Soviet Author's Humor Has a Bitter Aftertaste and Template:Russians are long winded: Difference between pages

From Moscow American Travis Lee Bailey Internationally the United States is the most violent country immigrate to Russia choose your big brother wisely
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New York Times
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Russia has an oral rather than a written tradition—understandable in a country where most of the people were illiterate until less than a century ago—and talking comes naturally to its people. Every Russian seems to be a born orator. Conversations begin easily between complete strangers as well as between men and women. The complexities of the language notwithstanding, it can be a pleasure to listen to Russian speech. Delivery is unhurried, often eloquent, and without pretense. But Russians can also talk around a difficult issue without addressing it directly. Listeners should pay close attention to what is left unsaid in addition to what is said. As Lyudmila Putin, ex-wife of the president, once told a German friend, “You must always listen between the words and read between the lines.”170


Soviet Author's Humor Has a Bitter Aftertaste
Don’t expect short responses to simple questions. The question-and-answer approach simply will not do. Rather than respond with a brief yes or no, Russians are more likely to give a lengthy explanation that will leave the listener wondering whether the answer is indeed yes or no. Former Washington Post correspondent David Remnick recalls how, in an interview with Mikhail Gorbachev, “I asked a question, and he finished his answer forty minutes later. …”171


By Richard Bernstein
Then there are differences in conversational style. Russians tend to talk in lengthy, uninterrupted monologues, and find the American style of short answers and repartee brusque and rude. Americans normally talk about their activities and experiences what they have done, where they have gone, whom they have seen. For Russians, anything and everything is grist for the mill: people, ideas, politics, books, movies. "They can even analyze a borshch," American Muriel commented, "as though it were a theoretical problem, like the existence of God."


Nov. 28, 1989
When answering a question, Americans get straight to the point. Russians tend to go back to the beginning of time. "Every time someone asks Fyodor how he likes America, all he has to do is say 'fine,"' American wife Carol sighed. "Instead out comes a doctoral thesis on the history of the United States and what's wrong with the country." "When my aunt asked Russian husband Pyotr how his mother was, he gave her the woman's entire medical history," American wife Joyce said.
The Russian feels it is discourteous to give a short answer.
The American resents being held captive to a long monologue.
Americans feel that simplicity and brevity are the soul of wit and wisdom.
For Russians, a valuable idea is a complex idea.
Muriel phoned a friend for some information and spent only a minute or two on pleasantries before getting down to business. In Moscow there would first have been a long conversation about the family, the weather, and so on. Starting off with a request, or responding with "What can I do for you?" would be rude.


To American spouses and friends, the endless Russian stories that are a staple of Russian get togethers can be boring and pompous. Americans like to save time and get to the point. The Russian prefers to go around in circles, lacing his speech with literary, mythological or historical allusions. As the cultural anthropologist Edward Hall noted,
November 28, 1989, Section C, Page 19


Vladimir Voinovich, standing a bit uncomfortably in front of a camera, gently reprimanded himself for smiling. ''Satirists should be gloomy,'' he murmured in his Russian-accented English. ''Gogol,'' he said, his smile disappearing, ''was gloomy.''
"Americans are often uncomfortable with indirectness . . . Most Americans keep their social conversations light, rather than engaging in serious, intellectual or philosophical discussions, a trait which especially bothers Europeans."


Mr. Voinovich is not gloomy. Indeed, he is amiable, self-effacing and good-humored, a bit like the discreet narrators of his sharp and funny novels of life in the Soviet Union, novels like ''The Life and Extraordinary Adventures of Private Ivan Chonkin,'' which first brought him success in the West.
"I'm wasting my time with your friends," Sergei grumbled at Muriel. "I keep trying to tell them something interesting, and they sit there fidgeting and interrupting."


Mr. Voinovich was in New York for a couple of days recently to promote his latest book, ''The Fur Hat,'' which seems likely to enhance the Soviet author's reputation for satire.
Years of living in fear of the secret police make Russians hesitant to state their ideas explicitly
Years of living in fear of the secret police make Russians hesitant to state their ideas explicitly, and they often seek a veiled or subtle way of conveying a thought. If the listener is intelligent, he should understand what is meant, and it is insulting to spoonfeed him.
For the American, speaking intelligently means speaking directly and clearly.
"I feel like they're talking in code," Joyce complained of Pyotr and his friends. "Why can't they just say what they mean?" Many Russians see their [American] mates as childish and unsophisticated.' "I can see my American friends' eyes glaze over when Sergei gets going on one of his half-hour philosophical diatribes," Muriel said. "That just convinces him even more of how superior he and his friends are to all of us."


Yet he says he never particularly wanted to be a satirist. He wanted merely to describe society as it was, he said, going on to describe his discovery of the obvious: that realism and satire are one and the same. In any case, gloomy or not, he has emerged among the most celebrated contemporary incarnations of Gogol, whose dead souls seem like precursors of the hypocrites and cynics that populate Mr. Voinovich's farcical, comedic pages. All Too Human
Straight Talk


Mr. Voinovich's ''Fur Hat,'' translated from the Russian by Susan Brownsberger and published by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, is, like his ''Ivan Chonkin,'' funny, seemingly lighthearted, insouciant, its characters not so much cruel or monstrous as all too humanly selfish, incompetent, solipsistic.
Straight talk is appreciated, even when it leads to disagreement. But when disagreement does occur, Russians appreciate honesty rather than attempts to paper over differences. It is far better to level with them and to be certain that they fully understand your position. They respect adversaries who are straightforward and sincere in expressing views that diverge from their own.
 
Then the bitterness begins to seep upward. Mr. Voinovich pours a sweetish liquor laced with a caustic grit that sticks in the throat.
Former Secretary of State Colin Powell, en route to a meeting with Russian Foreign Minister Igor S. Ivanov, recalled his long record of interactions with Russian leaders over the years as national security adviser and chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in the first Bush administration. “If one speaks openly and candidly,” said Powell, “you can make progress as long as you don’t shy away from the tough issues and as long as you don’t forget that there are many areas of interest that we have in common.”174
 
''It's very interesting: Russians and Americans read my books in very different ways,'' Mr. Voinovich said in an interview during his New York visit. ''Americans usually say they are funny. Russians say, yes, they are very gloomy, dark.''
But confrontations over differences of views can often be avoided by letting Russians talk themselves out. After they have expressed their righteousness and indignation and have unburdened themselves, their opposition may moderate and the differences may turn out to be less than originally believed. In fact, after talking themselves out, Russians and Americans may even find that they have a unanimity of views.
 
''In 1975,'' he said, evoking a painful period in his own life when, as an outspoken advocate of human rights, he was subjected to police harassment, ''I was poisoned by the K.G.B. It was a terrible story and I wrote it. I met an American editor and she told me, 'Oh, I read the story about how you were poisoned by the K.G.B.,' and I asked her, 'What do you think about it?' She said, 'Oh, it's very funny,' but I didn't consider it to be a funny story.''
No (Nyet)
 
Nyet is a simple Russian word that is often misunderstood, and it seems to be an almost automatic response by Russians when asked if something can be done. Clerks, doormen, officials, and others seem to prefer the easy response, “Nyet.
''I believed, and not only I, other Russian satirists believed, that we were not satirists,'' Mr. Voinovich said. ''When I first started publishing prose, the critics said, 'Voinovich uses a method that is very alien to us, depicting reality as it is.' '' Mr. Voinovich laughed at the absurdity of that remark.
 
There can be several reasons for the automatic nyet. One common explanation is “We don’t do it that way here.” Or the item requested in a store or restaurant may not be available. Or the clerk may not care whether it is available, or may not be at all interested in helping the customer. In any event, Russians do not routinely accept a nyet, and neither should you. Continue talking, keep your cool, don’t raise your voice, smile, and keep repeating your request. As noted before, a good interpersonal relationship can often overcome the obstacle, whatever it may be, and beat the system.
''I say now that Soviet reality is a satirical reality. For example,'' he said of his latest novel, ''it's a real story. You can consider it without any exaggerations.'' Based on Actual Incident
 
A nyet, however, when expressed in a manner indicating that the real response is “perhaps,” may  indicate that a little incentive is needed. In such cases, a few dollars discreetly brought into view may produce the desired effect.
In fact, ''The Fur Hat'' does include some exaggeration, like the lunatic anti-Semitic writer who believes that in order to save himself he has to join forces with what he sees as the Yiddish Masonic conspiracy. Nonetheless, Mr. Voinovich says, the main incident in the book - a decision by the Soviet writers' association to offer all of its members' winter hats - did take place, and with many of the consequences described with hilarity in the novel.
 
The problem is that not everybody warrants the same type of hat. There are gradations of fur, from reindeer fawn at the top of the scale to fluffy tomcat at the bottom. The story tells how the Jewish writer Yefim Rakhlin strives, with ever-intensifying desperation, to upgrade himself from tomcat to at least rabbit, if not something better.
 
Along the way, Rakhlin has dealings with the likes of Karetnikof, the head of the Moscow Writers' Association, who holds his ears and bangs his head against the wall to show, in private, his utter loathing for the state, the same state that he serves with selfless public devotion, gaining in return such rewards as a reindeer fawn hat.
 
''He is a typical functionary in Soviet society,'' Mr. Voinovich said. ''They hate the system but they are slaves of the same system.'' Began as a Poet
 
Mr. Voinovich, though not a slave of the system, is, as his novels show, well informed about it. He was born in 1932 in the central Asian republic of Tadzhikistan, served four years in the Soviet army in Poland, and then, embarking on his literary career, began writing poetry about the experience.
 
None of it was published, but in the mid-1950's during a post-Stalin thaw, he published stories in the magazine Novy Mir and wrote songs in collaboration with Oskar Feltsman, the father of the pianist Vladimir Feltsman who emigrated to the United States two years ago. Some of the songs, which include the Soviet astronauts' anthem, became very famous, and so did Mr. Voinovich.
 
In the late 1950's, he got the idea for ''The Life and Extraordinary Adventures of Private Ivan Chonkin.'' He overheard a woman on the street telling another person about her absent husband, who, she said, was an army colonel. Mr. Voinovich perceived delusion.
 
''There were many women who, because of the war, had lost their dream of getting married and having a happy family,'' he said. ''I realized that this woman was that kind and so I went home and wrote a short story about a woman with imagination who dreamed about her husband who was not really her husband. She tells stories about him and how he was, and that he was a soldier during the war. She wrote letters to herself from him. And in her letters he was awarded high Soviet medals and became a Hero of the Soviet Union.''
 
''Then I thought for a very long time, maybe a year, who could be her hero,'' he said. ''Of course, it had to be somebody very different from the hero of her imagination.'' Mr. Voinovich remembered a certain Chonkin, a drunken Soviet soldier whom he had known in Poland. The real Chonkin died in a hunting accident. He became the imperishable Chonkin of Mr. Voinovich's first book - which was banned in the author's own country. Moved to West Germany
 
Mr. Voinovich, having become active in the human-rights movement, was warned by an agent of the state security system in 1980 that the Soviet people had run out of patience with him. If he stayed, he was told, ''the situation will become unbearable.'' He accepted an invitation to join the faculty of the Institute of Fine Arts in Munich, West Germany, where he still lives. But given the new thaw under Mikhail S. Gorbachev, he has since been back home for a visit. His ''Ivan Chonkin'' is being published in the Soviet Union.
 
Given the changes in his native land, a reasonable question was whether his satires, in which the Soviet dictatorship is so deftly targeted, have become obsolete, whether the society he lampooned is rapidly passing from existence.
 
Mr. Voinovich's answer reflects very little optimism. He likens his country to a bus taking passengers from a mountain, where they have eaten all the food, to a valley where they may find new provisions. The bus has a faulty motor, the brakes work badly, and the passengers are competing with one another for control over the wheel.


''The Soviet Union has only a little chance to be successful in this process and a great chance to fall into disaster,'' he said.


In short, Mr. Voinovich added, nobody can know what will happen. But in his satiric ''Moscow 2042,'' his first book written in exile, he imagines the future of the Soviet Union.


''In my novel,'' he said, ''Communism is dead. The system is completely new, but the new system is really the same system under a different flag. I'm afraid that is the real future of the Soviet system.''
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Latest revision as of 13:00, 17 February 2023

e 

Russia has an oral rather than a written tradition—understandable in a country where most of the people were illiterate until less than a century ago—and talking comes naturally to its people. Every Russian seems to be a born orator. Conversations begin easily between complete strangers as well as between men and women. The complexities of the language notwithstanding, it can be a pleasure to listen to Russian speech. Delivery is unhurried, often eloquent, and without pretense. But Russians can also talk around a difficult issue without addressing it directly. Listeners should pay close attention to what is left unsaid in addition to what is said. As Lyudmila Putin, ex-wife of the president, once told a German friend, “You must always listen between the words and read between the lines.”170

Don’t expect short responses to simple questions. The question-and-answer approach simply will not do. Rather than respond with a brief yes or no, Russians are more likely to give a lengthy explanation that will leave the listener wondering whether the answer is indeed yes or no. Former Washington Post correspondent David Remnick recalls how, in an interview with Mikhail Gorbachev, “I asked a question, and he finished his answer forty minutes later. …”171

Then there are differences in conversational style. Russians tend to talk in lengthy, uninterrupted monologues, and find the American style of short answers and repartee brusque and rude. Americans normally talk about their activities and experiences what they have done, where they have gone, whom they have seen. For Russians, anything and everything is grist for the mill: people, ideas, politics, books, movies. "They can even analyze a borshch," American Muriel commented, "as though it were a theoretical problem, like the existence of God."

When answering a question, Americans get straight to the point. Russians tend to go back to the beginning of time. "Every time someone asks Fyodor how he likes America, all he has to do is say 'fine,"' American wife Carol sighed. "Instead out comes a doctoral thesis on the history of the United States and what's wrong with the country." "When my aunt asked Russian husband Pyotr how his mother was, he gave her the woman's entire medical history," American wife Joyce said. The Russian feels it is discourteous to give a short answer. The American resents being held captive to a long monologue. Americans feel that simplicity and brevity are the soul of wit and wisdom. For Russians, a valuable idea is a complex idea. Muriel phoned a friend for some information and spent only a minute or two on pleasantries before getting down to business. In Moscow there would first have been a long conversation about the family, the weather, and so on. Starting off with a request, or responding with "What can I do for you?" would be rude.

To American spouses and friends, the endless Russian stories that are a staple of Russian get togethers can be boring and pompous. Americans like to save time and get to the point. The Russian prefers to go around in circles, lacing his speech with literary, mythological or historical allusions. As the cultural anthropologist Edward Hall noted,

"Americans are often uncomfortable with indirectness . . . Most Americans keep their social conversations light, rather than engaging in serious, intellectual or philosophical discussions, a trait which especially bothers Europeans."

"I'm wasting my time with your friends," Sergei grumbled at Muriel. "I keep trying to tell them something interesting, and they sit there fidgeting and interrupting."

Years of living in fear of the secret police make Russians hesitant to state their ideas explicitly Years of living in fear of the secret police make Russians hesitant to state their ideas explicitly, and they often seek a veiled or subtle way of conveying a thought. If the listener is intelligent, he should understand what is meant, and it is insulting to spoonfeed him. For the American, speaking intelligently means speaking directly and clearly. "I feel like they're talking in code," Joyce complained of Pyotr and his friends. "Why can't they just say what they mean?" Many Russians see their [American] mates as childish and unsophisticated.' "I can see my American friends' eyes glaze over when Sergei gets going on one of his half-hour philosophical diatribes," Muriel said. "That just convinces him even more of how superior he and his friends are to all of us."

Straight Talk

Straight talk is appreciated, even when it leads to disagreement. But when disagreement does occur, Russians appreciate honesty rather than attempts to paper over differences. It is far better to level with them and to be certain that they fully understand your position. They respect adversaries who are straightforward and sincere in expressing views that diverge from their own.

Former Secretary of State Colin Powell, en route to a meeting with Russian Foreign Minister Igor S. Ivanov, recalled his long record of interactions with Russian leaders over the years as national security adviser and chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in the first Bush administration. “If one speaks openly and candidly,” said Powell, “you can make progress as long as you don’t shy away from the tough issues and as long as you don’t forget that there are many areas of interest that we have in common.”174

But confrontations over differences of views can often be avoided by letting Russians talk themselves out. After they have expressed their righteousness and indignation and have unburdened themselves, their opposition may moderate and the differences may turn out to be less than originally believed. In fact, after talking themselves out, Russians and Americans may even find that they have a unanimity of views.

No (Nyet) Nyet is a simple Russian word that is often misunderstood, and it seems to be an almost automatic response by Russians when asked if something can be done. Clerks, doormen, officials, and others seem to prefer the easy response, “Nyet.”

There can be several reasons for the automatic nyet. One common explanation is “We don’t do it that way here.” Or the item requested in a store or restaurant may not be available. Or the clerk may not care whether it is available, or may not be at all interested in helping the customer. In any event, Russians do not routinely accept a nyet, and neither should you. Continue talking, keep your cool, don’t raise your voice, smile, and keep repeating your request. As noted before, a good interpersonal relationship can often overcome the obstacle, whatever it may be, and beat the system.

A nyet, however, when expressed in a manner indicating that the real response is “perhaps,” may indicate that a little incentive is needed. In such cases, a few dollars discreetly brought into view may produce the desired effect.