The Beauty of History

Writers from the Baltic states now belong to the broad category of 'Nordic', but the effect of Twentieth Century Sovietisation saturates any Baltic version of recent life. This ought to be read as post-Soviet literature, first published in newly independent Estonia. There can hardly have been a time when Estonians felt the tempo of their native tongue more urgently driving their actions, as Perestroika petered out and the Moscow government descended into chaos.Of course there had always been a genre of dissident literature, finding poetry in the cracks of institutionalised culture. It often went unpublished, though there were brief seasons of tolerance in some Communist countries, notably in 1968, when events in Prague must have driven the pulse of many further east who had acute political and cultural senses.That time is recalled in this delicately constructed novel, circumspect in its meaning, and beguiling in its quiet narrative of an itinerant generation living in a society not of its making that hadn't yet delivered on its promises, and always calculating what they might safely reveal to each other, assuming always that they're suspected to be up to no good. And in some respects they would be, should an opportunity arise.But this is no Orwellian dystopia. It's rather a reflection on how people string thoughts and meanings together when they're isolated, fraught with suspicion, too afraid to be frank with each other. It's coloured with affection for memories, tenderly cherishing details of an internal narrative, nothing like an official version. These people ignore the words and watch the pictures, getting to know one another soundlessly, looking for clues, and never expecting much from a personal account. Plain talk is used to conceal the truth rather than to reveal it. Can we imagine an environment more apt to be demolished by poetry?Vivi Luik is among a clutch of late-to-post-Soviet authors I've enjoyed discovering. If you like this book for its people and situations, read also Ludmila Ulitskaya ( Medea and Her Children ). If you fancy a more absurd kind of anarchy, look up Victor Pelevin ( The Yellow Arrow (New Directions Paperbook) ). But don't ignore the Nordics. They have a beauty of their own.