ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many, many people have helped in the writing of this book.
My profound gratitude goes to Rebecca Stanton, a remarkable scholar and intellect who read and re-read every word of the manuscript and offered transformative advice. She has been this books perfect critic.
Kate Pickering Antonova, Ilya Vinitsky, and Vadim Shneyder read the entire manuscript and provided invaluable suggestions. Susan Smith-Peter, Cathy Popkin, Bella Grigoryan and Valeria Sobol read chapters (sometimes more than once) with expert eyes. Sarah Krive offered editing help at a crucial moment, as did Liza Ivanova; Anastassia Kostrioukava and Diana Greene provided excellent research assistance. Ornella Discacciati, who shares my improbable interest in all things provincial, introduced me to a lively group of European colleagues as well as to the many pleasures of Italian academia. The editors at Northern Illinois University Press showed me what its like to work with a team of truly collegial professionalsthank you, Amy Farranto and Nathan Holmes.
So fortunate have I been in my colleagues and friends at New York University that I fear its not possible to thank them adequately. Ilya Kliger, Antonia Lant, Crystal Parikh, and Cristina Vatulescu have provided warm and inspiring models of friendship and intellectual generosity; Jane Burbank and Yanni Kotsonis have patiently answered questions and shared ideas; wonderful students like Mina Magda have helped me hone arguments in seminars and conversation. Finally, and in a category of their own, Eliot Borenstein and Frances Bernstein have offered endless sustenance in all formswhere would I be without you?
Im grateful to my dear friends from childhood and youth whove willingly subjected themselves to a crash course in how academic publishing works. Jeri Thys Berlin, Pamela Cloyd Lighaam, Heidi Skuba Maretz, Jamie Persellin, and Shelley Willighere it is at last!
Fellowships from the National Endowment for the Humanities and New York Universitys Remarque Institute allowed me precious time to write, and I am grateful for a subvention from NYUs Jordan Center for the Advanced Study of Russia. Portions of chapter 4 appeared as No, this is not the provinces! Provincialism, Authenticity, and Russianness in Gogols Day, Russian Review 64 (April 2005): 25980; portions of chapter 9 as Dostoevskiis Geography: Centers, Peripheries, and Networks in Demons, Slavic Review 66, no. 2 (Summer, 2007): 211229; and portions of chapter 12 as (Russia and World Literature), (Voprosy literatury), no. 5 (SeptemberOctober 2014): 924.
My closest family members, John, Will, and George, have responded to this project with a healthy mix of intellectual curiosity and happy distraction, for which Im deeply grateful.
Having reached a moment in life when Im acutely aware of my great good fortune in being born to loving, generous, and curious parents, I dedicate this book to Kenneth and Dorcas Lounsbery. No thanks could be sufficient for all theyve given me.
NOTE ON TRANSLITERATION AND TRANSLATION
When transliterating from Russian to English, I have used the Library of Congress system, modifying it on occasion to conform with customary English spelling (for example, I have left out soft signs in names of people and places). In parenthetical notations, endnotes, and bibliography, I have adhered precisely to Library of Congress standards. Unless noted, all translations are mine. When citing existing translations, I have sometimes made small changes in the interest of clarity and accuracy.
CHAPTER ONE
Geography, History, Trope : Facts on the Ground
, , .
The world begins, as is well known, from the Kremlin.
Vladimir Mayakovsky, 1927
In Chekhovs story On Official Business, a young government officialoriginally from Moscow but assigned to serve in a more or less remote district of an unspecified Russian provinceis sent out to investigate the unexplained suicide of another official. In a miserable village (which is given a nameSyrniabut no discernible location), the young man is forced to spend hours in a dark hut alone with the suicides corpse, a blizzard raging outside. But he is not afraid: and the reason he is not afraid is that nothing here is meaningful enough to be frightening. Chekhovs bureaucrat muses, If this person had killed himself in Moscow or someplace near Moscow then it would have been interesting, important, even frightening but here, a thousand versts from Moscow, all this was somehow seen in a different light, all this was not life, not people it would leave not the least trace in the memory and would be forgotten as soon as he departed.
Everything in this remote place, he thinks, is alien, trivial, and uninteresting. In this characters estimation, what is wrong with the provinces is that things here do not mean anything: everything here is accidental [sluchaino], there can be no conclusion drawn from it. Over and over he returns to the thought that here there is no life, but rather bits of life, fragments; everything here is accidental. Thus he longs for the kulturnaia sreda, the cultural centera place where nothing is accidental, where everything is in accordance with reason and law, where every suicide is comprehensible and one can explain why it is and what significance it has in the general scheme of things.
What strikes Chekhovs Moscow official as most painful about the hideous event he is investigating is precisely its distance from the center: it is this distance that somehow renders phenomena unbearably trivial. What he finds intolerable is not the awful suicide, the intractable poverty, the dirty hut, the snowstorm, or the injustice; it is, rather, the fact that this backwater has no power to confer significance on any of it. The way he sees it, the meaninglessness of anything that might happen in this place is an inevitable consequence of the place itself.
On Official Business both reproduces and critiques a powerful and powerfully distorting set of images that have often shaped how Russian literature represents the nations physical space. This symbolic structure takes shape around the enduring binary of stolitsa vs. provintsiia (capital vs. provinces): as Chekhovs bureaucrat thinks to himself, our homeland, the real Russia, is Moscow and Petersburg, but here is just the provinces, the colonies (rodina, nastoiashchaia Rossiiaeto Moskva, Peterburg, a zdes provintsiia, koloniia). According to the schema implied in the story, only those phenomena that fall within range of the capitals ordering powers (including even, say, an unexplained suicide) will be rendered legible, significant; everything else will slip into chaos or insignificance.
Of course, Chekhov is not endorsing his characters patently bizarre belief that to live, you have to be in Moscow. But the belief that Chekhovs character seems momentarily to renouncethe seemingly discredited conviction that all significance and coherence are located in the center, and thus that real life can be found only in the capitalsis nonetheless an organizing principle that returns to haunt the narrative, much as it haunts Russian literatures geographic imaginary.
This book analyzes how nineteenth-century Russian high culture conceived of the nations symbolic geography, the geography of Russia not as an empirical reality but as a powerful symbol conveniently located outside of historical time (to borrow Maria Todorovas characterization of the Balkans). While numerous studies have addressed the symbolic resonances of Russias imperial borderlands, and while its two capitals, Moscow and Petersburg, have been endlessly described and redescribed in terms ranging from the sociologically precise to the mystically evocative, the meanings of provincial European Russia have remained less examined in scholarship. And even as the label European has been contested and the borders of European Russia repeatedly redrawn, the designation