english research paper, 6-8 pages. i choose the wolf as my bogey among these 4 and i want you to attach a annotated bibliographies with 2 primary articles and 6 secondary ones. thanks.

American Association of Teachers of Slavic and East European Languages

Werewolves and Vampires, Historical Questions and Symbolic Answers, in Petr Aleshkovsky's "Vladimir Chigrintsev" Author(s): Valentina Brougher Source: The Slavic and East European Journal, Vol. 45, No. 3 (Autumn, 2001), pp. 491-505 Published by: American Association of Teachers of Slavic and East European Languages Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3086366 Accessed: 07-12-2017 19:01 UTC

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WEREWOLVES AND VAMPIRES, HISTORICAL QUESTIONS AND SYMBOLIC ANSWERS, IN PETR ALESHKOVSKY'S VLADIMIR CHIGRINTSEV

Valentina Brougher, Georgetown University

Petr Aleshkovsky is one of the most promising Russian writers of the young generation -those who debuted at the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s. He has drawn critical attention not because he has shocked

literary sensibilities, like Vladimir Sorokin, or produced experimental post- modernist fiction, like Zufar Gareev.1 Rather, he has impressed critics by demonstrating a talent for writing traditional, realistic prose which never- theless acknowledges the multi-layered nature of reality and the human experience. According to the well-known Russian critic Mark Lipovetsky, Aleshkovsky is one of the Russian "postrealists" who are "rooted in the realistic tradition but .. . [have] learned from the experience of postmod- ernist art" (243). Given his affinity for mixing the daily and the mundane with the unusual and the fantastic, it is also tempting to describe Alesh- kovsky as a "fantastic realist," in the tradition of Nikolai Gogol.

Aleshkovsky's first povest' or novella, Chaiki (Seagulls, 1992), was set in the mythical provincial town of Stargorod and revolved around the theft of icons, freedom of the arts, and other issues of contemporary life. Several key scenes reflected world mythology as well as old Russian beliefs about death and the soul. Aleshkovsky's cycle of thirty short narratives, Star- gorod: Golosa iz khora (Old Town: Voices from a Chorus, 1995), offered brief vignettes from the lives of Stargorod's gallery of colorful, eccentric characters; these vignettes included references to witches, village sorcerers and healers, miracle-working icons and the like, which suggested that be- lief in the occult forms a vital dimension of contemporary village life. The novella, Zhizneopisanie khor'ka (1993; translated as Skunk: A Life, 1997), which brought Aleshkovsky almost instant fame and was short-listed for the Booker Russian Novel Prize in 1994, was structured on the physical and spiritual journey of Danilka, nicknamed Khoryok, who is both antisocial and amoral. Aleshkovsky portrayed his moral awakening as the hypnotic

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effect of icons depicting sinners, talk of the Second Coming and Anti- Christ, a priest's discourse on the role of paganism, magic and miracle in religious belief and, most important, Danny's own mystical experiences lying on a rock which is venerated by the local folk.

Vladimir Chigrintsev (1995, journal version; 1997, book edition), short- listed for the Booker Prize in 1996, confirms that Aleshkovsky's writing is rooted in the classical tradition but enriched by use of the irrational, the mystical and the supernatural- the occult in the broad scheme of things. The latter dimension of Aleshkovsky's art, it should be noted, is in concert with the literary dynamics and thematic preoccupations of Russian writers in the 1990s. One need only consider the prose of such writers as Oleg Ermakov, Aleksandr Vernikov, Georgy Petrov, Zufar Gareev, Dmitri Lipskerov, Aleksei Slapovsky, Viktor Pelevin, Aleksandr Borodynia, Olga Slavnikova, Maria Rybakova, Alla Bakholenko, Aleksei Varlamov, Via- cheslav Pietsukh, Mikhail Kuraev, Mark Kharitotov, Anatoly Kim, Liud- milla Petrushevskaia, Nina Sadur, and Tatiana Tolstaia to conclude that interest in the "other" world, different levels of reality, demonology, black and white magic, folk beliefs, apocalypses, mystical systems of thought and esoteric teachings characterizes much of the literature published today.2

The occultist complexion of Russian prose in the 1990s is part of the counter-culture that developed in response to seventy years of Soviet rule and the emphasis on the visible, material world and the rationality of life. Writers today are taking advantage of the new freedoms to mine all areas of the occult that now constitute Russians' spiritual space. They are discov- ering in the world of the occult a rich source of literary devices, metaphori- cal language and philosophical perspective as they address basic questions about the nature of reality and human life in general. Some writers incor- porate elements of the occult into their prose as they strive not only to answer ontological and metaphysical questions, but also to capture the essence of history, politics and culture in Soviet, post-Soviet and even pre- revolutionary times. Viktor Pelevin, in Zheltaia strela (The Yellow Arrow, 1993) and Chapaev i Pustota (Chapaev and Emptiness, 1996) interprets human life and the Soviet experience through a Buddhist prism; Yuri Buida offers his novel Boris i Gleb (Boris and Gleb, 1997) as an alchemi- cal manuscript in which he identifies the basic "ingredients" or "elements" of "Russianness," various Russian tsars, historical periods and cultural phenomena; and Tatiana Tolstaia, in her recently published first novel, Kys' (Kys, 2000),3 looks to both changes and constants in folk beliefs, mythology, and language to capture the character of Russian life, politics and culture-past, present and future. Aleshkovsky's Vladimir Chigrin- tsev very much belongs among these works.

In his collection of brief essays on noteworthy works of Russian litera- ture which appeared in the 1990s, Andrei Nemzer (27) introduces Petr

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Werewolves and Vampires, Historical Questions and Symbolic Answers 493

Aleshkovsky's novel, Vladimir Chigrintsev, as writing representative of a generation of writers who are deeply involved in posing questions and providing answers. In his critical look at the work, Nemzer (28) also men- tions the presence of a volkudlak, vurdalak (werewolf) and upyr' (vam- pire) in key moments in the novel.4 His comments, however, suggest a weariness with the occultist complexion of Russian literature in the 1990s and do little to illuminate the philosophical, cultural and political implica- tions of Aleshkovsky's artistic vision. In my view, the occultist preoccupa- tion in Aleshkovsky's work transcends mere fashion. As this article will show, Aleshkovsky uses folk beliefs, legends and myths to provide sym- bolic answers to historical questions about Soviet rule, the nature of real- ity, and the creative imagination.

Much of the structural complexity and thematic richness of Alesh- kovsky's Vladimir Chigrintsev is owed to the portrayal of the folk belief in two types of the unclean undead: the werewolf and the vampire. It should be noted at the start, however, that Aleshkovsky often does not distinguish between the two categories, instead allowing them to merge in the reader's mind.5 A thoughtful reading of the novel reveals that various "truths" about Russian history, human creativity, and the nature of reality in general are locked in an intricate "set of relations . .. connected through their intersection"6 in the folkloric notion of werewolf/vampire.7 As we shall see, in Vladimir Chigrintsev Aleshkovsky contextualizes an "appearance" of a werewolf or vampire in different periods of Russian life and history, endow- ing the notion with various suggestions, associations, and meaning as the novel progresses. The werewolf/vampire becomes not only the binding thread but the central metaphor in the novel. On a broader level, the werewolf/vampire plays a key role in the philosophical underpinnings of the novel, in the "questions and answers" that anchor Aleshkovsky's work. A fruitful approach to identifying these "questions and answers" is first to explore the role of the werewolf/vampire in the work and then to consider its broader implications.

Vladimir Chigrintsev opens in the 18th century with a description of the genesis of a local legend about a werewolf. The first few pages of the novel describe the end of the siege of Orenburg and Emelian Pugachev, the leader of the peasant rebellion in Catherine the Great's time, fleeing for his life. As his supporters flee as well, one man, who tries to elude the horsemen pursuing him through the steppe, finds himself confronted by Prince Der- betev. He begs for mercy, but the Prince - tired, wounded and angry at the "traitors"- pierces him with his sword. As the man lies dying, he vows to come back as a werewolf (volkudlak). This threat comes to haunt genera- tions of Derbetevs, and various tales, not only of the supernatural but also of hidden treasure, come to be associated with the Derbetev estate, Pylaikha.8 It seems that the "man" had been entrusted to deliver a small

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chest of semi-precious jewels to Pugachev's "empress" for safekeeping, and that Prince Derbetev became the unexpected owner of this large treasure.

The werewolf, of course, "was known to the ancient Greeks and Ro- mans, and exists in the folk beliefs of peoples on every continent in the world" (Funk & Wagnells 1170). Since literary works with supernatural themes were popular in Catherine the Great's time (Berry 5-18), Alesh- kovsky's placement of the werewolf curse during Pugachev's rebellion ac- quires a certain legitimacy. Aleshkovsky signals, however, that the notion of a folkloric werewolf is of vital importance to the dynamics of the whole work, and not simply a Gothic touch for his novel, by taking great care to legitimize the man's vow to return as a werewolf. To this end, he utilizes details and elements that reflect common Russian folk beliefs.

Russian folklore offers a variety of explanations of how werewolves come into being. According to the 19th century scholar of Russian folklore, S. V. Maksimov (90-91), one magic ritual called for a knife to be stuck into a smooth tree stump and then for the person to jump over it. For a were- wolf to revert back to human form, the ritual called for jumping over the knife in the opposite direction. However, if anyone took out the knife before the person had a chance to revert back to human form, that person would remain a werewolf for the rest of his existence. Aleshkovsky's narra- tive suggests that, by literally "nailing" Pugachev's follower to the ground with his sword and then removing the weapon and pushing the body into a ravine, Prince Derbetev unwittingly performed a variation on this ritual, thus giving validity to the man's threat to return as a werewolf. The empha- sis Aleshkovsky places on Prince Derbetev's passionate view of the man as a "robber" (razboinik) and "traitor" (izmennik) dovetails with a common peasant belief that, as V. I. Dal (52-53) has observed, a werewolf repre- sented an apostate whose soul was not allowed to enter into "the other world" but was forced to wander this world and do mischief. In setting the genesis of his werewolf legend in Pugachev's time and incorporating the idea of treasure, Aleshkovsky exploits effectively the association of folk heroes with treasures in popular lore (Zabylin 440-447). Last but not least, the popular belief that hidden treasure was guarded by unclean forces (Zabylin 439) prepares for the involvement not only of the "Derbetev werewolf" but the demonic in general.

That the Prince's actions may have introduced supernatural forces into his life is suggested by the fate that befalls him. He is found hanging from an aspen tree in a ravine. According to folk belief, the aspen was an effective means of "fighting the unclean spirit, witches, sorcerers" and other beings of this kind (Slavianskaia mifologiia 293). Thus, one possible interpretation is that the Prince's death came at the hands of peasants, because of his rumored involvement with chernye muzhiki, or sorcerers and practitioners of black magic. Another interpretation is that the fol-

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Werewolves and Vampires, Historical Questions and Symbolic Answers 495

lower of Pugachev whom the Prince had killed and robbed of treasure had indeed "come back" as a werewolf, just as he had threatened: after killing him, Prince Derbetev had thrown the man's body into a ravine, and it is in a ravine that Prince Derbetev himself is found hanging. A white dog was spotted there and pronounced a shape shifter (oboroten') by the local folk, a term sometimes applied to a werewolf. It is also noteworthy that the violent nature of the death of Pugachev's follower had made him a zalozhnik, someone in folk belief who has died "an unnatural death" be- fore his time and thus become part of the world of the demonic. The zalozhniki "often show themselves to people and almost always harm them," according to D. K. Zelenin (40).

In tracing the life of the werewolf curse, which in turn contributes to the myths and legends which shroud the Derbetev estate, Aleshkovsky places special focus on the mysterious death, after the Bolshevik revolution, of one of the descendants of Prince Derbetev. Sergei Pavlovich Derbetev does not die at the hands of peasants enraged at their old master, as was often true of the times, nor is he purged as an "old bourgeois" element hostile to the revolution. Forced to give up the family estate of Pylaikha to the Soviets, he stayed on as its watchman. In 1921 he was found barely alive in snowy, freezing weather, just outside the door of a storeroom; people wondered why he had not taken shelter inside. Adding to the mystery, he complained, as he lay dying in the priest's hut, that he seemed to see unclean spirits in the hut's fume-filled, smoky air.9

Sergei Pavlovich came to be remembered as a man who was drawn to the night, standing guard with rifle in hand and staring melancholically at the full moon, "as if practicing witchcraft" (107). Given the story of the Der- betev werewolf, one suggestion is that Sergei Pavlovich might have been guarding against, or apprehensively anticipating, yet another appearance of the werewolf. The reader is left with the possibility that the latter killed him. Noting, however, the occultist coloration of the description of his behavior and the time frame, i.e., the apocalyptic early 1920s, the reader is also left with the suggestion that Sergei Pavlovich might have sensed that evil and demonic forces were about to manifest themselves. This possible reading is suggested toward the end of the work.

The main portion of the novel focuses on the role of the werewolf legend in the 1990s, when the last direct descendent of Prince Derbetev, a profes- sor of history, Pavel Sergeevich, lies dying of cancer. While claiming not to believe the tales about a werewolf and treasure connected with Pylaikha and the Derbetevs, he warns Volia Chigrintsev, a distant relation, to "be- ware only of a white-necked dog" (53) and, in his last hours, in delirium, the professor seems to see a werewolf.

Volia lives in Moscow, has studied history, and makes good money as an illustrator of fairy-tales. In some ways, he is a man of his time: he enjoys

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being well paid for supplying a "cultured capitalist" (kul'turnyi kapitalist) with illustrations to the tales of Pushkin. The latter sell well in a time when

people long for a return to the classics. However, he is not entirely satisfied with this well-regulated existence. A strong sense of curiosity and a need to rediscover familial roots eventually take Volia to Pylaikha, there to experi- ence life's fairytales as opposed to those he illustrates. The professor's warning as well as the stories of hidden treasure and the supernatural that Volia has heard in connection with the estate lead to a clear dichotomy in his anticipation as he heads for the village where the estate is located.10 He wonders if he will find "buried treasure, a terrible werewolf, a witch on a fiery stick or [emphasis mine] simply mushrooms, hunting and fishing" (145). In Aleshkovsky's conception of the world, however, Volia is fated to discover that reality is not a simple matter of "either/or" but a blend of the "real" and the fantastic, the rational and irrational.

Volia's sojourn in the countryside leads to a renewed application of the variety of trees, grasses, insects, smells and sounds that abound in the won- drous world of nature. His visits with a friend's family remind him of the rural idyll that village life can be: the hut permeated with the strong smell of fragrant herbs, mushrooms, garlic, and freshly baked bread. There is a grim underside to this reality, too: alcohol is consumed in huge quantities, rob- bing people of time, energy and emotional health.

Volia also discovers that myths about the supernatural and various be- liefs about countering the power of the "dark forces" are very much part of village life and mentality. The grandmother of his friend Nikolai repeats local lore about a vampire (upyr') biting the former master (Sergei Pav- lovich) of Pylaikha at night and driving him to madness. When Volia de- cides to visit the estate, she presses on him an amulet of garlic tied with herbs. Garlic, of course, "is widely credited with the power to drive away evil, whether demons, witches or vampires" (Funk & Wagnells 441). He finds himself unconsciously holding the amulet in his fist after becoming frightened at the sight of a dog with a white spot on his neck and an old man who appears suddenly and disappears just as quickly. Although Volia's reflex as an educated city man and a man of reason is to dismiss these "visions" as "delirium" (bredni) and "nonsense" (chush'), deep down he is no longer so categorically certain.

That his intuition or subconscious in fact sensed something that was not necessarily visible is suggested in what is revealed later about the old man. The narrator comments that the latter served in the NKVD. Believing that prisoners in the gulag were all "scum and enemies of the people," he felt no remorse in "suffocating" or "strangling" them (dushil gadov 193). The use of the verb dushit' by association reminds the reader of the "vampire" that was said to have suffocated Sergei Pavlovich in the 1920s (zadushil ego ... upyr' 108). Moreover, the sudden appearance and disappearance of the old

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Werewolves and Vampires, Historical Questions and Symbolic Answers 497

man mimics the ability of a shape shifter to do exactly that at will (Slavianskaia mifologiia 279-280). By drawing on such associations, Alesh- kovsky suggests that the old NKVD man was, metaphorically speaking, a vampire, a demonic creature that attacks and destroys human beings.

The portrayal of the old man shows that Aleshkovsky does not restrict his werewolf/vampire references simply to the level of folk mythology. This is even more vividly borne out in Volia's surrealistic dream one night on the old Pylaikha estate. As a man of the 1990s, Volia has had to confront various revelations about Soviet history and life. He has also moved in the society of students and professors of Soviet history. If a person's dream is displayed to him "from the thoughts of his own heart" (Bloom 91), and if a dream is "little else than a resurrection of the past" (Bergson 114), then Volia's dream can be read as his interpretation of Soviet life and an ex- tended metaphor for the course of Soviet history.

In the dream Volia sees all of the village men sitting at a long table. On something that resembles a combination of a "tribunal for a Party speaker and an Egyptian chair" lies a pillow. On it sits a statue-like, "large but thin, black dog with a white neck." There is a bowl of kut'ia, or sweet rice, before him. "The dog is not looking at anyone in particular, but it is clear that he is shepherding everyone - his whole look is full of significance and malice" (182). The dog sticks his snout in the rice, while the village chair- man invites those present to eat by beginning to chew on a sharp steel bar; they follow his example, swallowing chains, screws, nuts and bolts; Volia chews on a rusty pipe. A hunt follows, accompanied by the dog's melan- choly and malicious howling, as he sits on a high post with a commanding view of the activities.

This stream of images immediately evokes the specter of Stalin. The presence of a dog combined with a reference to an Egyptian chair brings to mind Anubis, an Egyptian deity of death represented as a dog- or jackel- headed man. In her study of Egyptian mythology, Veronica Ions (85) points out that although Anubis had various functions, "most important of all, he supervised the weighing of the soul . .. His judgment was of vital impor- tance, for it was accepted in turn by Thoth, Horus and Osiris," the major deities. By parallel association, Stalin was raised to the status of a deity for the Soviet people and his decisions not only affected the lives of millions, but were accepted unquestioningly by his associates and subordinates. Kut'ia, "a food characteristic of funeral meals" (Ivanits 8), serves as an effective symbol and potent reminder of Stalin's role in the death of mil- lions. The dog "shepherding," or guarding and carefully watching over his guests brings to mind the Stalin hailed as "Captain of the Country," "The Wise Helmsman," and "The Boss,"11 while the dynamics between the dog (the look full of significance and malice) and his guests parallels Stalin's love of long dinners at which he exercised total control. The peasants

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chewing on metal parts can be interpreted as a reference to Stalin as "the man of steel" and his campaign of forced industrialization of the whole country. Volia's chewing a rusty pipe serves as a reference to his car acci- dent, which forced him to deal with the mafia for precious auto parts, as well as a general symbol of Russia's industrial decay. Volia's passing judg- ment on the dog as a shape shifter (oboroten') becomes an act of divination on the subconscious level on his part. But the dream also "transcends the psyche of the individual dreamer" (Bloom 123), because the reader intuits the higher truth: the werewolf in Volia's surrealistic dream is Stalin. Tell- ingly, days after his dream, Volia calls Stalin "a vampire, murderer and scoundrel" (195).

The dream does not end here, but continues to unfold: peasants begin dancing in cranberries, making a "bloody kisel' (kissel)." The dog with the white neck drives the peasants deeper into the forest, chasing anyone who falls behind. There follows not a witches' but a dogs' sabbath. Then the dog with the white neck turns into a common mongrel who continues to run across the field after the other dogs.

The "bloody kissel" and peasants being driven ever deeper into the forest can be read as a reference to Stalin's bloody regime which included dekulakization and collectivization and an extensive system of camps deep within Russia. The "dogs' sabbath" suggests the madness and political orgy that were the purges. The detail of the transformation of the black dog with the white neck into a common mongrel fits nicely the parallel image of the discredited, demythologized Stalin. And finally, the mongrel with the white neck running after the other dogs suggests that Stalin has not been exorcized from Russian life but is a still-demonic force pursuing or propel- ling others. Thus the dream has an "admonitory aura," to borrow a phrase from Bloom (98).

As we can see from the care with which Aleshkovsky crafts the symbolic texture of his novel and especially Volia's dream, the central "question and answer" at the philosophical core of Aleshkovsky's Vladimir Chigrintsev concerns Soviet rule, and Stalin's regime in particular. How should Rus- sians assess this part of their past, now that a different era has dawned? Through Volia's interest in history and the political changes in post-Soviet Russia, and particularly the surrealistic dream that troubles his sleep, Aleshkovsky argues that, metaphorically speaking, Stalin represented a combination werewolf-vampire in Russian history. Just like the folkloric werewolf-vampire, he preyed on the living and brought death; moreover, just like the psychic werewolf-vampire in Jan Perkowski's study (55), he fed, and continues to feed, on others emotionally. It does not escape the reader's notice that Aleshkovsky insistently juxtaposes this view of Stalin and the regime he represented to that of some members of the older generation (for example, the old man Volia meets) who in the 1990s still

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Werewolves and Vampires, Historical Questions and Symbolic Answers 499

argue that Stalin was "a real father" (nastoiashchii batiushka) of the Rus- sian people.

It is also noteworthy that Aleshkovsky's assessment of Stalin's rule in- cludes a warning: since both the werewolf and the vampire are types of the unclean undead against which rituals and remedies must be employed to render them powerless, Aleshkovsky suggests that Stalin's presence will haunt Russia and pose a threat until he is ritualistically eliminated or exor- cised from Russian life. That exorcism or ritual, the writer suggests, lies within the power of historians. As Volia concludes, with the passing of the older generations (represented by Professor Derbetev in the novel) who had served Stalin's cause, willingly or not, Stalin's power is losing its hold on the Russian nation, and historians are being left with "documents and a state of overpowering excitement (kaif), deeply personal excitement connected with [their] reading of the legend" (270). The "legend" is undoubtedly a reference to Stalin and his time. Aleshkovsky is suggesting that historians now have the freedom to study the cult of personality seriously, including the role of intellectuals in making Stalin a figure venerated by the masses, a tsar and god combined in one. Moreover, given the inclusion of references to the Pugachev Rebellion as well as to the relations between the peasants and the landowners in Vladimir Chigrintsev, historians also face the task of re- examining the roots of the Russian revolution, including the extent of histori- cal blame the tsars and the aristocracy must bear for the revolution of 1917.

It is interesting to note that Volia's recognition of Stalin as a werewolf completes the cycle that began with Prince Derbetev in the 18th century. The Prince's actions led to the werewolf curse on the Derbetevs; a descen-

dent, Sergei Pavlovich, after the Bolshevik revolution seemingly intuited the coming of the demonic; and Volia, in the 1990s, was able to assign a concrete identity to the demonic force that destroyed human life in Russia in the 20th century: Stalin. What began as a curse in a time when the supernatural and the fantastic was a fashionable part of the literary land- scape takes on a seriousness, a connection to real life and Russian history in the 20th century.

Volia's dream also brings us to another important "question and answer" that anchors Aleshkovsky's novel: what is the nature of reality? Is it bound only to the visible, material world or are there other planes of reality that are part of the human experience and just as legitimate? It is true that the symbolic texture of Volia's dream has an "otherworldly aura" (24) and reveals "dimensions of experience beyond the everyday" (Barasch 17). But his dream also brings to the surface insights which resided on Volia's sub- conscious level. The revelations that are imbedded in the dream's symbol- ism come to play a transformational role in Volia's life: he can never look at Soviet history in the same way. Thus, in the significance with which he invests Volia's dream, Aleshkovsky, as many writers and thinkers before

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him, suggests that dreams belong to a different level of reality that must not be dismissed. Dreams draw from an individual's everyday life, as well as the collective subconscious of a nation, and, transcending the daily, ordi- nary matrices of time and space, they reveal the hidden mysteries and truths locked therein.

Further evidence of Aleshkovsky's definition of reality as a complex interweaving of many strands can be found in Volia's adventures in the countryside. There is reality that consists of the recognizable everyday world, accessible to human reason and normal sensory powers. There is also reality that exists beyond the range of reason and the human senses and includes different levels of existence and consciousness. Volia's experi- ences toward the end of his stay near Pylaikha reflect these different levels of reality, privileging now one, now another level of reality. To offer some examples, Volia discovers a treasure in the bricks of the Russian stove of the estate church12: packets of currency from the 18th century and the years 1924 and 1931.13 The "unclean spirits" and "witches" that people-- including the professor and his wife - saw flying out of chimneys and pipes on the estate would seem to reflect the popular belief that there is a connection between demonic forces and hidden treasure. Volia, however, suffers no harm, perhaps because there are no demonic spirits or perhaps because the money is no longer valuable or a treasure. In an unexpected twist, however, Volia encounters the ghost of the 18th century Prince Der- betev, dressed in old finery, who questions Boria about the harvest and hay and starts giving orders. Boria, who lives in the countryside and has accom- panied Volia on the outing, interprets the ghost's appearance to mean that Volia is now one of the select: "If the master (barin) has appeared to you, it means that he considers you one of his own" (294). Boria, it is important to note, cautions Volia not to say anything in Moscow about this apparition because "they won't believe you, and what's even worse, they'll send a commission" (294). Here, as in the writing of Aleshkovsky's contemporar- ies, such as Alla Barkholenko, Oleg Larin, and Vladimir Sokolovsky, 4 the city is presented as the domain of non-belief in anything occult.

Given Volia's experiences in the countryside and on the old estate, Aleshkovsky suggests that reality is a mixture of the visible, material world and the invisible, the irrational and the supernatural. Those who place their trust only in the former (as Volia does before he visits Pylaikha), subscribe to a simplistic, impoverished view of reality. However, those who come to appreciate the latter (like Volia after his stay at Pylaikha), who accept, at least to some extent, the folk beliefs, legends and superstitions that are part of the culture and character of village life, appreciate the multi-layered richness of reality and the human experience. Simply put, Aleshkovsky is arguing for restoring to reality the complexity, mystery and ambiguity that Soviet ideology had tried to ignore and even eliminate.

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Werewolves and Vampires, Historical Questions and Symbolic Answers 501

The third important "question and answer" connected with the novel's key metaphor, the werewolf/vampire image, revolves around the writer and the creative imagination. It is significant that Volia's characterization of Stalin as a werewolf (in his dream) and a vampire (in arguments with the older generation of Stalin admirers) becomes interconnected with Profes- sor Derbetev's earlier use of the werewolf image to characterize his life. Before his death, the professor admitted to Volia that he had written "fairy tales [his] whole life and lived as in a fairy-tale" (238), an indirect admission that he tailored his studies of history to the ideological demands of the time and lived in a world that belonged to the stuff of fantasy and invention, not real life. Moreover, the professor suggested that he was a victim of forces beyond his control by reciting for Volia a line of poetry he associated with his youth: "Mne na plechi brosaetsia vek-vurdalak" (The werewolf century is hurling itself onto my shoulders). Although the name of Osip Man- delstam is not mentioned directly, Volia quickly identifies the poet in his mind and points out to the professor, without naming the poem, that Mandelstam had employed volkodav (wolf-hound) rather than vurdalak in that particular line of poetry. The professor defends his choice by suggest- ing that the more ominous and life-threatening image of a werewolf better encapsulates the essence of Soviet rule under Stalin. This image, the reader understands, serves as a powerful evocation of Stalin not only as someone who preyed on the living but also someone who exacted a heavy emotional toll. He is both a "folkloric" werewolf/vampire and a "psychic," one, to repeat categories from Perkowski's (55) study.

Fittingly, Professor Derbetev's recitation of a line of poetry from Man- delstam, albeit with some imprecision, serves to remind the reader of a great poet who was one of Stalin's many victims. That particular line of poetry is from Mandelstam's "Za gremuchuiu doblest' griadushchikh vekov" ("For the sake of the future's trumpeting heroics"), a poem which, according to Anna Akhmatova (101), was unearthed by NKVD investiga- tors and shown to Mandelstam when they arrested him. The professor's insistence, however, on substituting Pushkin's vurdalak for Mandelstam's volkodav, immediately adds Pushkin to an ever expanding system of inter- connections between different writers, historical periods, and the reading public. Moreover, the interconnections do not become exhausted with the reference to Pushkin, although the professor claims that the latter "in- vented" the image of the werewolf and thus credits him with creating a literary version of the supernatural being. Pushkin's "Vurdalak," however, is one of the poems found in his cycle "Songs of the Western Slavs" ("Pesni zapadnykh slavian")15 which, as Ernest Simmons (352) explains, were "drawn from Prosper Merimee's La Guzla, an excellent forgery of Serbian songs [to which] Pushkin added a few other songs and cast in the meter of the Russian folk epic."

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502 Slavic and East European Journal

If the foregoing intertextual dynamics (Mandelstam, Pushkin, Merimee, Serbian culture) are taken into account, Aleshkovsky's artistic intention is fairly clear. He wants to draw the reader's attention to the "common arche- typal pool of mythic consciousness" (Kolakowski 8) about which Carl Jung and Mercea Eliade wrote with such conviction and eloquence. He also wants the reader to appreciate that this pool "manifests itself ... in cultur- ally designated specifics" (Kolakowski 8), as both Jung and Eliade also believed. Aleshkovsky had already illustrated this by selecting the belief in werewolves and vampires that is part of so many cultural traditions and then looking to traditional Russian folk beliefs to explain the appearance and subsequent "life" of his werewolf/vampire.

Aleshkovsky can even be said to add himself to the symbiotic relation- ship and system of interconnections which he suggests exist between cre- ative minds, nationally and globally. It is not without interest that Alesh- kovsky chooses to open his novel with an episode set in Pugachev's time. The latter brings to mind the immediate association with Pushkin, a Rus- sian literary icon who is remembered, among other things, for two works on Pugachev's rebellion (the historical treatise The History of Pugachev, 1833, and the novel The Captain's Daughter, 1833-1836).16 Of particular importance is the Pushkinian spectral scene in the last paragraphs of Vladimir Chigrintsev. Aleshkovsky takes the key ingredients of Pushkin's famous poem "Demons" ("Besy," 1830) -based on folklore beliefs about snowstorms, witches and demonic spirits--and creates a prose variation on Pushkin's imagery. And he goes even further: he subverts the thrust of Pushkin's poem by recasting Volia's reactions to the snowstorm. The lat- ter, unlike Pushkin's barin (landowner or gentleman), is not overcome with fear, but rather experiences a "joyous unbelievable feeling of free- dom" (303). This sense of freedom comes from being away from the city and in a world of nature, where folklore, which he has come to appreciate, plays an integral part. The "purposeful reversal" (Rodari 35) of Pushkin's poetic intention serves as Aleshkovsky's playful illustration that the cre- ative artist inevitably taps into the pool of imagery and ideas created before him but, in his individual way, heeds his own Muse.

Last but not least, Aleshkovsky's "questions and answers" about the "uniqueness" of the creative imagination and the image of national writers in a global context is pointedly illustrated in what Volia learns about an- other of Pushkin's works. Thanks to a dealer in antiques, Volia comes to appreciate the poet's "The Golden Cockerel" ("Zolotoi petushok," 1834) not simply as a uniquely Russian fairy-tale but also as an old Arab legend, "in its European variant at that," which Pushkin "sharpened, simplified and reworked according to the needs of the time" ("zaostril, uprostil i obrabotal dlia nuzhd vremeni" (259). Aleshkovsky is clearly one of those writers who, to borrow some phrases from J. Bierlein (xiv), appreciates

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Werewolves and Vampires, Historical Questions and Symbolic Answers 503

"the fascinating parallels that exist among the myths [and stories] of widely separated cultures." After all, he himself chooses the belief in werewolves and vampires that is part of world mythology and "explores and reworks" this belief to fit the needs of his time, a time of "questions and answers."

NOTES

*I would like to thank Helen Sullivan and the staff of the Slavic Library at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign, Yaroslava Zelinsky of the Library of Congress, and my col- league Svetlana Grenier for their assistance in locating sources; my colleague Valery Petrochenkov for giving me generously of his time whenever I had questions relating to Aleshkovsky's text; Mark Lipovetsky and the two anonymous readers for their comments and advice; and Irene Masing-Delic for her suggestions and guidance. 1 I have in mind Sorokin's Serdtsa chetyrekh (1994), Tridtsataia liubov' Mariny (1994) and

Goluboe salo (1999), as well as Gareev's Mul'tiproza (1992). 2 See V. G. Brougher, "The Occult in Russian Literature of the 1990s," and Brougher and

Helene N. Wolff, "The Demonic in the Short Stories of Grigorii Petrov, Anatolii Kurchatkin, and Oleg Ermakov."

3 Kys', one of the writer's neologisms in the novel, is a mythological bird of prey in which people in Tolstaia's world believe and which they fear all their lives. Myth and legend holds that the people it attacks either die or never fully recover from the physical and psychic scars it leaves. The novel is filled with historical, political and literary allusions, and "kys"' may stand for the essence of various ingredients that make Russia unique. A reader familiar with Vasily Aksenov's prose will be reminded of his novella Stal'naia ptitsa (The Steel Bird, which first appeared in the U.S.A. in 1979 in an English translation published by Ardis Press and was included in vol. 2 of his Sobranie sochinenii v piati tomakh, Moscow, 1995) in which the main character, Popenkov, whom people call the "Steel Bird," symbolizes Stalin and his regime.

4 Slavnikova notes a connection between a wolf hound and a werewolf in the work but

ignores any references to a vampire. She dismisses Volia's dream, which I believe is an important key to appreciating Aleshkovsky's novel, as a "superfluous, tiresome jumble" (181). Clearly not interested in the occultist complexion of the work, Slavnikova focuses on the novel as a chronicle of a family history that ends with Volia's discovery of a worthless treasure at Pylaikha.

5 Ivanits (121) writes that "the categories of vampire and werewolf did not merge" in Russia. Aleshkovsky merges the two categories to indicate that people in the 20th century often confuse these two types of the unclean undead because both ultimately represent a demonic force that destroys human life. For the frequent contamination of the vampire with the werewolf in the Balkans, see Jan Perkowski's engaging study, particularly Chap- ter Three, "Vampire or Werewolf?"

6 Monroe C. Beardsley, as quoted in Ricoeur (93). 7 Perkowski (54) divides the "general vampire. .. into a quarterly subset: the folklore

vampire, the psychotic vampire, the psychic vampire, and the literary vampire." Alesh- kovsky finds his metaphor in "the folkloric vampire ... a being with imputed supernatural characteristics [Perkowski's emphasis] . . . which functions within the belief structure of a given people and varies from culture to culture."

8 The estate takes its name from the village of Pylaikha near which it is located. Pylaikha has the same stem as pyl (fervor, ardor) and pylat' (to flame, blaze). No information is

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504 Slavic and East European Journal

given as to when and why the village was so named although a fire in the area influencing the choice of name is a reasonable assumption.

9 The fumes are from the Russian stove.

10 The latter elements, incidentally, bring to mind Schmemann's fascinating account of the history of his family's estate, Echoes of a Native Land, especially the myths and legends about hidden treasure that became part of the legacy.

11 For a succinct but excellent description of the cult of personality as well as Stalin's nicknames, aliases, and official titles, see Rappaport, 58-63 and 263-267.

12 By Schmemann's account, "in the sixties, workers dismantling a chimney of the burned- down manor house found an urn full of letters and photos, presumably concealed there by the Osorgins" (6). It is intriguing to note that the histories of Aleshkovsky's Pylaikha and of Schmemann's Osorgin estate have many elements in common. There is a good possibility that Aleshkovsky is familiar with the story of the Osorgin estate and adapted it to his needs, which would be consistent with his artistic philosophy (see discussion below).

13 Lenin died in 1924. Collectivization was at its height in 1931. This was also the year that Stalin ordered the magnificent Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow to be dynamited and demolished to make way for the Palace of Soviets (which was never built).

14 See Svetilo maloe dlia osveshcheniia nochi by Alla Barkholenko; "Ekhala derevnia mimo muzhika" by Oleg Larin; and "Oblako, zolotaia polianka" by Vladimir Sokolovsky (1997), a work published some fifteen years earlier in a small provincial journal and finally noted by the critics in the 1990s, with the publication of the anthology.

15 For Pushkin's use of vurdalak, see also "Marko Iakubovich" in his "Pesni zapadnykh slavian."

16 In an interview conducted by Setiukova, Aleshkovsky mentions his deep interest in Pushkin and history and notes that his father, "a rather well-known historian," had a great influence on him.

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