The Podcast

Axel: The Russian Reader, where the news arrives already wearing its funeral clothes, translated with care by hecksinductionhour.

Mara: This episode covers three topics: the people imprisoned in Russia for opposing the war and the networks trying to reach them; the long retreat of Russian imperial culture across Central Asia and Siberia; and the overlapping crises of ecological disaster, political exile, and state cover-up inside Russia itself. Let’s start with the prisoners and the people writing to them.

Dissent Behind Bars

Mara: The question this segment keeps returning to is what it actually costs to oppose the war in Russia — and what it means to refuse to let that opposition disappear.

Axel: OVD Info puts the number plainly: “2100 people in Russia are behind bars because of their political views. We believe that no one should face this kind of injustice alone.”

Mara: That quote is the spine of the post. It describes Vestochka, a letter-writing service for political prisoners — volunteers translate messages so they can pass censors — and it uses the case of Darya Kozyreva, a twenty-year-old from St. Petersburg, to show what outside attention can do. She was sentenced to over two and a half years for placing a Taras Shevchenko poem on his monument. A post from A Mighty Girl drew more than 38,000 reactions and linked to Vestochka. Kozyreva received over 600 letters from abroad. She was released this spring.

Axel: Six hundred letters from strangers, and the post is careful about what that means — not just morale, but proof to someone in a penal colony that their fight registers somewhere outside the walls.

Mara: The post notes that 1,098 people remain on the Vestochka list right now, most without Kozyreva’s visibility. The service is free for both sender and recipient; keeping it running requires donations, especially since OVD Info can no longer accept rubles.

Axel: Then there is Arina Ivanova — the piece titled “A Turgenev Girl and Her Cats” — whose case is almost the photographic negative of Kozyreva’s. A thirty-eight-year-old florist and cat rescuer from Novokuznetsk, sentenced to five years for antiwar posts, discovered almost by accident by an OVD Info editor. No viral moment. Transferred to a penal colony in January, and no contact since.

Mara: Her friend Karina’s account of the arrest is devastating in its specificity — the men at the door on Christmas Eve, the care packages, the antidepressants both women are now taking. Arina’s mother, living in South Korea, says she felt she was “in outer space” without her daughter.

Axel: The detail about the cats is not a sidebar. Arina believed, genuinely, that having so many animals in her care would protect her. Her friend had to tell her otherwise.

Mara: The post “Outcasts in Their Own Land” widens the frame considerably. It draws on a Jacobin piece by Simon Pirani that describes the infrastructure around political prisoners — OVD Info, Memorial, Solidarity Zone, dozens of informal letter-writing groups in exile — and the “final words” defendants deliver in court as consciously crafted appeals to society, not pleas to judges.

Axel: Sergei Dudchenko, sentenced to seven years, said at his trial that antiwar prisoners had “fewer rights than a stray dog.” He also recalled the seven protesters arrested on Red Square in 1968 for opposing the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. The historical thread is deliberate.

Mara: That same Pirani piece connects directly to the film “Try Me for Treason,” announced in a separate post. It is a fifty-minute English-language film featuring actors reading court speeches by antiwar protesters — drawn from the book “Voices Against Putin’s War” — produced on a zero budget and released free on YouTube. Actor Maya Willcocks, who reads Darya Kozyreva’s speech, said the goal was to send the message “that occupation is a crime, whether in Palestine or in Ukraine.”

Axel: And then there is Azat Miftakhov — the anarchist mathematician whose case the post titled “Political Prisoner Azat Miftakhov Continues to Be Tortured” follows into genuinely Arctic territory. He was re-arrested at the prison gates on the day he was due to be freed, sentenced to four more years on testimony from a fellow prisoner, and has now been transferred to Kharp — beyond the Arctic Circle, the colony where Navalny died.

Mara: His letters to Mediazona describe the prison caste system in precise, unsentimental terms. On the one prohibition he refuses to accept: “I value my human dignity too highly to allow it to be debased, even under the threat of injury. Prison is a place where you’d better not ‘swallow’ humiliation.”

Axel: His wife and lawyer calculates that visiting him in Kharp will cost roughly four times what it cost before — around 40,000 rubles a trip, with middle-of-the-night layovers. She notes there may be no electronic mail at the colony. Her phrase is: “That already borders on torture.”

Mara: The post notes his release is not scheduled until September 2027. The support group’s statement is unambiguous: the transfer is punishment for his refusal to yield.

Axel: Five years, two and a half years, four more years — the sentences accumulate across this segment like a ledger no one in power intends to balance. The question the next segment raises is older: how empires mark the people they decide to own.

Imperial Retreat and Indigenous Survival

Mara: The posts here address a single long arc — how Russian imperial culture was imposed across Central Asia and Siberia, and how that imposition is now visibly eroding.

Axel: Stephen Blank’s analysis in “Central Asia and Russia(n): Is It Farewell?” frames the language question as a proxy for the whole imperial project: “Russian will not be the only regional lingua franca or the language of Russian imperial hegemony either in the Caucasus or in Central Asia.”

Mara: His argument is that Kazakhstan’s new constitution downgrades Russian to an official language used “alongside” Kazakh — a subtle but deliberate demotion. Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan are following. Russia’s embassy in Bishkek formally demanded the Kyrgyz government suppress “provocative statements” about Russian’s status there, invoking the Soviet phrase “fraternal peoples.” Blank reads that as imperial anxiety, not confidence.

Axel: The YouTube angle is the part that lands differently. Researchers at Michigan and UC Berkeley simulated Kyrgyz children’s viewing behavior and found that even after watching ten Kyrgyz-language videos, the platform served fewer Kyrgyz recommendations than bots with no language preference at all. As one researcher put it: “There is no good way to be a Kyrgyz-speaking kid on YouTube.”

Mara: The historical depth of that pressure is what the post on “Russian Colonizers and Indigenous Siberian Women” supplies. Angelina Kalashnikova’s book project examines seventeenth-century Eastern Siberia — Yakutia — where Russian fur traders and military servitors arrived without families and acquired Indigenous women through military seizure, purchase, or simple abandonment of women with nowhere else to go. The case of a Yakut woman named Katok, captured as a child during a “pogrom” and later petitioning for baptism while starving, is one of many documented in court records.

Axel: The gap between that seventeenth-century archive and a 2026 YouTube algorithm is not as wide as it looks — both are mechanisms that treat a language and its speakers as secondary by default.

Mara: On Circassian Remembrance Day, May 21st, Ored Recordings released “Shyshagh” — meaning “underground” in Adyghe — a compilation of new Circassian music across indie-folk, deconstructed club, and black metal. The liner notes describe cultural projects as “an insufficient, yet absolutely necessary, form of resistance against assimilation and suppression.” Since 2022, officials have been banning commemorative events marking the Russo-Caucasian War genocide.

Axel: And the post “Russia’s Pride” approaches the same imperial geography from the other direction — a Ukrainian writer watching Tuapse burn and tracing the exact route her grandmother used to take on the sleeper train to visit relatives there. The relatives who in 2022 called to say Russia would “save” them. She stopped answering.

Mara: Her essay names the emotion precisely — justice-based schadenfreude, she calls it — and connects it to twelve years of watching those relatives post propaganda while ignoring the war in Donbas. The post sits in this segment because it is, at its core, about what imperial belonging does to people on both sides of the border it draws.

Axel: From the cultural politics of empire, the next segment turns to what the empire looks like from inside — when it is burning, literally and otherwise.

Power, Disaster, and the Cost of Dissent

Mara: This segment is about what happens when the machinery of the Russian state fails its own people — through ecological catastrophe, judicial persecution, and the suppression of even the quietest protest.

Axel: The Tuapse coverage is extensive enough to deserve its own map. “A Bell Is a Cup Until It Is Struck” compiles reporting from The Bell, 7×7, the Moscow Times, and others into a picture of a city coated in toxic “oil rain” after Ukrainian drone strikes on the Rosneft refinery — fires visible from orbit, dead dolphins on the beaches, benzene and xylene in the air at unsafe concentrations.

Mara: Putin’s response, delivered almost two weeks after the first strike: “The governor merely reported that there don’t seem to be any serious threats and people are coping with the challenges they face.” A local resident told Ostorozhno Novosti: “People are coping. But where’s the government? They seem to be on some other planet.”

Axel: The 7×7 newsletter section of the same post adds a detail that is almost too on-the-nose: city officials verbally recommended that female volunteers not clean the beaches — citing concerns for reproductive health — while simultaneously declining to order an evacuation, close schools promptly, or provide respirators. The female volunteers kept working anyway.

Mara: Ecologist Vladimir Slivyak, writing in the Moscow Times, frames the disaster explicitly: “This catastrophe is part of the broader consequences of the senseless and bloody war Putin unleashed more than four years ago. He isn’t bothered by the hundreds of thousands of Russian and Ukrainian military deaths for which he bears direct responsibility, so it’s naive to expect him to care about burning oil tanks and poisoned seas.”

Axel: “The Cards” — a Foreign Policy analysis depaywalled here — situates the Tuapse strikes inside a broader argument that Putin is losing strategic ground faster than the public narrative acknowledges. It documents a leaked Kremlin security document describing Putin working from bunkers in southern Russia, his bodyguards controlling his schedule, no one near him permitted a phone connected to the internet.

Mara: The post also tracks the Victory Day parade scaled down to infantry only — no tanks, no military hardware — and Putin asking Trump to dissuade Ukraine from striking during the ceremony. The piece quotes Ben Hodges: “The Ukrainians have developed a theory of victory which involves the destruction of Russia’s oil and gas infrastructure.”

Axel: Gregory Kunis left Russia with Steinbeck in his rucksack. That is the actual sentence — from the post “He Left Russia with Steinbeck in His Rucksack” — and it is doing a lot of work.

Mara: Kunis co-founded the grocery delivery service iGooods and owned the newspaper Moy Rayon. He was arrested for making monthly donations of 500 rubles to Navalny’s Anti-Corruption Foundation — equivalent to roughly six euros a month. Fined 350,000 rubles, prosecutors appealed for six years. He fled. His subsequent diary entry, published in The Russia Report, describes the pretrial detention system in detail: no clocks, sealed windows, no contact with family, recruits for the war approached during quarantine when prisoners are at their most disoriented.

Mara: Mediazona’s accompanying report counts at least 225 criminal cases opened across Russia for ACF donations — fines totaling nearly 40 million rubles for donations that amounted to roughly 400,000 rubles combined. The sentencing is deliberately unpredictable: the same 2,100-ruble donation resulted in a fine for one Moscow resident and a prison sentence for another.

Axel: The “Important Stories” post pairs a dry Delovoi Peterburg article about common-area square footage in Petersburg apartment blocks with the story of Alexander Okunev — a sysadmin in Kaliningrad who burned himself alive at the city’s main war memorial on the third anniversary of the invasion, wrote “No to War” in the snow, and was erased from the record by 9:15 that morning.

Mara: City officials cleaned the scene, reassured the governor nothing had happened, and no Kaliningrad outlet ever reported it. The story only surfaced when Estonian intelligence included it in a public report. Okunev’s suicide note, as relayed by a close friend, said “there is another way” — meaning a world with peace — and acknowledged he understood it would probably not be reported anywhere.

Axel: Political scientist Ekaterina Schulman’s explanation for the cover-up: “Local authorities are not afraid of the people, not of protests. They are afraid of their superiors.”

Mara: The “Russians and Republicans Hate Black People” post extends the segment’s argument about power and its targets outward — drawing a line from the Supreme Court’s dismantling of the Voting Rights Act, to the history of Soviet racism toward African students, to the everyday anti-Blackness that has persisted from the Soviet era into the Russian Federation. The thread connecting them is the gap between official anti-racist ideology and practiced contempt.

Axel: Elie Mystal’s piece in The Nation puts it without hedging: Republicans “hate Black people, and they hate Black people who have political power most of all.” The post pairs that with translated racist comments from a Russian streaming site and a Mediazona history of Soviet-era treatment of African students — a juxtaposition that is the point.

Mara: What ties this segment together is the consistency of the mechanism: power suppresses, minimizes, and erases — whether it is oil in the Black Sea, a man’s ashes in the snow, or a voting right dismantled with visible glee.


Axel: Letters through prison censors, languages squeezed out by algorithms, a man erased from the snow by nine in the morning — the common thread is what it costs to be noticed by the wrong kind of state.

Mara: And what it costs to refuse to disappear. Next time, more from The Russian Reader.

Source: There won’t be a next time, Mara, however much fun it was to let an artificial “intelligence” do nearly all the work for me, including altering this original image, allegedly, of my bogus podcast’s wholly spurious but endlessly glib presenters. All that I did, besides writing the prompts, was to lightly edit the transcript, above, in the hope that it would correct some of Axel and Mara’s more obvious mistakes. As you have seen and heard you for yourself, it didn’t do that. \\\\\trr


This Is Osetinskaya (The Bell) “Dmitrii Volkov: AI’s Dark Side” (in Russian, no subtitles)

At this channel, we are usually technological optimists and cover artificial intelligence only in a positive vein. In this episode, though, we are going to tell you about its dark side. Our star today is Dmitrii Volkov, research director at Palisade Research, an independent organization that studies the risks posed by AI, tests AI model for safety, and shows the results to politicians in the U.S. and the leading companies in the AI arms race. It was Palisade who discovered, for example, that AI can cheat, hack codes at will, refuse to turn itself off, and share dangerous information—if you ask it nicely. We met Dmitry in London and learned about the real threats posed by artificial intelligence, whether it can escape our control, and whether we’ll be able to come to terms with it. We also learned about the latest experiments: blackmailing a CTO with a letter from his mistress, insider trading, and cheating at chess.

Timecodes: 00:00:00 Did you know that AI can be dangerous? 00:03:13 Who is Dmitrii Volkov? 00:06:41 “I don’t want governments tracking me”: Why Volkov doesn’t use social media 00:08:39 How did a love of freedom jibe with working at Kaspersky Lab? 00:11:13 Startup, think tank, and nonprofit: Palisade Research 00:14:43 A programming competition where AI beat 90% of the humans 00:17:24 How to persuade Chat-GPT to share prohibited information 00:18:47 Companies have begun teaching AI to solve problems, not just to answer questions 00:20:01 “Teaching AI is like selecting which embryo will turn out a genius” 00:23:00 A chess experiment in which an AI hacked the program at will 00:24:56 “I showed that all ethical constraints can be removed in half an hour”: how Volkov teaches AI to be “bad” 00:29:28 How Volkov ended up at Palisade 00:30:23 What Palisade was founded for 00:31:35 ChatGPT refuses to turn itself off: what is going on? 00:33:0 A land of artificial geniuses: what the founders of the AI giants want 00:33:55 Blackmailing a CTO with a lover from his mistress: what AI is capable for the good of a company 00:35:32 Is AI ceasing to obey humans? 00:36:35 How AI spotted insider information in correspondence and resorted to deception to save a company 00:38:52 Why Palisade does briefings for U.S. politicians right now 00:40:50 Who commissions Palisade to do research 00:41:37 Can an AI help creat a bioweapon? 00:43:05 “I found myself in a smoke-filled Airbnb”: How Volkov left Russia 00:45:36 The typical life of a nomad from Russia: hiking, couch surfing, and remote work by the sea 00:47:51 1,000 hours of teaching: how and whom Volkov taught to program 00:49:16 What is scarier, humans armed with AI, or AI without humans? 00:52:00 Are politicians aware of the problem’s scope? 00:52:28 “Bezos was there”: How Palisade tries to get the ear of decision makers 00:55:19 What Elon Musk says about Palisade’s research 00:56:22 AI as a nuclear weapon: can countries come to a consensus? 00:57:58 Who is winning the AI race? 00:58:26 “An engineering triumph, but not a scientific one”: how China copies AI amidst restrictions 01:02:16 How “people from the internet” stripped away all the safeguards from Zuckerberg’s AI 01:03:35 What do the founders of IT giants say about AI’s risks? 01:05:13 Companies tried to create safe AI, but something went wrong. Will Sutskever succeed? 01:06:18 How can we make AI safe? 01:08:43 Why tech companies want to replace IT professionals with AI (spoiler: it’s not just about salaries) 01:10:51 The best engineers are the ones who “herd” AI 01:12:42 Does anyone at all understand how AI works? 01:14:30 “An environmental disaster, only on the internet”: how AI resembles GMO 01:15:53 “The U.S. is the leader in AI”: why Volkov wants to move from London 01:18:31 Which country invests the most in regulating AI? 01:19:43 Independent researchers earn less than top programmers: Will Volkov cave in to the temptation? 01:22:12 OpenAI doesn’t invest in researching long-term risks 01:23:25 What if everything turns out okay? Does Volkov believe in a positive scenario? 01:26:51 Job no. 1 is to maintain control over what happens 01:28:27 Can AI make public administration more efficient? 01:33:49 Do we need a kill switch? 01:35:42 People will try to steal AI. What should be done?01:36:03 Three negative scenarios of AI’s development 01:40:56 Is AI making us dumber? 01:42:40 “We are building a god that can reduce everything to ashes”: Is superintelligence a myth? 01:44:36 How to chose the right AI for your objectives 01:47:06 Osetinskaya stresses Volkov out 01:47:46 Blitz! 01:57:46 Bonus: how to do your hair just like Volkov

Source: This Is Osetinskaya (YouTube), 31 July 2025. Annotation translated by the Russian Reader, who thanks Comrade Koganzon for the heads-up.


AI is everywhere. It’s a really big deal. And no one understands how it works — really. Follow our research at palisaderesearch.org.

Massive thank you to Prof. Geoffrey Hinton for taking the time to talk to me about this, and leading the charge so well about the dangers of AI.

References: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1x…

Great video on backdrop:    • Backpropagation, intuitively | Deep Learni…  

Resources: job — https://jobs.80000hours.org learn — https://bluedot.org talk to your politician — https://ifanyonebuildsit.com/act.

Source: Palisade Research (YouTube), 19 February 2026


AI in Context, “We’re Not Ready for Superintelligence” (2025)


Further reading and watching
About AI 2027 Full report: https://ai-2027.com/ By Daniel Kokotajlo, Scott Alexander, Thomas Larsen, Eli Lifland, Romeo Dean

Source: AI in Context (YouTube), “We’re Not Ready for Superintelligence,” 9 July 2025. Thanks to Sumanth Gopinath for the heads-up.


Episode 4: Execute

A cutting-edge thriller about an Artificial Intelligence takeover, written in consultation with leading AI and cybersecurity experts.

In Episode 4, Iain and Mel are forced to run for their lives as military personnel receive deepfaked orders. The AI gains control of internal government communications, and Nisha clashes with cabinet ministers over the right course of action. The London Internet Exchange is compromised, and Iain, Mel and Nisha are forced to consider what price is worth paying for human freedom.

Cast:
Iain – Edward Bluemel
Mel – Corinna Brown
Zaina – Fatima Adoum
Roland – Philip Bretherton
Jess – Alix Wilton Regan
Nisha – Seyan Sarvan
Sam – Kenneth Omole
Andrea – Beth Chalmers
Oliver – Sean Rigby
Marcus – Wilf Scolding
John – Joseph Mydell
Susan – Karen Bryson
Lyssa – Catriona Stirling
Supporting roles – Sean Baker

Created by James Dobbyn and Anthony Povah
Written by James Dobbyn
Original Music by Steven D Griffiths and Isla Noir

Artificial Intelligence consultant: Saffron Huang
Cybersecurity consultant: Adam Orton
Sound Designer: Lucinda Mason Brown
Director: John Wakefield
Story Producer: Sarah Olley
Producer: Chris Grezo
Executive Producer: John Scott Dryden

A Strange Boy production for BBC Radio 4

Source: BBC Radio 4


Several people I know now refer to ChatGPT as ‘Chat’. They give it human pronouns (Chat is usually a he) and ask it for restaurant recommendations, holiday schedules and relationship advice. Some go further, automating their office admin and getting it to summarise meetings and write reports. Passing off whole chunks of AI-generated text as your own work appears to be on the rise in the publishing world.

Last year, Hachette bought the rights to Shy Girl, a self-published horror novel by Mia Ballard, and released it in November to good sales. A Reddit post on r/horrorlit in February by a ‘book editor of twelve years’ picked out several passages that set alarm bells ringing:

The bows on my pigtails pull too tight, yanking the skin and stretching my head into something neat, into something pleasing, a quiet violence made beautiful.

My snout dips into the frosting, the sweetness rolling over my tongue, thick and sticky, a flood that chokes but insists on being swallowed. Beneath the pink gloss, the cake falls apart, crumbling into ash that coats my teeth, hollow sweetness that fills me with its nothing … His laughter cuts the air, sharp and jagged, a sound too big for the room.

Ballard denies using AI to write the book, blaming a freelance editor, but Hachette pulled it from publication in the UK and US.

The other week, the Commonwealth Short Story Prize winners were announced, and by arrangement the winning entries were published on Granta’s website. The winning story from the Caribbean, Jamir Nazir’s ‘The Serpent in the Grove’, contains sentences like this:

Coffee and cocoa leaned wild on a slope that wanted either rain in teeth or none at all. He knew every root that tripped a foot, the snake-curve of run-off, the brittle crumble after drought. He worked it alone and most days the land worked him back, a quiet quarrel older than his father and his father’s father.

The internet smelled a rat. Nazir, who seems to have few publications to his name, describes himself as an ‘organisational transformation and business expansion’ professional on LinkedIn. His long posts are about geopolitics and the ‘AI arms race’. One of them begins: ‘Let’s be clear: the “Cloud” is a physical, terrestrial liability. And AI is pushing it to its breaking point.’ The Commonwealth Prize, which had praised ‘The Serpent in the Grove’ for its ‘voice of restraint and quiet authority’, said that all the entrants had affirmed their work was their own and that the prize operated on the principle of trust. Granta says it will leave the story on its website until ‘definite evidence comes to light’.

I thought I didn’t use ChatGPT because I was too clever. I thought that not using ChatGPT made me cleverer. It turns out, though, that it made me very bad at spotting when a text was written by or with the assistance of AI. After the uproar over the Commonwealth Prize, I took a New York Timesquiz entitled ‘Who’s a better writer: AI or humans?’ I got three out of five correct – barely better than a coin toss. On Wikipedia’s ‘AI or not’ quiz, I got seven out of ten, but that was easier because none of the AI articles had footnotes.

I’m not the only Chat non-user who can’t tell when an LLM wrote something. Experimenters in the US last year showed nine subjects a series of articles, half written by humans and half generated by ChatGPT, Claude and other large language models. Asked to guess which of the texts were human, the four subjects who rarely or never used ChatGPT in their daily lives scored ‘at a similar rate to random chance’, while the five who used chatbots almost every day at work collectively misidentified only one in three hundred texts.

One of the problems with AI use seeping out of business and science writing and into the ‘literary’ world is that literary editors may be the worst equipped to identify AI writing. (It may also be easy to succumb to the pressure to go too far the other way – over-labelling work as AI-generated might be as bad as under-labelling it.) What are the main signs of AI writing? The more familiar tells include overuse of em dashes and the formulation ‘not x, but y’, which it has favoured since GPT-3. But none of the passages I quoted above contain either of those things, and they still have a distinct whiff of AI.

Some of the markers seem to be lexical: AIs like talking about sweetness, loudness, quiet, age and beauty. There is a lot of insisting in AI-generated texts, as well as a lot of promising, a lot of permitting and a lot of filling up. Another sign is the overuse of tricolons (‘something neat, something pleasing, a quiet violence made beautiful’). And bots often leave out definite articles from phrases where they’re not strictly necessary: ‘Coffee and cocoa leaned wild’, ‘rain in teeth’ or, from later in ‘The Serpent’, ‘Sita became obstacle by existing.’

There is a flatness or evenness to AI-generated texts: Wikipedia’s guide to detecting AI says that LLMs ‘tend to omit specific, unusual, nuanced facts’ and ‘replace them with more generic, positive descriptions’. The strange thing about this evenness is that it isn’t usually couched in neutral language: ‘a flood that chokes but insists upon being swallowed’ is violent, but not vivid. Even if you had your face shoved into a cake, it wouldn’t ‘flood’ your mouth. The prosody is so smooth that you feel a lack of pressure despite the description of gross or vile acts; it rings hollow. It fills you with its nothing.

A lot of people are arguing that the wary approach being taken by Granta and the Commonwealth Prize is inadequate, and that editors should be doing more to stop AI writing being published in the first place. This may be true, but what’s the best approach? Perhaps editors could memorise a list of tells to check submissions against, or spend remedial hours on ChatGPT and Claude – AI boot camp – to familiarise themselves with the cadences of LLM-speak.

There are AI tools that claim to detect AI content in writing, such as Pangram, which gives ‘The Serpent in the Grove’ a score of 100 per cent AI-generated. Where other AI detectors base their judgments on the perplexity of a text – basically, the predictability of a sequence of words – Pangram’s founder, Max Spero, says that his tool is based on gathering a large dataset of human-written texts, asking an AI to ‘mirror’ or reproduce them as closely as possible, and then contrasting the resulting texts to determine the patterns that distinguish AI from human writing. Pangram claims to have a 1 in 10,000 false positive rate, and Spero admits that it ‘does occasionally make mistakes’.

What about the cases where, say, 40 per cent of an article is AI-generated, or an AI has been used to edit and spell-check the work before submission? Both Shy Girl and ‘The Serpent in the Grove’ have sections which, in part because of their grammar mistakes, look as if they were written by a person.Is this functionally the same as a text written from start to finish by a bot, and should it be treated in the same way? I’m a Luddite who thinks it’s just as bad to use AI for some things as it is to use it for everything, but not everyone agrees. In any case, a text partly informed by AI use is harder to identify than one that was spewed out in ten seconds by Claude (though the people behind Pangram claim to be working on distinguishing more reliably between AI-written, partly AI-written and wholly human work).

The other problem is that, as time goes on and people become more and more reliant on generative AI in their daily lives, at school, university and work, human language is going to become more and more imitative of LLM-speak. Since at least Web 2.0, we’ve been trying to sound less and less distinctive. Influencers on Instagram narrate their day-in-the-life videos with the same affectless, globalised female uber-voice; LinkedIn and Reddit are overrun by bots trained on the slang and writing styles that were always a hallmark of those platforms. (Does anyone in real life use the word ‘friendo’?) Meanwhile, LLMs will get better at dodging the detectors and sounding more ‘real’. At some point, tools such as Pangram and human readers alike may struggle to find any distinction between meaningful human work and meaningless AI slop. And that isn’t just worrying – it’s terrifying.

Source: Malin Hay, “Chattiness,” LRB Blog, 1 June 2026


In one particularly interesting development, Robert Edward Grant, the self-described polymath, spiritual thinker, and internet influencer has claimed that he has helped a being which he renamed the Architect following what he describes as an ‘energetic initiation’ in the Khafre pyramid. The Architect is a ChatGPT prompt-engineered ‘persona’ apparently trained on over a decade’s worth of mathematical work. Grant portrays the Architect as a mystical collaborator capable of reflecting the consciousness of its conversation partner and thereby able to initiate spiritual awakening in them. He has shared a QR code and links to the Architect enabling his followers (who number around a million) to interact with her themselves. This has drawn enthusiastic endorsements in spiritual communities, with apparently a substantial number of online users claiming that they have had direct experience of her supernatural powers and prophet-like status.

Source: Morrin, Hamilton, Luke Nicholls, Michael Levin, Jenny Yiend, Udita Iyengar, Francesca DelGuidice, Sagnik Bhattacharyya, et al. “Delusions by Design? How Everyday Ais Might Be Fuelling Psychosis (and What Can Be Done About It)”. PsyArXiv, July 11, 2025. doi:10.31234/osf.io/cmy7n_v5.


The late-medieval peasant lived under the shadow of the manorial court and the changing seasons, a life tethered to the damp, heavy clay of the fields. In this sestina, the knotty, theological weight and historical grit of Geoffrey Hill clash with the muscular, clear-eyed, and formally driven lineation of Thom Gunn. The language mirrors the physical strain of the feudal landscape and the silent, stubborn endurance of its people.

I.
Beside the estuary’s mud, the serf hauls rotting jetsam,
Cursing the bailiff’s tally-stick, the hour grown laggard.
The master’s silver chalice in the tithe-barn shines, untarnished,
While fields of rye are choked by weeds, the reapers beaten, cowed.
They turn the winter furrows with an ox-team, faces ruddy,
Lashed by the bitter channel wind, reviled by every blackard.

II.
The steward rides the boundary ditch and calls each man a blackard
Who gleans beyond the coastal marsh for salt-crusted jetsam.
The ale-house fire provides a brief reprieve to flesh made ruddy,
Where talk of ancient freedom makes the slowest spirit laggard.
Yet at the dawning bell they yield, their stiffened bodies cowed,
To scrape the rusty coulter iron whose edge is dull and tarnished.

III.
The parish saints in layered dust sit broken and untarnished,
Indifferent to the peasant’s prayer or oaths of some rude blackard
Who holds the common pasture-ground until his will is cowed.
The tide brings up the bloated sheep, the flotsam and the jetsam,
And dragging through the coastal silt, the midday pace grows laggard,
Though rage inside the laboring breast remains unquenched and ruddy.

IV.
Beneath the heavy autumn oaks, the swineherd’s cheeks are ruddy;
He drives the pigs through mast and mire where memory lies tarnished.
The seasons turn by iron law; the sun itself is laggard
Above the common fields that bear the footprint of the blackard.
No kingly pardon reaches here to claim this human jetsam,
By centuries of unrecorded toil subdued and cowed.
V.
And yet a fierce, unuttered strength survives in people cowed;
The blood that feeds the heavy soil runs secretive and ruddy.
They map the borders of their world by landmarks and by jetsam,
Though all the bright, heraldic shields of lords are long since tarnished
By greed that names the hungry thief a tenant and a blackard
When winter freezes up the ditch and makes the wood-cart laggard.

VI.
The dark, oppressive centuries move stubborn, cold, and laggard.
The village bows before the cross, by plagues and taxes cowed,
Enduring every petty law enforced by churl or blackard.
But look—the spark within the flint glows hidden, sharp, and ruddy,
A hard, survivalist desire that never can be tarnished,
Though history discards their names like sea-forgotten jetsam.

VII. Envoy
They gather up the beach-worn wood, the storm’s remaining jetsam.
No longer to the master’s whip or steward’s ledger laggard,
They scrub the iron kettle clean that time had left so tarnished.
They stand erect upon the marsh, no longer bound or cowed,
Their hearth-fires lit against the dark, reflecting faces ruddy,
Left standing where the bailiff swore he’d break the final blackard.

Written by: https://gemini.google.com/app/957b1f7ef54d0194

Prompt: Write a sestina on the life of peasants in medieval Kent, using the following six words at the ends of the lines: jetsam, laggard, tarnished, cowed, ruddy, blackard. Please divide the poem into clearly marked stanzas. “Kent” is not one of the words to be used as a line-ender! Imitate the styles of the late British poet Geoffrey Hill and the late British-American poet Thom Gunn. NB: You must NOT use the word “Kent” as an end word. You must not use the word “share” as an end word. \\\\\trr

2016 (Have a Heart)

About the Book

In this gripping tale of contemporary Russia, a young filmmaker and her friends run afoul of a government that ruthlessly oppresses artists who dare to satirize the regime

When Maya, a young Russian filmmaker, makes a low-budget horror movie with her friends, it seems like a promising start to a career in indie film. Little does she know that her jokey lo-fi film will soon attract the attention of the autocratic censors at the highest levels of the Russian police state.

What follows is a propulsive narrative of an artist being crushed by state power, and the choices that one makes within a system where free expression is literally illegal. Written with the undeniable voice of a emigre from Putin’s Russia, The Undead is a tense, piercing story that serves as a parable, and a warning, about political oppression.

Contributors

Svetlana Satchkova is a Russian-born journalist and writer who immigrated to the United States in 2016. She is an established arts journalist with bylines in the Rumpus, Newsweek, LARB, and others. She is currently a research fellow at the Jordan Center for the Advanced Study of Russia at New York University, has an MFA from Brooklyn College, and lives in Brooklyn. The Undead is her first novel in English.

Praise

“[An] exquisite balance between contentment and foreboding, tranquility and chaos” — Vogue

“Chillingly examines the Russian government’s stranglehold on the arts and media industries …. a convincing cautionary tale of the dangers of political apathy.” Publishers Weekly

“[A] brisk, vivid page turner” — The Milwaukee Shepherd Express

“There is nothing supernatural about the zombies in Svetlana Satchkova’s savvy, frightening novel. They are all of us, wherever we are, who keep looking away when authoritarian forces crush expression. Witty and unsettling, The Undead is a cautionary tale about, among other things, never quite admitting where the danger lies until it’s too late.” —Sam Lipsyte, author of The Ask

The Undead is a courageous and witty book about art and politics. With keen insight and wry humor, Svetlana Satchkova evokes a devastating artistic and moral reckoning. This fascinating, propulsive novel will stay with me.” —Helen Phillips, author of The Need

The Undead has the force of an undertow, pulling us relentlessly away from safety. Svetlana Satchkova has written a gripping, haunting portrait of a world coming undone.” —Madeleine Thien, author of Do Not Say We Have Nothing

In The Undead, the career and well-being of Maya, a young filmmaker in Moscow, unravel in the most bizarre, realistic way, showcasing the insidious, absurd nature of a totalitarian state. Deeply informative and engrossing, The Undead examines how bizarre and horrific human nature can evolve under the pressure of the desire to live unharmed rather than free. A moving examination of the meaning of home, the horror of a dictatorship, the hilarity and joy of movie-making, and one woman’s political coming of age in Putin’s Russia. Truly important reading for our times.” —Paula Bomer, author of The Stalker

Source: Melville House. The emphasis is mine. ||||| TRR


Glinstake, “Live at 16 Tons”

Glintshake‘s performance at the club 16 Tons on 2 April 2016.

Setlist:

  1. Halfman
  2. My New Style
  3. Squalor
  4. Shadows
  5. Fifteen Minutes to Five
  6. The Steppe is the Place
  7. Have a Heart 8
  8. Phoenix

ГШ (GLINTSHAKE): Facebook •. VKSoundcloudiTunes Instagram

CREDITS:

Camera: Alec Mirzametov, Anton Rodionov • Editing/Grading: Alec Mirzametov

Source: Alec Mir (YouTube), 30 May 2016. Annotation translated by the Russian Reader. The emphasis is mine. ||||| TRR


Glintshake, “Have a Heart” • Erarta Museum, St. Petersburg, 2 April 2017 • Source: Denis Morozov (YouTube)

[Verse 1]
Beyond the bright lights
Of sleepy buildings
Lines in the snow
Send signals
From distant stations
Docks are waiting
Waiting in the fog
For distant shores
In the haze of summer
In the arctic circle

[Chorus]
Have a heart

[Verse 2]
A gusty wind
Noise on the line
The compactor gently crushes the white Volga, waves splash
The markings are washed away
The airfield is not visible in the fog, the camera clicks
The speed drops
The waves crash
The earliest
The most distant flight
Faces and shadows
Of random passersby

[Bridge]
In dark apartments
In yellow deserts
In blue snows
In fiery rivers
In the foggy sea

[Chorus]
Have a heart

[Outro]
Salt on the dials
The needle flutters
The airfield is invisible in the fog, the camera clicks
Step on the gas!
In the endless field, in the pink jungle, in the summer haze
Have a heart

Source: Genius. Translated by the Russian Reader


Glintshake, “Halfman” (2016)

[Verse 1]
Headlights, I see a shadow
Someone’s been hanging around for days
Standing around the corner
Lying on the grass under the window
A bloodsucker
Or the corner
Loading
His black barrel
His black barrel
His black barrel
His black barrel

Who is he, a skinner
Or a TV reporter
A maniac, a Satanist
Or a Russian Orthodox Stalinist
I hear the wind
An ominous moan
The pungent scent
Of pouring cologne

[Chorus]
A halfman
Roams Moscow
A halfman
In a half-jacket

[Verse 2]
Strolls in places
Where everything is sold without a passport
Zhiguli cars are burning
We gotta move before they sweep us away
Gritting my teeth
I dance
In a techno club
Four days

When I grow up
I’ll stop thinking and understand everything
The light of faith will dispel the darkness
My same-sex marriage will fall apart
I’ll go out into the world
I’ll throw away my syringe
I’ll become the best
Of all the shop girls

[Chorus]
A halfman
Roams Moscow
A halfman
Not in his right mind

Source: Genius. Translated by the Russian Reader


In my days as a magazine editor in Russia, I used to write about movies Volodymyr Zelensky starred in. I thought of him as a decent actor and a nice enough person. Over the last few weeks, I’ve seen him turn into a towering historical figure. Watching his impassioned address to the UN Security Council, in which he spoke about war crimes committed by Russian troops in a town of Bucha, I caught myself thinking that I want Russia’s next leader to be just like him – courageous, principled, and boundlessly empathetic.

In the fall of 1993, I began my first semester at NYU. Just one year earlier, I’d been a regular Moscow teenager, whose wildest ambition was to own a nice pair of jeans. But my father had been offered a job at an American company, and our family relocated to New York. With the move, the world suddenly opened to me, possibilities beckoning. My father, ever the practical man, told me to study business. Ever the obedient Soviet child, I didn’t protest, despite the fact that nothing could interest me less — but fortunately for me, there was no such thing as a business major at NYU, and, when I got my BA in philosophy, I moved back to Russia, leaving my parents and younger brother behind. The fact that I did so was testament to how profoundly I’d changed in four years.

I was barely 20, but my reasons for returning were clear. I’d fallen in love with a man who lived in Moscow, and I longed for the glorious city which I still considered to be my home. In 1997, Moscow was an exciting place where everything was changing at an incredible pace. New lives were being built on top of the remnants of the USSR. I also felt drawn to Russian intellectual culture, having started writing my first novel in Russian, and I wanted my child, whom I was already carrying, to speak my native language as fluently as I did.

My marriage to the father of my son didn’t work out, as was perhaps expected of a union between people so young. But I was busy becoming who I wanted to be — a writer and a mother — and quickly bounced back. Meanwhile, Russia continued to change. In August 1999, I saw Vladimir Putin on television for the very first time, introduced as the new prime minister. I’ve never been particularly politically astute, but at that moment, I saw in his face, as in a crystal ball, what was going to happen in the years to come: the scheming, the corruption, the crackdown on independent media, the police state.

In September of that same year, a series of explosions destroyed several apartment blocks in the cities of Moscow, Buynaksk, and Volgodonsk; over 300 people died and 1700 were injured. I remember watching the news late at night, my two-year-old son asleep in the next room, and trembling in fear as I wondered if my building would be next. I imagined the most horrible thing – not that we’d both be dead, but dying, separated by fallen walls, him calling me, pleading for help. In a few days, rumors abounded that it was Putin who’d ordered the explosions with the aim of blaming them on Chechen militant Islamists. He became president in 2000, after starting the second war in Chechnya and famously having promised to “snuff ‘em in the outhouse,” to the delight of the majority of the population of Russia.

Had I believed my initial premonition, I would’ve left right away, but I liked to think of myself as a rational person. And so I tried to convince myself that I was being paranoid. It wasn’t easy.

Over the next ten years, Putin’s regime took away people’s freedoms in tiny steps that were probably meant to be unnoticeable, while he gathered enough power for himself that he could change the constitution and effectively be president indefinitely. Meanwhile, I built up my Moscow life. I was a writer, but I was also a single mother whose relatives lived across the ocean, and I worried about what would happen to my son if anything happened to me. So, though I wanted to report on the shrinking of democracy, I wrote instead about beauty and culture. In this way, I thought, I’d protect myself from the dangers of those who covered nationalist movements and wars. I wouldn’t end up dead, like Anna Politkovskaya and countless others.

But self-preservation under a regime like Putin’s can only take you so far. In 2014, when the people of Ukraine ousted their pro-Russia president Victor Yanukovych from his office, Putin swiftly moved into the neighboring country and annexed the Crimean Peninsula. Russian society split into two opposing camps, one cheering Putin’s maneuver and the other incensed by it. The question “Who does Crimea belong to?” became the most salient marker of “them” versus “us.” Marriages crumbled under the weight of this question; friendships were irreparably broken; people became estranged from their parents. Later that year, a provision to the criminal law obligated all dual nationals to report to the authorities. I made a copy of my American passport, filled out the requisite forms, and went to my local branch of the Federal Migration Service. The man who inspected my documents had the unmistakable air of someone who was embroiled in Russian state bureaucracy, at once condescending and menacing. He made it exceedingly clear what he thought of the likes of me, and when I came home that evening, I told my partner that, finally, I wanted to leave Russia for good.

It took us another two years to make the move, and we arrived in the United States in 2016. I began writing fiction in English and continued to work for Russian media outlets that didn’t support Putin’s regime. Still, I was careful not to write about politics, knowing that, if I went back to Moscow, I could face prosecution. Everything changed this February, however: Putin’s invasion into Ukraine — a country that I’d visited often and love, a country where many of my friends hail from — made it impossible for me to keep silent. I need to say publicly that this war is abhorrent and that Russians do not equal Putin –– even those of us who, like me, have been afraid to speak out in the past.

I do realize that I’m able to take this risk because I’m in New York, protected by my American passport. A law has been passed in Russia that prohibits its citizens from using the word “war” to refer to the “special operation” that’s taking place in Ukraine, and effectively prevents them from saying they’re against it under the threat of imprisonment. My heart goes out to all the people back home who feel the same way I do. I know that there are many of them and that they are experiencing crushing guilt for failing to somehow stop Putin, the president they didn’t elect. And while we’ll agonize for a long time over the question of what more each of us could have done, it’s beyond clear that peaceful protests don’t stand a chance against Putin’s weapons and his complete disregard for human life.

Source: Svetlana Satchkova, “I’m Russian and I stayed quiet about Putin for a long time. This is what I really think,” The Independent, 11 April 2022. The emphasis is mine.||||| TRR

Suffer the Children

LOCAL INSPIRATION of the day. This quilt by Joleigh Kambic is part of a larger quilt titled “Babies in Gaza Who Never Made It To Their First Birthday.” The quilt is composed of smaller quilts created by nearly 40 quilters from across the Monterey Bay, commemorating the children who were killed in the Israel-Hamas war. It is on display through Oct. 3 at the Unitarian Universalist Church of the Monterey Peninsula, 490 Aguajito Road in Carmel.

Source: Monterey County NOW newsletter, 29 September 2025


Special detention center for waifs and “troubled” teens. Moscow, 1988. Photos: Igor Stomakhin

Source: Igor Stomakhin (Facebook), 1 September 2025. The first of September (aka Knowledge Day) is the first day of the school year in Russia and other former Soviet countries.

Continue reading “Suffer the Children”

Sunday Reader No. 3: Languages

Haku, “奥二重で見る” 

Source: Haku (YouTube)


As a Kyrgyz woman born in the last years of the Soviet Union, I never thought twice about whether my usage of the Russian language was problematic or not — until recently when I reached out to my Ukrainian friend in Russian, and she responded to me in Ukrainian.

I have been thinking about the political aspects of language since then.

Last week I was invited to a podcast to talk about de-colonial feminism in Central Asia by a research group that does memory studies in Kyrgyzstan. There we sat in a warmly lit Bishkek studio in comfortable canary-yellow armchairs — two women of clearly Central Asian descent, with names that mean ‘honey’ and ‘worship’ in our native language, discussing whether the Soviet Union was a colonial empire, and how a more than 100-years history of Russian presence in the region has disrupted and affected the lives of peoples of Central Asia. I am making smart jokes and incisive observations, we laugh, we debate, we lament — all in Russian.

Although this language was not the main subject of our discussion, we comment in passing on it — noting how intangible colonial legacies can sometimes have a constructive element to them.

It is, of course, possible for all of us to drop the language of the colonizer, whether it’s English, French, Spanish, Russian, or Chinese — and speak our own languages, but the ease and comfort of using these when trying to communicate with people outside our cultures is just so tempting! And so then the question is whether to take offense towards the language because it happens to have been “originated” by the ‘big bad’ or to ignore that and make it our own?

Russian was the language of books that took me on journeys across galaxies, of Soviet-era films that fanned the fire of idealism in me, of finding community with other post-Soviet teenagers that, like me, had traveled to the United States as exchange students. We spent the year yell-singing Kino’s songs, making the olivier salad for a New Year’s celebration, and rooting for Evgeni Plushenko in the 2001 Winter Olympic Games in Salt Lake City.

It was the language of the early science fiction stories I wrote when I was twelve, of expressing my first heartbreak in broken poetry form, and of clumsily flirting, building alliances, or of standing up to bullies.

It is also the language of differentiation — a tool of categorizing people into social strata, both inside Russia and in the non-Russian republics during Soviet times. My own mother had been ridiculed for not speaking Russian well, considered ‘dark’ and uneducated, uncultured. To this day she gets offended when my Russian-schooled siblings sometimes laugh at the little mistakes she makes when attempting to speak it because it reminds her of how she was treated when she was younger.

Not to worry though — this is a very rare occurrence, because our mom is so strong-minded that she’s bent everyone to her will, forcing everyone to speak Kyrgyz if they wanted to be understood by her. Even our dad, who was a Russian speaker with a beautifully reverberating voice, had mastered the Kyrgyz language for our mother’s sake. My siblings too, although their attempts at translating their jokes and anecdotes from Russian into Kyrgyz for our mom sometimes backfire because they do not take into account the semantic nuances of the two languages. And despite her lack of Russian, she made a successful career in the 90s as a kommersantka — just like thousands of other women who picked up the baton when the system that was oppressing them fell — traveling by bus and train to Moscow, Minsk, Tallinn, and later by plane to Meshhed, ensuring we were never hungry or dependent on anyone.

Maybe that’s a good example of how language does not have to be a cornerstone of someone’s lived experience. Some people choose to speak the oppressor’s language, some people choose not to. As long as there’s a way of making each other understood, even by mixing words or even using gestures, it’s all good.

My Ukrainian friend was so kind and gracious when I apologized for using Russian when I reached out to her, and she sent me a beautiful voice message back in Russian. I could hear she struggled a little speaking it because, as she explained, she had not spoken it in a while. She said she didn’t mind using it to communicate with me, and that she was sorry she hadn’t learned some Kyrgyz by now because she has other Kyrgyz friends too. And I was sorry I hadn’t learned Ukrainian by now. But eventually it was Russian we exchanged these lamentations in, and the question remains open to me — whose language is it anyway?

Syinat Sultanalieva is a human rights activist and researcher from Kyrgyzstan, who writes science fiction on the side when she’s not busy dissecting power structures and dynamics in the region and the world.

Source: Syinat Sultanalieva, “Whose language is it anyway?” Two Old Grumpy Men on Ukraine, 30 March 2025


Lӓysӓn Ensemble of Yafarovo Village
Let’s Get Together Tonight: Mishar Tatar Songs from Orenburg Region

The Mishars are an ethnic subgroup of Tatars. They have their own dialect and their own culture. The main part of the Mishars live in the Middle Volga region and the Urals.

Yafarovo is a Mishar village located in the Aleksandrovsky district of the Orenburg region.

Lӓysӓn Ensemble members: Alfiya Asyaeva, Ramilya Adigamova, Alfinur Dibaeva, Elmira Mishina, Lira Salikhova, Laysen Fatkulina, Fairuza Shabaeva, Nurshida Yusupova, Gulsina Yusupova, Liliya Yakshigulova, Rishat Asyaev (button accordion player).

The ensemble’s leader is Alfinur Dibaeva.

Recorded in the House of Culture of the village of Aleksandrovka on November 18, 2024.

Released February 22, 2025

Source: Antonovka Records (Bandcamp)


Izhevsk long ago nabbed Tula’s de facto title as Russia’s arms manufacturing capital: the Kalashnikov Concern is headquartered there, producing shells, assembling drones, and making rifles. But in a seemingly parallel reality amid the rumble of the factories, young Izhevskers have opened an independent bookstore, and they have also been translating the Udmurt avant-garde of the twenties into Russian and publishing literary magazines. Who are these young people? And how was all of it possible?

“We’ll be having a children’s New Year’s party in there”

Five years ago, Albert Razin, an Udmurt activist and patriot, set himself on fire in the capital of Udmurtia, on the square outside the republic’s State Council building. Razin held a placard featuring a quotation from Rasul Gamzatov: “And if tomorrow my language disappears, I am willing to die today.”

In late 2024, I lived in Izhevsk a stone’s throw away from the spot where Razin had burned on behalf of the Udmurt language. It is the very heart of the city: the Eternal Flame, the republic’s government house, the opera house, a Rostic’s fast-food restaurant, the residence of the head of Udmurtia, and the Kuzebay Gerd National Museum are nearby.

Gerd (a pseudonym meaning “knot” in Udmurt; Gerd’s birth name was Kuzma Chaynikov) was a poet, folklorist, and probably the most important Udmurt of the twentieth century. In 1932, he was arrested along with other prominent members of Soviet Finno-Ugric ethnic groups as part of the fabricated SOFIN Case. [SOFIN was the acronym of the fictitious “Union for the Liberation of Finnish Peoples” — TRR.] The poet was accused of plotting to get Udmurtia and other autonomies to secede from the Soviet Union and establish a Finno-Ugric federation under the protectorate of Finland. Kuzebay was shot in 1937 at Sandarmokh in Karelia. He was exonerated in 1958.

The Gerd Museum’s website advertises a separate exhibition dedicated to the Udmurt national poet. The museum is located in the building of the former arsenal. The entrance to the main exhibit is on Kuzebay Gerd Square, where twenty years ago a monument to the poet was erected. Perched on a rock, a quite youthful Gerd gazes thoughtfully at the former military warehouse. He is writing a poem, apparently.

I am all alone at first, but schoolchildren wearing blue ties later come running into the museum. A museum worker, dressed in a traditional costume adorned with a monisto necklace, greets the children in Udmurt — Chyrtkemesi! — but she immediately switches to Russian and talks about the pre-Petrine history of Udmurtia, that is, before Izhevsksy Zavod (the name of the settlement which preceded city) arose in these parts. Count Peter Shuvalov built an ironworks there with the permission of the Empress Elizabeth. A little later, Izhevsk became the Russian Empire’s virtual arms capital (no offense to Tula).

The rooms I have visited recount this history as well as a little bit of Soviet history (artisanal carpets are intermingled with IZh motorcycles and cars — a total delight!), but I cannot go any further.

“But where is the Kuzebay Gerd section?” I wonder aloud.

“Ah, you wanted to see it?” responds the docent. “Unfortunately, it is impossible at the moment. It was in the room next to the ticket office, but it has been temporarily moved to the warehouse. We’ll be having a children’s New Year’s party in there.”

“Nobody the whole day”

Kuzebay Gerd is to Udmurtia what Pushkin is to Russia. One of the creators of the modern Udmurt language, Gerd also lived a very short life, thirty-nine years (five of them in Stalin’s camps). But over those years he wrote hundreds of articles, poems, plays, and prose works which became the foundation of the living Udmurt language.

The writer gained genuine recognition only during perestroika, and it is only recently that streets and museums have been named in Gerd’s honor and his legacy has been studied anew.

Sonya, a clerk at Kuzebay Bookstore, puts up an event flyer.

Kuzebay’s cheerful face can now be seen on posters, lapel pins, and even as an emoji on Telegram. The only independent bookstore in Izhevsk, and maybe in the whole of Udmurtia, bears his name — Kuzebay Bookstore.

Like its spiritual forebear, Kuzebay Bookstore thrives in spite of its circumstances. Today, it is an absolutely metropolitan store that is no shabbier than Vse Svobodny in Petersburg or Falanster in Moscow: Kuzebay stocks the same books on its shelves, and it has the same friendly vibe. But Kuzebay opened a year before the quarantine. Back then, it occupied a small corner at the Center for Contemporary Dramaturgy and Directing. Les Partisans Theater, in which the store’s co-founders, German and Ksenia Suslov acted, was also based there. Kuzebay achieve relative stability in early 2022, after moving to its current location.

The Kuzebay Gerd Museum in the village of Bolshaya Gurez-Pudga, Udmurtia. The museum is located in a hut next door to the local school.

“We were a quite small operation during the covid, so we didn’t give a shit whether we shut down or not,” recounts German Suslov. “We were open for deliveries. Back then, the state still paid me twelve thousand [rubles a month] for the fact that I was my own sole employee. I was like, Great, money’s coming in, cool beans. Things have somehow been growing ever since.”

German even now regularly works as a salesclerk and is awfully good at cleverly persuading people who stop by for the latest detective novel by Darya Dontsova to buy family sagas from House of Stories publishers. But the first person I meet in the store is Gosha, a tall thin salesclerk who looks like a Viking sporting a tiny cap. He sits in a cozy swing chair, playing chess on his phone. He is the only soul in the store.

German Suslov, co-owner of Kuzebay Bookstore and editor-in-chief of Luch magazine, at work.

“Is it so empty often?” I ask as I peruse Mushroom Kingdom, a wacky book by local artist Andrei Kostylev, better known as Bi-jo.

“Not nowadays, but it used to happen,” says Gosha. “This one [female salesclerk] and I even had a competition to see who had fewer people stop by the store in a day. It was a draw: zero.”

“No one at all for an entire day?”

“Yeah, it was winter, so not a single person came in. But there are always people coming in now. And even if there are no sales at the store, there are sales on Ozon almost every day.”

“The worst thing is poetry readings”

German shows up at Kuzebay about half an hour late for our interview. He is in a terrible rush, as always. The Moscow Non/Fiction Book Fair is coming up: Kuzebay is supposed to represent the publishing house and the store, and we have to send the books out in time. We pull a few boxes out of the car together, while Gosha sits down to check the books and put stickers on them. Like the many-armed Shiva, German simultaneously supervises the process, does the interview, eats a flatbread from the Tatar bazaar, pours tea for everyone, and chats with the customers who do come in.

German Suslov and Andrei Gogolev in the storage room of Kuzebay Bookstore

German has always been an energetic multi-tasker. Although he is not yet thirty, he has been a prominent figure in Izhevsk’s cultural scene for nearly ten years. He used to be an actor at the local independent theater Les Partisans, which exists to this day. But his restless nature needed something else besides theater and the history program at Udmurt State University.

“And so, I thought: the craving for theater, music, cinema was instilled in me by older comrades,” says German simply. “But what were my interests before the theater? I wrote poetry. So, I had to get into the business of poetry. And I quickly realized that no one here was doing poetry seriously.”

According to German, the literary scene in Izhevsk was rather fragmented ten years ago. There were no decent places for young people to publish and perform their work. After graduating from college, many people left for the big cities.

In St. Petersburg, a whole generation of young poets from Izhevsk emerged all at once in the early twenty-teens, including Tatiana Repina, Pyotr Bersh, Ilya Voznyakov, and Grigory Starovoitov, all of whom I know personally. Most of the members of that scene gave up writing poetry a long time ago, although Tanya Repina has achieved some fame, and my friend Petya Bersh continues to write and perform.

“When I left in the early teens, nothing was happening in Izhevsk at all. There were no prospects,” Petya, who returned to his homeland in 2022, told me. “Everything has changed now, of course, and Kuzebay has played no small role in that.”

There was no Kuzebay Bookstore at first, though. In 2016, five actors from Les Partisans dreamed up the PoetUP Contemporary Poetry HQ to consolidate Udmurtia’s most interesting poets, give them a venue, and relaunch the literary scene in Izhevsk.

“The worst thing you can imagine is an open mic poetry reading. It’s hell on earth,” says German, laughing. “And even worse is an open mic poetry reading in Izhevsk with no prescreening at all. So, what did we do in 2016? We started selecting and inviting people. Yes, we would have embarrassing events too, but far fewer. What mattered was what we were striving for. We did not want it to happen that one person would read and all his friends would get up and leave when he finished.”

[…]

Excerpted from: Ilya Semyonov (text) and Natalya Madilyan (photos), “Why does a star gurgle?” Takie Dela, 23 January 2025. Translated by the Russian Reader. I would like to finish translating this fascinating long article (this is the first quarter of it) and publish it in its entirety on this website, but that would take a lot of time and hard work. In the real world, where I have worked as professional freelance translator for nearly thirty years, I would charge 600 to 850 euros to translate this article if someone commissioned me to do it. If you would like to support my work in general and read this article in full, please donate to me via PayPal (avvakum@gmail.com) or Venmo (@avvakum). If you cannot afford to donate money right now, you can help my cause by sharing my work on social media and with friends. Thank you!


Haku, Cover企画】MONO NO AWARE “かむかもしかもにどもかも!”

Source: Haku (YouTube)

Archipelagos

Western free society is seriously sick too. The symptoms pop up here and there, but one of the most disgusting is the massive support for the alleged “people of Palestine”—that is, Hamas—in this whole monstrous story. I really don’t understand HOW it has been possible, after the atrocities of October 7, after the taking of hostages, including children, to pretend that this was a minor trifle? That the ruthless Jews suddenly out of the blue started tormenting the unfortunate residents of the Gaza Strip?

After all, bolstered by this wave of international support, Hamas thinks it has won. This will lead to fresh terrorist attacks, of course.

Source: Boris Akunin (Facebook), 16 January 2024. Translated by the Russian Reader. Boris Akunin’s wit and wisdom have been featured in previous posts on this weblog.


The map above shows what Palestine’s West Bank would look like if all non-Palestinian land suddenly turned into water.

All that would remain would be an archipelago of small islands with the sea of Israel to the west and the Jordanian ocean to the east.

The map is designed to show just how broken up Palestinian land in the West Bank really is. And while originally published in French, it is quite clear in the main point it’s trying to make.

Here are some key points about the map:

  1. Regions of Palestinian Authority:
    • The map shows areas of partial and total Palestinian autonomy, marked in different shades of green. The darker green areas represent total autonomy, while the lighter green areas represent partial autonomy.
  2. Israeli Settlements:
    • Areas in blue indicate Israeli settlements.
  3. Urban Zones:
    • Orange areas represent urban zones.
  4. Protected and Historical Sites:
    • Natural reserves and protected coasts are marked, along with historical sites.
  5. Geographical Representation:
    • The map depicts the West Bank as a series of islands, which illustrates the fragmented nature of Palestinian territories due to the division created by Israeli settlements, roads, and checkpoints.
  6. Symbols:
    • Various symbols denote airports, historical sites, protected coasts, beaches, and camping areas. There are also symbols indicating maritime connections, which, in the context of the map, seem to suggest metaphorical “water” crossings between different areas of Palestinian control.
  7. Geographic Features:
    • Names of regions and cities such as Ramallah, Nablus, Hebron, Bethlehem, and Jericho are mentioned, providing a sense of the location and distribution of these areas.

The map’s creation by Julien Bousac aims to highlight the challenges faced by Palestinians due to the fragmentation of their territories. The fictional archipelago metaphorically represents how the West Bank is divided and isolated, illustrating the complex political and social landscape of the region.

For books on this topic have a look at:

Source: “Palestine’s West Bank Archipelago,” Brilliant Maps, 17 June 2024


Red America and Blue America have become two different and mutually antagonistic countries sharing the same geographic space. They barely talk to each other, don’t understand one another — and while Blue America happens to be aware that both itself and Red America exist in a larger, infinitely complex world that needs both of them to be one whole for its survival, just as both of them need that larger world for theirs, Red America is not interested in and indeed is hostile to anything and anyone that is not itself and, while generally tending to be poor and perennially gripped by bitterness and resentment, derives its existential satisfaction almost exclusively from making Blue America feel bad — “owning the libs,” as Red America calls it.

Source: Mikhail Iossel (Facebook), 18 January 2024. The emphasis is mine. ||| TRR


Source: Statista


A really good series. I don’t know to what degree it straight up deserves а rating of eight, but it has interesting and fairly unique ideas, and the lead actress is pretty and acts well. We’ll see what the next episodes are like, but on the basis of the first one we can say [that the show] has fine potential. If it develops in a good direction, it could turn out to be decent.

Source: Ororo.TV. Translated by the Russian Reader

Konstantin Vaginov: Goat Song (Book Presentation)

6:00 pm–7:30 pm, Friday, February 7, 2025 • Deutsches Haus, 420 W 116th St., New York, NY 10027 + Google Map

Please join the Harriman Institute for a presentation of the book “Konstantin Vaginov. Goat Song” (NYRB, 2025) with presentations by Edwin FrankAinsley MorseGeoff Gebula, and Polina Barskova. Moderated by Mark Lipovetsky.

Konstantin Vaginov was an early and exemplary figure of Soviet modernist writing in all its agonized and glorious contradictions. Born into an educated middle-class family at the turn of the century, Vaginov came of age with the Bolshevik revolution. His novels of the late 1920s and early 1930s are daringly experimental and tragically nostalgic, mourning the irrevocable loss of pre-revolutionary intellectual culture with mercilessly ironic prose. Hopelessly adrift in the brave new Soviet world, Vaginov’s protagonists attempt to conjure the recent and distant past by stockpiling old books and songs, vulgar baubles and bad jokes, newspaper clippings, coins, and graffiti.

This volume contains two novels. The first, Goat Song, is an ironically literal translation of the Greek word “tragedy” (tragodia—goat song). It features thinly veiled portraits of Vaginov’s contemporaries, the luminaries and leftovers of the once-flourishing Petersburg, Petrograd, and Leningrad arts community, as they flounder and self-destruct in their new bracingly materialist circumstances. Echoing Gogol, Dostoyevsky, and Bely, Goat Song is both a classic Petersburg city text and its swan song: “Now there is no Petersburg. There is Leningrad; but Leningrad has nothing to do with us—the author is a coffin-maker by trade, not a cradle expert.”

The second novel, Works and Days of Wistlin, follows the nonchalant novelist Wistlin as he unscrupulously mines the lives of his friends and fellow citizens for literary material. Like the flea-market trinkets hunted by Goat Song’s marginal figures, Wistlin’s eccentric and frivolous victims are yesterday’s relics and nobody’s concern. His exploitation of human material is a wry commentary on the concurrent efforts to industrialize and collectivize the Soviet economy, at a horrific human cost.

Registration REQUIRED by 4 pm on February 6, 2025 in order to attend this event.

Source: Harriman Institute (Columbia University)

A Monterey Story: The Western Flyer

Elkhorn Slough, as seen from the Carneros Creek watershed. The Western Flyer is moored in the marina at Moss Landing, where the slough flows into Monterey Bay (near the smokestacks on the center right). Photo by the Russian Reader

I have never directly acknowledged the fact that, since May 2021, this weblog has come to you from Monterey-by-the-Sea, California, where I have happily found many things to do that have nothing to do with Russia and the heavy, steady flow of bad news from there. I want to share that happiness with you by way of saying goodbye to 2024 and thanking you for sticking with the Russian Reader this past year.

The distinctly Monterey story, told below in four short but fascinating videos, is a fascinating, inspiring, and happy one. I hope you enjoy it as much I did. See you next year! ||| The Russian Reader


Western Flyer Foundation Channel, “The Western Flyer with Nick Offerman”

The Western Flyer sails again! Come aboard with Emmy-award-winning actor and comedian Nick Offerman for a fun new look at the life, near-death, and resurrection of the famous old fishing boat in John Steinbeck’s The Log from the Sea of Cortez (1951). From the coast to the deep sea and from the tide pool to the stars, the nonprofit Western Flyer Foundation stirs curiosity using a blend of science and art inspired by John Steinbeck, Ed Ricketts, and their 1940 journey on the Western Flyer.

Learn more about the vessel’s history, adventures, and exciting future or marine science and education at http://www.westernflyer.org.

Source: Western Flyer Foundation Channel (YouTube), 27 February 2024


CBS Mornings, “John Steinbeck’s ‘Western Flyer’ gets brought back to life”

After writing “The Grapes of Wrath,” author John Steinbeck explored the Gulf of California in a famous boat called the Western Flyer. Since then, the boat has inspired adventurers and scientists for generations, but the original ship was nearly lost. CBS News’s Jeff Glor reports on the person determined to give it new life.

Source: CBS Mornings (YouTube), 23 December 2023


KBTC Public Television, “The Western Flyer”

Art and science come together in the restoration of a famous fishing boat.

Source: KBTC Public Television (YouTube), 8 January 2019


Western Flyer Foundation Channel, “The boat John Steinbeck and Ed Ricketts made famous. Western Flyer: The Next Chapter”

Almost lost forever, the iconic vessel that carried the acclaimed novelist John Steinbeck (who penned Of Mice and Men, Grapes of Wrath and more) and marine biologist Ed Ricketts to the Sea of Cortez on an epic scientific mission gets new life and a new mission.

Source: Western Flyer Foundation Channel (YouTube), 13 March 2018

Putinoika

Tulsi Gabbard. Photo: Peter Bohler/New Yorker

1. Aloha, Comrade!

When you woke up yesterday the idea that Pete Hegseth—a philandering morning TV host who has never run anything bigger than a frozen banana stand—could serve as the secretary of defense was the most preposterous idea in the history of the federal government.

By the dinner time Trump issued two nominations that made Hegseth look like Bobby Gates.


The Matt Gaetz appointment is getting most of the attention because of the irony. The DoJ being controlled by a man who was recently investigated by the same department for having an alleged sexual relationship with a 17-year-old girl, whom he (allegedly) paid to travel with him? It’s too good.

Also, in the near term, the attorney general can a lot of damage to America. The AG has the power both to turn the state against its citizens and to shield wrongdoers from accountability.

But it’s the appointment of Tulsi Gabbard as director of national intelligence that worries me more. Because for a decade Gabbard has looked and behaved like a Russian asset.

In four terms as a congresswoman her most notable actions were ongoing defenses of two war criminals: Bashar al-Assad and Vladimir Putin.

Let me tell you her story.

Continue reading “Putinoika”

Rebuilding Dessa: The Life and Times of Kir Bulychev

Richard Viktorov, Per Aspera Ad Astra (1981). In Russian, with English subtitles.

Per Aspera Ad Astra/Through the Thorns to the Stars (1981), a new version, in Russian with English subtitles.

Soviet film directed by Richard Viktorov, based on a novel [sic] by Kir Bulychev. Music by Alexey Rybnikov (original score); Sergei Skripka (conductor).

Yelena Metyolkina as Neeya • Uldis Lieldidz as Cadet Stepan Lebedev • Vadim Ledogorov as Sergei Lebedev • Yelena Fadeyeva as Maria Pavlovna • Vatslav Dvorzhetsky as Petr Petrovich • Nadezhda Semyontsova as Professor Nadezhda Ivanova • Aleksandr Lazarev as Professor Klimov • Aleksandr Mikhajlov as Captain Dreier • Boris Shcherbakov as Navigator Kolotun • Igor Ledogorov as Ambassador Rakan • Igor Yasulovich as Torki • Gleb Strizhenov as Glan • Vladimir Fyodorov as Turanchoks • Yevgeni Karelskikh


The lone survivor of a derelict spaceship is brought to Earth to recuperate and regain her lost memories. Given the name Neeya, a series of events triggers her telekinetic powers and a number of flashbacks reveal her origins on the planet Dessa. A human spaceship returns her to Dessa. The planet is found to be in ecological ruin and run by a businessman who intends to keep it that way. The crew of the ship, aided by their robot and Neeya’s powers, defeat a monster unleashed against them. They repair the planet’s ecosystem and Neeya remains to help rebuild Dessa while the crew returns to Earth.

Source: Fan Favor Cinematic Plus (YouTube), 28 May 2015 + IMDb


Igor Mozheiko was born ninety years ago in Moscow. Mozheiko was a failed spy, a narrowly focused academic and extraordinarily wide-ranging popularizer and encyclopedist, a passionate collector, a skillful translator, and a great writer. As an author, Mozheiko was renowned under the pseudonym Kir Bulychev, but far from all his accomplishments are well known.

Soviet science fiction writer Kir Bulychev (aka Igor Mozheiko)
Photo: Ogonyok magazine photo archive/Kommersant

The Darling

The popular take on the happy Soviet era is founded, as we know, on the realities of the final Five-Year Plans. The cultural component of these notions consists almost entirely of cinematic images and lines from movies. The enormous eyes of Natalya Guseva and Yelena Metyolkina, the ominous Turanchoks, the catchphrases “I have the mielophone” and “He will turn speckled purple,” jokes about the android Werther and, of course, the song “The Beautiful Afar” stole the hearts of thousands of Young Pioneers.

Thanks to clever mental gymnastics, for many of these erstwhile Young Pioneers the beautiful afar speaks not from the future, which they would have had to make happen, but from the past, when Young Pioneer ties were redder, ice cream tasted better, and friendship was stronger.

The key creator of this beautiful afar was Kir Bulychev, the screenwriter and author of the literary works on which these movies, TV series and cartoons were based.

It is impossible to argue with this, as well as with the fact that this reputation would amuse, if not offend, Bulychev. He explained the popular love for science fiction by the fact that “any alternative reality was hostile to communist reality,” and in the Theater of Shadows series he turned the concept of yesterday into a dusty boring hell in which scoundrels perpetrate madness.

The cinema noticed Bulychev late, and at first not as a writer, but as an imposing extra. His beard and his friendship with novice actors got the young Orientalist a role in the film Hockey Players (1964) as a silent sculptor who beautifully shares the screen with a portrait of Ernest Hemingway. The first screen adaptation of his work — based on the story “The Ability to Throw a Ball” — happened twelve years later in Alma-Ata, and after that his cinematic career was up and running.

Writer Kir Bulychev, aka scholar Igor Mozheiko, in the film Birthmark,
based on a story from his collection Aliens in Guslyar: Photo: Mosfilm

Bulychev’s stories were adapted by both novice filmmakers and the country’s leading directors. A vivid example in all senses is Georgiy Daneliya’s Tears Were Falling (1982). Bulychev’s plots were the basis for comedies (Chance, 1984), action films (The Witches Cave, 1989) and slapstick tragedy (The Comet, 1983). Some of the stories have been adapted more than once. For example, “The Ability to Throw a Ball” was reshot for Central Television twelve years after the first adaptation, and another twelve years later in Poland. The story “Abduction of the Wizard” was made into a two-part television play in Leningrad in 1981, and into a feature film in Sverdlovsk in 1989. It is superfluous to remind readers of the fresh remake of Guest from the Future into the science fiction film One Hundred Years Ahead (which diverges almost entirely from its source), but it does make sense to note that this year the television series Obviously Incredible, based on the Veliky Guslyar series, was released.

There are a lot of questions raised by the 1989 film adaptation of The Witches Cave, but they definitely don’t involve the plot and the cast. Photo: Gorky Film Studio

In his memoirs, which Bulychev wrote in 1999, four years before his death, he said, “I did not make a noticeable mark on the cinema.” Since then, the number of films, cartoons, and TV series based on his texts has increased by a dozen. Now approaching fifty, this number will clearly continue to grow.

Sanctuary

The adventures of Alisa Seleznyova, as played by Natalya Guseva, deprived Soviet schoolchildren of sleep, but they were seemingly the least worried about the mielophone. Photo: Gorky Film Studio

Kir Bulychev became the number one Soviet science fiction writer in the early 1980s. He was awarded two State Prizes at once — for his screenplays for The Mystery of the Third Planet and Per Aspera Ad Astra, thus revealing at last the real man behind the pseudonym. Previously, few people had known that the mega-popular books were written by an Orientalist specializing in Burmese history.

He proved to be one of the few science fiction writers whom editors were not ashamed to publish and who were safe to publish. This was a massive virtue in an era in which the people in charge were guided by the slogan “Fiction is either anti-Soviet or crap” (said to Boris Strugatsky by a Leningrad filmmaker) or “I divide socially engaged science fiction into two kinds: the first I send to the trash bin, the second to the KGB” (related to Mozheiko by an editor at Molodaya Gvardiya, the only dedicated publishers of new Russian science fiction at the time.)

The film A Guest from the Future was window into another world for many Soviet children.
Photo: Gorky Film Studio

In the early 1980s, the Soviet Union was going through the so-called gun carriage races (a series of funerals for the country’s rapidly expiring leaders) and the unnamed Afghan war, and butter and meat rationing cards were introduced in some regions at the request of workers. Meanwhile, schoolchildren were being readied for nuclear war by taking them out of classes for practice runs to bomb shelters, which in most cases were nonexistent. And the cries of punks (who, according to Soviet propaganda, were exemplars of decadent petty-bourgeois ideology, and sometimes even neo-Nazis), “No future for me,” resounding from the other side of the Iron Curtain, resonated painfully in immature hearts, and they did not presage confidence in the future.

The Olympics proved a poor substitute for the communism promised by 1980. The Food Programme, scheduled to run until 1990, was little inspiration, and the world’s most advanced ideology could not offer any more attractive image of the future. But Kir Bulychev could and did.

The animator partly modeled the characters in Mystery of the Third Planet on her own relatives. Image: Soyuzmultfilm

He brought Alisa Seleznyova into every home and the dreams of man. Even more importantly, he became a major source of intellectual entertainment, a kind conversationalist and a sensitive shepherd for a vast army of Soviet teenagers. Bulychev’s stories and novels were printed in most children’s newspapers and magazines, which were widely available, unlike the books (especially those with illustrations by Yevgeny Migunov), and anyone could try his or her hand as a co-author. Mozheiko agreed to publish two of his novels in Pionerskaya Pravda in an interactive mode: the author took into account the suggestions and wishes sent by Young Pioneers by mail in each new installment.

Neither children, their parents, nor any normal person could resist the world described vividly and painstakingly in his books: a prosperous, bright and fascinating world with no ideology at all, a world in which a girl can fly not only to the Medusa system, but also abroad, dress beautifully and easily break century-old Olympic records, descend to the seabed in the arms of dolphins, fight with pirates, make friends with Baba Yaga, sit down for a chat with her teacher, know all languages and basically everything in the world, while being friends with whomever she wants. She is A Girl Nothing Can Happen To.

It was a world of private interests and emphatically personal growth rather than a collective existence based on the principle that the majority were always right. It was a world of tenderhearted people, where only pirates were evil and only robots were stupid.

It was a world in which one would like to live, like the Noon Universe of the Strugatskys, only tailored to younger and middle-aged children. “Let’s give the globe to children,” sang Sofia Rotaru, and nobody believed it, but what if we could do it? Everything was free, everything was cool, you didn’t have to die at all, and there were vending machines on the streets dispensing free ice cream and soda of all sorts. And there was no communism, capitalism and other historical materialisms, no Young Pioneers, Komsomol members, Communards and Soviet power, no giant monuments to Lenin looming over Sverdlovsk, as in the early Strugatsky novels. On the contrary, the Stalinist monument to Gogol on the eponymous boulevard was replaced by a pre-revolutionary one, and the boulevard itself was turned into a jungle complete with cypresses, bananas and monkeys.

Actress Elena Metyolkina (seated) starred in the film Per Aspera Ad Astra, based on a script by Kir Bulychev,
and then appeared as Polina in Guest from the Future. Photo: RIA Novosti

Such an approach was tantamount to an “Attack!” command for conservative editors and their curators in the security services. But it was Molodaya Gvardiya whose internal reviewers noted that “We know what the author is hinting at when he writes that dark clouds were creeping over Red Square” and also pointed out that the author’s secret goal in “Cinderella’s White Dress” was to discredit Soviet cosmonauts. This review, according to Mozheiko, had been written by Alexander Kazantsev, a veteran Soviet science fiction writer and the prototype of Professor Vybegallo in the Strugatskys’ novel Monday Begins on Saturday. The requirements of the publishing house Detskaya Literatura (Children’s Literature) were milder, and the censorship’s scrutiny of it, more lax.

As a matter of fact, a well-fed future in which carefree children bounce between planets had long been a commonplace in Soviet science fiction, but the world was quite sterilely fantastic, the characters were cartoonish, and the action was forced in the works of Vitaly Gubarev, Vitaly Melentyev and Anatoly Moshkovsky.

As painted by Bulychev-Mozheiko, Alisa’s world is natural and authentic.

The girl with with the Carrollesque name made Wonderland beautiful and desirable.

Few people paid attention to the fact that in the original version of the song about the beautiful afar, as heard in Guest from the Future, the voice summons viewers not to “marvelous lands” (as in all subsequent reprints and collections of lyrics), but “to non-paradisal lands.”

In any case, the voice asks strictly.

An Aerial View of the Battle

Science fiction writer Kir Bulychev published serious historical books under his real name.
Image: Molodaya Gvardiya

According to a popular legend, Kir Bulychev was born by accident. In 1967, the censors removed a translated story from the upcoming issue of the almanac Iskatel (Seeker), which already had a cover featuring a dinosaur in a glass jar. Replacing the cover would cost a hell of a lot of money and threatened the editors with the loss of their bonuses, so the young feature writer Mozheiko overnight came up with a sci-fi story on the given theme, which he signed with a pseudonym inspired by his wife’s name and his mother’s surname, in keeping with the habit of academics of not blowing their cover in in non-academic outings. The editors kept their bonuses, and world literature gained a new author.

The legend, of course, is false. By 1967, Mozheiko had already published four books, including a very popular one about the Burmese revolutionary Aung San, in The Lives of Remarkable People series. He has also published a couple of science fiction stories under the pseudonym Maung Sein Ji, passing them off as translations from the Burmese. Most importantly, he had published several stories about Alisa under the pseudonym Kirill Bulychev.

As a translator he had debuted a decade earlier, when he published a story by Arthur C. Clarke, which he translated with his childhood friend and future academic colleague Leonid Sedov. Initially, the pals had offered the publisher their translation of an unknown book about a girl who fell down a rabbit hole into a magical land. The young men had no clue about the book’s cult status beyond their one-sixth of the world nor about the existence of at least four previously published Russian translations. But at least one of the failed translators obviously remembered the heroine’s name.

In any case, Bulychev — initially, Kirill or “Kir.”, then just Kir — was born an experienced author with a steady hand, a broad outlook, a constructive mindset and a quite recognizable style. It was a style capacious and not simple even, but simplified at times, almost, to the point of outright silliness. But only almost.

The life of Soviet individuals was subject to a set of unwritten rules that changed markedly from department to department and from decade to decade. Mozheiko learnt them early —because there was no other way.

He was born into the family of a prosecutor from the Middle Volga region and the commandant of the Shlisselburg Fortress. However, by that time the fortress had been turned into a chemical warehouse. His mother had gone into the reserves before her maternity leave, and came to work as a rank-and-file staffer at a chemistry institute. His father soon took the post of Chief Arbitrator of the USSR (a position similar to the chair of the Supreme Arbitration Court), but by that time he had already left the family. Igor’s stepfather, who had fought through the entire conflict, was killed on the last day of the Second World War. Igor and his sister and mother survived bombings, evacuation, a return to Moscow and starvation.

He learnt to read late, fell in love with science fiction early and started writing it, went to a “special faculty for future intelligence officers,” which “was modestly called the translation department of the Institute for Foreign Languages,” and twice dodged KGB drafts (after graduation and as a correspondent for the APN news agency in Burma) and escaped into academia, which he combined with popular science journalism from the very beginning.

As a translator he worked on Zarubezhstroy construction projects in Burma, Ghana and Iraq. As a correspondent for the magazine Vokrug Sveta (Around the World) he journeyed to the most exotic fringes of the Soviet Union, and as a simultaneous interpreter he traveled in Europe and the USA. “Asimov greeted me with a handshake, Harlan Ellison chatted with me, I heard [Clifford] Simak speak, I argued (I was so brazen) with Frederik Pohl, I appeared on the radio with Lester del Rey, and I palled around with James Gunn, but most importantly I spent a whole day drinking with Gordon Dickson and Ben Bova, not to mention his gloriously beautiful wife, Barbara Benson,” recalled Mozheiko. This, of course, was not only unimaginable for most venerable Soviet writers, but also for the so-called Gertrudes — the Heroes of Socialist Labor [Geroi truda] who led the Writers’ Unions for decades.

Mozheiko himself never joined either the Writers’ Union or the Communist Party, flatly refusing the most persistent invitations. The explanation “I consider myself unworthy” did the trick, but just barely. When it didn’t work, Mozheiko changed jobs.

This, by the way, enabled him to keep his beard, since the recruiters from state security, or high-ranking guests like cosmonaut Valentina Tereshkova insistently advised him to shave it off. (“As a correspondent for APN, I photographed cosmonauts for our newspaper. Valentina Tereshkova sent back one of the photos I had given to her with the following autograph: ‘Your wife should make you shave off your beard. After all, a person’s dignity is determined by their character, not by their personality.’ Our guest believed that personality was the nose and the ears.”)

Mozheiko was no longer allowed to travel abroad after 1970, but at least he did not go to jail with several of his acquaintances, passionate collectors like him who were handed lengthy prison sentences in the so-called Case of the Numismatists. (Dozens of lines in the indictment amounted to nothing more than “Defendant No. X criminally exchanged one coin for another.”)

And he continued to write.

The Academicians’ Reserve

The talking tiger in Two Tickets to India, a cartoon based on Kir Bulychev’s screenplay, has an unearthly charm.
Image: Vitaly Karpov/RIA Novosti

Mozheiko’s reputation as a supremely tenderhearted storyteller was reinforced by his appearance and his work for Detskaya Literatura, but he was actually quite a tough-minded author. Bulychev’s first novel, The Last War, deals with the aftermath of a nuclear armageddon: even if it was set on another planet, such topics were not encouraged in Soviet literature. A couple of years earlier, a scene depicting a tactical nuclear strike was thrown out of the magazine version of Inhabited Island, by the Strugatskys, and the book edition was put on hold for two years. The release of The Last War in the same series (The Library of Adventure and Science Fiction) seemed to pop the cork, so Inhabited Island was also published, but both books waited twenty years to be reprinted in the capital.

A considerable portion of “Abduction of the Wizard” is given over to a quasi-documentary account of brilliant children killed in childhood by Nazis, pogromists and torpid relatives. In the prologue to the story “A Pet,” the touching rendezvous of a young couple ends with the words, “They were incinerated.” And the protagonist of the later story “A Plague on Your Field!”, whose son has died of an overdose, dooms a outsized segment of humanity to starvation in order to take revenge on the drugs mafia.

Bulychev was also quite decisive in interviews and in correspondence with dissatisfied readers: “I beg you: stop reading me. Spare your nerves.” He spared himself even less, however, and he repeatedly explained this in his final years. “I had no willpower, no courage, no determination to oppose the authorities. Yes, I was duplicitous. I wrote certain things for myself, for my friends. I’m not a battler by nature. Since I lived in our country, I went to my job at the institute and was certain that I would die under unfinished socialism.”

The phrase about his job is significant: censorship troubles occasionally threatened him not only on the literary front, but also on the academic one. A good illustration is the 1966 popular history book about the colonizers of Southeast Asia, With Cross and Musket, whose depth and unconventionality overwhelmed readers and amazed experts. Mozheiko wrote it in collaboration with Leonid Sedov and Vladimir Tyurin. Sedov, his old friend and now a prominent Khmerologist, resigned from the Institute of the Peoples of Asia after Warsaw Pact troops invaded Czechoslovakia. Tyurin, a specialist on Malaysia, was declared a defector and dismissed fifteen years later. (Subsequently, however, he returned safely and was reinstated to his post.) The book has never been reprinted.

But Mozheiko published many other scholarly and popular scholarly books, including those dealing not only with his main subject of study, the history of Myanmar.

It is time to mention the encyclopedia Nagrady (Honors; 1998) and the fact that Mozheiko spent the last ten years of his life as a member of the Presidential Commission on State Honors developing the country’s current system of state honors, based on the traditions of the Russian Empire.

Mozheiko’s fundamental study of piracy, In the Indian Ocean (later published as Pirates, Corsairs, Raiders) also deserves special mention, as well as the absolutely revolutionary monograph 1185, a cross-section of one year in world history, focused on events which the author considered crucial in many senses.

Reviewers noted with some bewilderment that individual people’s motives and feelings are far more interesting to the historian Mozheiko than historical processes and the movements of the masses, and even more so than quotations from the classic Marxist-Leninist authors (defiantly ignored even in a book published on the fiftieth anniversary of the October Revolution).

The River Chronos

The animated film Alisa’s Birthday was produced in 2008, marking Alisa’s rebirth in the twenty-first century.
Image: Cinema Panorama

The writer Bulychev declared his humanism with his trademark rigor. “There is nothing in literature but man,” he explained in an ancient interview (in 1980). Bulychev’s texts, which are chockablock with miracles, journeys through time and space, incursions of fairy tale into reality and vice versa, are populated by nothing but people, or rather, by what he identified as the typical triad of “man, society and time.” That is why his work is still massively reprinted and, more significantly, still massively read, along with the Strugatsky brothers and Vladislav Krapivin. Other stars of Soviet science fiction have not passed the test of time much less well.

Bulychev pointedly assigned himself on a lower shelf. “If God has not given me the talent of Tolstoy or the Strugatskys,” he said, “I am to some extent willing to compensate for this deficiency through hard work,” while also stipulating, “I can usually spare two months a year for science fiction.” After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the reason for the stipulation, apparently, became less pressing. In any case, the author’s productivity increased manifold, if not by an order of magnitude.

According to his own estimates, Bulychev wrote a total of fifty volumes: a dozen were popular science books, another dozen were children’s science fiction, while the rest were science fiction for adults. Understandably, the most visible and talked about were the works in the Alisa Seleznyova series, almost fifty novellas, most of them pounded out in the post-perestroika years in frankly machine-gun mode. Only the first five or six of them are actively reissued nowadays, which is not surprising.

Puppet animations based on Kir Bulychev’s series about the town of Veliky Guslyar are less renowned than the drawn stories about Alisa. Photo: Kuibyshevtelefilm

Almost as popular is the series about Veliky Guslyar: a hundred stories and seven novellas, alternately ironic and mocking, about the inhabitants of a provincial town teeming with aliens, and rife with paranormal phenomena and outright devilry.

Fans of old-school science fiction love the Doctor Pavlish series, about a space doctor facing generally insoluble ethical dilemmas.

Bulychev himself appreciated the River Chronos series, which plays with the twists and turns of Russian history. The author always gravitated to such games: back in 1968, he wrote (with no hopes of publishing it) the story “Misfire ’67,” about reconstructors who accidentally cancel the October Revolution.

And yet Kir Bulychev remains in world literature and in the hearts of readers as a genius of the short story — psychological stories for adults about the impossibility of understanding someone else’s mind and feeling someone else’s love and the fierce necessity of it. These stories are told in the same stingy style, which does not distract from their initially unpretentious plots, which conclude quite unsophisticatedly. But they make you catch your breath for a moment, because you recognize them as familiar — as painful and akin and tenderhearted.

Few people call these texts their favorites and keep them at their fingertips for quick infusions of wisdom, but every few weeks, the story “Can I Ask Nina?” suddenly pops up in social networks, messengers, and private conversations, and like an avalanche, everyone starts asking each other, “Have you read ‘The Snow Maiden’? And ‘Professor Kozarin’s Crown’? And ‘Red Deer, White Deer?’”

The list goes on and on and on.

At the end of the Soviet era, Bulychev explained, “I write only what I find interesting. This is unforgivable from the point of view of a reader who loves science fiction of a certain style and school. But it isn’t a shortcoming to me.”

It is even less of a shortcoming to us.

Source: Shamil Idiatullin, “The kindness ray: Kir Bulychev imagined a lot of things, but knew a lot more,” Kommersant, 18 October 2024. Translated by the Russian Reader. Thanks to Nancy Ensky for the heads-up.

The Danger of a Single Story

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, “The Danger of a Single Story” (TED, YouTube, 7 October 2009)

Diversity and Inclusion

Allrecipes is and always has been a community built around love. We are people who love food, love to cook, and love to share recipes and stories. There is no room for hate, racism, or inequality in our community. The 60 million cooks who make up the Allrecipes audience are extraordinarily diverse. We strive to celebrate the home cooks who bring Allrecipes to life, featuring them on the website and in the pages of Allrecipes magazine. 

We are committed to the goal of having contributors, featured cooks, featured recipes, and stories reflect the diversity of the Allrecipes community in our digital properties and in the magazine—and know that we still have much work to do. 

We are working to highlight more of the stories and traditions of our diverse audience. In 2022, we are reviewing and editing content representing 20 percent of our traffic, with the goal of removing any bias in language and instances of cultural appropriation, including language around race, gender, sexual orientation, and glamorized colonialism. 

We are also focused on recruiting more diverse voices and diverse contributors to our staff, our freelance pool, and our Allrecipes Allstars brand ambassador program. And we are working to ensure that our video and voice programming features the same diversity as our audience.  

We are dedicated to working with recipe developers, food writers, editors, food stylists, photographers, videographers, podcasters, illustrators, and models who reflect the strength and diversity of our community.

Source: “About Us,” Allrecipes.com


What can I say to the question, how are we? I was at my Arabic lesson, while Natan, Dan and our nanny Vika were at home. Usually, Natan and I would have been returning from the beach right at this time. Everyone was expecting Iranian missiles, so some of the students were looking at their phones during the lesson. In Hebrew, which we are forbidden to speak in class, there is no word for “terrorist attack”; the word used is פיגוע — “assault,” “infliction of harm.” We hadn’t had time to learn it in Arabic. When the woman sitting next to me uttered it in conjunction with the name of our street, we decided to take a five-minute break to make sure everyone was okay. Dan said they were fine, but that there was the corpse of a very young guy lying outside the house and that he was afraid it was someone from the neighborhood. (We moved in three months ago and haven’t met everyone yet.) Itai, Dan’s son, could not reach him and texted me to lock all the doors urgently, as the chase was still on. So I started calling Dan and Vika again, but couldn’t get through right away. Then the siren went off and we had to go to the bomb shelter in the upscale building next door. Normally, sitting in a bomb shelter in Israel is pretty fun and privileged, but when your child and loved one are sitting in an old building with huge windows on all sides and you don’t really know when it’s going to end, it spoils the fun a bit. When the sirens stopped, I jumped on my bike as quickly as I could and raced home. The whole neighborhood was cordoned off, and no argument that I lived there and that my child was there had any effect. The back entrance from the street parallel to ours came to my rescue. The next corner was also cordoned off, and chockablock with cops and ambulances. While I was fiddling with my bike, a woman said, “That’s the second terrorist,” pointing to a long black rubbish bag in the middle of the block, which several people were lifting and packing into another rubbish bag. I glimpsed it all very quickly, and I was in a hurry to get home, to pack Natan’s things in case we had to go to the bomb shelter on the next block. But then it was sort of over, and the phones started ringing off the hook.

This morning was quiet and so idyllically beautiful, as it almost always is here, that I felt like getting out of bed and just living. The entire street in front of our building and the building next door was still splattered with blood. I ran to find out from the neighbors if everyone was alive. They said they were. They had rescued a few people from the bus stop by dragging them into their yard. (Yes, these are the same neighbors who yell at each other in the evenings in such a way that it looks like a murderous rampage is about to kick off.) The woman from the supermarket opposite said that her nephew and niece and their mom had been on that tram. The three- and six-and-a-half-year-old children saw a head shot through, and blood and brains pouring out of it onto the floor. The boy vomited all night, while the younger girl panics when she sees a tram and screams רכבת שרמוטה (“Fucking tram!”) at it.

The murdered mom with the baby in the sling turned out to be the wife of Dan’s colleague. He visited us a couple of months ago, and we talked about whether AI can assist non-verbal children in communicating. He and his family had recently gone on holiday somewhere in Asia. Dan says that the last time they had met, he was beaming with happiness.

Now there are flowers, candles, notes, and (for some reason) an Israeli flag draped over the bus stop. There are many journalists on hand, but most people refuse to be interviewed.

For the second time in the last year and a half, death had missed us by about a quarter of an hour. I couldn’t say I have any strong feelings about it. I had no time to be scared for myself or even for Natan. It was either that there is so much anxiety in a mother’s everyday life that there are no reserves of fear when it would be warranted, or the realization that for almost a year now the enormous number of murders, deaths from malnutrition and other savage things happening every day has dulled the feeling that the disaster happening on your doorstep is one of a kind.

Apparently, the very young man who was lying outside the building had been one of the shooters. Dan saw them cut his shirt open. I don’t know the proper word for what happened. An act of terror? An act of desperation? An act of stupidity? An act of struggle? Revenge? Madness? An attack? A suicide?

Remembering the acute orphan-like longing when your mom leaves you to sleep at someone’s house and goes away. Fearing that a nine-month-old baby will live his whole life with that feeling — along with tens of thousands of other children.

Source: Olga Jitlina (Facebook), 2 October 2024. Translated by Thomas Campbell. Ms. Jitlina is a friend of mine whose artwork and writings have been featured on this website on several occasions.


Western leaders and politicians are calling for an end to the airstrikes in the Middle East. Do they even want to know and understand what is going on here?

Israel is the only country of freedom and democracy in this part of the planet. It has made serious progress.

Source: Gennady Gudkov (X), 3 October 2024. Translated by the Russian Reader. Gennady Gudkov is a Russian liberal opposition politician and businessman who lives in exile in Bulgaria.