One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich: A Novel (FSG Classics)

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich: A Novel (FSG Classics)

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, H. T. Willetts

Language: English

Pages: 208


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The only English translation authorized by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

First published in the Soviet journal Novy Mir in 1962, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich stands as a classic of contemporary literature. The story of labor-camp inmate Ivan Denisovich Shukhov, it graphically describes his struggle to maintain his dignity in the face of communist oppression. An unforgettable portrait of the entire world of Stalin's forced work camps, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich is one of the most extraordinary literary documents to have emerged from the Soviet Union and confirms Solzhenitsyn's stature as "a literary genius whose talent matches that of Dosotevsky, Turgenev, Tolstoy"--Harrison Salisbury

This unexpurgated 1991 translation by H. T. Willetts is the only authorized edition available and fully captures the power and beauty of the original Russian.

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women, without exception, had managed to get away to work in factories or in the peat-processing works. Half the men hadn’t come back from the war at all and, among those who had, were some who coldshouldered the kolkhoz. They lived in the village and worked on the side. The only men on the farm were Zakhar Vasilych, the manager, and Tikhon, the carpenter, who was turned eighty-four, had married recently, and already had children. The kolkhoz was kept going by the women who’d been there since

thin layer of mortar?” He had to get back at someone. He couldn’t find fault with Shukhov for his joints or for the straightness of his line, so he decided he was laying the mortar too thin. “Permit me to point out,” Shukhov lisped derisively, “that if the mortar is laid on thick in weather like this, the place will be like a sieve in the spring.” “You’re a mason. Listen to what a foreman has to tell you,” Der said with a frown, puffing out his cheeks. Well, here and there it might be a bit on

crueler: there, when we came back from work, the crooks got in first and cleaned out all our lockers.) Shukhov saw that Tsezar realized the danger. He was bustling here and there, but too late. He was stuffing the sausage and salt pork under his jacket. That at least he could save by taking it to the count. Pityingly, Shukhov gave him some advice: “Sit here till the last moment, Tsezazr Markovich. Hide here in the shadow and stay till everyone has left. And when the guard comes by the bunks with

doesn’t come. Or if it does it’s only “rejected.” “But, Ivan Denisovich, it’s because you pray too rarely, and badly at that. Without really trying. That’s why your prayers stay unanswered. One must never stop praying. If you have real faith you tell a mountain to move and it will move. . . .” Shukhov grinned and rolled another cigarette. He took a light from the Estonian. “Don’t talk nonsense, Alyosba. I’ve never seen a mountain move. Well, to tell the truth, I’ve never seen a mountain at all.

the guardhouse because of that hat business? Oh no, better to stand around the corner. The Tartar passed by, and now Shukhov finally decided to go to the dispensary. But suddenly he remembered that the tall Lett in Barracks 7 had told him to come and buy a couple of glasses of home-grown tobacco that morning before they went out to work, something Shukhov bad clean forgotten in all the excitement. The Lett had received a parcel the previous evening, and who knew but that by tomorrow none of the

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