I vaguely remember Tim saying in the winnowing podcast for 2023 books that he really loved this book, and to put it bluntly I did not "love" this book. Can you go a little deeper into the why of why you loved this, Tim? Maybe I just need to reread it a couple times.
This book has an overall hopeful ending. I am wondering how much of that is shaped by all of the small victories in the story: getting two good bowls of soup, getting to the dealer before the tobacco runs out, the small Providence that prevented the discovery of the knife blade...
Of course, there were bad moments, too. But the story seems to ride on the wave of an overall “victorious” day. How would the tone be different if these outcomes had all been bad or if the book had been told from the point of view of those who did not fare as well? What does this tell us about Solzhenitsyn?
If Ivan Denisovich were to be re-made into a film, and if time travel were a thing, which actors across history would you cast for the main roles in One Day in the Life?
I’m doubtful I could write that many words about just one mostly ordinary day, and so that itself was impressive. The quote that stuck with me was in regards to how the prisoners viewed time - “The days rolled by in the camp—they were over before you could say "knife." But the years, they never rolled by; they never moved by a second.” At my stage of life with young children, I often think the exact opposite of this: “the days are long, but the years are short”. I was left pondering all the time that was stolen from these men, and how cruel the “justice” system was that they lived under. The only hope I was able to see was in the character of Alyoshka. In reading this from my Christian worldview, he is the only one with eternal perspective. He can live (or die) under the excruciating prison environment because he has hope of living in eternity without pain and suffering, therefore he is the truly unbreakable. Would you agree?
Would you say Ivan has hope? Is this a hopeful book?
With the movies Shawshank Redemption and Cool Hand Luke in mind - obviously very American stories - how does Ivan compare with their heroic main characters and how they cope with their own soul-crushing imprisonment?
How does this considering this book as an indictment of the Soviet government by a dissident change how we read it? What are other books of this kind?
I first read it a few years ago after finishing The Gulag Archipelago, so in addition to having a certain preformed perception of the story I also took it much more non-fictionally. It didn’t feel as …significant as other novels, in a grand narrative kind of way (maybe partly because of the length of the book as well as the storyline) - but it felt more true. I’m thinking about Everything Sad is Untrue in contrast.
This is my first Russian novel and I'm entirely uneducated in Russian culture. Is there significance in the naming of characters, particularly our main prisoner, and how they are addressed? Ivan Denisovich Shukhov is referred to as Shukhov by our narrator. He is often called Ivan Denisovich by fellow zeks. Some zeks are referred to by first name or last, sometimes with two names. Then there is spiritual conversation at the end of the Day where Alyoshka calls him Denisych in one particular instance. Is this simply formal v familiar v intimate? The Denisych really stuck out to me as quite intentional.
Or is this just like how southerners go by their middle name?
The passages about Shukhov's bricklaying were giving me big Wendell Berry vibes, thinking about the relationship work has on human dignity. And then I realized that Berry actually wrote a little about 'One Day in the Life' in 'The Need to be Whole': "Solzhenistyn requires us to consider that there may be something redemptive, some power to keep us whole and sane, in work itself. That is because Ivan's work, insofar as he is self-motivated, is so set apart from its circumstances, from the forces that supposedly compel it, as to be work for its own sake."
Of all the little pleasures Shukhov accumulates, his bricklaying seems to have the most impact. The prisoners he respects are also the more dedicated workers. He even said that getting thrown in the cooler wasn't so bad as long as you got let out to do your job.
To what extent do you think Shukhov's ability to find value in "work for its own sake" is the thing that enables him to survive (as opposed to faith, family, or just sheer determination), and is that a conclusion Solzhenistyn wants us to draw?
I can’t remember if I’ve ever heard you talk about this subject on the podcast?? I thought the lack of chapter breaks was perfect for this book. It pushed us along, reinforcing the fact that this was all one day – a rushed, full day. I tend to have a preference for short chapters, but I haven’t thought much about why authors choose short, long, a mixture, or no chapters at all. Do you have good or bad examples of the use of chapter breaks? Do you have preferences as readers?
When I finished this book I thought it ended on a positive note. Kind of Corrie Ten Boom-ish, Shukhov was able to have “… an unclouded day. Almost a happy one,” in the worst of circumstances. But over the next few days I started to think that maybe the ending shows us that Shukhov has been so brainwashed by the system that he is no longer a judge of what goodness and happiness are. He lives in a world with no family, no autonomy, almost no freedoms of any kind, yet he is in “high spirits after such a good day.” As I think Heidi said, “The Gulag was meaning-breaking.” It seems like the Soviet system has done its job very well. Shukhov says “Unbuttoning wasn’t too terrible now that they were nearly home. Yes – that’s what they all called it, ‘home.’ Their days were too full to remember any other home.” I wonder if these men can no longer remember what a true home or even true happiness is. What do you think? I liked my original take better, but the more I think, the more true the second seems.
What did you make of the medical orderly at the beginning of the book? He is supposedly a "writer" and more interested in writing...but he implements the camp's insane rule that only 2 people are allowed to be sick per day. It seemed like he was the embodiment of how the people enforcing the rules are losing their humanity too...does writing protect the writer from the effects of the camp by letting him express the human suffering, or does writing allow the writer to create distance between himself and his own loss of humanity? And is this character a reflection of the author's own experience?
I vaguely remember Tim saying in the winnowing podcast for 2023 books that he really loved this book, and to put it bluntly I did not "love" this book. Can you go a little deeper into the why of why you loved this, Tim? Maybe I just need to reread it a couple times.
This book has an overall hopeful ending. I am wondering how much of that is shaped by all of the small victories in the story: getting two good bowls of soup, getting to the dealer before the tobacco runs out, the small Providence that prevented the discovery of the knife blade...
Of course, there were bad moments, too. But the story seems to ride on the wave of an overall “victorious” day. How would the tone be different if these outcomes had all been bad or if the book had been told from the point of view of those who did not fare as well? What does this tell us about Solzhenitsyn?
I’m interested in the discussion between Tsezar and Kh-123 where they’re talking about art. These lines stood out:
“A genius doesn’t adjust his treatment of a theme to a tyrant’s taste.”
“Yes, but art isn’t what you do, it’s how you do it.”
It’s on pg 75 in my copy. Anyway, wondering how this might (or might not) connect with Solzhenitsyn’s experience getting published under Krushchev.
If Ivan Denisovich were to be re-made into a film, and if time travel were a thing, which actors across history would you cast for the main roles in One Day in the Life?
I’m doubtful I could write that many words about just one mostly ordinary day, and so that itself was impressive. The quote that stuck with me was in regards to how the prisoners viewed time - “The days rolled by in the camp—they were over before you could say "knife." But the years, they never rolled by; they never moved by a second.” At my stage of life with young children, I often think the exact opposite of this: “the days are long, but the years are short”. I was left pondering all the time that was stolen from these men, and how cruel the “justice” system was that they lived under. The only hope I was able to see was in the character of Alyoshka. In reading this from my Christian worldview, he is the only one with eternal perspective. He can live (or die) under the excruciating prison environment because he has hope of living in eternity without pain and suffering, therefore he is the truly unbreakable. Would you agree?
Would you say Ivan has hope? Is this a hopeful book?
With the movies Shawshank Redemption and Cool Hand Luke in mind - obviously very American stories - how does Ivan compare with their heroic main characters and how they cope with their own soul-crushing imprisonment?
How does this considering this book as an indictment of the Soviet government by a dissident change how we read it? What are other books of this kind?
I first read it a few years ago after finishing The Gulag Archipelago, so in addition to having a certain preformed perception of the story I also took it much more non-fictionally. It didn’t feel as …significant as other novels, in a grand narrative kind of way (maybe partly because of the length of the book as well as the storyline) - but it felt more true. I’m thinking about Everything Sad is Untrue in contrast.
This is my first Russian novel and I'm entirely uneducated in Russian culture. Is there significance in the naming of characters, particularly our main prisoner, and how they are addressed? Ivan Denisovich Shukhov is referred to as Shukhov by our narrator. He is often called Ivan Denisovich by fellow zeks. Some zeks are referred to by first name or last, sometimes with two names. Then there is spiritual conversation at the end of the Day where Alyoshka calls him Denisych in one particular instance. Is this simply formal v familiar v intimate? The Denisych really stuck out to me as quite intentional.
Or is this just like how southerners go by their middle name?
The passages about Shukhov's bricklaying were giving me big Wendell Berry vibes, thinking about the relationship work has on human dignity. And then I realized that Berry actually wrote a little about 'One Day in the Life' in 'The Need to be Whole': "Solzhenistyn requires us to consider that there may be something redemptive, some power to keep us whole and sane, in work itself. That is because Ivan's work, insofar as he is self-motivated, is so set apart from its circumstances, from the forces that supposedly compel it, as to be work for its own sake."
Of all the little pleasures Shukhov accumulates, his bricklaying seems to have the most impact. The prisoners he respects are also the more dedicated workers. He even said that getting thrown in the cooler wasn't so bad as long as you got let out to do your job.
To what extent do you think Shukhov's ability to find value in "work for its own sake" is the thing that enables him to survive (as opposed to faith, family, or just sheer determination), and is that a conclusion Solzhenistyn wants us to draw?
What happened to the Captain? I'd like to hear more discussion about this character, and his needing to learn "inertnesss"? Also, Tiurin.
I can’t remember if I’ve ever heard you talk about this subject on the podcast?? I thought the lack of chapter breaks was perfect for this book. It pushed us along, reinforcing the fact that this was all one day – a rushed, full day. I tend to have a preference for short chapters, but I haven’t thought much about why authors choose short, long, a mixture, or no chapters at all. Do you have good or bad examples of the use of chapter breaks? Do you have preferences as readers?
When I finished this book I thought it ended on a positive note. Kind of Corrie Ten Boom-ish, Shukhov was able to have “… an unclouded day. Almost a happy one,” in the worst of circumstances. But over the next few days I started to think that maybe the ending shows us that Shukhov has been so brainwashed by the system that he is no longer a judge of what goodness and happiness are. He lives in a world with no family, no autonomy, almost no freedoms of any kind, yet he is in “high spirits after such a good day.” As I think Heidi said, “The Gulag was meaning-breaking.” It seems like the Soviet system has done its job very well. Shukhov says “Unbuttoning wasn’t too terrible now that they were nearly home. Yes – that’s what they all called it, ‘home.’ Their days were too full to remember any other home.” I wonder if these men can no longer remember what a true home or even true happiness is. What do you think? I liked my original take better, but the more I think, the more true the second seems.
What did you make of the medical orderly at the beginning of the book? He is supposedly a "writer" and more interested in writing...but he implements the camp's insane rule that only 2 people are allowed to be sick per day. It seemed like he was the embodiment of how the people enforcing the rules are losing their humanity too...does writing protect the writer from the effects of the camp by letting him express the human suffering, or does writing allow the writer to create distance between himself and his own loss of humanity? And is this character a reflection of the author's own experience?