An autobiography is «an attempt at self-knowledge,» Voinovich remarks at the very beginning of his «Self-Portrait.» Readers will also find a lot of information here. Namely — a motley picture of the life of Russia from the pre-war to the present times, seen through the eyes of memory, vigilant to trifles and intolerant of falsehood.
An autobiography is «an attempt at self-knowledge,» Voinovich remarks at the very beginning of his «Self-Portrait.» Readers will also find a lot of information here. Namely — a motley picture of the life of Russia from the pre-war to the present times, seen through the eyes of memory, vigilant to trifles and intolerant of falsehood. Voinovich studied little, but he went through universities no worse than Gorky’s, during which he learned how to herd calves, manage oxen, and carpentry. He was an auto mechanic, a glider pilot and served his military service in a Polish town — the anecdotally absurd atmosphere that prevailed in the unit reminds other pages of Chonkin. After the army, he came to Moscow, and the Polish streets were replaced by other landscapes and interiors: communal apartments, editorial offices, friendly gatherings with the participation of Okudzhava, Akhmadulina, Viktor Nekrasov. But then Voinovich was expelled from the Writers’ Union and from the country for his courage. He recalls his odyssey passionately, often offended, not sparing bile against the offenders, many of whom are still alive. And therefore, the first part of his book can be regarded as a living and accurate illustration of Russian everyday life, and the second — also as a warning about pits and ruts in the way of those who have devoted themselves to literature.
Eksmo, 880 p.