Skip to main content

One Day In The life of The Life of Ivan Denisovich By Alexander Solzhenitsyn

This Book is the first one I am reading for the Orbis Terrarum challenge.  Basically you read eight different
books from authors who come from eight countries.   I don't think the story itself has to be set in a different
country but the author does. is where this challenge originates so you may want to check out the March and April archives.  Ivan Denisovich Shukov is sentenced to 10 years in the prison
camp that is controlled by the Gulag in  Russia.  Actually he was a P.O.W of the Germans his fellow Russians
encounter them as he was being released .  So they got the false impression that he was spying.  This one day
in his life is in the eighth year of his imprisonment .  The beauty of the author taking one day of his life to tell
this story is that you get to pay attention to the details .  It's in those details you see the cruel and inhumane
way that they live.  The sad part about is the character refers to this day as a "red letter "day ,meaning that
this was actually a great day for him.   I guess it's all about your prespective  what one person would see
as a horrible day ,someone else may not think it's so bad.  The characters were well developed.   The story
starts off slowly but it definitely picks up .The writer has a simple , undiluted , no frills approach to telling this
story . What makes this interesting to me is knowing the author really was sentenced to 10 years in the prison
camp,when the book was released in 1962 Stalin still had those prison camps  in existence and, that the typist of a later manuscript got caught  by the Kgb he hung himself! I was impressed and pleased overall and I am
glad I started my challenge with this book . I gave it 5 out of 5stars


Popular posts from this blog

Poem: In Texas Grass by Quincy Troupe

All along the rail
                                road tracks of texas
                               old train cars lay
                               rusted &overturned
                              like new african governments
                             long forgotten by the people
                              who built & rode them
                                till they couldn't run no more,
                              they remind me of old race horses
                             who've been put out to pasture
                            amongst the weeds
                            rain sleet &snow
                            till they die,rot away
                            like photos fading
                           in grandma's picture book,
                         of old black men in mississippi/texas
                         who sit on dilapidated porches,
                        that fall away
                       like dead man'…

The Speed of Belief by Tracy K Smith (poem)

I didn't want to wait on my knees
In a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the rise
Of breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the trays
Of food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go then
Finally toward that ecstatic light I didn't want to believe
What we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go,
Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave us Bak into our blinding, bright lives When your own sweet father died You woke before first light And ate half a plate of eggs and grits, And Drank a glass of milk. After  you'd left, I sat in your place And finished  the toast bits with jam And the cold eggs, the thick bacon Flanged in fat , savoring the taste. Then I slept, too young to know how narrow And grave the road before you seemed--- All the houses zipped tight , the night's Few clouds muddy as cold coffee. You stayed gone a week, and who were we Without your clean p…

My Arkansas by Maya Angelou

There is a deep brooding
                             in Arkansas
                            Old crimes like moss pend
                           from poplar trees.
                           The sullen earth
                           is much too
                          red for comfort.
                          Sunrise seems to hesitate
                           and in that second
                           lose its
                           incandescent aim,and
                          dusk no more shadows
                           than the noon.
                           The past is brighter yet.

                          Old hates and
                          ante-bellum lace,are rent
                          but not discarded.
                          Today is yet to come
                           in Arkansas.
                           it writhes. It writhes in awful brooding.