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The 20th-Century Russian Novel: Revolution, Terror, Resistance

Sasha Sokolov

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Navigating the Twilight Realm Richard Chen

When the warm, bright sun slowly wanders beyond the horizon to make room for the crescent moon, one enters the world governed by haziness, subliminal thoughts, and liminal perceptions, as what is supposed to be clear under the gaze of the mid-noon sun can easily be mistaken for something else. During the twilight hours, the screech of a barn owl could be mistaken for the cries of a desperate maiden, a wooden crutch could be mistaken for firewood used to start the morning hearth, a beloved companion could be mistaken for a hunting wolf. In Sasha Sokolov’s novel, Between Dog and Wolf, Sokolov blurs the lines between imagination and reality, utilizing these hazy distinctions to draw the subtle differences in perspectives between dangers and pleasures, good and bad, neglect and nurture, as well as to depict how one of the main characters in the novel, Ilya, becomes completely blinded to one side of this duality, eventually causing his downfall later in the novel. This dichotomy, although just a small piece of the novel, plays an important role in the readers’ understanding of the story and interpretation of this piece of art. A notable passage in which Sokolov plays with this duality and shows how Ilya is blinded by one side of the dichotomy is found on page 129 of the novel’s English translation, following the suicide of Pytor/Fyodor/Yegor, a drunkard within the novel who supposedly had an unwarranted affair with a mysterious 'dame,' when Ilya muses about the meanings and romanticization of death.

Ilya starts by describing the Wolf River, the river that is also portrayed as a personification of a woman’s (somewhat sexual) tender love. Earlier in the book, Ilya recounts how the Wolf River tells him to drink from her waters to quench his thirst, eat her mussels, and rest his head onto her softest stones (16). This pleasant, tender view of the Wolf River will later be contrasted by the deaths of many of the characters in the novel as the Wolf River becomes the final resting place of those unfortunate souls who drown within its water. These depictions of the Wolf River juxtapose each other; the views of the same river blur together such that the Wolf River instills both the aspects of the pleasures of men, as well as the dangers it poses to them. This parallel between pleasure and danger is exemplified in the following segments, in which the water of the Wolf River seems to be calm, “as if it were standin,” yet the Itil (another name for Russia’s Volga River), is “rushin, rushin with its entire liquid body” (129). The stark contrast between the dangers and pleasures of the Wolf River allows the reader to ponder the complexities of Ilya's mindset, as he blinds himself by the river’s serenity, the time that moves in slow-motion upon her banks, and the billowing clouds glide gently above. However, despite the romantic interpretation of the Wolf River, the same seemingly peaceful water will eventually be the cause of Ilya’s death later within the novel.

The lines between dangers and pleasures similarly blur with Ilya’s description of “Life Everlastin,” a peaceful personification of heavenly pleasures. He writes, “I’m dreamin about departin during the forest harvest, sweetening my lips with a handful of wild strawberries and sinkin into Life Everlastin with them” (129). It can be assumed that Ilya is alluding to the peaceful forest near the banks of the Wolf River, as he describes its serene banks earlier. In spite of how “heavenly” Ilya makes the forest banks of the Wolf River seem, it is important to note that this is just one perception of the river bank's dual natures, seen through only Ilya’s eyes. In the poem by Yakov titled “October,” Yakov writes of the changing seasons, where the balmy autumn air slowly surrenders itself to the bitter winter wind. With the new season setting in, new faunas grow, such as scarlet berries, snake berries, solanum, all of which are highly toxic for consumption (35). Note the extreme similarities between the poisonous snake berries and the strawberries mentioned by Ilya: both berries are scarlet in color, have similar shape, and to the untrained eye, can easily be mistaken for each other. Sokolov intentionally includes both berries in the text in order to further highlight the point that what Ilya perceives as pleasurable to consume can consequently, kill him. This section of the passage plays with the blurring of realities where the romanticism expressed in “Life Everlastin” can be a source of Ilya’s downfall.

Moving forward with the text on page 129, Ilya can be seen questioning a higher being on what his purpose in life is. He belongs in the realm of the living like a “saddle on a pig,” implying his out-of-placeness in his current society, and suggests that a peaceful death where he is enveloped by the tenderness of the Wolf River is his ideal state of being. Ilya then mocks “God” and the personification of death itself, declaring that it “suffer[s] and do[es] donkey work…” (129). Ironically, when death appears at Ilya’s feet, he refuses to accept it. This moment is yet another instance in which the lines between pleasure and danger is blurred. On one hand, death in Ilya's can be seen as a peaceful escape from his hard life, an idea that he forces himself into valuing. On the other hand, when death greets Ilya on the train tracks, where “[a] handcar mournfully brays,” Ilya feels humiliated as Orina, a temptress who has led men to their suicides, has to save him and even calls “the obnoxious Ilya[,] a poor fox,” referencing the unfortunate fox-cub earlier in the text (31, 195). Taking all these instances into account, one can infer that the original perception of death changes for Ilya; what he wills himself into believing—by blinding himself to the reality of the situation—was a peaceful end becomes a “humiliating” experience once he stares death right in the eye. As the lines blurs between the perceptions of the Wolf River, strawberries and snake berries in “Life Everlastin,” and a dog and wolf, it also blurs for death as well, but this time, Ilya snaps out of his romanticized "day-dream" and fights against the idea of death as a peaceful retreat of his harsh life.

Throughout the text on pages 128-129, many instances of blurred realities are shown, symbolizing the pleasures and dangers to life as well as the their effects on Ilya as he blinds himself to only the pleasurable side of the duality. Take the Itil River, for instance: one could see it as the beautiful bloodline, pumping life into the cities and towns built along its banks; others could see it as an intimidating, fearsome power of nature to fight against, as boatmen heave their ships onto shore. Sokolov brilliantly plays with the duality of perceptions, displaying both sides of the coin in the context of each characters’ natures within the novel. This aspect is not only limited to the pages analyzed here, but to the entire text as a whole, much like how Orina would both use “her saucy figure… [to tease] … Ilya on purpose,” which can lead to the downfall of Ilya as he becomes ever more obsessed with her with every flirt, as well as how she uses her hands to untie Ilya from being crushed by the impending train (106). Another prominent example of this dichotomy can be seen in how mussels are described within the novel, as they are good for consumption, but would pinch a person if stepped on in the river mud (106). Sokolov wonderfully fills his work of art with a plethora of symbolism, leaving the reader to decipher the intricacies of the text and characters. Ilya’s final statement on page 129 is, “Yeah, we [humans] ain’t risk-takin, daring creatures; not high, upon verification, is our soarin,” which (ironically) alludes to how being on the safer side of things is how humans survive and thrive (129). Perhaps it may be good to question the novel as a whole against Ilya’s advice, daring to take on this difficult novel piece by piece with various new angles, navigating through the twilight zone that Sokolov has painted in his Between Dog and Wolf.

Bibliography

Sokolov, Sasha. Between Dog and Wolf. Translated by Alexander Boguslawski, Columbia University Press, 2017.
Creation for Creation’s Sake: Going Beyond Plot in Sasha Sokolov’s Between Dog & Wolf Ariel Overdorff
Sokolov's Writing
Sasha Sokolov ’s Between Dog & Wolf is regarded as a masterpiece of Russian literature, but it is extremely atypical when regarded as a novel. From a “normal” fictional novel, a reader would come away with an understanding of the characters in the book and the events that befell them; upon finishing this novel, however, it’s entirely possible to still be thoroughly confused on what exactly happened and to exactly whom. The uncertainty arises somewhere between the multiple unreliable narrators presenting contradictory information about themselves, other (sets of) characters who may or may not be actually distinct from each other, and events that seem to happen twice or happen in two different ways. This doesn’t, however, make it a “bad” novel. It simply has a different goal than most novels do — it’s an art piece. Meaning, it is art for its own sake.

Sokolov takes the artistry of his writing to a deeper level than many. Between Dog & Wolf specifically showcases this aim: The book alternates between chapters of prose and poetry, yet even the prose chapters give a distinctly poetic impression, because Sokolov seems to choose every word in every sentence carefully, enriching them with various literary devices and wordplay as well as references to other works and homages to other writers. Even the style of writing pulls double duty; in the chapters narrated by Ilya, the grammatical choices and spelling errors serve to characterize him as the uneducated rural knife sharpener.

The complex, dense way Sokolov writes has been criticized by some readers, but highly praised by other, notably including another respected Russian author and notoriously selective reader, Vladimir Nabokov . Admittedly, then, we as readers — especially those of us less familiar with Russian literature or the study of literature in general — have to work a little harder to get something out of the novel beyond admiring Sokolov’s artistic skill. After all, a writer as intentional as Sokolov wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble to build these characters, this setting, and this plot if there was nothing at all to extract from it.

Interpreting a book as richly layered as this one will benefit from delving into the meta of why and how Sokolov wrote it this way. We learn a lot about his philosophies on writing in his essay “The Key Word of Belles-Lettres,” a helpful analysis of which exists here. In brief, he makes it very clear he values intentionally-crafted prose, and less so bland presentations of events. Sokolov explicitly declares his allegiance to “art-for-art’s-sake” and indeed asserts that “by definition art is always for its own sake and there can be no other kind of art” (28). Even within the essay, as is made clear in the analysis linked above, Sokolov employs these values. So, we know his goal with writing is different from many other authors.

Exploring a perspective like Sokolov’s, which could be described as that of a creator with a driving creative goal producing a work relatively unique in its medium, will allow us to gain more insight on things to take away from Between Dog & Wolf. To do this, I’d like to look at a specific example from a completely different era and context.
Unus Annus

In late 2020, the YouTube channel Unus Annus was deleted. Its name, meaning “one year” in Latin, signified this fate — it existed for 365 days exactly, and hosted daily uploads of live-action videos from the duo of primarily gaming YouTubers Markiplier (Mark Fischbach) and CrankGameplays (Ethan Nestor). Each video began and ended with the ticking clock, counting down to the inevitable deletion of the channel.

On YouTube, from a moneymaking perspective, certain formulas work: A title and thumbnail that will get lots of clicks, commentary and editing that will lead to long watch-times, and overall ad-friendly content. If a video is deemed not advertiser-friendly, YouTube will both demonetize it (ads no longer roll on it and thus the creator does not get ad revenue from it) and suppress it from potential new viewers. It’s certainly safer to stick to a known formula, but that easily leads to a creative rut. Unus Annus freed itself from that formula as it was separate from its creators’ main channels (and thus their sources of stable income) and was fated to be deleted anyway. Mark and Ethan were left beholden only to their self-imposed constraints and could then create for creation’s sake. And create they did — everything from a professional-quality mockumentary filmed in the California wilderness to learning skills such as the art of mime with a professional to “learning” practices like chiropractic medicine with no professionals in sight to running Mad Libs through Google Translate. To completely summarize the content, I would have to give you a list 365 videos long — everything from serious to hilarious and upsetting to chaotic.

Of course, I cannot link you to the channel. It is dead. You can view Mark and Ethan’s main channels; in the linked videos, they discuss their feelings about project immediately after it ended. For some other glimpses into what was, we apparently have an IMDb page and a TVTropes page. This video is an entertaining summary of certain aspects, including a truly spot-on "fake Unus Annus video."

The project was wildly successful, repeatedly exceeding Mark and Ethan’s expectations in terms of engagement — the metrics such as subscribers, watch time, ratio of likes, and so on. At its death, it had approximately 4.5 million subscribers. And, over the course of its life, an incredible amount of work was put in by Mark, Ethan, and the folks on the other side of the camera (responsible for filming, editing, production, ideas, and more) simply to make the project the best it could be — to push themselves to create, push the boundaries of the platform, and push the viewers to challenge the common compulsion to cling onto everything even at the expense of participating in the moment and making the most of what we have in life. Its fans, myself included, formed a real community. There was a culture of watching the upload the instant it dropped, then going to social media to discuss it: Daily, people made fanart, memes, theories, and more. Through a back-and-forth with Mark and Ethan, community members, and particularly one editor, the channel even developed a dubiously-canon fictional story-like layer — this “lore” is well-summarized here, at least as things stood a few weeks before the death of the channel; this, too, lead to a lot of creative production — both in affecting the channel’s content, and in terms of fancontent.
Connections Between the Media
The surface-level parallel between the dubiously canon lore of the channel and the dubiously presented plot of Between Dog & Wolf is a curiosity, but the two media share a deeper parallel on the creative production level. Mark and Ethan, like Sokolov, are motivated and passionate creators. Both parties have self-imposed standards and reject outwardly-imposed ones. And I believe that, as described above, the community we created is a manifestation of the artistic milieu that Sokolov calls for in “The Key Word of Belles-Lettres” in a completely different medium. Sokolov believes that writing should have a back-and-forth with critical, thoughtful readers, who are ideally also writers and of his community, in order to deepen and enhance the craft and the final product. We may generalize and say that creation in general is improved when it experiences a back-and-forth with critical, thoughtful consumers. Not every reader of Sokolov’s work is going to be able to fully engage with the novel in this way, but those who can keep up with his references and parse his style are the critical readers on Sokolov’s level whom he wishes to seek out and believes valuable to his creative process. Perhaps a community such as Unus Annus (or the pre-existing and remaining communities surrounding Markiplier and CrankGameplays) doesn’t have this same level of selectivity, but it is still those active, engaged members who have the most effect — for example, the fans who latched onto the lore and began creating fancontent for it, thus developing the fiction layer of the channel. Here, too, the most engaged participants — affecting the work the most, and getting the most out of the work — are frequently creators themselves.
The Unus Annus Interpretation of the Novel
Since we’ve established this intriguing cross-medium, cross-time parallel between these creators, I believe we can interpret one part of Between Dog & Wolf through the lens of Unus Annus. This involves the theme of death and the coupled concept of time, which are ever-present in both works.

Throughout Between Dog & Wolf, there are numerous tellings and re-tellings of purported events. A standout example of this phenomenon is Chapter 10, which is mostly (if we trust it) Ilya’s account of statements by Orina — a woman of several names in the book who is romantically involved with, and possibly married to, Ilya — about her own life. When she is young, a fox cub dies on the train tracks. Orina takes its pelt, at the urging of her granny, to the furrier in the room under the stairs to be made into boots. At the end of her recollections, Orina says, “…the shoemaker also faded away, Granny disappeared somewhere, and my son is gone, but I am still here, I live here permanently, as a rule” (126). The old granny and the young son — representing either end of life — both disappear, but Orina remains; she is in the middle of life. Then, cyclically, it seems Ilya might’ve replaced the “faded” shoemaker: we learn in Chapter 14 that, after a falling out with Orina, he moves under the stairs and becomes “a sort of a chillin furrier” (187). He implies that this is when Orina begins sleeping with other men, despite in her story those habits having begun while she was still living with her granny. It is clear that something odd is going on with time, and that these characters persist while other things may pass on.

At the end of the book, strengthening the cycle, Ilya parallels the fox cub; he’s tied to the train tracks, and Orina (here, Orya) tries to save him, going so far as to risk her own life, and possibly die there with him (195). Interestingly, while tied to the tracks, Ilya says, “And—as it is customary—I started refreshin my past: How did I live this time, decently or not?” (194) The use of “this time” implies he at least believes he might live multiple times, but in the view of the time-blurry, cyclical surrounding plot, it seems as if he really has died and then lived past events again—possibly with minor differences, which might lead to the inconsistencies in the plot. In the end, even, we find out he has been drowned—yet, he’s been telling a large portion of the book, which would imply under “normal” circumstances that he is not dead.

Sokolov has left us, then, with this novel where death is omnipresent but impermanent, and time is cyclical or at least blurry. While we’re already considering things beyond and behind the book, it stands to reason that it is relevant that this is a novel. A novel ends, and the world within is fictional — is different from our reality. Notably, this novel ends with Yakov, the hunter and author of the poetry sections, insinuating the person who finds his poems, which we can extend to us as readers, may as well burn them. If they were burnt, however, Yakov wouldn’t know. He’s sent them down the river in a bottle; to him, they’re gone whether they’re read and shared or never found or found and then burnt. His life is what it is regardless of what his reader does. The events featured in the poems happened regardless. The novel overall has this same quality—to the characters, nothing matters “after”—their reality ends where the book ends. In strong contrast, we the readers continue on in the real world, beholden to linear time and the threat of permanent death.

In the case of Unus Annus, the content was destroyed, but like the events in the poems to the world of the novel, it most certainly happened. One of the explicitly-stated messages of the channel was that Mark and Ethan want those of us who participated to move forward and make the most of our life with what we learned: Devote our time and energy to the things that we care about, participate in the world in the form of creating and learning and trying new things and improving yourself, and doing all of this with the time and energy and ability that we are given.

Given the contrast between the world of the novel and our reality, one takeaway from Between Dog & Wolf may be that very same idea. The characters in the novel are stagnant—eternally on the Itil River—but by contrast, we readers should not be. We have read Sokolov’s book like whoever found the bottle has read Yakov’s poems, and now we, like them, are free to do whatever with it and ourselves. Instead of burning it without getting anything out of it, we should take the impetus to engage, starting with the novel as, ideally, the active critical readership which Sokolov appreciates, and then forward to the rest of life.

Bibliography
Sokolov, Sasha. Between Dog & Wolf. Translated by Alexander Boguslawski. New York: Columbia University Press, 2017.

Sokolov, Sasha. “The Key Word of Belles-Lettres.” In In the House of the Hanged: Essays and Vers Libres, translated by Alexander Boguslawski, 23–29. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012.