I just read a lovely book called The People's Act of Love by James Meek. Meek, a Scotsman who spent a fair number of years in Russia shortly after the dissolution of its Union (that is, in the 1990's), manages to get inside the soul of the old, crazy Russia. (Which may, in many ways, be like the new, crazy Russia.) But there was a moment back in 1919 when the world seemed new -- before Stalin, before shortages and five-year plans, when the cruel landowners and aristocrats were on the run and the foreign powers were beaten back -- and it seemed that a New Man was being born, who would joyfully give all that he had, and humbly take only what he needed. Ah, those were the days!
But Russia is a huge country with an even larger land within it -- Siberia. The Revolution progressed like a plague across its vastness, slowly but inexorably; at the same time the Great War was dying out in tatters, but still the Czech Legion held the length of the Siberian railway. Native peoples still rode reindeer in the endless forests, and traveled by mushroom to the Upper World and the Lower World. And stranger sects yet flourished in that Asian North.
The setting is a village five time zones east of Moscow, just one of the nondescript settlements along the trans-Siberian railway. But things are coming to a head, the strands of history are starting to intertwine, right here.
History is one thing, but it is the people within it that we care about. Meek weaves their tales before this backdrop, and he writes beautifully. His story is thrilling, exotic, compelling, and feels more real than anything you might remember about the details of your own recent life. I haven't felt so drawn into a book for years. I read it in three days, which is speedy for me. It was actually a case of slowing down to savor it. But I couldn't slow much.
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