I loved reading this. Thank you, George! I feel I've just been taken through a lawyer's closing arguments. Guilty of having sex! Yes! I won't write about your question here ("...to ask whether the ending of the story has more bite if they have sex or they don’t") since you'll be writing about the ending next week. I had been wondering if Babel purposely left the sex out of the story--or if he knew just how ambiguous he'd made things. I'm guessing he did NOT mean to confuse his readers. So perhaps it's the translation aspect, or perhaps it's our modern-day minds getting in the way. Because it seems clear that Babel did not mean to confuse us.
For we who are writers, I think this remark by you is something crucial to remember: "a short story is a beautifully tuned, organic system in which every element is humming and resonating and in touch with every other element." This is, of course, how the "gun in the first act must go off in the third act" maxim came into being. Everything in a short story is there for a reason, and every part speaks to every other part. Always good to be reminded of this.
One tiny bit of the story that I loved: In the very beginning of the story, the narrator writes of spending his days visiting morgues and police stations. He says he and his comrades live in dire poverty. And then, he writes, "But the happiest of all was Kazantsev." Leaving behind the part about Kazantsev having found a home in a country he'd never been, the line strikes me as important because of that word "but." It means the narrator, poor and hungry, was happy! He had his passions, his loves, his convictions, and he was happy. This, then, speaks to the end of the story--but i said i wouldn't write about that now, so I'll stop. (I just love that very important "but"!!!)
This interpretation also makes the ending hit harder for me. So if we assume they have sex, then in the span of basically a page we have him leaving, so happy he's choosing to swagger and sing instead of walk straight. He gets to the home he shares with his people, opens up is book, and guess what, the author who just inspired this act was actually deeply unwell and died a horrible death. It feels like a kind of ironic, very Babel joke to end on. And since that, and not the sex, is what leaves him feeling brushed by a "foreboding of truth," it feels all the more important.
Before reading this, I was definitely in the "they did not have sex" camp. I think it all comes down to how one reads the various actions.
He kisses her, and her lips "tremble and swell." I think swelling indicates some arousal, but "tremble" could mean either fear or anticipation. If it is fear (which is how I read it), she's feeling two conflicting things at once, which I think is reasonable, considering the circumstances.
She staggers backwards and presses herself up against the wall. I took this to mean that she was trying to create space between them. She wanted to get away. I definitely didn't read it as some sort of offering. Then, "On her hands and shoulder spots began to burn." This could be arousal, but it could also be embarrassment. I read it as embarrassment.
When she tells him to move to another chair, my interpretation was that she was indicating a chair that was further away from her own. I know there's nothing in the text that suggests that, but believe it or not, that's how I read it.
The growled, "you're a funny one," after he knocks over her bookshelf, I read as, "I've really had enough of you."
Obviously, a big part of my interpretation is because I relate more to Raisa than I do the narrator, and if I were in Raisa's shoes, it'd have been a no-go. There's nothing in the story that makes the narrator attractive. What is she seduced by? His poverty? The way he's always ogling her and her maid? His condescending attitude towards her translations?
Although I'm frustrated by the idea that when a woman behaves ambiguously, that means she's being coy and flirtatious and not merely disinterested, after reading George's interpretation, I'm convinced that Babel intended for us to believe they had sex. This is because Babel probably related more to the narrator than he did to Raisa, and in the narrator's mind, Raisa was attracted to him.
As far as how that how that changes the story for me, it makes it less interesting. I thought the story worked better with Raisa rejecting him in the end.
She "prorychala" in Russian -- literally "growled."
An interesting question to consider might be one about the provenance of those scars "smoldering" on her powdered back. Are those the imprint of the intricate intercrossed pattern on the tall rigid backs of those "Slavonic" chairs, the alien matrix of her life -- or are they perhaps, metaphorically, and fancifully, the visual manifestation of his cutting a "clearing" through her too-correct and therefore lifeless translation of the "sole passion of her life," military-style, with a merciless machete of his pen?
To me, this is a story about the hunger for experience - one I recognise and remember from my own youth, even though I am far away in space and time from much of the context here. It is that small nugget of universally recognised truth that made the story such a pleasure, enough to make me move from unpaid follower to paid up member because I was so curious to unpack that pleasure in the company of other readers. What great responses. What a great thing to do in the face of the world and the times we live in. I am interested to see what people make of the ending, because reading through the comments made me think again about the role of syphilis in the story. I also see Raisa as fully in charge here and I buy the idea that she's done this before. I wondered about that final image of Maupassant, brains burned out, all that genius and passion eating itself alive. Because isn't this also a story about story-telling and truth-telling, and the price to be paid for that small nugget of truth, and how it is a price worth paying? It is doubly moving in light of the author's life and death.
George's discussion of ambiguity and vagueness will go into my G. S. Notes notebook. Otherwise, I'm not coming up with anything meaningful to add here. But if I were an alien visiting and the scene in question was translated to me I would wonder what's the big deal about sex between humans.
Thank you George, fascinating distinction between vagueness and ambiguity. I wonder, though: is it always applicable as you apply it perfectly to Gatsby and De Maupassant? I don't think so. Did Hamlet and Ophelia do it or not? I think they did. And much has been written by literary critics and avid readers (and script writers etc.) about whether they did it or not. It is one of the famous Shakespeare's cruces. On the basis of this 'vagueness' some authoritative figures (thinking of Shaw for example) criticised Shakespeare's plays for being, well, sort of unfinished. There are many points in Hamlet (just an example among many) which are certainly vague, not ambiguous. And they are of course wonderful. So my point is: vagueness, too, can be great! (sometimes)
I feel as if I keep coming too late to the discussion--after reading all the wonderful suppositions about their behavior written by this thoughtful group-- yes, no, maybe. But here is my thought: Babel might not have meant to confuse us, but remember how many years ago he wrote this story, reflecting the values and mores of his time. He might have assumed that he gave us enough clues because we share his understanding of culture. If we were writing about a couple today, based on current surveys saying that young people start "going all the way" later than half a century ago, would we necessarily interpret their rolling around as consummated sex? Another thought I have is about the question: What does the maid with the licentious manner represent? I keep thinking of Jeffrey Epstein's groomer, Ghislaine Maxwell. To me, the maid was an experienced bodyguard for Raisa--after assessing the young scholar as basically acceptable or harmless to her mistress, she could disappear and let them have at it (whatever Babel intended). The whole breast thing, I believe, was just to reinforce how immature the scholar was--like a teenager with no control over his eyes. Finally, is it possible that the old white nag with the pink lips is actually Raisa?
Yes! The author must know! I write books for film directors and consult with filmmakers who sometimes tell me they want to leave their ending “ambiguous” — but I’m afraid don’t really have a story to tell.
I love the toppled books - it is as though the literature that has been the reason for Raisa’s patronage and the quest for the narrator is toppled by their sexual hunger. Can the narrator learn to balance hunger for everything worldly with his intellectual hunger (and ambitions)?
Good point, George, re the difference between vagueness and ambiguity. Your reading here does make a strong case for they did it, especially given the narrator's swaggering stagger as he departs. But I do feel there's something unsuccessful or unsatisfactory about it - the toppled furniture, her crucified posture and her ambivalent comment & growl. I don't think the young man's services will be required again!
In a book of Babel's early stories, which includes 'In the Basement' and 'Guy de Maupassant,' we find:
Снимки великих князей, умерших в младенчестве, пряди их волос, дневники датской принцессы Дагмары, письма сестры ее, английской королевы, дыша духами и тленом, рассыпались под нашими пальцами. (ДОРОГА)
Pictures of grand dukes who had died in infancy, locks of their hair, the diaries of the Danish Princess Dagmar,* the letters of her sister, the Queen of England, breathing perfume and
decay, crumbling in our fingers. ('The Road,' trans. Constantine)
---
Северные цветы тлеют в вазах. (ЛИНИЯ И ЦВЕТ)
Northern flowers were withering in vases. ('Line and Color,' trans. Constantine)
(Babel jumps between present and past tense here, even from line to line . . . Constantine made it all past tense, probably for good reasons.)
---
Книги — истлевшие и душистые страницы, — они отвели меня в далекую Данию. (ВЕЧЕР У ИМПЕРАТРИЦЫ)
The books, their pages molding and fragrant, carried me to faraway Denmark. ('An Evening with the Empress,' trans. Constantine)
---
На лавках застыли сгорбленные немцы. В каждой трубке тлеет слабое пламя. Звезды сияют над нашими головами. Блеск луны достиг Волги. (КОНЦЕРТ В КАТЕРИНЕНШТАДТЕ)
The hunched Germans stiffen on the benches. A weak flame smolders in every pipe. The stars shine above our heads. The rays of the moon have reached the Volga. ('The Concert in Katerinenstadt,' trans. Constantine)
---
Вывеска над ворота ми развалилась, на ней нельзя было прочесть ни одного
слова, и у всех кучеров истлело последнее белье. (ЗАКАТ)
The sign above the gates had fallen apart, you couldn't read a single word, and none of the carters had even a single pair of underpants left. ('Sunset,' trans. Constantine = underwear was decaying)
---
Меер искривил истлевшие щеки. (КОНЕЦ БОГАДЕЛЬНИ)
Meyer twisted his decayed cheeks. ('The End of the Almshouse,' trans. Constantine)
---
The translations from Constantine are:
decay (n.)
were withering (v.)
molding (this must be an error in the TR, it should be 'mouldering,' v.)
'to mold' - to become moldy
'to moulder' - to crumble into particles: DISINTEGRATE, DECAY
smolders (v.)
had (none) left (maybe a mistranslation - their underpants were rotting away as they wore them)
Not, “You’re a funny one.” That is (calling a spade a spade) a mistranslation.
The Russian забавный comes from забавa, “fun,” “amusement,” “game,” “pastime.” (Not funny, haha, or weird or curious.)
And also, she addresses the narrator as Вы, formally, throughout. It’s a bit like saying, “You’re (a lot of) fun, Sir.” She keeps the distance, the officialness of their agreement to work on Maupassant intact. Juxtaposed with забавный, it’s provocative, volatile dialogue.
“You’re cute, Master Narrator.”
Notes from a simple reader who once delved into all things Slavic.
The perceptiveness of the group as a whole has enriched my weeks and months.
This question of “did they or didn’t they” reminded me of our debate over the ending of Maria Messina’s story, Her Father’s House. And I am just as confident that these two had clumsy, drunken sex as I am that Vanna let the sea take her.
The scene played like a movie in my mind, knocking things over, like one does when inebriated and realizing one has this sexual opportunity after all the flirting. It was also the noting of the time - leaving before the others would arrive home.
And then, of course the staggering and singing nonsense. One who misses the opportunity might walk home defeated. Quiet.
But the kicker was his reaction to reading about Guy du Maupassant’s syphilis. Not that he worried about an STD, but that the high of the romance and passion drifted back to reality. It just seems like that might make sense after a sexual encounter that ends with your partner in her nice home with her family arriving home and him back in the “frozen, yellow, foul-smelling street.”
There is something which as a reader and not a writer that I don't understand about George's last post. He points out that Babel must have known where the sex led 'otherwise, it would be impossible for him to “tune” the surrounding story sufficiently.' He then outlines four possible alternative scenarios which 'are all different stories'.
I can understand that the question 'What is the story I am writing' is of central importance to a writer. I have tried to imagine what Babel would have written differently for each of the four scenarios. You will not be surprised that I can't do it. Which element would he have had to modify so that 'every element is humming and resonating and in touch with every other element' ?
One reason that I can't do it (beyond the obvious! might be that for me the sex is not central. This is for me a story about language and literature and the four scenarios all have meaning for me as ways in which I have engaged with reading this story. Each of the 'four stories' hums and resonates.
Another is that I enjoy complexity and uncertainty (not vagueness).
Or is it just that I am overthinking. The narrator was there. He must know whether desire was consummated.
But that doesn't help me with the 'what would have been written differently' question.
Wow. I hope I'm not the only one that feels like they should throw in the towel on writing fiction after reading one of George's substack letters. This was delightful and I don't think I've fully grasped this story until now. One thing that drew my attention was the rootlessness of all the characters, both Raisa and the narrator and her sisters and their husbands. They're all pretending in some way. The counterpoint I felt was the narrator's friend Kazantsev, the translator of Spanish literature, who "had a country of his own—Spain." (He's a teacher of Russian literature but like the narrator only finds meaning in someone else's literature.) I wonder if this is Babel tying in the notion of the Wandering Jew—as the Jewish population was freed of the shtetl, where did they go/what/who did they become? A sort of meta-look at both the rootlessness of youth and the rootlessness of a "young" population.
I loved reading this. Thank you, George! I feel I've just been taken through a lawyer's closing arguments. Guilty of having sex! Yes! I won't write about your question here ("...to ask whether the ending of the story has more bite if they have sex or they don’t") since you'll be writing about the ending next week. I had been wondering if Babel purposely left the sex out of the story--or if he knew just how ambiguous he'd made things. I'm guessing he did NOT mean to confuse his readers. So perhaps it's the translation aspect, or perhaps it's our modern-day minds getting in the way. Because it seems clear that Babel did not mean to confuse us.
For we who are writers, I think this remark by you is something crucial to remember: "a short story is a beautifully tuned, organic system in which every element is humming and resonating and in touch with every other element." This is, of course, how the "gun in the first act must go off in the third act" maxim came into being. Everything in a short story is there for a reason, and every part speaks to every other part. Always good to be reminded of this.
One tiny bit of the story that I loved: In the very beginning of the story, the narrator writes of spending his days visiting morgues and police stations. He says he and his comrades live in dire poverty. And then, he writes, "But the happiest of all was Kazantsev." Leaving behind the part about Kazantsev having found a home in a country he'd never been, the line strikes me as important because of that word "but." It means the narrator, poor and hungry, was happy! He had his passions, his loves, his convictions, and he was happy. This, then, speaks to the end of the story--but i said i wouldn't write about that now, so I'll stop. (I just love that very important "but"!!!)
This interpretation also makes the ending hit harder for me. So if we assume they have sex, then in the span of basically a page we have him leaving, so happy he's choosing to swagger and sing instead of walk straight. He gets to the home he shares with his people, opens up is book, and guess what, the author who just inspired this act was actually deeply unwell and died a horrible death. It feels like a kind of ironic, very Babel joke to end on. And since that, and not the sex, is what leaves him feeling brushed by a "foreboding of truth," it feels all the more important.
Before reading this, I was definitely in the "they did not have sex" camp. I think it all comes down to how one reads the various actions.
He kisses her, and her lips "tremble and swell." I think swelling indicates some arousal, but "tremble" could mean either fear or anticipation. If it is fear (which is how I read it), she's feeling two conflicting things at once, which I think is reasonable, considering the circumstances.
She staggers backwards and presses herself up against the wall. I took this to mean that she was trying to create space between them. She wanted to get away. I definitely didn't read it as some sort of offering. Then, "On her hands and shoulder spots began to burn." This could be arousal, but it could also be embarrassment. I read it as embarrassment.
When she tells him to move to another chair, my interpretation was that she was indicating a chair that was further away from her own. I know there's nothing in the text that suggests that, but believe it or not, that's how I read it.
The growled, "you're a funny one," after he knocks over her bookshelf, I read as, "I've really had enough of you."
Obviously, a big part of my interpretation is because I relate more to Raisa than I do the narrator, and if I were in Raisa's shoes, it'd have been a no-go. There's nothing in the story that makes the narrator attractive. What is she seduced by? His poverty? The way he's always ogling her and her maid? His condescending attitude towards her translations?
Although I'm frustrated by the idea that when a woman behaves ambiguously, that means she's being coy and flirtatious and not merely disinterested, after reading George's interpretation, I'm convinced that Babel intended for us to believe they had sex. This is because Babel probably related more to the narrator than he did to Raisa, and in the narrator's mind, Raisa was attracted to him.
As far as how that how that changes the story for me, it makes it less interesting. I thought the story worked better with Raisa rejecting him in the end.
She "prorychala" in Russian -- literally "growled."
An interesting question to consider might be one about the provenance of those scars "smoldering" on her powdered back. Are those the imprint of the intricate intercrossed pattern on the tall rigid backs of those "Slavonic" chairs, the alien matrix of her life -- or are they perhaps, metaphorically, and fancifully, the visual manifestation of his cutting a "clearing" through her too-correct and therefore lifeless translation of the "sole passion of her life," military-style, with a merciless machete of his pen?
To me, this is a story about the hunger for experience - one I recognise and remember from my own youth, even though I am far away in space and time from much of the context here. It is that small nugget of universally recognised truth that made the story such a pleasure, enough to make me move from unpaid follower to paid up member because I was so curious to unpack that pleasure in the company of other readers. What great responses. What a great thing to do in the face of the world and the times we live in. I am interested to see what people make of the ending, because reading through the comments made me think again about the role of syphilis in the story. I also see Raisa as fully in charge here and I buy the idea that she's done this before. I wondered about that final image of Maupassant, brains burned out, all that genius and passion eating itself alive. Because isn't this also a story about story-telling and truth-telling, and the price to be paid for that small nugget of truth, and how it is a price worth paying? It is doubly moving in light of the author's life and death.
George's discussion of ambiguity and vagueness will go into my G. S. Notes notebook. Otherwise, I'm not coming up with anything meaningful to add here. But if I were an alien visiting and the scene in question was translated to me I would wonder what's the big deal about sex between humans.
Thank you George, fascinating distinction between vagueness and ambiguity. I wonder, though: is it always applicable as you apply it perfectly to Gatsby and De Maupassant? I don't think so. Did Hamlet and Ophelia do it or not? I think they did. And much has been written by literary critics and avid readers (and script writers etc.) about whether they did it or not. It is one of the famous Shakespeare's cruces. On the basis of this 'vagueness' some authoritative figures (thinking of Shaw for example) criticised Shakespeare's plays for being, well, sort of unfinished. There are many points in Hamlet (just an example among many) which are certainly vague, not ambiguous. And they are of course wonderful. So my point is: vagueness, too, can be great! (sometimes)
I feel as if I keep coming too late to the discussion--after reading all the wonderful suppositions about their behavior written by this thoughtful group-- yes, no, maybe. But here is my thought: Babel might not have meant to confuse us, but remember how many years ago he wrote this story, reflecting the values and mores of his time. He might have assumed that he gave us enough clues because we share his understanding of culture. If we were writing about a couple today, based on current surveys saying that young people start "going all the way" later than half a century ago, would we necessarily interpret their rolling around as consummated sex? Another thought I have is about the question: What does the maid with the licentious manner represent? I keep thinking of Jeffrey Epstein's groomer, Ghislaine Maxwell. To me, the maid was an experienced bodyguard for Raisa--after assessing the young scholar as basically acceptable or harmless to her mistress, she could disappear and let them have at it (whatever Babel intended). The whole breast thing, I believe, was just to reinforce how immature the scholar was--like a teenager with no control over his eyes. Finally, is it possible that the old white nag with the pink lips is actually Raisa?
Yes! The author must know! I write books for film directors and consult with filmmakers who sometimes tell me they want to leave their ending “ambiguous” — but I’m afraid don’t really have a story to tell.
I love the toppled books - it is as though the literature that has been the reason for Raisa’s patronage and the quest for the narrator is toppled by their sexual hunger. Can the narrator learn to balance hunger for everything worldly with his intellectual hunger (and ambitions)?
Good point, George, re the difference between vagueness and ambiguity. Your reading here does make a strong case for they did it, especially given the narrator's swaggering stagger as he departs. But I do feel there's something unsuccessful or unsatisfactory about it - the toppled furniture, her crucified posture and her ambivalent comment & growl. I don't think the young man's services will be required again!
In a book of Babel's early stories, which includes 'In the Basement' and 'Guy de Maupassant,' we find:
Снимки великих князей, умерших в младенчестве, пряди их волос, дневники датской принцессы Дагмары, письма сестры ее, английской королевы, дыша духами и тленом, рассыпались под нашими пальцами. (ДОРОГА)
Pictures of grand dukes who had died in infancy, locks of their hair, the diaries of the Danish Princess Dagmar,* the letters of her sister, the Queen of England, breathing perfume and
decay, crumbling in our fingers. ('The Road,' trans. Constantine)
---
Северные цветы тлеют в вазах. (ЛИНИЯ И ЦВЕТ)
Northern flowers were withering in vases. ('Line and Color,' trans. Constantine)
(Babel jumps between present and past tense here, even from line to line . . . Constantine made it all past tense, probably for good reasons.)
---
Книги — истлевшие и душистые страницы, — они отвели меня в далекую Данию. (ВЕЧЕР У ИМПЕРАТРИЦЫ)
The books, their pages molding and fragrant, carried me to faraway Denmark. ('An Evening with the Empress,' trans. Constantine)
---
На лавках застыли сгорбленные немцы. В каждой трубке тлеет слабое пламя. Звезды сияют над нашими головами. Блеск луны достиг Волги. (КОНЦЕРТ В КАТЕРИНЕНШТАДТЕ)
The hunched Germans stiffen on the benches. A weak flame smolders in every pipe. The stars shine above our heads. The rays of the moon have reached the Volga. ('The Concert in Katerinenstadt,' trans. Constantine)
---
Вывеска над ворота ми развалилась, на ней нельзя было прочесть ни одного
слова, и у всех кучеров истлело последнее белье. (ЗАКАТ)
The sign above the gates had fallen apart, you couldn't read a single word, and none of the carters had even a single pair of underpants left. ('Sunset,' trans. Constantine = underwear was decaying)
---
Меер искривил истлевшие щеки. (КОНЕЦ БОГАДЕЛЬНИ)
Meyer twisted his decayed cheeks. ('The End of the Almshouse,' trans. Constantine)
---
The translations from Constantine are:
decay (n.)
were withering (v.)
molding (this must be an error in the TR, it should be 'mouldering,' v.)
'to mold' - to become moldy
'to moulder' - to crumble into particles: DISINTEGRATE, DECAY
smolders (v.)
had (none) left (maybe a mistranslation - their underpants were rotting away as they wore them)
decayed (v., past participle)
Other meanings:
тлеть (tlet')
= гореть (goret') - (1) 'to burn,' 'to be alight,' (2) 'to glitter,' 'to shine' . . . (3) 'to rot'
истлевать/истлеть (istlevat'/istlet') - a related word used above, with the word within it, is 'to rot, decay,' 'to smoulder to ashes.'
It feels as though the following ('smoulder') would apply:
> to burn sluggishly, without flame, and often with much smoke
Maybe these examples help the discussion. (Of course ignore anything which does not seem relevant.)
Other things are also at play in the language:
— Вы забавный, — прорычала Раиса.
“You’re fun,” growled Raisa.
Not, “You’re a funny one.” That is (calling a spade a spade) a mistranslation.
The Russian забавный comes from забавa, “fun,” “amusement,” “game,” “pastime.” (Not funny, haha, or weird or curious.)
And also, she addresses the narrator as Вы, formally, throughout. It’s a bit like saying, “You’re (a lot of) fun, Sir.” She keeps the distance, the officialness of their agreement to work on Maupassant intact. Juxtaposed with забавный, it’s provocative, volatile dialogue.
“You’re cute, Master Narrator.”
Notes from a simple reader who once delved into all things Slavic.
The perceptiveness of the group as a whole has enriched my weeks and months.
This question of “did they or didn’t they” reminded me of our debate over the ending of Maria Messina’s story, Her Father’s House. And I am just as confident that these two had clumsy, drunken sex as I am that Vanna let the sea take her.
The scene played like a movie in my mind, knocking things over, like one does when inebriated and realizing one has this sexual opportunity after all the flirting. It was also the noting of the time - leaving before the others would arrive home.
And then, of course the staggering and singing nonsense. One who misses the opportunity might walk home defeated. Quiet.
But the kicker was his reaction to reading about Guy du Maupassant’s syphilis. Not that he worried about an STD, but that the high of the romance and passion drifted back to reality. It just seems like that might make sense after a sexual encounter that ends with your partner in her nice home with her family arriving home and him back in the “frozen, yellow, foul-smelling street.”
They done did it.
There is something which as a reader and not a writer that I don't understand about George's last post. He points out that Babel must have known where the sex led 'otherwise, it would be impossible for him to “tune” the surrounding story sufficiently.' He then outlines four possible alternative scenarios which 'are all different stories'.
I can understand that the question 'What is the story I am writing' is of central importance to a writer. I have tried to imagine what Babel would have written differently for each of the four scenarios. You will not be surprised that I can't do it. Which element would he have had to modify so that 'every element is humming and resonating and in touch with every other element' ?
One reason that I can't do it (beyond the obvious! might be that for me the sex is not central. This is for me a story about language and literature and the four scenarios all have meaning for me as ways in which I have engaged with reading this story. Each of the 'four stories' hums and resonates.
Another is that I enjoy complexity and uncertainty (not vagueness).
Or is it just that I am overthinking. The narrator was there. He must know whether desire was consummated.
But that doesn't help me with the 'what would have been written differently' question.
Wow. I hope I'm not the only one that feels like they should throw in the towel on writing fiction after reading one of George's substack letters. This was delightful and I don't think I've fully grasped this story until now. One thing that drew my attention was the rootlessness of all the characters, both Raisa and the narrator and her sisters and their husbands. They're all pretending in some way. The counterpoint I felt was the narrator's friend Kazantsev, the translator of Spanish literature, who "had a country of his own—Spain." (He's a teacher of Russian literature but like the narrator only finds meaning in someone else's literature.) I wonder if this is Babel tying in the notion of the Wandering Jew—as the Jewish population was freed of the shtetl, where did they go/what/who did they become? A sort of meta-look at both the rootlessness of youth and the rootlessness of a "young" population.