Five years later I picked it up again and this time I found it relieving to read about all these «нездоровые» [unhealthy] people in Saint Petersburg back in the 1800’s. Everyone in this book «болеет» [is sick/ill]. On every page you find things like: «Я сделался больной» [I became sick], or «Она похудела» [She had lost weight], or «Он побледнел» [He had turned pale], or «Она была в бреду» [She was delirious], or «Он хворал» [He was ill/sick]. The imperfect verb «хворать» [be ill, be sick] is old and thus used in modern Russian language mostly when talking ironically of disease, but back in Dostoevsky’s days this verb wasn’t old at all (or not AS old anyway) and that’s why when he uses it then it is without any irony. Reading about other sick people when you are sick yourself is refreshing and you feel like you’re not alone at all but part of a world filled with other sick people also going through fevers and pains. But then again, I’m still in a town «в карантине» [in quarantine] and around me are thousands of other sick people so why I am feeling alone? Because you don’t really get to meet any other sick people when you are yourself sick…

 Meet my «полка с книгами Достоевского или о Достоевском» [bookshelf with books by Dostoevsky or about Dostoevsky]. It used to be ONE bookshelf, anyway. As you can see clearly on the picture above, «великий русский писатель» [the great Russian writer] has started to spread to other book shelves…

Let me tell you something about Dostoevsky. Judging from what I’ve got by him and from what I’ve read of him and about him and the fact that I’ve translated him and written a BA thesis on him and even worked «в музее Достоевского в Омске» [in the Dostoevsky Museum in Omsk], I think I know a thing or two about him. When dealing with Dostoevsky you should know this first of all: «Фёдор Михаилович жизни-то не изобразил» [Fyodor Mikhailovich didn't portray life]. If you think you’ll find «реализм» [realism] when opening up a copy of «Записки из подполья» ["Notes from Underground"] then you are sorely mistaken. Dostoevsky called what he wrote «фантастический реализм» [fantastic realism] but that was not really what he was about anyway; what he wanted to do was «найти в человеке человека» [to find in the human being a human being]. That’s why we shouldn’t get hung up on small details in his novels that are unrealistic or seem illogical. Let’s take “The Humiliated and Insulted”, for example, since I’ve just finished reading it. This book could also be called “Much Ado about Nothing” (perhaps Dostoevsky knew this title had already been used before him in world literature). In this book not a single character work as much as a day - if you don’t count the main hero when he’s writing his books - but keep going around to each other to solve problems that seem unsolvable to them, but not to the reader.

«Униженные и оскорблённые» is a novel about highly complicated «личные отношения» [personal relations] between a small group of people related to each other in one way or another. The main hero is «Ваня» [Vanya], a young writer that has just had a big success with his first novel, despite being chronically ill and already early on in the novel he declares that he is dying (but then does not mention it anymore). Vanya is in love with «Наташа» [Natasha], a girl together with whom he grew up in the country side before going to Saint Petersburg to study. Natasha is in love with «Алёша» [Aljosja], the stupid and rather thoughtless son of «князь Валковский» [prince Valkovsky]. Prince Valkovsky used to be good friends with Natasha’s parents, «Ихменевы» [the Ikhmenevs], and they also worked for him but now they are in a fight over some money and that’s why they have all left the province for Saint Petersburg in order to settle their differences.

The novel begins with how «Ваня» [Vanya] becomes witness to how the old man «Смит» [Smith] with his equally old dog «Азорка» [Azorka] die in public and decides to move into the old man’s apartment. At this apartment his grandchild «Нелли» [Nelly] shows up one day. Nelly is also chronically sick with epilepsy and living under awful conditions with drunkards and so Vanya saves her and as he tries to do so he runs into his former classmate «Маслобоев» [Masloboev] in the street - who is very drunk also, but decides to help Vanya save Nelly. Nelly turns out to be the daughter of «князь Валковский» [prince Valkovsky], who before both «унизил» [humiliated] and «оскорбил» [insulted] her mother even though he was officially married to her and stolen a large amount of money from her, causing her to die «в чахотке» [in tuberculosis] «в подвале» [in the basement] without any money and leaving her daughter to beg on the streets for food. Prince Valkovsky is not bothered by this at all, and in his evil, selfish and disgusting character we can see how Dostoevsky is beginning to work his way artistically toward such unforgettable bad guys of his like «Свидригайлов» [Svidrigajlov] in “Crime and Punishment” and «Ставрогин» [Stavrogin] in “The Devils”. Prince Valkovsky is never accused of sexually abusing under-age girls in the book - which is the ultimate crime in the world of Dostoevsky, the only crime you are never forgiven - but toward the end we are informed that he recently got engaged to a fourteen year old… Before this he tries desperately to get his foolish son Aljosja away from the poor Natasha, and thus hooks him up with the wealthy young girl «Катя» [Katya]. Aljosja proves his lack of stamina by dating both girls and also visiting some prostitutes in-between hiss two women and after always coming home to Natasha to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness… In the end of the novel everyone is recovering from the humiliation and insults, and gaining back all the weight that they lost during the 1,5 year that the novel took place and during which they were all suffering from various diseases. Except for epilepsy Dostoevsky is not the kind of writer to specify just exactly what his characters have come down with.

An illustration of «Нелли» [Nelly] from the book in a collection of Dostoevsky’s works in 12 volumes published in 1982. Why is it that I can’t read a single book without it ending up looking like this - filled with post-its?!

When we’re talking Dostoevsky we must never forget that no matter how unrealistic his artistic world is, he is first and foremost «христианский писатель» [a Christian writer]. That’s why the key to understanding his sometimes feverishly strange yet wonderfully captivating dialogues between people over vodka in different questionable establishments is to always keep an eye on where he puts «Новый Завет» [The New Testament]. In this novel it turns up early on in the apartment of the old man Smith, and was the book that he used to teach Nelly. In the culmination of the novel Nelly brings up the Good Book again, and the part quoted is how Jesus said «прощайте обиды» [forgive insults] and that’s when we realize what this book is about: «прощение» [forgiveness]. In the same way we can easily come to terms with “Crime and Punishment” by looking at what chapter Sonya reads to Raskolnikov. Remember Lazarus? Yes, of course you do, and then it is no surprise to you that this is a novel about «воскресение» [resurrection]. Putting things simply - Dostoevsky didn’t think outside the box, i.e. the Bible; he only thought inside the box. Think this somewhat limited his chances of reaching a broad audience world-wide? Well, not really. Despite claiming to rather want to ‘stay with Jesus, if Jesus is outside the truth, than with the truth’ Dostoevsky did well as a writer and succeeded in becoming the most influential 19^th century writer in the 20^th century.

Did you know that The Old Testament is called «Ветхий Завет» in Russian? I got this question on an exam once, and after answering it correctly the professor was so impressed that he decided not to ask me anything else. Just thought I could give someone else this tip!

Now I’m off to bed once again…

Post from: Russian Blog

«Моя личная армия лекарств» [My personal army of medicine].

Post from: Russian Blog

 On nights like these I fall in love with Russia all over again…

What can I say about myself, then? When I started writing this blog two years ago I was 22 years old and living my fourth year in Russia. Now I’m 24 years old and this is already my sixth year in this country. Originally I’m «из Гётеборга» [from Gothenburg] the second biggest city «в Швеции» [in Sweden]. I moved «в Россию» [to Russia] in late August 2004 when I was 19 years old. First I lived in Saint Petersburg for a semester, while I studied Russian as a foreign language. In February 2005 I moved «в Омск» [to Omsk] «в Сибири» [in Siberia] where I also studied Russian as a foreign language. I stayed in Omsk for a year and a half and even though it is pretty much impossible to sum up that experience in just a few words, I can say this much: it changed who I am forever. Summing things up even more I can say that I have grown up in this country. When I arrived here I didn’t know anything. I was a teenager with nothing but a huge dream: I wanted to become a professor of Russian literature. But at the time I didn’t speak Russian at all. All I knew when I arrived were two words: «пиво» [beer] and «привет» [hi]. Needless to say, my first week in this country was splendid… I am living proof that it is actually possible to «выучить язык» [to learn (completely, fully) a language] just by living in a country and studying hard and trying with all that you’ve got. Now I wasn’t always the best student. Right now I am the best student I have ever been, as a matter of fact, but I’ve always tried hard and spent a lot of time with Russians. And that’s how I learned this language and this country’s culture - from spending a lot of time with Russian friends. If you don’t have anyone to talk to, then you’re not going to learn how to talk. So during these past five years and plus-two months I’ve done a lot of talking! That’s one of the best advices I can give to anyone who wants to learn Russian - find Russian speaking friends! If you’re not in Russia, then go to a language club or café and sit there with your little phrase book and try your best at making conversation. Who knows? Maybe you’ll not only learn something new, but also find a new friend in the process….

I moved «в Екатеринбург» [to Yekaterinburg] in late August 2006 and have been living here ever since. All the time I’ve been a student «в Уральском государственном университете» [at Ural State University], «на филологическом факультете» [at the department of philology]. Now I’m a second year student «в магистратуре» [in the Master's program] and will be graduating in June next year with a diploma that says I’m «преподаватель русской литературы» [a university teacher of Russian literature] with all «отлично» [‘excellent', the equivalent of an A or a 5] grades - so far, anyway (keeping my fingers crossed). I have already worked as a university teacher, though, at Ural State University since October 2007. But I don’t teach what I’ve actually studied; I teach Swedish as a foreign language. And that’s one of the main reasons as to why I don’t have enough time to write here as much as I would like to since the beginning of this fall semester - this year I have three groups in different levels and I teach three evenings straight a week, leaving me almost dead by Friday night. I have two hour classes every Wednesday, Thursday and Friday from 18.30 to 20.30. But I love to teach, and I love my Russian students. We learn from each other, I teach them Swedish and they teach me Russian, they teach me about Russian reality and I try my best to show them what Swedish reality is like. I would also advice anyone who ever gets to chance to teach abroad to take this chance - it can give you so much! You’ll meet lovely people, though - of course - there are going to be many though times and rough patches and hard obstacles to overcome. Thankfully, I only have lectures in the Master’s program on Mondays and Tuesdays, so that leaves me with enough time to prepare my own classes the rest of the week. When I’m not stuck reading tons of Russian literature for seminars, that is…

I love Russian literature. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything as much as I love Russian literature (except for my family). That’s why I also love this painting of «Владимир Маяковский» [Vladimir Mayakovsky] that I came across on my way home one evening.

As you’ve probably noticed if you’ve been reading this blog already for some time, I have two favorite Russian writers that are dearer to me than all the rest of them (although I appreciate all of them equally!): «Фёдор Достоевский» [Fyodor Dostoevsky] and «Варлам Шаламов» [Varlam Shalamov]. My Bachelor’s thesis was on Dostoevsky’s time in Siberia, and my future Master’s dissertation will be on how he used material that he collected during his time there in his future novels. But in the future I would like to go on and research the connection between these two writers; I would love to write a doctoral dissertation on how Shalamov used Dostoevsky’s “Notes from the Dead House” in his “Stories from Kolyma”. To get even more personal I can reveal that I have applied to study at a graduate program in the U.S., but I’m not sure if I’m going to get in. Come early February and I’ll know where I’ll be headed next - perhaps, to California! If not, then I will continue to dedicate myself to Russian literature and Russian language somewhere else. Perhaps I’ll move back home to Sweden and start working at the university there instead. I would have loved to stay in Russia for all of my life, but for many reasons this is not the best place to start an academic career. And I really want to start an academic career! Does that sound silly? I suppose it is a little bit silly. But then again, most dreams are a bit silly… My ultimate life goal - or maybe it is just a dream anyway - would be to move back to Russia in a couple of years, once I’m done with my Ph. D. and go teach somewhere in Siberia. I love the city of «Томск» [Tomsk], where I’ve been twice, but I think I’d rather go to «Иркутск» [Irkutsk] and live there instead, even though I’ve never even been there… Not even traveled through!

I think it is true that once you’ve become very close to a foreign culture, when you’ve come to close that it has become a part of who you are, then you can never truly let go of it. Even if I’m not always going to live in Russia, a part of my heart will always belong to this country. People here often ask me about my future, and since I don’t know where I’ll end up, I always tell them: «Несмотря ни на что, душа моя требует России!» [Despite everything, my soul demands Russia!] There is still much in this country left for me to discover, and still I have many stories that I haven’t yet told anyone… This country has taught me a lot. And I am so thankful for everything that this country has given to me - education, experience, friendship. Maybe this sounds like I’m already saying «до свидания» [farewell] with another eight months left to spend here? That’s not entirely true. I’m just summing up what I’ve come to understand so far. And what I’ve come to understand is this - life is beautiful. And no matter what we must always appreciate, respect and love life.

 What it all comes down to is that I’m just «обычная девушка» [an ordinary girl] and like all other girls I love «пить вишнёвое пиво» [to drink cherry beer]. So is there a better way to end today’s post than to say «на здоровье!» [cheers!]?

Post from: Russian Blog

No Russian «праздник» [day of celebration, holiday] without «шампанское» [champagne]! If you’re unsure as to what to do with your bottle after you’ve drunk it all together with your best friend «Ваня» [short for «Иван»] out on the street in minus 30, then here’s a tip…

Let’s take today to focus on not HOW to celebrate holidays with Russians (since I’m fully sure everyone already has expertise in this area), but HOW to congratulate Russian with their holidays! We’ll start with the simplest way:

«С праздником!» - Happy Holiday!

Usually you don’t say the whole phrase in Russian when congratulating someone: «Поздравляю вас/тебя с праздником!» - [I congratulate you with the holiday!]

«поздравлять» (impfv.) and «поздравить» (pfv.) - [to congratulate, felicitate; compliment, hail] is always combined with a direct object in accusative: «кого?» [whom?] and an indirect object in the instrumental case: «с чем?» [with what?]. Here are a few examples:

«Надо поздравить Фёдора Михайловича с защитой докторской диссертации!» - [(We) must congratulate Fyodor Mikhailovich with having defended his doctoral dissertation!]

«Я уже поздравила маму с Международным женским днём» - [I have already congratulated my mom with International Women's Day (8th of March)].

«Поздравляю вас с Новым Годом!» - [(lit.: 'I congratulate you with the New Year!') Happy New Year!]

«Поздравляют ли друг друга с Рождеством в России?» - [Do people in Russia wish each other Merry Christmas?]

«Конечно, поздравляют! Но только седьмое января, а не двадцатпятое декабря» - [Of course they congratulate! But on the 7^th of January, not on the 25^th of December].

Among other important words to know in the same context are the noun «праздник» [holiday, day of celebration] and the verb «праздновать» [celebrate, feast; keep; rejoice; solemnize]. This verb is combined with a direct object in accusative: «праздновать что?» [to celebrate what?] and «праздновать кого?» [to celebrate whom?].

«Как ты обычно празднуешь свой день рождения?» - [How do you usually celebrate your birthday?]

«Завтра будем праздновать Лену, поздравим её с рождением ребёнка!» - [Tomorrow we will celebrate Lena; we'll congratulate her with the birth of her baby!]

From this verb and this noun two very different adjectives exist, and it is important that you try to keep them apart as their meaning is not the same. Though they may look and sound very similar:

«праздничный» means festive, merry, like a feast or festival, while

«праздный» means idle, unoccupied; indolent; vacuous.

That’s all from the Ural Mountains for now. «С праздником всех!» [Happy Holiday everyone!]

Post from: Russian Blog

And here we are again! Tomorrow it is already «первый день ноября» [the first day of November] and that means that «осень» [fall] has officially ended and that it is time for «зима» [winter] - «русская зима» [Russian winter] - to take over with full force! When the first snow came down on us this week, I looked out the window and then turned to my Korean roommate and said: «Снег идёт!» [It's snowing!] Only after a while, as I watched the snowflakes tumbling around in the air outside, did it occur to me that the verb «идти» [impf., verb of motion used for movement in a particular direction: to go; to walk; to come; to come out; to follow] was no where near a correct one to use when describing the way the snow was moving.

 «Снег идёт» [It is snowing] somewhere on a Russian railroad.

Thus yesterday I asked one of my Russian friends who is a Master’s student of «русский язык» [Russian language] this important question: «Почему снег именно ИДЁТ в русском языке? Почему он не ходит?» ["Why is it that snow in Russian language walks? Why doesn't it go around (without any particular direction)?"] «Ходить» is the indetermened variant of the verb of motion «идти», it indicates a movement there AND back again and means ‘to walk, to be able to walk; to run, to operate; to be going around’. She understood my confusion, but - «увы!» [alas!] - could not give me any answer other than that it, of course, would make more sense to describe snow coming down from the sky with another verb completely. The thing is that Russian language lacks such a thing as «снеговать» or even «снегить» [I made up both of these verbs; do not make a note of them!] as apart from, for example, my native language (Swedish!), and thus must use what it’s got. What does it have then? What else can we say when we see snow outside our windows but don’t really think ‘it’s walking’ but doing something different entirely? Let’s have a look!

«падать» impfv.: to fall; to crash; to decline, go down, fall.

«Снег падает» - [Snow is falling].

And from this combination of noun and verb you can make another noun in Russian that describes this exactly: «снегопад» [snowfall].

«Выпадать» is impfv. and «выпасть» is pfv.: to fall out; (of snow, rain, etc) to fall; to turn out to be; to fall to, to befall.

«Снег выпал ночью» - [The snow fell at night (in the night, during the night)].

«вьюжить» is a verb that I have only heard from Russians but can’t find in the dictionary, though it is clear that it is made from the noun «вьюга» meaning ‘snowstorm; blizzard’. I’m not sure if this could be combined with «снег» in such a sentence as «снег вьюжит» [‘snow is storming' or ‘it's snowstorming']. Perhaps one should be content with just saying «вьюжит» [‘there's a snowstorm/blizzard going on'].

The same goes for the verb «метелить» made from the noun «метель» (fem.) [snowstorm; blizzard]. I always have a hunch here that you can’t say «снег метелит» but must go for a construction like «на улице метелит» [‘there's a blizzard outside'] instead.

But since the most common verb used «со снегом» [with snow] in Russian is after all «идти» let’s have a look at how to make use of «совершенный вид этого глагола» [the perfect aspect of this verb] - «пойти» [to begin to walk, to set out; to start moving; (of snow, rain, etc) to begin to fall]:

«Скоро пойдёт снег» - [Snow will soon begin to fall].

«Вот и снег пошёл!» - [And so snow has begun to fall!]

Yet on this photograph we have snow without any motion at all! Here «снег лежит» [snow is lying]…

Post from: Russian Blog

In Russia there are two ways you can pay for public transportation. Either you can buy «проездной билет» [ticket] that entitles you to ride as much as you like on anything you want to - «на трамваях» [on trams], «на автобусах» [on buses], «на троллейбусах» [on trolleybuses] - for a specific amount of time. Usually the amount of time is a month (when you have to buy a new ticket depends on what Russian city you’re living in, sometimes in the middle of the month, sometimes closer at the end of it for the next month); one can buy a ticket for two weeks at a time also. When buying these kinds of tickets there are all sorts of «скидка» [discount, price reduction; rebate] one can receive if one belongs to a certain group in society. For example, there are «скидка для пенсионеров» [discount for pensioners], «скидка для школьников» [discount for school children], and - my personal favorite - «скидка для студентов» [discount for students]. This is of course the most «экономный способ» [economic; economical; thrifty way] of riding public transportation in Russia. But if you don’t use public transportation on a regular basis you might want to just buy a one-time «проездной билет» [ticket] already when you’re on the bus or the trolleybus. In Russia every bus, tram and trolleybus is still served by a person (usually a woman) selling these - «билеты на одну поездку» [tickets for one ride]. And that’s where the «счастливый билет» [the lucky ticket] enters into the picture.

On every ticket in Russia there are always six numbers. «Счастливый билет» [a lucky ticket] is a ticket where the total of the first three numbers equals the total of the last three numbers. If this is not clear enough, let’s take a look at a «наглядный пример» [demonstrative; illustrative; visual example]:

 This is «несчастливый билет» [an unlucky, unfortunate; unhappy, sad ticket] from «Пермь» [Perm]. Why? Because 9 + 7 + 3 equals 19, while 0 + 3 + 5 equals 8. And 19 and 8 are not equal numbers, not even close!

This, however, is «счастливый билет» [a lucky ticket] from «Екатеринбург» [Yekaterinburg]. How come? Because 3 + 3 + 3 equals 9, and 6 + 2 + 1 also equals 9. Yay!

Russians always make sure to count and add up the numbers on their bus tickets, and if they receive a lucky one, then they’re always eager to inform you of this. One can actually call it a bit of a national game, if not even a kind of national sport! Don’t be surprised if you’re riding the bus with some Russian friends and they ask you: «У тебя билет счастливый?» ["Is your ticket lucky?"]. If you’re not sure how to add up your numbers I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to explain. I do it myself, too. And whenever I receive a ‘lucky’ one I feel like the day is going to be extra good, but when I don’t I just hardly pay any attention at all. Then it’s just a bus ticket and has no influence on my life at all… And I have a hunch that the way I look at this is also the way of most Russians!

Of course the adjective «счастливый» [glad, happy, pleased; fortunate; lucky] is made from the noun «счастье» [happiness, joy, gladness, cheerfulness; fortune, luck]. Other Russian nouns that would be more proper to use in the sense of ‘luck’ would be «удача» [luck; success; fortune; stroke of good luck, good innings] or «везение» [luck, good fortune]. But for some reason the adjective used together with bus ticket is not «удачный» [successful, fortunate, prosperous, lucky]. I guess that Russians like the concept of «счастье» more!

Have you ever received a lucky ticket in Russia? Where? If not, then I hope you’ll be sure to be on the look-out for one in the future! 

Post from: Russian Blog

«Грипп снова диктует вам моду?» [Is the flu telling you (lit. dictating) what to wear (lit. fashion) once again?] «Прививка - лучшее средство для борьбы с гриппом!» [Vaccination - the best way to fight (lit. for a fight) the flu (lit. with the flu)!].

Here we find the interesting verb «диктовать» [impf.: dictate] Perhaps you can see that it shares a common root with the noun «диктатор» [dictator]? And how to use this verb, you might wonder? Well, have a look at this:

You should combine the verb «диктовать» with an indirect subject in dative: «кому?» [lit. to whom?] and the direct object in accusative: «что?» [what?]. Here’s an example of what a sentence might end up looking like:

«Он всегда диктует мне как жить» - [lit. He's always dictating me how to live, though a better translation would be: ‘He's always telling me how to live'.]

«Внимание» [Attention]. «Убедительная просьба всем проживающим в общежитии, не желающим прививаться против гриппа, написать отказ на имя ректора в свободной форме и сдать оный заведующей общежитием» [A persuasive request for all those living in the dormitory who do not wish to take the vaccine against the flu to write a refusal to the principle in free form and give it to the manager of the dormitory].

The note above I found hanging on the wall next to the elevator on the first floor in the dormitory where I live yesterday. I didn’t know that all people at our university have to «прививаться» [refl. impfv.: (of a vaccine) to take] against the new «свиний грипп» [swine flu]. Today I read that «Вакциной от нового вида гриппа будет привить каждый третий житель России» ["Every third inhabitant in Russia will be vaccinated against the new type of flu"]. I hope they won’t include foreigners though! I’m very afraid of needles. I think I just might have to sit down and write one of those «отказ на имя ректора в свободной форме» [a refusal to the principle in free form] and try to explain my enormous fear of everything having to do with hospitals in general… You could also make of note of the rare use of the pronoun «оный» which is old and used very rarely in modern Russian. It means «тот» [that] and «тот самый» [the same] and is made from pronoun «он» [he; it].

New words today - and excellent words to use this season - are as follows:

«грипп» - [flu].

«прививка» - [graft; vaccination, inoculation; jab].

«вакцина» - [vaccine; animal lymph].

But don’t get me wrong - «я же желаю вам всем здоровья!» [I really wish all of you health!] 

Post from: Russian Blog

Have you ever wondered what the difference between the noun «дом» and the adverb «дома» is? Read and compare the use of the words in the following sentence: «Для большинства людей это просто достаточно старый, деревянный дом» [To most people this is just a rather old, wooden house], «а для некоторых он же - дома» [but for some people it is home]. Get it?

This week’s Russian word is very simple yet at the same time of great importance in the broad context of Russian culture. Since Russians have a tendency to take their personal relationships more serious than anything else in life, it makes sense that they also care much more about what’s going on within their own family and thus also in their own home than, for an example, «в Кремле» [in the Kremlin]. The fact that Russians put their home life and loved ones before anything else can not only be seen in society, but also in Russian language. Russian has many different words one can use when talking of the people closest to one’s heart: not just the obvious «семья» [family]. When talking about your loved ones in Russian you can also make use of adjectives like «близкие» [folks, one's family (informal)], «родные» [relatives; people who are so close to you that they feel like members of your family even though you're not really related at all], «свои» [literally a pronoun meaning ‘their, belonging to them', but should in this context be translated as family members, relatives; good friends; people living with you] or the word of the week: «домашние» [lit. ‘people sharing one home', not necessarily relatives, could be roommates too].

The word of the week is «прилагательное» [an adjective] - «домашний» [homey, domestic; indoor; domiciliary; pet] - made both from «существительное» [the noun] «дом» [house, home; establishment; dwelling, residence] and the «наречие» [the adverb] «дома» [at home, at one's residence; within the home; home; in]. Basically speaking, you should be able to use the adjective together with any Russian noun when you want to point out that this noun has something to do with your home. Or someone else’s home, for that matter! Here are a few examples of the most common ways in which this adjective is used in Russian:

«домашний телефон» - [home phone].

«Можно позвонить вам по домашнему телефону?» - [May I call you on your home phone?]

«домашнее задание» - [homework].

«Почему всегда дают так много домашних заданий?» - [Why do they always give so much homework?].

«домашние дела» - [house work (and not just literally!)].

«Дома меня ждёт куча домашних дел…» - [At home pile of house work is waiting for me...].

«домашнее хозяйство» - [housekeeping].

«Это не муж, а мечта - так прекрасно он занимается домашним хозяйством!» - [He's not a husband, but a dream - that's how wonderfully he takes care of the housekeeping!].

«домашняя хозяйка» - [housewife].

«В детстве я мечтала стать домашней хозяйкой» - [As a child (lit. in childhood) I dreamed of becoming a housewife].

«домашний арест» - [house arrest].

«Его на самом деле брали под домашний арест?» - [Did they really place him under house arrest?].

«домашнее животное» - [house pet].

«У тебя есть домашнее животное?» - [Do you have a (house) pet?].

«мои домашние» - [my family].

«Передай привет твоим домашним!» - [Say hello to your family!].

The last sentence is without a doubt the most important to know in Russian language. Always a good way of saying good-bye and end a nice conversation!

Post from: Russian Blog

None of my neighbors here «в студенческом общежитии» [in the student dormitory] are a crazy scientist and none of them (as far as I am aware at this moment in time) are working on a time machine. But the thing is that we don’t really need a time machine in order to travel back to the 1920’s in Russia - all we need in order to feel just as if we were really there is to pick up a copy of «Алмазный мой венец» ["My Diamond Crown"] by Валентин Катаев [Valentin Kataev]. It isn’t a novel. It isn’t a novella. Not a poem. It’s not recollections. And certainly no memoir, not even a lyrical journal… Then what it is? Let’s call it simply «произведение искусства» [a work of art]. A work of art in which Valentin Kataev writes down stories as they appear in his memory: stories mainly about his youth in the 1920’s and his closest friends with whom he used to spend time, read poetry and drink vodka «в Одессе» [in Odessa], «в Харькове» [in Kharkov] or «в Москве» [in Moscow]. Now Kataev’s ‘drunken chronicles’ would mean little to nothing to us - in the year 2009 - had his closest friends not been the most famous Russian writers and poets of the time…

 This is how a copy of the very first edition of «Алмазный мой венец» Валентина Катаева» [Valentin Kataev's "My Diamond Crown"] from 1979 looks like. It was only printed in some 30 000 copies, but had to be reprinted over and over again when it became «культовая книга» [cultic book] in the early 1980s.

While reading Kataev’s work of art - which consists of no more than 221 little pages without any chapters, it’s just one big «сплошной текст» [continuous text] - I kept shivering. Why did this book make me shiver? Reason one: «у меня очень трепетное отношение к русской литературе» [I have a very quivering relation to Russian literature]. Reason two: «у меня склонность к трепету перед русским поэтам и писателям» [I have a tendency to quiver in front of Russian poets and writers]. And Kataev’s work of art is just as much about literature in general as it is about poets and writers. Kataev knew everybody! People who have become in my eyes almost like literary gods after all of the great novels, splendid short stories and poetry I’ve read by them - «Юрий Олеша» [Yuri Olesha], «Сергей Есенин» [Sergey Yesenin], «Владимир Маяковский» [Vladimir Mayakovsky], «Михаил Булгаков» [Mikhail Bulgakov], «Борис Пастернак» [Boris Pasternak], «Осип Мандельштам» [Osip Mandel'shtam], «Велимир Хлебников» [Velimir Khlebnikov], «Михаил Зощенко» [Mikhail Zoshchenko] - are people that Kataev lived with. To him all of these great poets and writers of the 1920s were not simply «товарищи» [comrades] but «друзья» [friends]. Together they did all sorts of things; they lived their lives side by side back then. When Kataev writes about everything these writers and poets did together - about what was strange about life back then, about all of the evenings that happened to get a tad too ‘wet’, about how they were broke as well as when they were rich just after getting something published - it feels as if they’re alive again. While reading Kataev you feel as if these classic Russian writers are coming to life right in front of your eyes. And you don’t need any time machine at all. After a couple of pages you’re already there. Right inside the stormy literary world of a very young, very hopeful USSR - just as young and hopeful as the writers and their creations were back then. And that’s why I shivered all the way through this work of art - I felt like I was actually there!

But Kataev doesn’t write his friends’ real names in his text. No, he calls his famous friends something else and thus allows for the reader to figure it out on their own. This is called in Russian for «роман с ключом» [‘roman à clef' or ‘novel with a key'] and is done so well by Kataev in «Алмазный мой венец» that the copy I borrowed in the library last week - from 1979 - was full of different people’s notes and guesses and question marks and exclamation marks… It was interesting in itself to read what the people reading it before me had come up with…! Some guesses were right, others were wrong - but all of them equally qualified, of course. At times Kataev will give you pretty big hints, though, that you won’t be able to misunderstand. For example when he talks of how he came up for the basic plot behind «Двенадцать стульев» ["The Twelve Chairs"] and gave it as an assignment to be written by «брат» [brother] and «друг» [friend]. It is more than obvious here that the ‘brother’ must be his own younger brother «Евгений Петров» [Yevgeny Petrov] and the ‘friend’ then none other than «Илья Ильф» [Il'ya Il'f].

 How should one read «роман с ключом» [‘a novel with a key'] properly, you might wonder? You could try following my example as portrayed above - with a pencil in hand! I made a list of the nicknames in my notebook and while going through the text I filled in the real names next to them as I kept guessing. It was a lot of fun! But then again I am «филолог» [a philologist] and we tend to think things like this are amusing.

Out of the very many interesting things and people you can read about in this truly wonderful work of art, let me mention just a few. I hope that I in this way will give all of you a clearer picture of what this little book it is really about. I hope to show you exactly how close Kataev was with the most brilliant people of his time, of his youth. Not that he himself wasn’t brilliant; after all, he wrote this, didn’t he? And maybe I hope that you’ll read it, too, and come to shiver and smile and be unable to stop reading for curiosity just like I did…

Kataev writes about how he was in love with «синеглазка» [blue-eyed (girl)] when he was very young. She was the younger sister of a writer he calls «синеглазый» [blue-eyed (masculine adjective)]. With this blue-eyed writer he would play in casinos in order to win money and buy vodka and sausage. And he, ladies and gentlemen, is Mikhail Bulgakov!

Kataev would often drink with «королевич» [from the word for ‘king'] and he was among the first to hear this poet’s brilliant «Чёрный человек» ["The Black Person"] - one of the last poems he wrote before taking his life. This is, dear comrades, none other than Sergey Yesenin!

Once «королевич» [Sergey Yesenin] got very drunk and ordered Kataev to take him to the apartment of «Командор» [Commander], since he was convinced that they deep down weren’t poetical enemies at all, but brothers who loved each other deeply. Who is then «Командор»? You guessed it: the only one to be written with a big letter in Kataev’s work of art is of course Vladimir Mayakovsky!

But more than anyone else Kataev writes about «ключик» [‘the little key']. This writer and poet also grew up in Odessa, just like Kataev did, and they became best friends already when they were still both teenagers. «Ключик» then went and became a literary legend after publishing the novel «Зависть» ["Envy"] - about which I have written a post here on the blog last spring - and Kataev ended up traveling Europe after his best friend’s death reading lectures about him. Yes. Yes. I knew you would understand it straight away - this is clearly «Юрий Олеша» [Yuri Olesha]!

And then there’s «мулат» [‘mulatto' - Boris Pasternak] and «щелкунчик» [‘nutcracker' - Osip Mandel'shtam] and many, many more people and stories left to explore in his book… Too many for a simple blog post about Russian culture. What I hope to have given you today is an idea of what Kataev’s ‘work of art’ is like. I highly recommend that you read it. In the original Russian or in a translation. In the mean time I’ll continue exploring late 20^th century Russian literature… and be back with even more revelations like this one! Happy reading everyone!

Post from: Russian Blog

Sometimes «остановка трамвая» [a tram stop] look like this in even a larger Russian city - this picture was taken on the central «площадь 1905 (тысяча девятьсот пятого) года» [‘The Square of the Year 1905'] here in «Ёбург» [‘Yekat', it's Russian slang for «Екатеринбург» (Yekaterinburg) since that takes far too long time to pronounce on a regular basis!]. Above you can clearly see how it’s done here in the wild East: you must both wait and get on the tram in middle of busy «проспект Ленина» [Lenin's prospect] as cars rush by…

Some people do not own a car. Other people do not even have any «водительские права» [driver's license]. These people have to «пользоваться общественным транспортом» [use public transportation]. I am one of these privileged people since «у меня нет ни машины, ни водительских прав» [I have neither a car nor a driver's license]. But what about this makes me feel privileged? Because I have the constant opportunity to choose from the abundance of different means of public transportation here in Russia! Even though I’m really a devoted «пешеход» [pedestrian] and love «ходить пешком» [to walk on foot], there are times in life when one must «ездить на чём-то» [travel on something] in order to get where one is going. Remember the last post, in which I tried to sort out when to use the prepositions «в» and «на» in Russian? Remember how I promised to sort out these «предлоги» in combination with means of transportation in a separate post? Well, this is it! This is the post in which I’ll try to sort things out in this regard. First we must understand that there are many kinds of public transportation in Russia, and that it functions in a different manner then in, for example, Europe. I’ve lived in Russia for more than five years and I’ve seen a «расписание» [timetable; schedule] almost «на каждой автобусной остановке» [on every bus stop] but I’ve never seen buses keeping these times nor Russians expecting them to do so. Public transportation comes and goes as it pleases in this country. For some this might sound crazy (it did to me also in the beginning) but as a matter of fact it is not the least crazy. Russian public transportation WORKS! You never have to wait for «автобус» [the bus] in Russia. If there’s no bus, then there’s always «трамвай» [a tram] or «троллейбус» [a trolleybus]. But if both of there fail to show up one can always jump on «маршрутка» [a ‘marshrutka'] of which there comes about one every minute in average big Russian cities. And then there’s also to possibility of riding «метро» [the subway] in many bigger cities. Therefore one needs not have wheels of one’s own in this country. Not only because you’ll keep getting stuck «в пробках» [in traffic jams] anyway, but because there’s plenty of other - cheaper and more environmentally friendly! - ways of getting around.

«Автобусы» [pl. buses] exist in many different sizes, color and shapes in Russia. Here we have «жёлтый автобус» [a yellow bus] and «зелёно-белый автобус» [a green-white bus]. Very often in Russian cities you can see «старые автобусы из Европы» [old buses from Europe]. For example, «в Перми» [in Perm] there are many buses «из Дании и Германии» [from Denmark and Germany] and for me while riding them it was very entertaining because I felt like I was back in the past century’s Europe…

The preposition used with means of transportation in Russian is «на» [‘on', ‘in', ‘at']. You can also use «творительный падеж» [instrumental case] with the very same means of transportation and the meaning remains pretty much the same. There’s of course nothing wrong with asking someone on the street on Moscow either of the following questions: «Можно добраться до музея Булгакова автобусом?»  [Can you to get to the Bulgakov Museum by bus?] or «А доехать до Большого театра возможно трамваем?» [And is it possible to get to Bolshoi Theatre by tram?]. But let’s keep it simple today and focus with means of transportation in combination with the preposition «на». In all of the examples below I’m going to use the verb of motion «ехать» in all ways it can be changed in present tense:

«Я еду на трамвае» - [I'm going by tram].

«Ты едешь на метро» - [You're going by subway (metro].

«Она едет на автобусе» - [She's going by bus].

«Мы едем на троллейбусе» - [We're going by trolleybus].

«Вы едете на маршрутке» - [You're going by marshrutka].

«Они едут на машине» - [They're going by car].

Behold my beloved: «троллейбус» [trolley bus; large vehicle which operates on electricity]. Since I come from a country where «троллейбусы» [pl. trolley buses] are a thing of the past - sadly - I was astonished the first time I saw one of these «в Санкт-Петербурге» [in Saint Petersburg] «в глубокой моей юности в 2004 (две тысячи четвёртом) году» [in my ‘deep' youth in the year 2004]. While living in Siberia I further developed my love affair with this kind of Russian public transport and if there’s ever an opportunity to ride on of these babies I take it! Though there’s no real logic behind my love for the «троллейбус»… Behind it you should be able to spot the smaller and very orange «маршрутка» [which is short for «маршрутное такси»].

But when we’re using the preposition «на» together with means of transportation in Russian, we’re actually not speaking of location as such, but of a way of moving ahead; getting where you want to be, so to speak. If you want to express location within a mean of transportation in Russian, then the preposition you should use is «в» which in this case translates very simply into ‘in’ or ‘on’. Does that sound tricky to you? Let’s have a look at two helpful sentences using the word «поезд» [train] which I’m sure will clear up things a little bit at least:

«Вика любит путешествовать НА поезде» - [Vika loves to travel by train].

«Вика познакомилась со своим мужем В поезде» - [Vika met her husband on/in a train].

Of course I had to save the best - and worst! - to last. What is this, you wonder? Let me explain! This little square thingy is called by «русский народ» [the Russian people] for «пазик» [‘pazik'] which is made from the abbreviation «ПАЗ» standing for «Павловский автобусный завод» [Pavlovo Bus Factory]. In some Russian cities ‘pazikis’ perform the role of local ‘marshrutkas’. That’s okay. But very often here in the Urals they also traffic roads between smaller towns and villages and since they are the most uncomfortable mean of transportation ever invented by mankind riding them for more than an hour equals shaking until your insides feels like milkshake. «Не хорошо!» [Not good!]

Post from: Russian Blog