The wonderful thing about books is that they allow us to get an inside look into the lives of great people from history, so we can study them, and learn from them. About Me. Full Books. James, Vol.
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Divergent Online Free. Her books are woven from hundreds of interviews, in a hybrid form of reportage and oral history that has the quality of a documentary film on paper. But Alexievich is anything but a simple recorder and transcriber of found voices; she has a writerly voice of her own which emerges from the chorus she assembles, with great style and authority, and she shapes her investigations of Soviet and post-Soviet life and death into epic dramatic chronicles as universally essential as Greek tragedies.
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This book was a winner of the Nobel Prize for literature. It was originally published in in Russia and has been translated to English. There was a night bomber regiment in World War Two composed entirely of women. Natural-born Soviet airwomen. These women and girls, flying outdated biplanes from open fields near the front lines, attacked the invading German forces every night for 1, consecutive nights.
When they ran out of bombs they dropped railroad ties. To each other they were sisters, with bonds forged in blood and terror. To the Red Army Air Force they were an infuriating feminist sideshow.
The notes record her response to post-publication story of the book. The print run was two million copies. One of the most interesting section of the three is the one in which she gives an account of her conversation with the censoring authorities. A slander on our soldiers who liberated half of Europe.
On our partisans. On our heroic people. The history of our victory. The ideas of Marx and Lenin. They are grouped together in chapters to focus on one or two specific themes. The speaker of each testimony is clearly identified either at the beginning or the end of the testimony by her name e.
One of the characteristic features of the monologues is the way Aleksievich preserves its spoken-ness. Often the sentences and phrases remain incomplete, interrupted by dots. They need to be read aloud to grasp the full intensity of emotions expressed by the speakers.
The presence of her voice can be guessed from brief two- or three-word long comments which remind me of extra-dialogic remarks we often see in written texts of plays. Then — the war. My husband is at the front. There were tears all around… The war! How could I have given birth when the war was on? Finished training of a decoder and was dispatched to the front.
My daughter… I was sure that I was going to have a girl. Wanted to go the front line. But was ordered to stay in the commanding office. During the interval, when the lights came on, I saw… We all saw… There was this squall of clapping. A thunderstorm! In the government box sat Stalin. I knew that my father had been arrested; that my older brother had disappeared in the camps; and yet I felt so euphoric that tears filled my eyes.
I froze with joy! The whole hall… The whole hall was on its feet! Stood up and applauded for ten minutes. This was the state in which I went to the war. To fight. And in the war I heard whispers… At night the wounded smoke in the corridor.
Some are asleep, some still awake. They talk about Tukhachevskii, about Yakir… Thousands of people disappeared! The Ukrainians would tell… how they were driven off their collective farms; how they were silenced… how Stalin organised starvation; they called it golodomor famine.
Desperate mothers ate their own children… They talked in whispers. From Siberia… Well! We had won, we had shown our loyalty, our love. They live in a big village near Odessa. How many died in Russia? Hard to count them all. But there are many who survived. We need hundreds of people like you, my girl, to write our history. To record stories of our sufferings, of our countless tears.
You my dear girl… Maria Yakovlevna Yezhova, who served in a sanitary platoon, returned from the war with a phobia of anything red: I stitched myself a red blouse, and after a few days I saw strange spots appear on my hands.
My body had stopped accepting anything red: fabric, flowers roses or carnations. The colour of pomegranate juice is similar but just. The juice of a ripe pomegranate… In a her brief testimony, an anti-aircraft gunner the testimony records only her initials recalls the following tragic incident witnessed by her: Do you want to hear the truth? He… was always nervy… or may be drunk?
Closer we got to victory, the more we drank. The wine was easy to find, in houses or in the basements. We drank and drank. We ran after him… Inside there were only dead bodies… children… We took away the gun, tied him up. He was arrested and put on trial.
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