To Russian, with love

Kak dilla, my friends?

The fact that I've lived in Israel all my life, have Russian-speaking friends, have been seeing and hearing it all around me, and still don't know any Russian, is beyond me. I love languages. I've read Russian literature in Hebrew and in English translations. I've been baffled by the language, attracted to it, and at times extremely annoyed by it.

In the late 1950s there was a [relatively] large wave of immigration from Poland and the USSR to Israel. Our elementary school, like the other schools in town, got a boost of Russian- and Polish-speaking kids. I became quite close with several of them. Chief among my Russian friends at the time was one Shoshana Kaufman, who later became a math teacher. The practical Shoshana both liked me and saw how we could help each other. I wrote brief compositions for her in Hebrew, checked and corrected her English homework; she started teaching me Russian. Though I don't recall getting much beyond the alphabet, both print and script. Her handwriting, using a fountain pen with a flexible nib, was beautiful.

Another way Shosh helped me immensely was with War and Peace. I was supposed to write a paper about Love in the novel, and there was no way I could read the entire novel and write the paper by the deadline. Shosh took my Hebrew volume and her Russian volume for comparison, and marked in my volume the chapters that had to do with love... And thus I skipped all the war descriptions and philosophical discussions, concentrating only on the romantic story-lines. Mind you, though I got a good mark, my teacher -- the unforgettable David Levithan -- did find my paper lacking. "What about the love of God? Love for one's country? Love between friends?" he wrote in his comment. But I was 17... To me, only romantic love mattered.

As I wrote here in the past, it can get very annoying when you're in your homeland and you don't understand a word of what it said around you. But that's not the main reason I've finally decided to learn Russian. First of all, it's a challenge, and my aging mind (tfu, tfu!) can use the exercise. Second, we're about to take a trip to Russia! More about that, I hope, when the time comes. (August)

So once again, I'm collaborating with a friend. This time it's Anna, the woman who usually occupies the exercise mat to my right on Monday and Thursday afternoons. We meet at our usual table in the nearby mall, an hour before class begins. Yes, it's a bit noisy, but it's air-conditioned and convenient for both of us. I'd been nagging Anna for a while now to let me help her practice her English. Like me, she has a daughter in Canada. But unlike me, she also has a granddaughter there, who no longer speaks Russian -- she's Canadian through and through. Anna was reluctant to take me up on my offer, until I came up with the suggestion that she teach me Russian in return. So we spend roughly half an hour on English and half an hour on Russian, then wipe the sweat off our brow and rush to exercise class to unwind from the effort. Yes, it's a big effort. Whatever text she reads or hears in English, Anna first translates in her head into Russian, then into Hebrew. And whatever word Anna teaches me in Russian, I make her repeat it half a dozen times before I even attempt to reproduce it. No matter how hard I try, I cannot reproduce the trilled R nor the glottal(?) L. I can barely hear the difference between a hard consonant and a soft one, let alone pronounce them properly.

So far, I'm nearly comfortable with the alphabet; I have a list of words that are [nearly] the same in English and in Russian; I'm collecting easy, useful phrases, and am enjoying some cute words, like "ootka" - утка -- meaning "duck", and despairing of ever being able to order ice cream -- мороженое --  in Russian.

До Свидания!

Books I started reading but never finished

My old high-school friend S. recently posted this cartoon on Facebook that touched a nerve: Hey, this is just what I've been meaning to write about! 

See, there’s this very-good-book that I've been wanting to read for ages and have finally picked up. Since my copy is a paperback and the print is rather small, I downloaded it onto Kindaleh. My eldest also has a paperback copy on her bookshelves, so when I’m on Savta Duty (i.e. babysitting – silly term, since not much sitting gets done) and Baby Yos is asleep, bless him, I can continue where I left off even if I've neglected to slip Kindaleh into my already-too-heavy shoulder-bag.
It is superbly written, but scary and depressing as all hell: The Plot Against America, by Philip Roth. And I don’t want scary and depressing. I want either light, witty and entertaining; or illuminating and awe-inspiring, or brain-teasing. So on the one hand I keep going back to The Plot and reading another page or two; on the other hand I’m constantly on the lookout for something light and entertaining to serve as a counter measure. At this rate, it’ll either take me forever to finish The Plot, or else it’ll join the list of books I started reading but never finished.

Some compulsive readers can’t bear to do that. They’ll grin and bear it, wade through the book for better and for worse, the less-compulsive skipping a bit here & there or peeking at the last page/s to see how it all turns out. I know a young woman who will not read a book if she finds out her fave character gets offed by the author. A man I know has no compunctions about skipping whole chapters to find out whether it’s worth pursuing to the bitter(?) end. And I? I give up, put the troublesome book back on the shelf, and add it to my list.

The list, I’m afraid, is too long to include here. Might scare you off or bore you to tears. It includes both classics and books that were bestsellers in their heyday, not always justifiably. Below is a partial list, with a short note of my first impressions at the time, often including the reason for dropping the book:

Virginia Woolf: To the Lighthouse

Requires quiet and concentration... like “good literature” I studied at university.

Having started reading Virginia Woolf's biography by Hermione Lee I thought I might find Lighthouse more interesting in terms of identifying elements taken from her own life. Not that it makes any difference to the novel itself or my enjoyment of it; but as a would-be writer, it's helpful to see the extent to which good writers draw on their own lives.

BTW – never finished reading the biography either. All those trivial details drove me crazy. Reached p.81/755 (ignoring the Index & Notes). I adore Virginia Woolf. Wouldn’t I be better off just reading her writings instead of the writings about her?...

Daniel Goleman: Emotional Intelligence

Extremely annoying. Too much repetition, too much stating of the obvious. Remember: Always count to 10 (or 20, or more) before doing or saying anything stupid. Got it? You're good to go.

Wally Lamb: She’s Come Undone

Yes, I know a protagonist doesn’t have to be charming in order for a novel to be good. But the protagonist is so off-putting that I can’t force myself to continue reading. I heard it has a happy end. Jolly good.

Carolyn Heilbrun: The Last Gift of Time

Heilbrun’s (a.k.a. Amanda Cross) novels all have an agenda, they’re very “academic”. Unlike the mysteries, this one’s non-fiction. I lost patience with it because I couldn’t identify with its premises. The writer doesn’t succeed in making her insights about women relevant to a wide range of women. Virginia Woolf talked about “a room” of one’s own, which, in practical terms, is difficult enough; Heilbrun talks about a house of her own… (Poor woman committed suicide in Oct 2003).

Peter Hoeg: The Borderliners. I liked Smilla’s Sense of Snow despite its flaws, so I thought I might like this one, too. But there was something creepy about it. Reminds me of Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go.

Rebecca Wells: Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

Couldn't finish. The characters were not "rounded" enough, it was difficult to distinguish between them and remember who's who. Also, the writer tries too hard and ends up tripping over excessive verbs and superfluous, pointless descriptions of actions.

Graham Greene: The End of the Affair

Despite my adoration of Graham Greene, I didn't finish this one; it was beautiful and touching and engaging, until I learnt that the woman gives up her love because of a promise made to God. Lost interest. After seeing the movie, I tried getting back to the book. However, I was still annoyed that God punishes her by death(!) for her transgression. What's her main transgression, going back on her word to Him, or committing adultery? Will reading the book provide an answer?

Other GGs I didn’t finish: Stamboul Train (early novel, not very good); Monsignor Quixote (too much politics and religion); A Burnt Out Case – Reached page 189 out of 208, and couldn't continue. I saw where the plot was headed, and it breaks my heart. Of course, I could be mistaken – Graham Greene has been known to fool and surprise me with a twist of the plot… But I can see Querry falling into the trap, being ensnared by malicious gossip…; TheComedians – Started in English, got confused with the time line, so switched to the Hebrew – old translation by Amatzia Porat – which annoys me no end. Even allowing for conventions in translation during the 1960s (not to mention earlier), it is still bad, contains inexcusable inaccuracies and high register which make the clear GG text nearly unintelligible.

Margaret Atwood: The Blind Assassin

Complex. Too early to tell. But already a few shrewd observations. Never went back to it. What do you say, folks, is it worth it?

Lynne Truss: Talk to the Hand

Truss makes some very important points, only she’s so in love with words that her words sometimes cloud the very issue she’s trying to make. But that is probably considered her unique style; take that away from her, and her observations seem a bit bare. I’d hoped to continue, but never did; she made her point: people are rude. So?

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Enough for one day, eh?