The Dream Life of Sukhanov

Review by Rawlins McKinney March 23, 2006 Issue

“Stop here,” said Anatoly Pavlovich Sukhanov from the backseat, addressing the pair of suede gloves on the steering wheel.

This opening sentence sets the tone of Olga Grushin’s extraordinary first novel. Sukhanov is the editor-in-chief of Art of the World, a position to be envied in mid-1980s Moscow. Art of the World is the country’s leading art magazine and thus by default is the arbiter and censor of what art is compatible with the Soviet ideal. We soon learn why Sukhanov addresses “the pair of gloves” instead of his chauffeur. Although Vadim, the driver, has been assigned to Anatoly Pavlovich for almost three years, he still doesn’t know his name. He refers to him as Vladislav in a conversation with his wife later that evening. Nina corrects him with a stare from her cold, gray eyes.

Sukhanov’s world begins to unravel in the first few pages of the novel. And we are glad. And why shouldn’t we be? The man is a prime example of the old Soviet apparatchik. While the ordinary Russian citizen endures quotidian hardships, Sukhanov lives a life of luxury. He has a car and driver available anytime he needs or desires transportation. His luxurious apartment is filled with fine furnishings and artwork. Valya, their cook, seasons the apartment “with rich, sweet smells”. We assume that this bureaucrat has attained his lofty status through the usual route of backstabbing and kowtowing to the right people.

So we relish the thought of this man getting what he deserves. Three hundred and fifty pages of sangfroid. This young novelist has hooked us. But shouldn’t we feel guilty reading about a man who appears to have no redeeming values whatsoever? Grushin assuages our guilt in increments that peel back the layers making up this outwardly despicable character.

The first fissure in what we think is Sukhanov’s perfect world is a bumbled response to the minister of culture’s invitation to a get-together at his dacha. In the midst of a reception honoring Sukhanov’s father-in-law, the two men have stepped outside for a smoke. Sukhanov does not smoke, but the weasel lights up: “a cigarette appears in Sukhanov’s fingers, he knew not how.” Before he can respond to the minister’s much desired invitation, he is shocked to see that his car and driver are gone. His distraction is taken as rudeness by the minister and he coldly tells him they can continue the conversation at another time. As they separate Sukhanov is vaguely aware that the minister had begun to say something important but the substance of his words escape him. Thus we get the first hint of what is to follow. Combinations of external and internal forces are going to take Sukhanov on a tortuous and tortured nightmare, both psychic and physical, both real and imagined.

Grushin’s unique style has a boldness that thumbs its nose at some of the most basic rules of Creative Writing 101. Only a very talented writer could pull off what she does with points of view, voice, place and time. Flashbacks blend with the present. Dreams intertwine with reality. Grushin does this without confusing or annoying the reader. She seamlessly changes from the third person to the first within the same paragraph and many times within the same sentence. The first time I encountered this technique I had read a paragraph or two before I realized the voice change had happened. Author’s trickery? No, a subtle transition by a skilled artist at work.

As Sukhanov descends into his personal hell, the reader may not be sympathetic but a chilling empathy creeps in. It’s easy to self-righteously condemn an artist who suborns his talent for a life of conformity and luxury. But what if the motivation is fear instead of greed? As a young student Sukhanov assumes his father’s suicide is a result of a relentless persecution by the state. Included in a farewell note his father had written to himself was the sentence, “Don’t let anyone clip your wings.” At first Sukhanov reads this as “a bequest of bravery, a proud expression of defiance.” But then he changes his interpretation. He is convinced that his father meant this as a warning, “a cautioning reminder that the only life worth living was a life without humiliation, a free life, a safe life—and the only way to avoid having one’s wing clipped was to grow no wings at all.” So Sukhanov’s motivation to join the Soviet system is no different than those of us who forgo the growing of our wings for the safe life of the corporate and societal world. It’s scary to realize that there is some Sukhanov in most of us.

Grushin was born in Moscow and pursued her education in Prague, the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts and Moscow State University. She received a full scholarship to Emory University and became a U.S. citizen in 2002 and is currently working on her second novel. I eagerly anticipate it and many more from this promising young author.

A Marian Wood Book, published by G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 354 pages available at local booksellers and libraries.

Lagniappe

If you’re looking for some out-of-the-box reading, pick up a copy of Bolkar: Travels with a Donkey in the Taurus Mountains exclusively at Sundog Books in Seaside. This quirky little paperback by Dux Schneider is an esoteric travel memoir filled with a mélange of Turkish anthropology, history, sociology and geography. It was published in a German translation shortly after the author’s death in 1978. This edition, the original English version, was published by Xlibris in 2002.

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