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Review
Reviewed Work(s): Mapping St Petersburg: Imperial Text and Cityshape by Julie A.
Buckler; My Petersburg/Myself: Mental Architecture and Imaginative Space in Modern
Russian Letters by Anna Lise Crone and Jennifer Jean Day
Review by: Catriona Kelly
Source: The Russian Review, Vol. 65, No. 2 (Apr., 2006), pp. 317-320
Published by: Wiley on behalf of The Editors and Board of Trustees of the Russian Review
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3664416
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Book Reviews 317
Because this publication draws on a rich cache of first-rate photographs produced at the
height of totalitarianism, it serves as a productive platform from which to define the parameters
that would indeed establish a new theoretical paradigm for its analysis and study. Articulating
the stakes of the argument should have been the task of the editor, who, alas, missed the
opportunity to pull the excellent scholarly contributions into a coherent thesis. Although her
introductory essay of personal reflections seems out of place by comparison with the otherwise
profoundly objective treatment of the subject, the overall value of the book as a foundation that
should lead to a comprehensive study of photography since Khrushchev has not been diminished
in the least.
Buckler, Julie A. Mapping St Petersburg: Imperial Text and Cityshape. Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2005. xiv + 364 pp. $35.00. ISBN 0-691-11349-1.
Crone, Anna Lise and Jennifer Jean Day. My Petersburg/Myself Mental Architecture and
Imaginative Space in Modern Russian Letters. Bloomington, IN: Slavica, 2004.
x + 385 pp. $29.95 (paper). ISBN 0-89357-313-2.
For every resident of, or visitor to, St. Petersburg, there are times when the city seems to be
impudently plagiarizing its own literature. As the waters rose during the unseasonably warm
January of 2005, one could congratulate the Neva on at last living up to Mednyi vsadnik. Even
when parallels are not so obvious, the sheer artificiality of the place often amazes: a grinning
man walking a bear-cub through the rush-hour traffic on Palace Square, say, or a film-crew
grimly sticking nylon plush icicles to Lomonosov Bridge because the weather had not provided
the right backdrop for a winter scene. Often, it seems, the inhabitants would rather live with the
imaginary-as in the case of the heroine's brother in Oleg Potemkin's recent film, Gorod bez
solntsa (2005), whose windows are closed up by black-and-white views of the city in the
dandified Silver Age to which he aspires. Both the books reviewed here belong to an analytical
tradition which attempts to systematize and explain this heritage of Petersburg textuality and
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318 The Russian Review
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Book Reviews 319
the whole of oneself who is the subject; rather, it is the part that would stand
a diluted, generalized self. Subjectively, one senses the incompleteness of
incompleteness that for Brodsky paradoxically becomes away of asserting hi
(p. 221). The problem with this kind of formulation is that it tends to entangl
self-questioning asides: is the "one" who senses the incompleteness of that "o
altogether different, individual, and if similar, is it not a problem to have an auth
at all if "one" is so incomplete (or is that where the paradox lies)? A certain
Petersburg fog seems to have got into the discussion at times here, as in the c
"reverse kenosis," according to which "the city pours out its own classic versio
onto its spaces and inhabitants, often appropriating and negating any positive
(p. 8). Exactly where wherein refers to remains something of a mystery; and whet
would see the concept of "reverse kenosis" as meaningful anyway is an open
The lack of precision also applies to selection of material: here, it would
less anyone who ever had to do with St. Petersburg becomes absorbed int
architecture." Thus, Fedor Tiutchev, whose tributes to St. Petersburg form rat
part of his work, somehow floats up with the autobiographical poem "Itak, opi
vami," evoking the Russian countryside, because this is in the same vein as P
ia posetil," which in turn is a forerunner to Innokentii Annenskii's Tsarskoe Sel
on (pp. 146-48). Once such free association has started, there is really no reason
including the poems of John Donne, should not be deemed an honorary St. Pete
perhaps the most unwarranted display of imprecision is in the interlinear Eng
accompanying the extensive citations of Russian verse. To take just a few e
most definitely not a bulldog (pp. 24-25), and the phrase Vnebe zhirafii risunok
rzhavye chuby grammatically cannot mean "the giraffe's drawing is ready t
motley with rusty clumps of hair" (ibid.); zaputalsia is "to get entangled" and
up in" (p. 18); Peterburgu byt'pustu cannot properly be rendered "May Petersb
out" (p. 100). Even where closer to accuracy, the translations are stylisticall
extent where, to a reader without Russian, they are likely to make little sense:
decided to be born / And, measuring thetime without error, / So as not to miss an
/ Spectacles, we bade farewell to non-being" (p. 133). These lapses are the m
given that Crone and Day have managed to assemble an absolutely magnifice
poetry, and snippets of prose too, so that their study could have functioned, had
worked better, simultaneously as an anthology with commentaries.
In sum, the effect of these two books is to leave the reader wondering whether
text" actually exists. This is attributable, I think, to more than a certain la
argumentation (which has more intellectually and aesthetically stimulating res
text, one should say, than in the Crone and Day discussion). There is a sense in w
has been "mapped" not so much by creative writers as by critics and memoir
authors of textbooks, children's books, and popular essays. London has its litera
as well (Dickens, and more recently Peter Ackroyd and Iain Sinclair), but th
nearly so dominant as is the vision of Dostoevsky or Gogol', particularly, relative t
There is simply far less "para-literary" material about other major European cap
the degradation of Petersburg to a provincial town in the twentieth-century is o
the obsessive celebration of the place-nostalgia-soaked 6migr6s such as Nabo
resident culturologists such as Antsiferov were alike commemorating and mou
no longer existed, except in the words poured out about it. But one might also s
St. Petersburg myth" comes out of a search for identity in a city that, rivers an
largely strikingly unpicturesque, in a picture-postcard sense, and loo
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320 The Russian Review
HISTORY
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