Have Personality Disorder, Will Rule Russia: an Iconoclastic History by a Recovering Russophile
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Have Personality Disorder, Will Rule Russia: An Iconoclastic History by a Recovering Russophile Copyright © 2015 by Jennifer Eremeeva All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, transmitted, or reproduced without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Cover design by Mike Dicks ISBN: 978-0-9860639-2-3 http://jennifereremeeva.com Dedication To the memory of OTMA and Alexis. Photo Credit: via Wikimedia Comm Foreword SOME EXPLANATION MUST BE NECESSARY as to why a humor and food blogger sits down to write a history of the world’s largest country? I always think about Russian history in terms of a wide-screen, surround sound IMAX theater. For me, Russian history is epic, larger-than-life, and hyperbolic. The good guys are positively angelic, and the bad guys are truly heinous. I caught the Russia bug fairly early, at thirteen, when I found a battered copy of Robert Massie’s Nicholas and Alexandra in the school library. I might have missed it but for the white double-headed eagle on the spine, which caught my eye. I stood on tiptoe to ease it out of the top shelf, opened it, and I don’t think it is over the top to say that my life was set on a new course. Inside Nicholas and Alexandra there were twenty-four pages of sepia photographs of a kindly looking man, a rather sad woman, five beautiful children in formal court dress or sailor suits, and a strange-looking monk with straggly hair and a messy beard. They mesmerized me then as they still do now. I read and reread Nicholas and Alexandra until I had almost memorized it. I wanted to know more about this vast, strange land. I wanted to wrap my tongue around words that were impossible to pronounce, and more than anything I wanted to find out what happened next in the story. Soon, it wasn’t enough to just read about Russia; I wanted to go there. I wanted the full-on experience: I wanted to drink tea out of a glass from a hissing samovar, I wanted to stay up all night for the Easter vigil, I wanted to ride in a troika and take a brocade-upholstered train through a blizzard, the obligatory handsome army officer at my side. I wrapped my head in woolen scarves like Julie Christie and Diane Keaton and imagined myself triumphing over adversity in the midst of war and revolution. I majored in Russian area studies, during which time I struggled with the genitive plural and the eight thousand words that all mean “to go.” I immersed myself in Russian history and culture. I became a tour guide in Russia in the years just before and after the fall of the Berlin Wall. There I met HRH, my “Handsome Russian Husband” (although there are days when I secretly think of him as my “Horrible Russian Husband”), and we settled down to life in Moscow. Everyday life in post-perestroika Russia seemed to lack the cinematic oomph I had earlier associated with Russian history. In my battered North Face parka, I didn’t feel much like Julie Christie or Diane Keaton, even with a scarf wrapped around my head. What roiled and heaved in the background didn’t seem romantic or epic; it just seemed dingy, surly, and sad. It was very hard to see history’s sweep in the daily commute on the grimy Moscow Metro, pressed too close up against the rest of humanity. It was hard to find the elusive “Great Russian Soul” in one’s interactions with Russia’s legendarily rude service providers or, as the years passed, increasingly self-satisfied civil servants. There were times I felt trapped, when I felt that my relationship with Russia had become a love-hate relationship and that hate dominated most days. A good friend once said, “When your back is really to the wall, start telling the story to yourself. And make it funny.” So that’s what I did. I became a writer, and I began to come to grips with my changing feelings about Russia. I wrote columns, started a blog, and chipped away at a book about Russia. I wanted my book to have it all: my story, their story, where we’d been, and where we were going. I wanted my book to be different from all the other books about Russia you see in bookshops on the woefully small “Russia/ USSR” shelf, squeezed out by the much larger and more diverse “Europe” shelves and “China” section. Books about Russian history all had dust jackets the color of congealed blood or dirty snow and sported depressing titles referring to Russia’s least cheerful periods: GULAG (for some reason always written in all-capital letters) or Stalinism: A Memoir of Repression. Then there were several quixotic titles, such as Whither Russia? (Implication? Nowhere good.) The newest batch of books about present-day Russia were all devoted to revisionist analysis of the less-than-charming aspects of Vladimir Putin’s rise to power, with ominous warnings about the death of democracy. By this time, what they call in the writing biz “my voice” had gelled. I wasn’t an ivory tower academic and I wasn’t a gritty journalist, chasing down dissidents in remote industrial ghettos. No, I was a humor writer, so I set out to write a book that at once acknowledged my growing disenchantment with Mother Russia but also my lingering affection. I set out to capture the lighter, funnier side of this big, messy country and the soft, hilarious underbelly of the Russians, who seemed so stern and humorless but actually were hilarious with their crackling wit, their monumental hospitality and generosity, their flair for the overdone, and their incomparable tenacity. So it became a long book. Actually, by the time it was done, it was about three books. Things kept happening that I felt I absolutely had to include in the book. Russia is frustrating like that. Think you’re done, and BOOM—a meteor falls from the sky and hits the city of Chelyabinsk (which a lot of people would say is a good start). And then there was the problem with historical references. My book was full of them, and this seemed unfair to readers who might not know who Peter the Great was. I decided that my book needed a chapter on Russian history, so in 2011 I set out to write one. It took several months, and as I refreshed my memory and checked facts I traveled down some delightful rabbit holes. I revisited some old friends, discovered some new ones, and found myself reading and writing more and more about history, visiting museums and palaces, getting lost in dusty biographies and old maps. Russian history was once again front and center in my life, and I had recaptured some of the passion and consuming curiosity of my earlier “Tsar-struck” years. Unfortunately, the Russian history chapter became an essay, and in the end, it had no place in the book, which eventually became Lenin Lives Next Door: Marriage, Martinis, and Mayhem in Moscow. I pasted the text into a separate document, saved it in a Dropbox, and for good measure printed out a hard copy and stuck it in a neatly labeled file folder, which somehow never made it into the appropriate file cabinet. The folder took up temporary residency in my briefcase for most of 2012, and then it began to linger suggestively on my desk. It seemed to always be there, lurking on the periphery, and as I began to prepare for the launch of Lenin Lives Next Door, I kept thinking it was a pity I couldn’t include it so that readers would get the full picture, the entire story. Sure, anyone could read and enjoy Lenin Lives Next Door as an entertaining set of anecdotes about expatriate life in Moscow, but to really get your teeth into anything about Russia, I kept reminding myself, you had to understand about her history. I decided to give the folder what it so clearly wanted: a chance to get out in the world. And it continues to be a work in progress. So much happens in Russia, that I update it each year — it will probably end up being as long as Decline & Fall of the Roman Empire. If you read and enjoyed Lenin Lives Next Door, I hope you will enjoy Have Personality Disorder, Will Rule Russia as a companion piece to that book. If you are planning a trip to Russia and are looking for a concise and entertaining overview of the country’s history, I think you’ll find what you are looking for here. If you are passionate about Russian literature and want to come to grips with the political undercurrents in the novels, then this is also the right place to start. If you find that Have Personality Disorder, Will Rule Russia whets your appetite, be sure to visit the “Suggested Reading” section at the back of this book for a list of some of my favorite resources about Russia. One change to this second edition of Have Personality Disorder, Will Rule Russia are links to blog posts and articles I’ve written about historical topics. If you enjoy following cyber breadcrumbs, I hope you’ll enjoy visiting my website. If you would like to stay in touch, I invite you to subscribe to my newsletter to get regular updates on publishing news and events, as well as dispatches, humorous slices of daily life and recipes from the world’s largest country.