Shine, Shine, my Star!

Uncle Shurik made me vow upon all things holy, and balalaika music and "Гори, гори, моя звезда" (this is written from memory – I can pronounce it, but have no idea of the spelling) – "Shine, shine, my star", one of the only usable Russian phrases I know, save waxing lyrical about birches – that I will learn enough Russian to declaim Pushkin. Annemor got drunk and tried to make a speech, the dog barked for attention in the background, and no one noticed until she sat dumped back down into her chair. It was dinner to celebrate my aunt's birthday.

We have shouted conversations in layers across the table; someone is always making a toast or a speech but not bothering to clamour for attention; there is always too much wine and food, so we duel each other about who has to take what off the host's hands. I wonder what it was like when they were all together, the old mad crowd.

In keeping with tonight's Russian theme, I'm closing the laptop and starting Nabokov's The Eye; Russian emigrée main character. Nabokov wrote a foreword to the English edition, where he laments the lack of nuance in English compared to his beloved Russian. You'd think I was sick of it, after several forewords, notes and a book about it (Speak, Memory) I am determined to find some Russian children's books, preferably fairy tales and piece them together. Crappy vocabulary be damned! And I've been promised a recording from the Bolshoi theatre of 'the most heartbreaking Russian you'll ever hear'.

Shine, Shine, my Star!

Uncle Shurik made me vow upon all things holy, and balalaika music and "Гори, гори, моя звезда" (this is written from memory – I can pronounce it, but have no idea of the spelling) – "Shine, shine, my star", one of the only usable Russian phrases I know, save waxing lyrical about birches – that I will learn enough Russian to declaim Pushkin. Annemor got drunk and tried to make a speech, the dog barked for attention in the background, and no one noticed until she sat dumped back down into her chair. It was dinner to celebrate my aunt's birthday.

We have shouted conversations in layers across the table; someone is always making a toast or a speech but not bothering to clamour for attention; there is always too much wine and food, so we duel each other about who has to take what off the host's hands. I wonder what it was like when they were all together, the old mad crowd.

In keeping with tonight's Russian theme, I'm closing the laptop and starting Nabokov's The Eye; Russian emigrée main character. Nabokov wrote a foreword to the English edition, where he laments the lack of nuance in English compared to his beloved Russian. You'd think I was sick of it, after several forewords, notes and a book about it (Speak, Memory) I am determined to find some Russian children's books, preferably fairy tales and piece them together. Crappy vocabulary be damned! And I've been promised a recording from the Bolshoi theatre of 'the most heartbreaking Russian you'll ever hear'.