Svetlana Satchkova has dedicated her book to Russian political prisoners, and particularly to one prisoner—the late politician and anti-corruption activist Alexey Navalny, whose heroic and tragic life story sets a very high bar for personal courage. Maya, the protagonist of Satchkova’s compelling and eerily timely new novel, is most certainly no Alexey Navalny. She prefers to remain apolitical and pursue her obsessive ambition of becoming a filmmaker. Steering clear of politics in a country where political activism can easily land one in prison, or worse, seems like a sensible and practical choice. Maya’s dilemma, which she is reluctant to confront, is well familiar to any artist aspiring to create and have a successful career under the conditions of authoritarian or totalitarian rule. Putin’s regime has perfected the art of governing through a combination of intimidation by the security apparatus and seduction by material comforts. Maya lives in Moscow at the end of the second decade of the twenty-first century. The full-scale invasion of Ukraine had not happened yet, but the repressive trends are unmistakable. The intimation of the coming horrors reveals itself in small but sinister details—an arrest of a dissident here, a hounding of an iconoclastic playwright there. Friends begin to talk about leaving, friends begin to leave. They are escaping a city that has much to offer: a vibrant theater life, top-notch restaurants, an evolved café culture, excellent public transport, funky art galleries, bike lanes, and exquisitely designed green spaces that welcome smartly attired middle-class families on the weekends. It’s not your grandparents’ Moscow, to be sure. However, when reading Satchkova’s absorbing book, one is left with a nagging feeling that the party has an invisible expiration date attached to it, as if you have entered a Titanic ballroom a few hours before the ship hits the iceberg. Putin’s Russia is not exactly North Korea, and the regime allows some space for professional and creative pursuits. Actually, opportunities abound, especially for those unencumbered by moral scruples or capable of dissociating themselves from the violence and injustice perpetrated by those in power. During the past quarter of a century, the Kremlin has manufactured a peculiar arrangement, an understanding of sorts between the powerholders and Russia’s professional and creative classes. Russia, according to the billboards that not so long ago were plastered around Moscow, was a country of opportunities. Flushed with petrochemical wealth, Russia had asserted itself on the world stage and grown more aggressive. In retrospect, the writing was on the wall. But it’s also true that the growing xenophobia and historical ressentiment embraced by political elites provided a backdrop to flourishing urban economies, especially in Moscow, and, to a lesser extent, in St. Petersburg and other major cities. One could keep their distance from politics and pursue their dreams—be it wealth accumulation or creative fulfillment. Yet, as Maya will learn the hard way, this compromise with the Leviathan can turn out to be a sandcastle. Maya’s dream movie project, a fanciful horror flick that plays on the imagery of the unburied founder of the Soviet state, a project that was supposed to launch her career, attracts Kafkaesque persecution from the all-powerful and unpredictable state. It appears the state has no patience for creative imaginations that evoke the ghosts of the Soviet past roaming the streets of post-Soviet Moscow—the parallels are a little bit too on the nose and therefore unacceptable. A regime driven by historical grievances cannot allow for such flights of artistic fancy—they need to be squashed, and Maya will pay the price. Svetlana Satchkova’s novel makes for an unusual yet compulsive reading. It is a page-turner, which nevertheless can challenge its reader to face the moral dilemmas so many of us would rather ignore. What gives particular poignancy to Maya’s story is its obvious universality. For Western readers it may be soothing to believe that the sorts of excruciating moral headaches confronting Maya and her friends belong in a galaxy far away. But we now know all too well that the maddening moral choices, the proverbial sdelki s sovest'iu (cutting deals with one’s conscience) are not exclusive to one particular country. There is a moral urgency at work here, a call to remain true to one’s principles, but also a warning that such choices are tough and exhausting. There are very few Navalnys out there, of course… But maybe it is still possible to assert one’s humanity without becoming a hero? And in this regard, the ending of Satchkova’s uncompromising novel provides a glimpse of a better future. It appears that the author has not fully relinquished her hope for a just and humane society to emerge in that part of the world. She grieves its descent into an authoritarian nightmare even as she remains deeply attached to a country presently lost to her and to many of her friends. In the land of the undead, amid Putin’s Ghoulag, hope survives.
Maxim Matusevich (Fri,) studied this question.
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