In Conversation with Strangers
How two cultures view friendship and discussion.
For many readers (even the most well-versed), Russian literature is the most daunting genre, both to get into and to get through. Although there are numerous reasons for this, the complaint I have heard most often is that there are too many sermons, philosophical treaties, socioeconomic debates, and political rants poorly disguised throughout as character dialogue.
Take Crime and Punishment as a prime example: its very second chapter is a tavern discussion of socioeconomic status between the protagonist Raskolnikov and Marmeladov, a stranger sitting next to him in the bar. We learn that Marmeladov is a drunk, a failure to his wife, has wasted all of his money, and driven his daughter into prostitution. It is inconceivable that these two men would talk about such private matters in a public tavern only moments after meeting, isn’t it? How many of us have family members and friends going through a hard patch only half as serious as one of Marmeladov’s ailments, yet never discuss it?
This blunt honesty and openness puts many readers off Dostoevsky’s novels. When I was young and read Crime and Punishment for the first time, I remember wishing that people actually talked like that. One of the things that first drew me to my husband was his tendency to spring those sorts of conversations on anyone who would humor them, without preamble.
These discussions, unlike those of the Karamazovs and Raskolnikov, are not a part of our daily life. I used to think this was due to creative license: a means of including necessary exposition in an already gargantuan literary work. How wonderful to be found wrong, and to know that this tendency is not a fault in these otherwise great authors!
While I spent a year studying Russian privately with a speech therapist from St. Petersburg, I learned as much about Russian culture and relationships as I did the language. Olga meticulously pointed out not only the ways in which their language is built differently to ours, but also how this seeps into their whole culture and mindset. For example, while Russian is considered one of the most difficult languages in the world, this is not for its complex grammar but rather its immense attention to detail. This makes it nigh impossible to translate well, as much of its nuance is lost without access to the wide Russian vocabulary.
Olga found many things in our textbook unnecessary that a non-native speaker would find crucial. She never bothered to teach me the names of the alphabet, for example, since “we never use them”, and she merely laughed when we came across a section on the weather. As she dutifully taught me the words for snow and sun and heat, she observed, “you Americans are so fixated on weather. We do not talk about the weather in Russia. I can see that it is raining outside, why do I need to say it is? You Americans are always small talking, why should we talk about what we already know?”
And that year taught me this more than anything she could say herself: in every lesson she brought up local and national politics and was completely open about her views. We discussed religion just as in depth, and she spent my entire pregnancy following my symptoms, offering me advice, and sharing personal experiences she had raising her daughter. On my birthday, she wished me a happy birthday “the Russian way”; by giving me a five minute toast in Russian, laying out every specific blessing she wished upon me for the following year.
Dostoevsky does not use dialogue as a means of providing his readers with necessary exposition: he writes dialogue that provides his readers with Russian companionship. As disconcerting as his characters and their brutal honesty and curiosity can be, they are realistic portrayers of Russian thought. So what can we learn from this, as outsiders?
Whether or not we choose to discuss it, everyone wrestles with Truth on a daily basis. A chronically unhealthy man wishes he could get his symptoms to go away. An exhausted mother wonders whether spanking would improve her children’s morale. Your 26 year old nephew goes on date after date without success. An old man in the nursing home down the street wonders what he ought to do with his day.
We struggle to acknowledge, however, the deeper grappling that is inside each of these people. The chronically unhealthy man wonders whether there is any chance he will get better, or if his illness is a permanent cross he must bear. The exhausted mother is wrestling with the idea of authority, and what is a proper use of her authority over her children. Your nephew is wondering whether a wife is a worthwhile goal, and what makes a woman a worthwhile wife. That old man in the nursing home is wrestling with the reality of living after the loss of loved ones, and the loss of his autonomy.
We do not say or think in these terms, of course. If you asked that nephew why he doesn’t just settle down, he’d roll his eyes and tell you to keep your nose out of his love life. When an American says, “Hey, how are you?”, they have already mentally supplied the response “Good, how about you?”, without time to acknowledge that that “good” might be a lie.
This was absurd to Olga. When she asked me each lesson “как дела?”, she truly wanted to know how I was, and how my week had been. While we didn’t spend hours in philosophical debate each week, I found immense comfort in the ease with which she discussed my ER visits, in home IV system, and my hyperemesis symptoms. While many people shied away from asking about those experiences, a woman I skyped with weekly loved to hear about my bad days as much as my good.
As I’ve been reading through The Brothers Karamazov since, I’m always reminded of those lessons with Olga. The discussions that I once wished were realistic now jump off the page as though I am talking to a friend. There is so much trouble and hardship in this life, and each time I read about Dmitri or Ivan or Alyosha diving into their debates over dinner, I wonder how much our relationships would change for the better if we learned to talk a little more like Russians.