Good story, a bit boring and a lot of saying “no one liked her, but she wrote such amazing poems!” so that got repetitive and felt like I was reading the same thing over and over. Her poems were good though, I’m just not a big poem girl :( ( )

Another contribution to #WITmonth.

Karolina Karlovna Pavlova (1807–1893) was a Russian poet, translator and novelist. I discovered A Double Life (1848) because I was peeved that George Saunders in his book derived from a short story course that he teaches, features Russian short stories as exemplars but does not include even one story written by a woman. I felt sure that the Russian Library imprint of Columbia University Press would offer fiction by a Russian woman writer, and I was right. I ordered A Double Life there and then. At only just over 100 pages, it turns out to be more of a short story than a novella, and would IMHO be an ideal inclusion in the Saunders' course.

Wikipedia tells me that there is also a short story called At the Tea-Table (1859), in An Anthology of Russian Women's Writing, 177-1992, Oxford, 1994, should Saunders care to rise to the challenge.)

This edition includes a lengthy Introduction by Barbara Heldt, and an Afterword by Daniel Green. Much is made of the gender barriers that Pavlova faced, and indeed she seems to have had a difficult time and in the end did the smart thing and abandoned her critics in Russia to go and live in Germany in 1858. A Double Life, however, was written when she was still in Imperial Russia, and is a witty critique of aristocratic life.

The story features Cécile, her BFF Olga, the machinations of their mothers to have them marry well, and the actions of men which doom them to a dreary fate.

Written in 10 chapters which follow the narrow confines of Cécile's life, each concludes with verses of poetry which represent her dreams of freedom and fulfilment. In other words, it is the structure of the novel itself that portrays the double life of a woman who wants more from life than the one imposed on her and all women in aristocratic Russia.

Vera Vladimirovna was, as we have seen, very proud of her daughter's successful upbringing, especially perhaps because it had been accomplished not with difficulty, but because it took time and skill to destroy in her soul its innate thirst for delight and enthusiasm. Be that as it may, Cecily, prepared for high society, having memorised all its requirements and statues, could never commit the slightest peccadillo, the most barely noticeable fault against them, could never forget herself for a moment, raise her voice half a tone, jump from a chair, enjoy a conversation with a man to the point where she might talk with him ten minutes longer than was proper or look to the right when she was supposed to look to the left. Now, at eighteen, she was so used to wearing her mind in a corset that she felt it no more than she did the silk undergarment that she took off only at night. She had talents, of course, but measured ones, decorous ones, les talents de société, as the language of society so aptly calls them. She sang very nicely and sketched very nicely as well. Poetry, as we have said earlier, was known to her mostly by hearsay, as something wild and incompatible with a respectable life. She knew that there were even women poets, but this was always presented to her as the most pitiable, abnormal condition, as a disastrous and dangerous illness. (p.29)

To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2021/08/27/a-double-life-by-karolina-pavlova-translated... ( )

I’m surprised Pavlova didn’t write more in prose, because the prose sections of “A Double Life” are sparkling-bright, consistently spicy in their denunciation of the “mental corset” Cecily and her ilk are forced to wear. There’s neither the time in ten short chapters, nor the inclination here for subtlety. The scheming of the women, naivety of the girls, and oafish coarseness of the men are undisguised. There are lots of mordant cracks like this:

“This state of lively tension, the jolly noise that surrounds brides, calls to mind that accidentally deafening music and beating of drums by which soldiers are led into mortal combat.”

I disliked the verse sections less than I expected to, as well. The device of the alternating prose/verse, day/night double existence works really well. Unfortunately it’s another case of Russian poetry in translation being stripped of all rhyme and meter, so it reads as chopped up highfalutin’ prose. I get that it’s anything but easy to translate Russian poetry so I’m not gonna fault the translator too much, especially as her work on the prose sections is excellent. But for me it’s the only real tarnish on this (still, strangely) underread gem of a book. ( )

This is an overlooked great work from an overlooked great author of the 19th century Russian tradition. Part poetry, part prose, insightful gender commentary especially. Read Chapter 6 as part of Books Behind Bars. ( )

This is an overlooked great work from an overlooked great author of the 19th century Russian tradition. Part poetry, part prose, insightful gender commentary especially. Read Chapter 6 as part of Books Behind Bars. ( )