By Leonid Dobychin
Writing within the occasions Literary complement in 1994, Russian author Victor Erofeyev proclaimed Leonid Dobychin "one of the most heroes of twentieth-century Russian literature." imprecise for a few years, Dobychin is now celebrated as a modernist grasp. His brief tales are black-humored slices of existence from the early days of the Soviet Union--subtle and tightly built miniatures associated via habitual issues and whole of ironic juxtaposition, context, allusion, and elegance. For Dobychin early Soviet society was once an absurdist wonderland.
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Extra resources for Encounters with Lise and Other Stories (European Classics)
Over the Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg School stood a little greenish moon. Kozlova sighed: here Monsieur Poincaré had taught French. She slowed. Pleasant pictures of friendship with Monsieur arose in memory. Here is—tea. Monsieur is telling about Our Lady of Lourdes. Avdotya opens the door and spies. Kozlova points to her with her eyes. “Affable woman,” says Monsieur. Then he takes up his hat, Kozlova rises, and they are reflected in the mirror: he—tidy, gray, taking his leave; she—erect, wearing a long dress, fingers Encounters with Lise and Other Stories of the left hand in fingers of the right, a refined nose slightly aslant, on tight lips, an old-fashioned smile.
Little copper icons hung on the crosses. One came upon inscriptions in verse. The yellow satin of Mari-Ivana’s hat and the priest Valyukenas’s ﬂush were glimpsed ﬂeetingly behind the bushes. At home, they were drinking tea. A guest sat. ” “Let’s allow,” the guest retorted and, half closing her eyes, peered into his round face. ” Smoothing out her skirts, Savkina took a seat. She poured the tea onto a saucer. ” the guest conjectured dreamily. “Simpler,” said Pavlushenka, waving his hand. The mother, smiling, threatened him with her ﬁnger.
Pavlushenka, stooped over a basin, was washing his hands: his short shirt, pulled back, was sticking out from under his belt, like the tail of a hare. The table was laid. “Don’t go too heavy on the pies,” the mother warned and fell sorrowful. “Poor Olympia. No peals, no service . ” Encounters with Lise and Other Stories Done with the dishes, Savkina powdered herself, took a notebook, and, rubbing glycerin into her hands, went out behind the sheds to read verse. Kukel, wearing a dark blue apron, was milking a cow.
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