"To compensate a little for the treachery and weakness of my memory, so extreme that it has happened to me more than once to pick up again, as recent and unknown to me, books which I had read carefully a few years before . . . I have adopted the habit for some time now of adding at the end of each book . . . the time I finished reading it and the judgment I have derived of it as a whole, so that this may represent to me at least the sense and general idea I had conceived of the author in reading it." (Montaigne, Book II, Essay 10 (publ. 1580))

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Darkness at Noon (Arthur Koestler, 1940)

I liked this quite a bit.  Koestler was Hungarian but lived in various countries; this was published in English while he lived in England.  He was familiar with the Soviet system and had spent some time in a Franco prison in Spain in the 1930s.

The novel is set in an unnamed country, but it's obviously Russia - with reference to 1930s show trials.  Protagonist is Rubashov - a hero of the early Bolshevik days.  But now "No. 1" - meaning Stalin - is purging the old guard, the military, the intellectuals, etc. - welcome to 1930s USSR.

Rubashov communicates with the next-door prisoner (a Czarist officer) via a tapping system known to all the prisoners.  Brief communication with other prisoners on occasional walks in the yard.  Rubashov is interrogated by an old comrade from the early days; then later by a young, cold, Stalin-raised officer.

Very interesting discussions about power, Communism, the endless tropes about "the ends justify the means" and the fiction of the supposedly well-intentioned smart folk looking out for the masses who don't know what they really want.  Like a big progressive state in so many ways, only somewhat cruder.  Same fawning press, however.  Ugh.

Rubashov discusses Crime and Punishment with the second interrogator; needless to say, Dosteovsky fell out of favor with the Communists (Raskelnikov was on the right track, but wavered).  Part of the discussion here reminded me much of Demons, which I happened to be reading concurrently.

Much worth reading but - maybe because I read those other works earlier - it didn't seem to have quite as much punch as the Solzhenitsyn works (such as this).

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