Viktor Astafiev and the Boys of ’24
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Chapter Seven Revisiting War: Viktor Astafiev and the Boys of ’24 War is the Soviet people’s great feat, war is a test of the soundness of all human qualities. Th anks to war we saved our own country and the entire world from the brown plague. War represents one of the best pages of our entire history. Война есть великий подвиг советского народа, война есть проверка на прочность всех человеческих качеств, благодаря войне мы спасли свою страну и весь мир от коричневой чумы. Война есть одна из лучших страниц всей нашей истории. -Alexander Shpagin1 I’ll tell you, there’s nothing cheerful about war . Я вам скажу, ничего веселого в войне нету . -Bulat Okudzhava (1969) Call it a perfect cultural storm. Th e early 1990s witnessed a remarkable con- fl uence of cultural forces that both enabled and forced Russians to confront the meaning and memory of their wartime history. All over the world, the fi ft ieth anniversary of World War II was marked with somber speeches, with monuments and museum exhibits, and with rec- ollections and memoirs. But in Russia the fi ft ieth anniversary of the war was commemorated with particular enthusiasm. In Moscow, Victory Park was reinvigorated, and that vast shrine to World War II now includes the Mu- seum of the Great Patriotic Wars well as an the open-air museum of World War II–era armaments with a new obelisk and statue of St. George, plus three houses of worship: a new, gold-domed Orthodox church (1993–1995), a memorial mosque, and a memorial synagogue with a Holocaust museum inside. 1 Aleksandr Shpagin, “Religiia voiny,” Iskusstvo kino 5 (2005): 57. Here Shpagin is char- acterizing the myth of World War II, not asserting the truth of this view. 206 7. Revisiting War: Viktor Astafi ev and the Boys of ’24 Something for everyone, and a way to recall the glory of the victory, as writer Galina Shcherbakova remembered it. But for veterans of World War II, this moment was marked by a certain urgency. Put bluntly, they were all near- ing the end of their lives. As Bulat Okudzhava wrote in the year before his death: My generation is dying, We’ve gathered at the hallway doors. Perhaps there’s no inspiration any more, Or perhaps no hope. None at all.2 Aging veterans were revisiting the locations and tropes of their youth, whether actual battlefi elds of the war with Nazi Germany or the parallel sites of Stalin’s war on his own people. Th ose who were not veterans, like Moscow mayor Yury Luzhkov, saw these late-twentieth-century sites as a chance to participate in the glory re- maining from the only great Soviet victory, the victory over the Fascists. In either case, this was the moment when the events of World War II were pass- ing from the realm of living memory into the realm of history. Th ese commemorations were taking place during a time of failure and defeat. Even as new memorials to World War II were rising, monuments to the Soviet past were toppling—from the Dzerzhinsky statue on Lubyanka Square to the Lenin and Stalin monuments that for some time rested in Moscow’s Fallen Monument Park, to the many statues throughout the former Soviet republics that have been removed.3 Th e collapse of the Soviet Union came about, in no small measure, because of the humiliating defeat suff ered in the Afghan war, and it simultaneously signaled, if not the loss of the Cold War, then at least a diminishment of Russia on the world stage. No wonder, then, that even while the reminders of the Soviet Union disappeared, projects like Victory Park and its Poklonnaya gora memorial complex, built for enormous crowds of tourists both foreign and domestic, 2 Quoted in Dmitrii Bykov, Bulat Okudzhava (Moscow: Molodaia gvardiia, 2009), 24. 3 Th e Fallen Monument park in Moscow began to form aft er 1991, but now the statues have been righted and the park has been renamed Muzeon Park of Arts and trans- formed into an open-air sculpture garden. Even that park may soon disappear, if Sir Norman Foster’s Golden Orange mixed-use complex is built on the site of the park and the Central House of Artists as proposed. Similar open-air parks featur- ing Communist-era statues and monuments exist in Budapest (Memento Park) and Lithuania (Grutas Park). 207 IV. Chapaev and War: Russian Redux kept the Second World War fresh in the minds of Russian citizens as the new century loomed.4 As historian Michael Ignatieff remarked about Soviet days, “Th e Great Fatherland War can be made to seem the one moment of genu- inely collective eff ort which was not tarnished by terror and fratricide.”5 Th at discourse about war prevailed through much of the twentieth century, and in the face of Soviet defeat, many yearned to regain that sense of collective pride.6 Th e issue of the collective versus the individual, “we” versus “I,” that we have been examining across the literary history of the Soviet period was also a central part of the Soviet war myth. Th us for writers, the collapse of the Soviet Union created the space to reevaluate World War II free from the strictures of offi cial censorship and the mythology created about the war even while it was still going on. It wasn’t simply that new things about the war could be known, though the opening up of state archives fl ooded the Russian imagination with an overwhelming, sometimes bewildering, amount of information. More than that, the space that opened up even while the fi ft ieth-anniver- sary bands played included an indictment of the history of the Soviet Union as a whole. Th e Revolution and the Civil War seemed now to have been waged for naught. Millions dead and imprisoned in purges, campaigns of terror, and famines had suff ered and perished in vain. Th e Soviet Union had lost the Cold War to Western powers. What would be the legacy of World War II? 4 For a detailed discussion of the development of the Poklonnaia gora complex in the 1980s and early 90s, see Nina Tumarkin, “Story of a War Memorial,” in World War 2 and the Soviet People, ed. John and Carol Garrard (New York: Macmillan Press, 1993), 125–146. Tumarkin’s book Th e Living and the Dead completes the story. When I visited the museum in 2008, I found many aspects of the experience truly amazing, but among the strongest impressions I had was of the bathroom—long gleaming white rows of ceramic-tiled stalls in the women’s room, all of the Japanese-style “squat” variety that I usually only fi nd at old Soviet railway stations and provincial restaurants. Th e bath- room was designed to accommodate a large volume of visitors quickly and effi ciently. 5 Michael Ignatieff , “Soviet War Memorials,” History Workshop 17 (Spring 1984): 160. 6 It isn’t true, of course, that nothing and no one was forgotten. In retelling Shalamov’s story of the lend-lease bulldozer that moved skeletons in Kolyma to make room for new victims, Viktor Nekrasov recalls a parallel incident on the hill of Mamaev Kurgan, which when he visited aft er the war was still covered with the bones and skulls of war dead. “Several years later bulldozers dug up these bones and skulls and moved them into one large mass grave” (“Stalingrad i Kolyma,” in Kak ia stal shevalʹe, 100). Th e only monument to the millions of dead in Kolyma in 1986, when Nekrasov was writing these words, was Shalamov’s story, although ten years later another war veteran, the sculptor Ernst Neizvestny, would install his monolithic Mask of Sorrow— a monument to the victims of Stalinism—in Magadan. 208 7. Revisiting War: Viktor Astafi ev and the Boys of ’24 Th e central questions Michael Walzer asked for us in the introduction to this book became even more pressing: What is a just war? And is anything that occurs within a just war moral? With the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Russians began to confront the questions of jus ad bellum and jus in bellum, of whether the war was just and whether there was justice in it, or whether the whole history of the Soviet World War II experience was simply a collection of myths and errors. Boys of ’24 World War II changed the face of Soviet culture and history. It also shaped the lives and careers of a remarkable generation of writers, writers who ex- perienced war at a young age. Th is generation, what I call the “boys of ’24,” included war writers and poets—such as Bulat Okudzhava, Yury Bondarev, Vasil Bykov, and Boris Vasiliev—and literary critics like Lazar Lazarev. Children of the Soviet experiment, many of these writers were orphaned in the 1930s as a result of collectivization and the Stalinist purges. For exam- ple, Bulat Okudzhava (1924–1997) was raised by relatives aft er his father was arrested in 1937 under suspicion of being a Trotskyite and executed, and his mother disappeared into the camps in 1939. Off to the front at age eighteen, the boys of ’24 came to maturity in the trenches fi ghting the Germans. Th ese soldiers were witnesses to war and deprivation. Th ey began their writing careers aft er World War II, in some cases studying in courses for writ- ers, in others fi nding their way themselves, but all gripped by the sense that they wanted to document the experience of their generation and their nation.