The Gulag Archipelago - Aleksander Solzhenitsyn

First, I have to admit that the version of The Gulag Archipelago I read was abridged from the original three volumes down to one. I don’t read abridgements as a rule, but this was the only copy they had at the library, and it was at least authorized by the author, so I can hope the key elements were distilled.

The Gulag Archipelago is in part an autobiographical depiction of Solzhenitsyn’s time in a Gulag prison, but it also stretches much beyond that, providing a detailed examination of the Gulag system’s history and sharing stories from dozens of prisoners. The book is unflinching in its criticism, not just of the Gulag system itself, but of Stalin, Lenin, and even Khrushchev, whose “thaw” was supposed to correct the grossest injustices of Stalinist communism but instead simply buried them a bit deeper underground (though it must be admitted that he allowed a bit more criticism, at least).

The tone is so biting, so justifiably aggrieved, that I’m honestly surprised that Solzhenitsyn survived its publication, ultimately suffering expulsion from the Soviet Union rather than prison or death. That alone speaks to some small evolution on soviet punishment, though Stalin set such a lower bar that even serious human rights offences can seem liberal by comparison.

The most shocking part of the book to me was the description of interrogations. I had expected the Gulags to be miserable places, and never thought the Soviets would be averse to using torture, but the breadth and extent of it was absurd, especially because it was all so pointless. Clearly the interrogators knew that these people hadn’t done anything and didn’t have any useful information on dissidence for them. The whole thing was simply a way to meet quotas. As such, why not just round them up and cart them off to the Gulags? It’s not as if there was any actual due process going on.

Solzhenitsyn is foremost among soviet dissident writers, standing alongside Bulgakov and Akhmatova, and deserves his reputation. One day I will need to track down an unabridged translation and readthe parts I missed this time round.

Darkness at Noon - Arthur Koestler (Translated by Daphne Hardy)

If I had to describe Darkness at Noon in one word (why would I ever have to do this? It’s not important), I’d call it “brooding.” The book details the imprisonment and confession of Nicholas Rubashov, a member of the communist old guard who has been accused, somewhat arbitrarily, of crimes against the state.

The majority of the novel is set in Rubashov’s cell, where he communicates with his neighbours using a tap code, and the interrogation room, where he undergoes questioning by two men: Ivanov, an old friend who retains some sympathy for him, and Gletkin, a younger man who represents to Rubashov the changing face of the party he helped build. The action briefly flashes to other times and places, mostly through Rubashov’s recollections of events that are being used against him in the accusation.

The story is lean, slow, and meditative, with most of the action occuring inside Rubashov’s head as he reflects on his situation and explores his shifting attitudes towards communism. Koestler’s creates a rich and conflicted character in Rubashov, a man too intelligent to buy the absurdities of communism, yet nevertheless dedicated to the movement and not yet ready to disavow it. At the start of the book, Koestler provides a brief note explaining that Rubashov is a composite of many individuals who were purged during the Soviet show trials of the late 1930s, and this authenticity bleeds into the narrative.

The prose was rich and engaging, full of sumptuous images that chronicle Rubashov’s inner and outer turmoil. It’s worth noting that the English version of the novel is actually a work of translation, despite appearing on the Modern Library’s Top 100 Best English Language Novels of the 20th Century. I imagine it was deemed to qualify because Koestler’s original manuscript (written in German) was lost, and Daphne Hardy’s English translation was the first version to see publication. I question whether it counts, personally, but translation or no, it’s an excellent novel, and the psychological richness of Koestler’s account cannot be denied.