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He and I rarely spoke of God. He didn’t want to listen to another one of my blasphemous speeches, and I knew it was like talking to a brick wall—you could never convince him of anything.
But once—by…
Do you remember Zhitomir, Vasily? Do you remember the River Teterev, Vasily, and that night in which the Sabbath, the young Sabbath, crept along the sunset crushing the stars with the heel of her red…
Lasik’s downfall did not come because of his name. It was only because of that sigh. Perhaps it was not even the sigh, but rather the economic situation, or the hot weather, or perhaps even certain…
Vasily Grossman began his literary career with the publication of In the Town of Berdichev in 1934. This book dichotomously validates the experiences of Jewish families and Russian Revolutionaries dur
Savitsky, the commander of the Sixth Division, rose when he saw me, and I was taken aback by the beauty of his gigantic body. He rose—his breeches purple, his crimson cap cocked to the side, his…
The death of an artist is never a random event, but a last act of creation that seems to illuminate the whole of his life under a powerful ray of light. [ . . . ] Why are people surprised when poets…