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steelcitygator's review against another edition
3.0
A series of what read more like loosely attached vignettes with the authors additional thoughts prior to each, once again in the style of memoir novel that seems to be uniquely done in Soviet literature. It's a great way to look at the surreal and larger than life moments of the human condition experienced through life that don't come across well in a more traditional memoir. The problem with it is that I end up appreciating and respecting these I've read from Soviet authors more than I've enjoyed them. But the life of a prison guard is something we see less than the prisoner and in the Soviet system is an interesting and worthwhile look at their existence and struggle. The distanced nature of the narrator to the reader feels it really brings about an understanding of the criminal camp and it's dynamic. The law and the prison are well trod places in literature but Dovlatov finds a way to bring a unique view of it nonetheless.
mariaklingsheim's review against another edition
funny
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
rkaye's review against another edition
challenging
funny
reflective
medium-paced
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
chalicotherex's review against another edition
3.0
The names, events and dates given here are all real. I invented only those details that were not essential.
Therefore, any resemblance between the characters in this book and living people is intentional and malicious. And all the fictionalizing was unexpected and accidental.
- The Author
One of the prisoners is a model prisoner, a pilot caught smuggling caviar and stealing parachutes. He subscribes to a prison magazine called 'Towards an Early Release'. His old colleagues fly a route near the prison, and so they decide to land a helicopter in the prison courtyard to visit him. Not to help him escape or anything, just to say hello and talk about their old job.
There's some other good bits too.
Security Officer Bortashevich said to me, “Of course, anything can happen. People are nervous, egocentric to the limit. For example? Once in the logging sector they wanted to saw off my head with a “Friendship”-brand power saw.”
And also:
“Gud ivning,” Bortashevich said, “good thing you showed up. I’m wrestling with a philosophical question – why do people drink? Let’s suppose, as they said earlier, it’s a vestige of capitalism in the mind of the people, a shadow of the past… And, mainly – the influence of the West. Even though we really let ourselves go in the East. But that’s all well and good. Just explain this to me. Once I lived in the country. My neighbour had a goat, a lush the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Be it red wine, be it white – just pour it. And the West here had absolutely no influence. And a goat has no past, you would think. It’s not like he was an old Bolshevik… So I thought, maybe some mysterious power is locked in alcohol, something like the one that appears when the nucleus of the atom breaks up. So couldn’t we harness that power for peaceful aims? For example, to get me demobilized before my term is up.”
Therefore, any resemblance between the characters in this book and living people is intentional and malicious. And all the fictionalizing was unexpected and accidental.
- The Author
One of the prisoners is a model prisoner, a pilot caught smuggling caviar and stealing parachutes. He subscribes to a prison magazine called 'Towards an Early Release'. His old colleagues fly a route near the prison, and so they decide to land a helicopter in the prison courtyard to visit him. Not to help him escape or anything, just to say hello and talk about their old job.
There's some other good bits too.
Security Officer Bortashevich said to me, “Of course, anything can happen. People are nervous, egocentric to the limit. For example? Once in the logging sector they wanted to saw off my head with a “Friendship”-brand power saw.”
And also:
“Gud ivning,” Bortashevich said, “good thing you showed up. I’m wrestling with a philosophical question – why do people drink? Let’s suppose, as they said earlier, it’s a vestige of capitalism in the mind of the people, a shadow of the past… And, mainly – the influence of the West. Even though we really let ourselves go in the East. But that’s all well and good. Just explain this to me. Once I lived in the country. My neighbour had a goat, a lush the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Be it red wine, be it white – just pour it. And the West here had absolutely no influence. And a goat has no past, you would think. It’s not like he was an old Bolshevik… So I thought, maybe some mysterious power is locked in alcohol, something like the one that appears when the nucleus of the atom breaks up. So couldn’t we harness that power for peaceful aims? For example, to get me demobilized before my term is up.”
erinbottger's review
5.0
In "The Zone: A Prison Camp Guard's Story" Sergei Dovlatov has captured the experience of a guard for Soviet criminals-- a world far removed from ordinary life-- for us. He decided to "reject the wildest, bloodiest, most monstrous episodes of camp life" which would "come out looking sensational." He wanted to write about life and people and not monsters in a "freak museum". So, he happily omits the "most heart-rending details of camp life" in order to lead readers "up to a mirror."
Instead, "The Zone" is an area of sameness, boredom, insider rituals and speech patterns, fantasies, and strengths and weaknesses. Yes, and even, simple humanity. "When I became a guard, I was ready to see the prisoner as the victim, and myself as the punisher and oppressor...[which] turned out to be completely false." Even more untrue was the view where "the inmate appears as a monster, the fiend, while it follows that the policeman is a hero, a moralist, a vivid artistic personality." Dovlatov concludes that there is a "striking similarity between the burglar recidivists and the controllers of the production zones, between the zek foreman and the camp administration officials. One single, soulless world extended on either side of the restricted areas. We spoke the same criminal slang, sang exactly the same sentimental songs, endured exactly the same privations. We even looked alike. We all had crew cuts. Our weather-beaten faces were coloured with purple blotches. Our boots gave off the smell of a stable. And, from a distance, the prisoner uniforms seemed indistinguishable from the worn soldier's jackets." He then concludes: "we were ...even interchangeable... All of my stories are written about this."
He writes of all kinds of encounters, misadventures, and personal triumphs and tragedies suffered by prisoners and guards alike. An educated troublemaker like Sergei Dovlatov, drafted into the penal system, has a keen eye for the fact that "the zone" of unfreedom that is the prison workcamp is a microcosm of the larger Soviet zone of oppression. One prisoner, Chichevanos, a robber and a murderer put in 20 years of hard labor. Dovlatov escorted him on his last day to a main settlement and saw no need to confine him in a tight, metal compartment. He also conversed with him. Suddenly, Chichevanos struck him, jumped out of the van and escaped. Six hours later the man was arrested, after stealing food and getting drunk.
"This incident literally stunned me. What had happened seemed incredible, unnatural, and even a transcendental phenomenon. " His Captain explained that the zek was wildly afraid of freedom. Dovlatov then draws a parallel with the Russian emigree experience. "For decades we lived in conditions of total unfreedom, flattened like flounder, by the heavy weight of oppression, when suddenly we were caught up in the lung-splitting hurricane of freedom. And we headed off to break into the food stall."
This book is full of such insights, comic and pitiful characters ("the names, events, and dates given here are all real. I invented only those details that were not essential. Therefore, any resemblance between characters in this book and living people is intentional and malicious. And all fictionalizing was unexpected and accidental.")
The form used in "The Zone" is a "diary of sorts, chaotic notes, a set of unorganized materials." so don't expect a clear narrative thread. Still, it's highly readable, thanks to the translator, Anne Frydman and under 200 pages.
I recently read Jozef Czapski's "Lost Time: Lectures on Proust in a Soviet Prison Camp," which nicely compliments this book from a political prisoner's viewpoint, sharing the literary interests of the two authors. Other Dovlatov books I highly recommend are "The Suitcase" and "Ours: A Russian Family Album"
Instead, "The Zone" is an area of sameness, boredom, insider rituals and speech patterns, fantasies, and strengths and weaknesses. Yes, and even, simple humanity. "When I became a guard, I was ready to see the prisoner as the victim, and myself as the punisher and oppressor...[which] turned out to be completely false." Even more untrue was the view where "the inmate appears as a monster, the fiend, while it follows that the policeman is a hero, a moralist, a vivid artistic personality." Dovlatov concludes that there is a "striking similarity between the burglar recidivists and the controllers of the production zones, between the zek foreman and the camp administration officials. One single, soulless world extended on either side of the restricted areas. We spoke the same criminal slang, sang exactly the same sentimental songs, endured exactly the same privations. We even looked alike. We all had crew cuts. Our weather-beaten faces were coloured with purple blotches. Our boots gave off the smell of a stable. And, from a distance, the prisoner uniforms seemed indistinguishable from the worn soldier's jackets." He then concludes: "we were ...even interchangeable... All of my stories are written about this."
He writes of all kinds of encounters, misadventures, and personal triumphs and tragedies suffered by prisoners and guards alike. An educated troublemaker like Sergei Dovlatov, drafted into the penal system, has a keen eye for the fact that "the zone" of unfreedom that is the prison workcamp is a microcosm of the larger Soviet zone of oppression. One prisoner, Chichevanos, a robber and a murderer put in 20 years of hard labor. Dovlatov escorted him on his last day to a main settlement and saw no need to confine him in a tight, metal compartment. He also conversed with him. Suddenly, Chichevanos struck him, jumped out of the van and escaped. Six hours later the man was arrested, after stealing food and getting drunk.
"This incident literally stunned me. What had happened seemed incredible, unnatural, and even a transcendental phenomenon. " His Captain explained that the zek was wildly afraid of freedom. Dovlatov then draws a parallel with the Russian emigree experience. "For decades we lived in conditions of total unfreedom, flattened like flounder, by the heavy weight of oppression, when suddenly we were caught up in the lung-splitting hurricane of freedom. And we headed off to break into the food stall."
This book is full of such insights, comic and pitiful characters ("the names, events, and dates given here are all real. I invented only those details that were not essential. Therefore, any resemblance between characters in this book and living people is intentional and malicious. And all fictionalizing was unexpected and accidental.")
The form used in "The Zone" is a "diary of sorts, chaotic notes, a set of unorganized materials." so don't expect a clear narrative thread. Still, it's highly readable, thanks to the translator, Anne Frydman and under 200 pages.
I recently read Jozef Czapski's "Lost Time: Lectures on Proust in a Soviet Prison Camp," which nicely compliments this book from a political prisoner's viewpoint, sharing the literary interests of the two authors. Other Dovlatov books I highly recommend are "The Suitcase" and "Ours: A Russian Family Album"
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