The past,” Faulkner famously noted, “is never dead. It’s not even past.” The Russian writer Eugene Vodolazkin’s novel Solovyov and Larionov seems to be in sync with this dictum. The novel details the life of a historian, Solovyov, with particular emphasis on his quest to discover why a renowned White Russian general, Larionov, was never shot by the Soviets but continued to live on to a natural death. Rather than evacuating with the other White Russians, Larionov stays behind to face the Communist regime—but, mysteriously, avoids the Gulag and the firing squad, when many far-less conservative figures meet that very fate. Instead, he lives on as a low-key emblem of the opposition. Solovyov’s coming of age story leads him from humble beginnings in a rural town known only by its position on the train line, Kilometer 715, to the university in St. Petersburg, to the resort town of Yalta, where the general had lived out the remainder of his days after being defeated in the Russian Civil War. The narrative toggles back and forth between their lives. It never quite suggests a parallel between them, but it provides moments where Solovyov’s academic consideration of the general’s life gives way to a more personal, direct connection with people involved in the general’s history—such as both Solovyov’s female love interests.

So, why was general Larionov never shot? It should be said right off that this question is never answered in the book. There is nothing to spoil on that count. The purpose of the novel does not seem to be to provide any clear, final revelation about the meaning of the general’s life, of Russian history, of the fight against Communism, or of the nature of time and death. It deals with all of these, providing incidental insights on them that are often memorable—but, overall, the book strikes the reader (at least this reader) as a crux without any solution. I am more than open to correction on this count. In fact, I would like to be corrected. Perhaps the novel is intended to be enigmatic—but it is difficult to tease out what exactly this enigma is meant to evoke. This might be because some context about Russian history or lived experience in Russia is missing for the American reader; there is no clear indication of why the general’s ability to survive for so long should really matter personally to the reader. Perhaps to a Russian, who readily identifies with the White Army or understands it as a valiant Lost Cause, this hits with greater emotional resonance and the question need to be asked.

However, I was surprised that this question, which seems so obvious, is never raised in the narrative. What is the universal, existential import of the general’s life and death? There are moments in the general’s life that hint at some greater meaning—like when he lies on the ground before a battle and imagines dying, melting back into the primordial earth. Additionally, the general keeps notes on all the people he knew in school. When someone from this cohort dies, he transfers their papers from a folder labeled “Living” to a folder labeled “Dead.” When they are all dead, the general transfers all the papers back to the “Living” folder. I liked this detail. And there are other interesting reflections, such as those of a historian who equates the general with a holy fool who strives to become “dead to the world,” despite that the general does not particularly act like a holy fool in the rest of the narrative. But in all these moments, is there something clear—a uniting thread, or a hidden order perceptible to Russians that eludes the American reviewer? In any case, one cannot fault Lisa Hayden’s beautifully rendered translation, which is smooth and deft. There must be some other cultural gap that prevents a clear sense of connection to the (presumed) unity underlying the narrative.  

And what does Larionov mean to Solovyov? Solovyov wonders about this, too—after all, Larionov is Solovyov’s subject of study as a budding historian. But I found Solovyov’s attitude towards his subject somewhat difficult to decipher. What is at stake for Solovyov, aside from his career? Though Solovyov seems a relatively objective enquirer into the past, at one point his mentor tells him, “No matter what a person studies, above all he is studying himself.” Early, Solovyov wonders if he is, in fact, studying himself by studying the general’s life. In fact, the narrative leads Solovyov on a journey into his own past, as he attempts to re-connect with his teenage sweetheart, who may have been related to the general. But Solovyov never finds her, and nothing is revealed on that score either; Solovyov’s investigation simply ceases as he locates some pages relating to the general’s memoirs.

Solovyov has some erotic adventures in the course of his academic research, which at one point lead him to break into a mansion with his lover, Zoya, a young woman connected to the general during his final years in the resort town of Yalta. But Solovyov’s love interests are peculiarly uncharacterized. His teenage sweetheart, Leeza, is a bit low key and shy, while Zoya is rather more adventurous and impetuous. But what these love affairs signify, and why Leeza is connected with the general by name, are never fully drawn out. An aura of mystery hangs over the proceedings, but one is unsure where to go in this haze, groping around for a firm foothold.