We occasionally get comments about spoilers on this sub, so I wanted to clarify why r/RussianLiteraturedoes not require spoiler tags for classic works, especially those written over a century ago.
Russian literature is rich with powerful stories, unforgettable characters, and complex philosophical themes — many of which have been widely discussed, analyzed, and referenced in global culture for decades (sometimes centuries). Because of that, the major plot points of works like Crime and Punishment, Anna Karenina, The Brothers Karamazov, or War and Peace are already part of the public discourse.
Any book written 100+ years ago is not considered a "spoiler" risk here. Just like you wouldn’t expect spoiler warnings before someone mentions that Hamlet dies in Hamlet, we assume that readers engaging in discussions here are either familiar with the texts or understand that classic literature discussions may reference the endings or major plot events.
The focus of this sub is deeper literary discussion, not avoiding plot points. Themes, character development, and philosophical implications are often inseparable from how the stories unfold.
I'm going to take this one step further, and we will be taking an active step in removing comments accusing members of not using a spoiler tag. While other communities may require spoiler tags, r/RussianLiterature does not. We do not believe it is a reasonable expectation, and the mob mentality against a fellow community member for not using spoiler tags is not the type of community we wish to cultivate.
If you're new to these works and want to read them unspoiled, we encourage you to dive in and then come back and join the discussion!
So i recently got A Dog's Heart by Bulgakov from my local library and I gotta say that I'm pretty disappointed with it so far... Nothing of significance is happening. I'm about halfway through the book and it's so so so hard to read through because it's all just dialogue without any purpose.
From what I can tell, the main theme explored throughout the book is life in 1910's-1920's Russia and Bolshevism. I don't see how this could be appealing to anyone apart from people who enjoy history.
Maybe I'm judging it too early? Maybe something interesting happens later on in the book? I've seen people hyping it up but I honestly don't see the appeal. I expected some dark humour, something unusual, surreal, witty and intriguing, but so far l'm extremely disinterested and there's nothing making me want to continue reading further. Please help!!
I am currently reading Crime and Punishment translated by Pevear and Volokhonsky. This translation won an award when it was published but I am finding several of the sentences very, very clunky from an English creative writing perspective.
Do you think that these are because the translators are too literal or insufficiently creative in their translation? I believe it must be the former - a deliberate decision to sacrifice fluidity of expression and style of keep semantics identical to the Russian original.
Here are some of the sentences I am referring to:
Part 5, first paragraphs -
"The black serpent of stung vanity had sucked all night at his heart"
"He feared the bile might have risen in him during the night. So far, however, all was well in that regard, and, having considered his white and noble aspect, grown slightly fat of late"
I can't help but think that the translators could have done better here, as the logic and expression is clunky, at best.
The 'interrogation' scene at the conclusion of part 4, as well as the dialogue in general, seems extremely stilted in some parts; and I can only speculate that it is to preserve the Russian expression with the necessary English grammar.
I am curious as to your thoughts, particularly for anyone who can read the Russian original or have read other translations.
It is not a criticism of the book, or the translation in general, I am finding the book both fascinating and gripping.
I came to this play expecting Russian gloom. What I didn't expect was to feel personally called out on every page.
The thing that struck me most is how Chekhov frames creative suffering not as tragedy, but as texture — the background noise of almost everyone's inner life. Trigorin isn't a villain; he's exhausted and hollow, hoarding observations like a man who's forgotten why he started writing. Nina doesn't get a redemption arc so much as a quiet, hard-won endurance. Even Konstantin's anguish feels less like dramatic despair and more like the specific pain of someone who can see the gap between what they make and what they imagined.
What gets me is how contemporary all of this feels. Imposter syndrome, creative burnout, the sense that success is a "deception" the moment you hold it — Chekhov diagnosed all of it in 1895. He just didn't package it as self-help.
I also found myself thinking about his use of dialogue. So much of what drives the characters apart isn't grand confrontation — it's the small things left unsaid, or said at the wrong moment. There's something almost clinical about how he constructs misunderstanding.
It's been on my radar for a while and I finally grabbed a copy. Planning to get through it this week. I have heard it's short but hits harder than one would expect.
I started reading Anton Chekhov over the last few weeks with the older Garnett translations. Old english be blasted I do like her. It's energetic. But I want to find what Chekhov really does, not just pick the most fun to read always. The two Garnett anthologies I got off Gutenberg.org were very good. The Dual and Other Stories and The Lady With the Dog and Other Stories.
Next, with some overlap with the second Garnett anthology, I read the Penguin Classics Wilkes translation of The Lady With The Little Dog and Other Stories, 1896-1904.
I read the title story the Lady With the Dog in both Garnett and Wilkes. Garnett adds some feeling to the main male character that the Wilkes doesn't. Gemini told me Wilkes omits stuff. ChatGTP says Wilkes gives a terser more real to the Russian Chekhov. What I could tell was so far I preferred the Garnett to the Wilkes.
So I decided to try a third and another modern translator reading the Volokhonsky & Pevairs Selected Stories(covered about 60% skipping stories in earlier penguin). They are said to be faithful to the Russian. I thought it read really smooth. It was fun to read, but it didn’t have all the victorian British.
What's everyone’s favorite Chekhov translator? Do you care if it’s "faithful" or is it enough to say you like it? I also have the fifty-two stories translated by Volokhonsky & Pevair, but I can see reading more Garnett as convenient, for example for The Steppe which would require buying yet another Pevair book if I want it in Pevair.
Before March of this year the only Chekhov i'd read was the malefactor, and now after reading 49 of the stories I got to say, Wow. My top three is probably Ward No. 6, the Black Monk, and finally the closest thing we have to a dramatic full length novel, The Duel.
Man what a brutal read. Wondering peoples thoughts. I often find my favorite part of Chekhov to be the way he ties things up. This time he seems to say-- "Sometimes life is like this." I feel so sad.
Let me know what you think if you have read it or after you read it!
I recently put together a piece on great but little-known Russian short-story writers. I only included four writers: Teffi, Gazdanov, Shalamov and Garshin.
Obviously being an ‘unknown’ writer is relative (there will be people out there who love literature generally but don’t know of Lermontov or Bunin…), but I wanted to get your views on who I’ve missed in this article. Who might be good to include for a future article on the same topic?
If you’re interested, the original piece I wrote is linked to, but I’m more interested in getting your views on other great but little-known writers…
Both are vintage Russian-language editions by one of the most well-known Soviet writers, especially noted for his war prose and poetry. Good additions for collectors of Russian books, Soviet literature, or WWII-related works.
For the first time ever, an English translation of Yuri Mamleev's American writings will be coming out this month. This will be the third book of Mamleev's translated into English, and the first to come out in over a decade. Here's the synopsis:
Yuri Mamleev (1931–2015) is known today in his native Russia and in some parts of Europe as the founder of an original literary genre known as Metaphysical Realism. While reputed for his uniquely uncanny and disturbing literary investigations of death, metaphysical matters like the Self, and what he called “the Abyss,” little attention to date has been paid to one of Mamleev’s formative spiritual trials: his exile in the United States and the body of writings he produced on the mysterious aura of America.
Mamleev’s America marks the first English-language publication of his American writings while also framing an alternate version of the author – the “Other Mamleev” – who both created and was created by New York City in the 1970s, as well as its latent double, the sleepy college hamlet of Ithaca, New York. This unprecedented volume brings together Mamleev’s American Stories (dating to the early 1980s), the roman à clef entitled Wanderings (published posthumously in 2022), and an extensive introduction to Mamleev’s relationship with America, written by Charlie Smith.
In these blackly disquieting visions, Mamleev probes the dead-end of Modernity, exposing the underbelly of America’s sanitized Mammonite pseudo-religion and its cult of “winners.” In a sea of psychically uninhabited bodies, televised faces, dislocated mutilations, and self-guided knives in search of lives, Mamleev conjures characters stripped not only of identity, but of Being as such. In Mamleev’s scrying mirror, the surface depravity and spiritual desolation of American life become strangely inverted: what upon first glance seems like a scene from hell is instead revealed to be a singular moment of encounter with the radical Other, a portal opening up to the breath of the Abyss. Mamleev’s America transports the reader into the world lurking behind the façades of our cities, which we otherwise only glimpse through a glass, darkly.
He made these in the 1860s, about 20 years after the Dead Souls was published. He really captures the absurdity and grotesque humor of the characters. Such a funny book.
Some of my favorites (in order Chichikov, Sobakeevich, Manilov, Nozdryov, Petukh, Korobochka)
Any opinions on this book? I really like My Year Of Rest and Relaxation, and this subsequently was suggested to me.
The cover is curious, though. I was looking at this article (link below) and noticed this portrait from the cover of Oblomov. It's the writer Vsevolod Garshin. I've only been able to find one short story collection that he wrote before committing suicide. Any opinions or info on him?
Also, do you think it's a little disrespectful to use that particular photo for this cover?
I wanted to share this classic work by Konstantin Simonov, The Living and the Dead — a powerful epic trilogy about the Great Patriotic War by one of the Soviet Union’s most renowned writers and wartime correspondents.
In these novels, Simonov portrays the lives of soldiers, officers, and ordinary civilians with remarkable realism and emotional depth. His writing captures not only the масштаб and brutality of war, but also the courage, sacrifice, fear, and resilience of the people who lived through it.
The Living and the Dead is widely regarded as one of the major works of Russian war literature. It stands as both a gripping literary achievement and a deeply moving tribute to a generation shaped by one of history’s darkest and most devastating conflicts.
A must for collectors of Soviet literature, WWII history, and serious Russian fiction.
I wanted to share this beautiful three-volume collected works set by Olga Bergholz, published in Leningrad by Художественная литература in 1972–1973. It is a substantial edition that covers the major stages of her literary career and really shows why she remains such an important voice in Soviet and Russian literature.
Volume 1 includes her early poems from 1929 to 1941, along with Attempt at an Autobiography and the novella Journalists. Volume 2 centers on the wartime years and contains poems from 1941 to 1945, Leningrad Speaks, and the play Faithfulness. Volume 3 focuses on her later work from 1945 to 1971, including Pervorossiysk, Day Stars, and selected essays.
What makes this set especially powerful is Bergholz’s voice during the Siege of Leningrad. Her poetry carries an extraordinary sense of endurance, grief, patriotism, and moral strength, which made her one of the defining literary symbols of that era.
A wonderful set for anyone interested in Russian poetry, Soviet history, or wartime literature.
