Prussian Nights offers no real surprise. The beauty is in the detail. The language rolls along. Robert Conquest translated such and does remarkable job of maintaining meter. Over the last few weeks I have had countless opportunities to absorb the flowing song of foreign speech. Slavic voices forge a song in this dolt's ears. Points are made, gaffes are acknowledged, a human tsk-ing underscores each philosophical observation. Ontology is brazen but rented with tragic oversights.

Solzhenitsyn recounts the Red Army's push into Deutschland and the plunder and terror which followed. The protagonist is horrified until the tide overtakes him. Every reader with his feet of clay can sympathize.
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