Judging a book by the sound of its thud (10/25/05)

Thud.

That was the sound of the book hitting the kitchen table.

I'd ordered it on a whim.

It sounded kind of interesting. Some critics called it the greatest novel to come out of the Soviet Union, and that's a part of the world I'm still struggling to understand.

So, what the heck, I ordered it.

But then there was that "thud" when it hit the kitchen table.

The book was the size of a doorstop. And it looked just about as readable.

Even its title was daunting: "Life and Fate."

Not much cheery in that. Not the sort of thing you'd grab for beach reading or for a wait in the dentist's office.

But still, there was reason to pick it up.

The book, after all, has something of a mystique about it.

Written by Soviet journalist Vasily Grossman, who reported first-hand on World War II, it was completed in 1960 and was immediately placed under lock and key.

As the story goes, Grossman, who was so good at his job that he was able to avoid the worst of the politics of the Communist era, submitted a copy of the finished novel to the censors. It made its way all the way to the top. Nikita Khrushchev himself said it was too hot to handle, even though he apparently recognized its truth.

Bootleg copies - so-called samizdat - circulated over the next 30 years.

Finally, with the Soviet mess in ruins, the book was translated and published.

Ironically, it's probably better read in the West than in the former Soviet Union. When I've mentioned it to young colleagues who should know it, I've drawn a blank.

In some ways, its subject matter is still too sensitive.

Stalin's been dead for more than 40 years, but his ghost still walks.

So there was reason to read it. But there was still that "thud."

The thing weighs in at something like 871 pages. The cast of characters may stretch into the hundreds.

Just the same, I like a challenge.

So I took it on vacation.

I didn't make much progress. Every ten pages or so, it seemed, I was being introduced to another 20 or 30 characters. And they all had confusing Russian names. And all of the names had nicknames and pet names so it was hard to tell sometimes who the heck was talking to whom.

Back from vacation, I'd barely made a dent.

It was about that point that I almost gave up.

But the cheapskate in me took over. After all, I'd bought the book. I sure wasn't going to be able to sell it at a garage sale for more than a quarter. I might as well read it.

So, in September, I picked it up again.

And, slowly at first but inevitably, I became hooked.

Before long, I was turning down the corners of pages. (I want to read that again, I thought. Or be able to quote that particular line.)

By October, I was deeply within its grasp.

Sure, I looked normal. Going to work, going to the bank, walking the dog.

But my mind was wrapped up in the Battle of Stalingrad, that critical moment both for World War II and the Soviets.

By last week, as I marched through the final couple of hundred pages, I felt as if an entire village of characters was bouncing around in my head.

What about the Shtrum family? I would wonder. How is Viktor going to cope? Will he ever be honest with Lyudmila?

And what of Zhenia now that Krymov is in Lubyanka Prison? What about Vera and her baby? And, of course, what about Seryozha?

On top of that there were two dozen other plot lines that had me by the ears, requiring my attention.

On Friday, after something like ten weeks, I finished.

Thud. That was the sound of the book hitting the ottoman.

But the real sound, the one that's going to resonate around my brain, could echo for months.

Is there anything on earth that can have the same impact as a good book?

I wonder.[[In-content Ad]]