One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (Alexander Solzhenitsyn, 1957-59)

Just a delightful read. I didn't realize the significance of this book as a ground-breaker in getting out information about the labor camps.

Solzhenitsyn's stuff, at least so far, has been excellent (previously read "The First Circle" and "August 1914").

Solzhenitsyn was in the Soviet military in World War II when he was arrested for writing a letter with an unflattering remark about Stalin. The story goes that he was needed in the heat of battle, but of course the political issues took precedence over military (like the commissars in Life and Fate).

So he had first hand knowledge of the camps.

This book is very short and is remarkable in its seeming unremarkableness. He literally describes one day in the life of a zek (Shukhov). He selects what would be considered a "good" day - presumably to show how horrible life was in the camps. The zeks are living and working in extreme cold with minimal nutrition. Shukov is on year eight of a 10-year sentence, but has seen enough to know that they might hang "another tenner" on him for whatever reason they like; or that if he survives his sentence, he has pretty much no shot of reconnecting with his old life (exile would be one possibility). We follow Shukov as he navigates the complex relationships among the guards, the personnel at the kitchen, fellow prisoners, etc. He makes out with a bit of extra food, manages to snag an extra puff off the butt of another prisoner's cigarette, barters for more cigarettes - just a great day. He had picked up a small piece of metal when out on work detail and was going to take it back to camp to fashion into a knife - highly risky situation, worrisome for the reader.

This book has virtually no moralizing; it is terribly simple. The 20th century in Russia (and many other places, I suppose) was pretty amazing.

A side note - Solzhenitsyn died a few months ago, and the mainstream media actually noted the event with some meaningful coverage. But this was completely dwarfed by the coverage of the death of a TV news anchor or news show host (his name was Tim Russert). I'm not sure exactly what Mr. Russert did, but he must have been a midget compared to Solzhenitsyn. Oh well, I guess trumping up the death of media types can only help convince the average consumer of the media's importance, to the benefit of future ratings . . .