Skutarevsky

This novel, published in 1932, is largely set in Moscow. E.J. Brown in his Russian Literature since the Revolution regarded it as “probably one of his best works in style and intellectual power”, observing how it  “explores the psychological problems of an eminent scientist working in a socialist state and in what is undoubtedly an autobiographical statement, traces his development from a sceptical critic of the new order into an enthusiastic supporter.” The central character, Sergei Skutarevsky, is a physicist, who has been reluctant to engage with the Revolution. In a meeting with Lenin to discuss his participation in an electrification scheme, he gives his approval in a very cautious way: “Yes, but I have certain doubts”. Whereas his character becomes more politically loyal during the progress of the novel, several members of Skutarevsky’s family are shown to be disloyal and are on a path to self-destruction.

The author, Leonid Leonov (born 31 May 1899), grew up in Moscow. In 1907 his father was exiled to the northern city of Arkhangelsk for publishing two pamphlets with content deemed subversive. He began writing while at school and he had poems published as early as 1915 in his father's periodical. He had intended to study medicine in Moscow but was unable to leave Arkhangelsk due to the civil war. He served as a reporter with the Red Army until 1921. On returning to Moscow, he was introduced to prominent literary figures and his first short stories were published in 1922. His first novel was published in 1924. He went on to write a further five novels as well as several plays. He received the Lenin Prize for his 1953 novel Russki les (The Russian Forest).

In a recollection of the civil war, the author tells of how a friendship grew out of two soldiers’ co-operation in helping a wounded comrade:
“Their partisan code did not allow them to leave a live man to a piecemeal burial by the wild animals. They were still far from being friends then. They crossed hands and made a chair, sat the old man on it and cautiously set off carrying him. He was delirious but so were they; he grew heavier and heavier; his iron-shod squat-toed high boots dangled and banged against their knees. They were nearly in tears. They pulled his boots off. But then the balance was different and he kept falling back. So without saying a word, they pressed shoulder against shoulder to keep him upright. That was the beginning of their strange friendship; that firm, intercrossed grip of hands, compact as any oath, lasting all through a night which was longer than a century.”