тему нового рассказа, – но теперешний рассказ наш окончен.»
[конец Преступления и наказания, Ф. М. Достоевский]

“But here begins a new history, the history of the gradual renewal of a human being,
the history of her gradual rebirth, her  gradual transition from one world to another,
of meeting a new, hitherto completely unknown reality.
This could become the subject of a new story, – but our current story is finished.” 
[the end of Crime and Punishment, F. M. Dostoevsky]

We talked about Halloween costumes before class on Friday and another graduate student told me that he is always Indiana Jones for Halloween. He also told me that it was the Indiana Jones movies that had made him want to go to grad school as a teenager – he always wanted to be that kind of professor when he grew up. Sometimes it seems to me that he is already playing that part and that it fits him very well. I told him that I had always wanted to dress up in a bunny costume for Halloween and that this was for me also connected to the movie which made me want to go to grad school when I was a teenager: “Legally Blonde”. Elle Woods also ran into difficulties during her time at Harvard and wanted to leave but she pulled through – with a little bit of help from kind people around her, of course. This is a side not but worthy to be mentioned.

Thank you to everyone who wrote to me after yesterday’s post – either by way of posting a comment here or sending me a private mail. This support means the world to me. To hear other people’s stories is always useful and to get another perspective equally helpful. Thank you again! The support I received during these past couple of days from people in my immediate surroundings has been as productive – as it turns out, I have my own fair share of kind people here who don’t want me to leave because they’ve formed relationships with me which are meaningful to them. After having questioned my own worth as an individual for the past couple of days and feeling like I am nothing at all, it was refreshing to once again meet myself – bit by bit, step by step – and realize that I don’t have to be anyone else or try to be anything at all for I am already loved just as I am.

Sometime tomorrow – UN apparently decided this – there will be seven billion people on our Earth. Critical Companion says that the world cannot sustain that many human beings but I don’t agree with her – and neither do I always have to – because in my opion no one is ever ‘extra’ but was put on this earth with a purpose. Sometimes this purpose is only to live life and form relationships with other people – for it is in and through our relationships with others that we become as individuals [Critical Companion, who is still on Facebook, once told me she found it puzzling that you can state that you are ‘in a relationship’ on that site for who is not in a relationship of somekind? Or in several?] – but that may be enough to justify one’s existence. Seven billion people equal seven billion births that entail both a mother and a father. Even if the seven billion fathers out there in the world – now I’m speaking very generally and really oversimplifying things – all had cancer, it doesn’t change the fact that when my father has cancer it still affects me without so much as a thought about what everyone else is going through and that everyone else might have gone through the very same thing. I only have one father and he is the only father I am ever going to know. Even if this experience is not niether unique nor exclusive it is still the first time I’m experiencing it and I’m entitled to the full range of emotions I am feeling in connection to this. The life – and possible death – of my father might not mean anything to most people, but this particular man is half of the union which made me into who I am today. Thus, when I imagine the world around me I cannot picture it without him. There is no need for me to do so either because it is my right as an autonomous human being to choose for myself what is of importance in my own human experience. I think seven billion people should constitue a great resource for exploring human experience – seven billion lives which are all different and special and to be cherished for their own discrete worth. In my opinion, rather than being afraid of what being ‘too many’ would inflict on this earth of ours we should celebrate each life and treasure each individual’s value as having come into existence not to be anything in particular but simply to be. Maybe this is a very humanistic approach. But it is the approach I choose to take and I also think that if we don’t value each human life as it is then we can never truly value our own life. Sometimes you need to start with yourself until you can reach others; at other times, you must start with others before you reach yourself.

Today I read the first part of Crime and Punishment. This is probably the novel I have read the most times in my life – I think I’m even understating this reality when I claim to have read it ten times by now. I have owned it in so many copies – in three languages to that – that I’ve had to give most of them away with time. With me in Berkeley I have it in a volume which my advisor at Ural State gave me as a gift when I defended my MA thesis [he gave me the eight published volumes of the Petrozavodsk edition of Dostoevsky’s collected works and this is why these volumes mean a lot ot me]. It is strange how every time you read a novel the work itself is always different and seems brand new even though you know most of it by heart. This is because you can never read it with the same eyes for you are never the same person now as you were the last time – it is sort of like when they say you can’t step into the same river twice. This time what spoke to me most about this novel was the relationships in which Raskolnikov finds himself, and it occurred to me that my favorite quote from it which I love to repeat – «Понимаете, что значит, когда человеку некуда идти?» [“Do you understand what it means when a person has nowhere to go?”] – isn’t actually a reflection of Raskolnikov’s situation. Raskolnikov has plenty of places he can go and kind people he can turn to; the difference is he chooses not to do so. There is always a choice. Sometimes the most important thing is not to recognize what one chooses but what one does not choose. At the end of each day, there is always a choice – and there is always somewhere and to someone you might go. Only when you think you have no other options life gets messy. I guess this explains why Raskolnikov decided to murder that poor old woman – he failed to recognize the other choices at his disposal.

But that’s a very personal reading and probably as unprofessional an interpretation.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

neither here nor there

Every place can be a border place.
This is the ‘Here & There’ monument which seperates Berkeley from Oakland.

At first I wanted to write that for the past couple of days I’ve been thinking. Then it occurred to me that this is not true: I’ve been thinking for the past two months, if not even longer. In the light of certain events I have felt it necessary to reconsider the choice I have made for my life and this I am doing now: reconsidering everything I took as ‘given’ and everything which previously appeared as ‘the only option’ for me. I have had to think hard and carefully about the place where I am right now and why it has seemed to me for so long that this was my only option and that I had nowhere else I could go. After a whole day of crying – that was the traumatic yesterday I want to treasure in the future for both its emotional turmoil and intellectual insights as it sometimes takes a critical rupture to realize one may have made the wrong choice – I have come to understand that Berkeley might not be where I want to be. It is too early to make any definitive decisions and as of yet I have not made any either, but rather considered the options that I do have. At the bottom of all of my arguments and thoughts is the feeling of not being happy in this particular situation. I have been afraid for so long to think like this because this was my dream since August 2008 and when a dream comes true one feels almost obligated to be content with the reality of the dream. Living and pursuing one’s dream, however, is much different from having a dream in the first place. I am afraid of admitting that Berkeley is not the place for me. For a long time I have been haunted by worries of where else to turn with the kind of narrow education I have acquired so far. My education – a BA in Russian from Gothenburg University and an MA in Philology from Ural State University and almost three semesters of graduate classes in Russian literature at Berkeley – is perfect for becoming what I imagined I wanted to become for so long: a professor of Russian literature. If I were to venture outside of academia, I don’t know what I would be able to do with this kind of professional training. I am not sure I want to go outside of the university world but currently I don’t think where I am is where I thought I would be. I think it is good and necessary to be challenged from time to time but I also feel like I’m not sure anymore if this place can furnish me with the appropriate surroundings in which to be challenged. Perhaps I’m not strong enough for this elite university. I was so afraid before to admit that I don’t have to be strong enough for where I am right now and that I am allowed to want something different which better corresponds to my abilities. For a long time I have been on one and the same track, slowly making my way toward fulfillment of my teenage dream of becoming a university teacher in a field I thought I couldn’t love more than I do. But now I feel that I am on the verge of depression – or perhaps I am already in a state of depression – and I have to step back and take a look at what is in front of me. It is scary. I don’t know where reconsidering and rethinking what previously seemed so obviously right might lead me.

I think it’s safe to say that I had a mental and emotional break-down yesterday. Maybe I’m not fit for this specific intellectual environment. Maybe I have been in a state of constant stress – due partly to the personal circumstances over which I have no control and which constantly pull me back to my family – for the past six months or so, and now I have arrived in a place where I no longer have any margins, as we say in Swedish. The constant stress of the difficulties in my family back home have stripped me of that crucial buffer zone needed to be able to bounce back whenever something unforeseen or unpleasant happens. Right now I don’t have any room in which I might be able to negotiate problematic situations and no resources to mediate between the personal and the professional. After some seven years of being in higher education it feels like I have suddenly woken up as if from a bad dream and found myself extremely tired. I don’t think everything should be ‘sunny always’ and that perpetual happiness is what we should expect from all of life’s various stages but I do think that there are limits to how far we may stretch ourselves. I think I have found one such limit of my own during the experience of this semester. Right now I don’t know if I’m going to take the MA exam later in November. I might push it back one more semester. I might also never take it. Before I was so afraid of thoughts like these because I didn’t want to become the girl who couldn’t make it at Berkeley for the rest of my life and because I was so consumed with what other people would say about me if I decided to take another path in life. Critical Companion correctly pointed out that I need to rid myself of such thoughts – because at the end of every single day this is my life and nobody else’s. For so long I have been almost paralyzed by thoughts about what other people think of me and this has led me to a state of persistent fear. I don’t want to be in that state anymore. Right now, I need to think about in what other ways I might lead my life and also about what other options I have. I think I was blinded by my own ambition for so long that I didn’t want to realize how unhappy this ambition ultimately was making me.

I think I sensed in advance that an emotional break-down was on its way during the past week and that’s why I decided to turn to professional counseling on Wednesday to see if what I was going through would be understandable from an outsider’s point of view. I can now say that it was the best thing I have done this year and I don’t understand why I didn’t do it sooner. I guess I was always hoping that tomorrow would bring an end to my doubts, that if I managed to survive today then everything was somehow soon going to be okay. It helped me immensely to hear someone else’s perspective on my situation and many of the comments I received from the professional counselor helped in realizing that my reaction to what is going on is not without foundation. I still have to wrestle a lot with these emotions and especially with the feeling of being ungrateful. So many people wanted to be where I am and so few people have the kind of opportunity I have been given. Despite this I am not sure if I want it. I have begun questioning if I should want something simply because it has been granted me and simply because I have been subject to privilege. Right now it feels as if I have other priorities in my life and that I need to think more about other ways I might be realizing the way I would like to live. Maybe it is time for me to return to Sweden. I have a family there which I miss greatly. I missed large parts of my sister’s childhood and I’m not as sure anymore if I would want to miss as much of her adult life. I have a mother with whom I have a great relationship which I also think should receive more nourishment than it does when I’m so far away. At the moment I feel like I want to go back home for a while and probably spend some time away from academia. I would like to go live in my mother’s new house in the countryside and spend some time alone thinking about life and writing in my solitude. Perhaps finally finish turning my master’s thesis into that book I should’ve published a long time ago. I don’t think I want to say farewell to Russian literature for all eternity but maybe find another place where I could pursue my doctoral thesis under different circumstances. I have been looking at institutions in Sweden where I might do this and I found a few places to which I could apply in the spring.

Even though I have always believed it unwise to go straight from undergraduate to graduate education I have never given much thought to that I myself have done this unwise move. I never really had any time in-between to figure things out. Now I have found myself on the edge of an in-between space – sort of a double border zone if you may – which might result in wandering roads previously considered not be taken. I don’t think I have realized yet what I’m on the verge of doing. Of course I will always look back and wonder what might have been if I had stayed – but all the same I might wonder what could have been if I had left. Since I left Russia I have felt like I am missing aspects of the person I could have become if I had stayed there, without a doubt I will perceive this departure similarly in the future. That is the reality of being neither here nor there: you are always in between, one foot in one place and the other in another. At the moment the number one priority must be my health – mental, emotional, intellectual – and to not ignore this depression but give it the attention it deserves. I was thinking about stuffing myself with anti-anxiety pills just to get through this semester and get the second master’s but I don’t think this is something I should have to do. I don’t think it’s worth it anymore.

It is frightening to stand at the edge, blindfolded as to what lays beneath and beyond. 

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Gott & Blandat

Critical Companion & I saw this sign in the window of the Science Fiction Bookstore around the corner [most literally] on Saturday. Right away I decided I would buy all the gifts for my family from this store – coincidentally, most of them are big sci-fi fans. Then we went into the store and were told they’re closed because of “trouble with the tax man”. Oh well…

A lovely ‘fulkväll’ with Mrs S on Saturday evening.  That’s right – no such occasion is ever complete without two buck chuck from Trader Joe’s…

Drinking hot toddies – warm spiced cider together with our old friend Jameson – tonight with Critical Companion by candle light. I thought the best place for the powerful shot of Ingrid Bergman was next to our impressive bookshelf.

It’s been pretty much up and down the past couple of days for me – some ‘gott’ but mainly ‘blandat’ as they say in my native country – I’ve been stressing out about the master’s exam coming up and this stress has at times been so paralyzing that I haven’t been able to concentrate in class and thus wondered if my mental ability has all of the sudden drastically decreased. I don’t think it has but it is not a pleasant feeling to be sitting with lots of things to say and no way of expressing them and in this way giving the general impression of an individual who doesn’t know what she’s doing there in the first place. I’ve also been suffering from some slight pain in my throat for the past couple of days which added to the overall sensation of discomfort and left me feeling tired and out of it for most of the time. Today I decided to stop procrastinating and spend the entire day with the Russian novel; yesterday, I talked some with one of my professors about how to best prepare myself for the exam and was told to ‘play with the canon’. This creative idea has never occurred to me before and so today I decided to first figure out which works included in ‘the canon’ as stated by my department here are monumental in my understanding of Russian literature. Once I had figured that out, I broke up the chronology of the usual MA list – which is first divided into periods and then alphabetically by author and their works in an almost chronological order [but I found some slip ups in the chronology here and there] – and made my own chronology of major Russian novels, focusing on answering three questions as I made my own list: when? (time of publication versus time of writing); where? (serialized in what journal and when they appeared as separate editions); and what? (genre, as defined by the author versus defined by literary history). Then I included as ‘extra’ information about the novels which I think is interesting to me and something I would pay attention to if I were teaching these works to students. My list includes 43 major Russian works out of which I confessed to having read 29 as well as not having read 14 of them. This exercise generated very basic entries looking like the following:

1823-31: Eugene Onegin by Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin (1799-1837)
Genre “novel in verse”, eight parts plus a ninth chapter (“Onegin’s Journey”) demolished by censorship. Published seperatly in 1833. Belinsky called it “an encyclopedia of Russian life”. Nabokov said “it’s all about language”. In the 20th century, Lotman used its details to describe life in the first half of the 19th century.

1862: Fathers and Children by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev (1818-1883)
Written 1860-1862. Major contemporary reaction in criticism: Pisarev’s article “Bazarov”. The character Bazarov became a living part of contemporary Russian culture and society.

1862-63: What is to Be Done? by Nikloai Gavrilovich Chernyshevsky (1828-1889)
Genre “(socialist) utopian novel”. It was intended as an answer to Turgenev’s Fathers and Children. Written from December 1862 to April 1863 in prison. Published in the journal «Современник» in 1863. Published seperatly in 1867 (Geneva) and 1906 (Russia). Lenin loved this book; Shalamov hated this book.

1873-77: Anna Karenina by Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy (1828-1910)
Published in parts (seven parts – the eighth part only when the novel was published as a whole) in «Русский вестник» 1875-1877. Major critical response from Boris Eikhenbaum in the 20th century.

1925: Cement by Fedor Vasilevich Gladkov (1883-1958)
A classic of socialist realism (a so called construction novel). The same author as Energy (1933). Niether of these classic Soviet prose works I have read.

1927: Envy by Yuri Karlovich Olesha (1899-1960)
Published in the journal «Красная новь». Has the best opening line in all of Russian literature: «Он поет по утрам в клозете» [“He sings in the mornings in the toilet”].

1927: Twelve Chairs by Il’f (1897-1937) and Petrov (1903-1942)
The continuation «Золотой теленок» was published in 1931. Petrov is the younger brother of Valentin Kataev who wrote «Алмазный мой венец» and had a crush on Bulgakov’s sister.

1929-40: Master and Margarita by Mikhail Afanas’evich Bulgakov (1891-1940)
Published for the first time in 1966 (incomplete version); separate edition in 1973.

1945-55: Doctor Zhivago by Boris Leonidovich Pasternak (1890-1960)
Published on November 23 1957 in Italy; in Soviet Union it appeared only in 1988 in the journal «Новый мир». Pasternak received the Nobel Prize in literature 1958.

Next Thursday – this is the one day of the week when I don’t have to come in to the university – I will devote to Russian poetry which is something that I like a lot but don’t know a whole lot about. The following Thursday I will spend figuring out my ‘isms’ and how they each fit into literary history: sentimentalism, romanticism, realism, symbolism, futurism, modernism, socialist-realism, post-modernism. I’m not at all as stressed after having spent this day getting some things straight in my head and also made a plan for the next two weeks. I will pass this exam. And with a little bit of luck it will indeed be a ‘happy and healthy experience’.

Monday, October 24, 2011

“Comparative libraries and curvy blondes”

A scan of my latest article published in the Världens gång section of Göteborgs-Posten on Saturday October 22nd 2011 as Linnéa J Lundblad. Click on the picture to view it in a larger, readable version. As always when I publish scans of my articles a shout out to my lovely friend Annie is due – it is because she’s always there for me that I get this rare opportunity to read my own texts after publication. At first when she sent me the scans I only saw the title, noticed that it had been changed – from “So Many Russian Books, So Little American Time” – and was pissed off. I’ll tell you why in a second, comrades, but first…

…I want to tell you all how overcome with joy I was to see that they credited Mrs S for my new byline picture which is from the photo shoot she did with me in the Scandinavian library in early October. Maybe it is silly but it made me very happy to see both our names together in a public place.

The reason why the title change pissed me off in an almost physical way today – I even made a sound of displeasure seeing it while still in my department – was because I felt as if the word ‘curvy’ had been taken away from me and the way I applied it to myself in the text and reappropriated by my editor, i.e. transformed from its original female point of view to a point of view which is male and therefore made foreign to me as the text’s female author. The predicament of this particular word is that it is heavily loaded with specific connotations [in English as well as in Swedish] which display gender inequality as it is only applicable to a woman – and even more so: it is a description of certain aspects of the female body which the male body lacks. [Perhaps it is the kind of adjective best described through ‘presence in absence’; i.e. ‘curvy’ exists as a concept because it denotes what the male body cannot be.] In this way this word is similar to words describing ethnicity or disability; thus, if I choose this word to describe myself it is allowed because it is a way to endow this word with my own specific semantics. If someone else – in this case, a man – uses the same word to represent the content of my text the meaning of it is considerably altered. The power contained within such culturally and socially and bodily loaded words is such that it may endow the person who uses them with authority to speak about themselves but this authority is easily overthrown when these words are taken over by someone else. When I was writing the article I thought carefully about how I was employing this word – I went back and erased it and then read the article again and arrived at the conclusion that I could use it because it was my statement about myself in the role of subject which was simultaneously representative of myself in the role of object. It was a double-signifier. When it was used in the title through the phrase ‘curvy blondes’ these subjective connotations were dropped and only the objective ones remained – but an objective outlook which lacks the reflective point of view of the speaking voice and/or writing ‘I’ but rather represents the independent point of view of the reader and/or spectator. In this way it suffered oversimplification and became a single signifier.

But maybe the expression ‘you win some, you loose some’ is applicable here: usually when I publish an article in GP about two people google Linnéa J Lundblad and are redirected to my blog. This weekend eight people did the same thing. Without a doubt the increased interest in my person may be explained by the fact that it is now public knowledge that I am a ‘curvy blonde’. And what most people want to find out more about are hot chicks with big boobs – not dusty old Russian books. That’s unfortunate but it’s the way of our world, comrades.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

the truth of our time is written in the toilet

From afar it seems to be just your usual seat-cover dispenser.

Upon closer examination, however, a vibrant polyphony of voices appears.

Sometimes it is difficult to see the words of others as not words of your own.
Perhaps no such distinction exists in human language anyway.

Despite two minor earthquakes in the Bay Area today, the bridge looks fine as the sun sets on San Francisco.

Today I found out when my Master’s exam will take place in this department [I also found out which three professors will be on my committee; it looks like it’s a promising mix of one good cop, one bad and one neutral to mediate the extremes] – my first written exam will take place almost a month from now: on November 22nd. The next one a week after that, and the final oral exam happens only on December 12th. Even though this is my second Master’s – my first Master’s exam in Russia in February 2010 was not an entirely pleasant experience but somehow I survived – I cannot help but be overcome with fear as there are several white spots in my knowledge of Russian literature which I do not doubt will be paid special attention to. I could wait another semester and take it next spring; I’m actually taking the exam early but this is because of personal reasons and also because I feel like I should be advancing to the next step in my graduate education by now. Being still on the level of a Master’s feels familiar and secure – after this I’ll be slowly approaching that dreaded PhD after which there is no stage to advance to. Even though I do recognize that I know a lot about Russian literature – so much that I sometimes feel like studying entirely something else and that’s when I turn to folklore and escape to the department of anthropology – there is always a hesitation: what don’t I know? I have decided that I must make some tough choices during the month that I still have left to prepare and buckle down and opt for studying instead of roaming the streets of Berkeley during my free time. Not that I do this too frequently but I have been known to spend my time unwisely in the past… I guess I’ll just have to cross my fingers and hope that in the end it will be worth it.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

The Living Doctor

Oh the Urals! With places like this, who needs a home?

«Изменил ли он Тоне, кого-нибудь предпочтя ей?
Нет, он никого не выбирал, не сравнивал.
Идеи «свободной любви», слова вроде «прав и
запросов чувства» были ему чужды».
[Б. Л. Пастернак, «Доктор Живаго»]

“Was he unfaithful to Tonya, preferring anyone over her?
No, he did not choose anyone, he did not compare.
Ideas of  ​​‘free love,’ words like ‘the rights and
requests of feeling’ were foreign to him.”
[Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago]

Pasternak’s Nobel Prize winning novel Doctor Zhivago is a about a man who does not make choices. What most readers remember of this incapability – an eternal hesitation to the point of perpetual ambivalence – is his continuous predicament of being between two women: his wife Tonya and his lover Lara. Doctor Zhivago doesn’t choose any of these women; he doesn’t even compare them to or with each other (as the telling quote above exposes). Instead, he moves reluctantly from one to the other, from one place to another – but he remains always neither here nor there, never present when present but also never completely absent. His is situated on a permanent border between people and situations; absent in his presence and present in his absence. Historical time seems to make all decisions for him: as he decides to break from Lara and reveal his affair to Tonya, he is instantly taken away to practice medicine with the partisans. Thus relieved from creating his own destiny, doctor Zhivago may linger on his hesitation and continue to not make choices. Nothing is either good or bad – the revolution, other people’s ideas and opinions, stories he hears, surroundings, events – but rather he always opts for the position of mediator between two extremes; not picking sides but remaining in an indefinite middle location where no responsibility may damage or elevate him.

The first time I read Doctor Zhivago I was – at least I think – seventeen years old. From what I remember of my first reading – in a borrowed paperback copy in Swedish translation – I became consumed by the fate of Lara. For biographical reasons, her story appealed to me at that time and also her spirituality as depicted in the first chapters spoke to me as a teenager in search of a religious experience to call my own. I sided so much with Lara during my first reading that I could not relate to doctor Zhivago at all; to me he appeared a distant, problematical, and perhaps even irrelevant hero of the novel. I don’t know if I actually thought so at the time but now it seems to me as if I might as well have questioned the aesthetic motives for making him the main vehicle of such a hefty work of prose. Clearly, the interesting thing with this novel was Lara – she was the representative revelation, the focal point, the structural center of it all. What she saw in doctor Zhivago – and, ultimately, what Pasternak found so fascinating about him – remained an unpenetratable mystery for me at the age of seventeen.

The second time I’m reading «Доктор Живаго» – in the Russian original, in a paperback copy given to me for Christmas 2006 [that it would take me almost five years to read the thing did not occur to me then] – I’m finding the main character to be much more accessible than I ever imagined possible and his fate immediate as well as intimate for my own particular reasons. This time these reasons may also be biographical: in order to relate to someone else’s experience it is imperative to have experience of your own. Whereas at seventeen my own experience could easily be related to the experience of Lara, I had not yet lived the adult life which would eventually furnish me with the hermeneutic horizon that renders doctor Zhivago’s experience available for understanding. At seventeen, I had not yet hesitated. I had not yet been faced with the choice; I had not made one and I had not wondered what might have been different if I had not or if I had made another choice. In the tumultuous depiction of public life intervening into doctor Zhivago’s private existence I can now sense something else, something more mature than what I was able to grasp some ten years ago – my own view of the complexities of the human experience has been considerably widened as I have also come to face the predicament of ambivalence.

In contemporary critical reviews, the ambivalence of doctor Zhivago was seen as the novel’s greatest flaw. I think rather that this may be the work’s key attraction; the reader is not lured into the narrative so much by the engaging love triangle as she is by the mesmerizing negation of all possible choices. The reason why the narrative remains static, why the characters appear as the embodiment of ideas rather than ideas embodied, the frustration of ‘real’ plot, directed plot – is contained in the ambivalence doctor Zhivago himself. The success of the failure to narrate can be rendered meaningful when we approach the text through the prism of the novel’s main character, through his own hermeneutic horizon. The search for the impossibility to ‘call things by their proper names’ – which is the project of Lara and central to her translation of past experience into future life – should be conducted in the historical time frame of the novel. In an unfinished time, there can be no final answers; there is no closure for that which continues. Rather than subjecting history to himself, doctor Zhivago subjects himself to history. Perhaps in this objectivizing strategy lies an important clue to why his multiple returns constitute an eternal return to Lara: in the openended narrative through which he conceptualizes his life, there is a desire to finish the story. As he is unable – or reluctant – to do so himself, he circumscribes his own plot to the advantage of hers: an ordered enterprise toward an end in which to embed his own disorder.

P.S. my next article in Göteborgs-Posten will be published this Saturday, October 22nd 2011.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

modest confessions of a nascent consumer

Today after church I scrambled through downtown San Francisco in search of a birthday gift for Mother – it suddenly occurred to me that as it is less than a month away, I need to get cracking if it is to arrive in Sweden on time – and must say I was not as scared by Bloomingdales and Nordstrom this time as I was by a prior visit to Macy’s. Even though I like the luxurious experience of such huge American department stores on occasion, I feel most a home in an H&M store… Probably the gift will not come wrapped as aesthetically pleasing in the mail, Mother.
But my attentive comrades are probably wondering: what’s that thing on the kitchen wall? [In addition to thinking ‘wow, that’s some pretty flowers’ – yes, Critical Companion did indeed outdo herself with this week’s arrangement.]

On Saturday Critical Companion and I went looking for things to put up on our walls and found ourselves wandering the open-air market by Ashby Bart station. That’s where I insisted we must get something as Berklish as Dalai Lama quotes and she was the one to choose which one.

We also bought a big space shot of the river Lena’s delta [to go with the lurking Russian theme of the apartment] and a black and white photograph of Ingrid Bergman looking fierce [I suggested we create a wall of ‘inspiring women’ but when thinking about who else should get the honor of being represented all I could muster was Simone De Beauvoir and Selma Lagerlöf so we’ll see how that project pans out]. As we have yet to frame and hang these curious installations I do not think it is appropriate to exhibit them on the blog. Though the public version of my existence shows little trace of it, I have been engaging in quite a bit of shopping lately. About two weeks ago I finally got back on my taxes to the United States of America [yay for a functional society notwithstanding all the civic unrest] and immediately decided that the best way to spend this huge chunk of cash was to put it back into the economy it came from: by shopping in California. I even updated myself with a new perfume – this time I opted for a mini-sized bottle as I’ve grown tired of carrying heavy bottles with me to the gym – I know it is from Chloe but I don’t know what the fragrance is called. Anyway, it smells good. Inititally, I wanted my spending fiest to be directed to a distinctly American re-vamping of my European appearance and thus the first place I went to look for a new smell was at Victoria’s Secret. I thought I wanted something outrageously feminine, something which made me smell like ‘a baby prostitute’, a scent so bizarrely girlish and crazily female that when wearing it I would always be aware of the fact that I purchased this at Victoria’s Secret. However, common sense saved me from this social experiment [after all, it turned out that I’d prefer not to smell like that much of an all American girl]. The store didn’t loose a customer in me because of this – I bought some of its trademark products instead. Also, I bought new boots [at another store] – one of these days I will be struck by the idea to take a picture of them and publish it here. In the meantime, comrades, you will just have to trust me when I say they are supercute. In addition to this I also acquired a silly amount of tights; inspired by Mrs S’s impeccable academic style, I decided to try lace tights for the first time in my life. Judging by the first time I wore them [on Friday] this investigation of a new side of myself was a success. I have indeed been a good consumer as of late: today, while searching for something gorgeous for Mother, I stumbled upon a studded bow-ring at Juicy Couture and did not let the hefty pricetag come between my Swedish humble roots and the inclination to own something sparkly. From what I recall, I once owned a similar ring which I bought during the fall of 2009 in Yekaterinburg. I don’t know what eventually happened to it – all I’m certain of is that it is no longer present in my jewelry collection – but I do remember that most of the fake diamonds ultimately fell off. Wait, I think I have a picture of it…

Here I am with my first bow-ring on October 14th 2009.
Usually I posed for ego-shoots in the restroom at Ural State before teaching Swedish in the evenings… oh the memories! If I tried the same thing here, people would look at me strange. Also, there are no windows in the restrooms here and you all know how important natural light is to looking good. Clear skin, a good hair day, and eyes peering dreamily out into the distance don’t hurt as well.

Friday, October 14, 2011

with friends like these

A shot of what it’s like to write a midterm paper on the dream of Oblomov at Free Speech café in the afternoon on October 14th 2011. Perhaps I don’t say it often enough, but I do live in the best of worlds…

A while back we were having a break during the folklore class I’m taking in the anthropology department. The class I’m taking this fall is the second section of two classes on folklore required for the designated emphasis in folklore, and some of the people taking it with me now also took the first section of it in the spring. Thus, I know some people and some people know me. The same people also know Boy-C who is in my department and who is also doing the same designated emphasis in folklore. During the aforementioned break, one of the people we both know seized the opportunity while Boy-C was out of the room to ask: “So, you and Boy-C are dating?” Up until this comment it had never occurred to me that from an outsider’s perspective it would seem this should naturally be the case when a woman and a man always show up together for class and sit next to each other and seem to have not only an interest in common but other things as well. I only thought of it like we have an awesome friendship and enjoy spending time together just the two of us sometimes and sometimes I make sure Boy-C gets the kind of chair he prefers in the classroom before he gets there because I am one of the few people who actually know what kind of chair he prefers and maybe I’m a bit of a caring individual. When this question was posed, I wasn’t sure I had understood it correctly and so I pointed to a location outside of the room: “You think I’m dating him?” The other person seemed puzzled: “What, I think he’s handsome.” Someone in the back giggled and I felt I had to save face: “I’m not dating him because it’s impossible – he’s gay.” Since then I’ve become increasingly aware of the fact that it is not obvious to everyone that Boy-C is not into women. And that when we show up as a pair to various events and keep close to each other – sometimes solely because we feel like two outsiders in our new folklore context – it appears as if we’re a couple. [When I told Boy-C about this, he suggested we go along with it and pretend that we’ve been married for years… It sure doesn’t help when he says things like “I was thinking about Nietzche when we read this passage because I remembered the class on modernism that Joey and I took…” and make it sound like we also took that class together which we didn’t – he took it years before I got here.] Today when we were heading out to our Friday afternoon swim together, we were stopped in the hallway by one of our folklore professors and it occurred to me that we were being addressed not as separate individuals but rather by the dual ‘you guys.’ Sometimes I wish I could be dating Boy-C and tonight Critical Companion explained to me that this makes me what is known in contemporary culture as his ‘hag’ [anyone who has watched their fair share of “Will & Grace” would get this reference, I did not]. What I really want is for Boy-C to get back with his ex – whom I’ve taken such a great liking to that I’ve basically hijacked his friendship and was overcome with joy when I ran into him at Berkeley Bowl last night and we could share an enlightening dialouge about kefir and hummus. There is something about living in a place for a second year; all of the sudden, you keep running into people you know everywhere. A year ago I had very limited friends here and now it seems I must plan my dialy routines so as not to run into too many friends during the work day at the university because this often leads to absurdly long lunches accompanied by refreshing conversations. Sometimes it even seems like I have to sneak in study sessions far away from homebase just so as to get some work done and not get caught in the social aspect of being a graduate student. In many ways, Berkeley is becoming what Ural State University used to be for me [and judging by the month of June that I spent there this summer, still is]: a place where I gravitate from having lunch with one friend to drinking coffee with another friend and then showing up in the Slavic library to catch up with some more friends and find out what’s going on in their lives… Having too many friends is not a bad thing, though. If it is a good thing to have so many friends where you work, however, is yet to be decided.

Speaking of dating – though I don’t know if I want to speak of such a serious thing as dating at this fragile stage – I think I might be on the verge of something (!) and I’m not really sure how to best handle the course these events seem to be heading. Yesterday I met up for coffee with the non-American with whom I went on a day-trip around to the other side of the Bay on Sunday and it suddenly occurred to me how cute he is (!). Later it occurred to me how strange this whole situation is. Even though I’ve been lamenting my whole time here in California about the fact I don’t have a boyfriend and bugged everyone I know with my wish to aquire a boyfriend, I’m not sure this was what I had in mind.

Well, at least I can think about the implications of that as I devote this entire weekend to writing that midterm paper which is to be a close reading of the dream of Oblomov in the novel Oblomov conducted in the spirit of Auerbach. Sometimes life as a graduate student is not very glamorous; I didn’t know it when I applied, but what I was saying goodbye to was not only life in Russia but also free time. 


P.S. I was recently informed by Google that this post is my 500th post here on the blog. If that's not графомания, I don't know what is!

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

“project happiness”

You know what they say, comrades: if it’s written on a California wine…
Written on this bottle is also ‘kruzhok’ [кружок] which is the name of my department’s graduate initiative – when the grad students united by Slavic interests get together about twice a month to have wine, pizza, and desert while one of us shows his or her research to the rest. It is one of the best things about being at Berkeley. If you’re out there wondering where to go to graduate school in Russian literature, remember us and our kruzhok…

Currently we’re having a mumps outbreak here at Berkeley [for all of you who have been wondering what ‘påssjukan’ would be in English, this is your moment], but that’s not what I came down with on Monday. I think I had a lighter version of the flu – and brief variant of it to that – but because Critical Companion insisted I stay home on Tuesday I did this and was much tormented by the fact that it was the first time so far that I’ve ever missed a class in this university [as a matter of fact, I missed two classes]. While home alone for an entire day, I was also much tormented by boredom. I cured some of this boredom by streaming Bridesmaids, which I’ve wanted to see for a while now. I liked the movie even though I found the handsome and absolutely dreamy cop with an Irish accent that turns up just when things can’t get any worse to seem like something from a fairytale. I’m not saying that I don’t think that such handsome and absolutely dreamy cops with Irish accents exist in the world; the point I would like to get across is that I think it is highly unlikely that any real girl [and for all it’s worth I do consider this movie to be about ‘real girls’] would meet such a man and that he would turn out to be as awesome in actual life as he is in the movie. But I get it – it wouldn’t have been a true Hollywood movie had not such a man eventually turned up and turned out to be so great and ready to love her just like she is.

Sunday, October 09, 2011

Project Happiness

On Friday Mrs. S did a quick photoshoot with me in the Scandinavian library.
I guess the theme we were going for was ‘intellectual female angst.’

The reason I asked her to do this was because my next article for Göteborgs-Posten in is all about libraries [I named it “So Many Russian Books, So Little American Time” but we all know how my editor loves to christen my creations on his own].

This is how I look when I’m thinking brilliant thoughts.

This one is just cool.

Comrades, I’m working on something I’ve decided to call ‘project happiness’. What it involves is perhaps evident from its title, but let me nevertheless elaborate on the subject. It has been brought to my attention in recent every day existence that I’m not a particularly happy person. I’m prone to extended instants of anguish and often lament as to what I have done to myself and my life and habitually overlook to appreciate it and be grateful for what I have. I live in one of the best places [‘best’ used in the broadest sense of the word here] in the world. I get paid to study Russian literature in California. The sun shines almost every day. There will be no winter never ever. I am surrounded by amazing young scholars. I can have lunch with Mrs. S – whom I suspect to be one of the most dazzling minds to come out of my homecountry – every day of the week at Berkeley if I wanted to and she didn’t object. I come home to Critical Companion in the evenings and she’s always there for me no matter what I feel like or what has happened during the day. I write things and these things get published.

However, after the photoshoot on Friday I started wondering if I’ve really done a wise choice cutting off my hair and saving out my bangs. I was once told that I have a strangely shaped head – and my high, broad cheekbones certainly don’t help – but to me it was not as apparent before as now because I always had a lot of hair to cover most of it with. I’m going to linger on this revelation for a while and see what kind of conclusion I arrive at. Most likely I’m not going to have this short hair again; maybe I won’t go back to bangs. You can do a lot of things with hair. With your head, unfortunately, what you got is what you get.

But that really doesn’t matter. At all.

This weekend I didn’t work as much as I should have done because I was launching ‘project happiness.’ Working a lot can be a good thing but when it is all you it is neither productive nor healthy and we all need to learn how to bracket chunks of time and label them ‘free.’ On Friday evening I went out on a date, a very traditional American date: dinner and a movie [but not with an American]. On Saturday I worked during the day but took some time off in the evening to go celebrate Mr. J’s birthday at Cheeseboard. This Sunday was Swedish service in San Francisco, and so I performed my duties as church hostess there. After this, the non-American picked me up in the city and we drove north to Stinson Beach. There we had wine on the beach in the sun, walked barefoot along the shore, and had a good time. In the evening, we drove to Sausolito for dinner. When he dropped me off at home it was 10 pm and I realized that I had not done any work all Sunday and that instead of feeling guilty I felt happy. Simply happy.

Thursday, October 06, 2011

Vi vann!

Berkeley’s Scandinavian Department celebrates the victory.

”De sparkar fotboll
plötslig förvirring – bollen
flög över muren.”
[Tomas Tranströmer, Fängelse. Nio Haikudikter Från Hällby Ungdomsfängelse (1959)]

“They’re playing ball
sudden confusion – the ball
flew over the wall.”
 [Tomas Tranströmer, Prison. Nine Haiku Poems from Hällby Youth Prison (1959)]

«Лара шла, вздрогнула и остановилась.
Это про нее. Он говорит: завидна участь растоптанных.
Им есть что рассказать о себе. У них все впереди.
Так он считал. Это Христово мнение.»
[Борис Пастернак, «Доктор Живаго»]

“Lara walked, shuddered, and stopped.
This is about her. He says: enviable is the fate of the downtrodden.
They have something to tell. For them, everything is yet to come.
That’s what he thought. This is the opinion of Christ.”
[Boris Pasternak, Doktor Zhivago]

*

Det var inte så här
det skulle bli
annorlunda.

Skulle vetat vägen vid
det här laget
vinner aldrig.

Blåmärkena bleknade
för längesedan
känns nyss.

Tillsammans kunde vi
gå hem
var och en till sig.

När blir det min
tur
i kärlek.

Modigare kan ingen vara
än Guds barnaskara
står och skakar.

Ingen minns dina
brutna löften
läker sakta.

Det var inte så här
jag skulle bli
som andra.