A Year in Reading: Stephen Dodson (Languagehat)

December 1, 2015 | 11 books mentioned 6 4 min read

My year has been even more filled with good reading than usual; fortunately, some of the books are so well known there is little need for me to give them a plug, and I will list them at the end so you can point and laugh (“Seriously, you went over half a century without reading Jane Eyre?”). That frees me to talk about the ones that may not be as familiar, the first of which was Peter Brown’s Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350–550 AD. I know what you’re thinking: you know little and care less about the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries; why not go back to Julius Caesar or forward to Charlemagne? I would have said the same, but the book was a Christmas gift and I knew Brown was a good writer, so I plunged in. He begins with a passage about the “Harvester of Mactar” (in North Africa), who had his biography recorded on a stele; he rose from a lowly foreman to the owner of a comfortable farm and finally became rich enough to have a seat on the town council of Mactar. From this account of one forgotten and unimportant man, Brown develops a description of the social and religious structure of Roman Africa and how it was changing in the late fourth century; at that point Christians, though tolerated, were expected to be ostentatiously poor, and the central theme of the book is how that situation changed to one in which Christians were increasingly running the Empire and coming to decide that wealth could be godly after all. He does this to a large extent through a lengthy and riveting account of the life, connections, and personality of St. Augustine (with whom Brown moves from Africa to Italy, expanding the scope of the book to the whole Empire) as well as less well-known figures like Paulinus of Nola, Decimius Magnus Ausonius, and Pelagius and the rich and powerful women who supported and opposed them; by the time I put down the book I felt I’d been immersed in a nonfiction equivalent of a Leo Tolstoy novel. (It may also cause you to think about wealth and power in our own time.)

covercoverFor my birthday I was given Stephen Kotkin’s Stalin: Volume I: Paradoxes of Power, 1878-1928; I was looking forward to it because I’d liked other things of his I’d read, but also somewhat dreading it because it was very long and only went up to 1928 and I had already read quite a bit about both Joseph Stalin and that period of Russian history. It turned out there was no need to worry — I enjoyed it so much I’m already impatient for the next volume. I have to immediately offer a caveat, though: it’s not exactly a biography, so if that’s what you want (Stalin was born a poor Georgian lad, he had good times and bad, and then he came to power and started executing people) you may be better off with a shorter and more focused, if less comprehensive, work. Kotkin goes for many, many pages, entire chapters, mentioning Stalin only as an afterthought or not at all; his idea is that you can’t understand the man without understanding the society and country he grew up in, so he starts with a detailed history of late-19th-century Russia and the people who affected its development (he made me so interested in the great industrialist Sergei Witte I took a break to read a whole biography). He is constantly turning away from Stalin to explain the forces at work in the Civil War or the evolution of Bolshevik ideas and practices. (I was reminded of Robert Caro’s magisterial multivolume history of LBJ.) If you can deal with that, though, I can’t recommend the book highly enough — Kotkin seems to have read and absorbed all the available material, and his judgments are consistently interesting and persuasive. If you want to read more about the Civil War, by the way, I highly recommend Evan Mawdsley’s The Russian Civil War. And if you want a short history of the period to orient yourself, you can’t do better than Sheila Fitzpatrick’s The Russian Revolution, a brilliant condensation of a complex subject; she doesn’t spend time on biographies or personalities, just tells you what happened and why between 1917 and 1937 in under 200 pages.

coverThe most recent of these grand reading experiences was Leonid Livak’s How It Was Done in Paris: Russian Emigre Literature & French Modernism. It’s a specialized topic, but if you’re interested at all in Russian émigré writers and interwar French literature you have to read this book. Livak is one of those rare academics who can apply theory without becoming impenetrable, and he made me rethink everything I thought I knew about the subject. (He also won my heart by quoting Venedikt Erofeev’s gloriously bibulous and heartbreakingly romantic novel Moskva-Petushki in the acknowledgments; if that description intrigues you at all, run out and find one of the translations, Moscow to the End of the Line or Moscow Circles.) You probably haven’t heard of Boris Poplavsky, Gaito Gazdanov, or Yuri Felzen, but Livak will make you care about them and their struggles to find a way to write in the competing shadows of Marcel Proust and Soviet literature, and he ends with a tour de force comparison of Vladimir Nabokov’s Dar [The Gift] to André Gide’s Les Faux-monnayeurs [The Counterfeiters] that sent me back repeatedly to my well-read copy of the former (for my money, the best of his novels) and made me want to give the latter a try.

Oh, and those other books? Alan Hollinghurst’s The Line of Beauty, Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies, Eva Hoffman’s Lost in Translation, Anthony Trollope’s Barchester novels, and the aforementioned Jane Eyre. That Rochester is a real louse, let me tell you!

More from A Year in Reading 2015

Don’t miss: A Year in Reading 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005

The good stuff: The Millions’ Notable articles

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is a retired freelance editor in Hadley, Mass.; he is coauthor of Uglier Than a Monkey's Armpit, a collection of international curses and insults, and sole proprietor of the blog languagehat.com.


  1. I always await this series with excitement each December, and I also always enjoy your erudite, interesting suggestions. I have the biography of Pavlov you suggested last year, and I do want to read it. I also own Brown’s work and am working my way slowly through it. The Stalin book looks good as well. And I have to say that Jane Eyre is one of my favorite novels. I rediscovered it as an adult.

  2. What a finely curated selection! Absolutely agree with Alison that your essay is wonderfully erudite and the writing style is lovely.

    You may want a break from him, but I found “Stalin: The Court of the Red Tsar” by Simon Sebag Montefiore gripping, in a queasy sort of way. Focused more on the machinations of a tyrant and his courtiers, family and assorted hangers-on, it provided insights into the exercise of power that are (unfortunately) relevant in many of the workplaces and other high-stress environments we must survive in.

    Best regards,

    Maureen M.

  3. You get extra points for JANE EYRE revelation! I had opposite experience– first read in third grade, lingering over the illustrations in my mother’s old fashioned copy (the terrifying Red Room!) and skimming over the parts I considered dull (catch ya later, St John!) Read it so many times in childhood through my twenties I can still recite passages from memory. And yes, Rochester does terrible things– but doesn’t Bronte make his mix of flaws and charms believable, and bring him to some kind of redemption? That said, I still wince over his treatment of Adele, his “ward”– and oh, wait until you read WIDE SARGASSO SEA.

    Great kickoff to a YEAR IN READING– love this series. So much. Thank you, Millions.

  4. @Edan

    Oh my, what a formidable comment section, so many facets to turn over and watch shine! I found your piece most witty and slyly provocative, and can imagine you sitting back and waiting for the sparks to fly!

    The “Your review is stunted at one very shallow level, I am afraid…” is a bit harsh, and most unfair, but I expect you recovered quickly. : )

    My own takeaway from Jane Eyre is simple amazement at this supremely creative artist’s ability to fashion such powerful images out of virtually nothing but a few romantic novels and some theatre props in the cloister of her remote home in Northern England. Rochester has absolutely nothing to do with a real man, he is a walking, talking, and brooding personification of the dark forces lurking within the author, inhabiting and battling in the same space with the orphan Jane and the repressive force of St. John.

  5. Enjoyed this great Year in Reading post and now looking forward all the Russian fiction and non-fiction, especially the Stalin work (speaking of creepy, cruel, despicable men). But. . .

    It is a truth universally acknowledged that consensus regarding the character of Mr. Rochester shall never be achieved. ( Although I do love Moe Murph’s “walking, talking, and brooding personification of the dark forces lurking within the author” — wow!) And had forgotten Edan’s awesome, tongue in cheek piece with the wonderful thread of furious and articulate fanaticism it inspired on both sides.

    From my first and earliest reading, I am eternally Team Rochester (So very young the first time — I remember thinking, “Wow, so THAT’S what it’s like to be grown up!”) Alas, Mr. Dodson, with your flippant judgment of our Rochester, I fear you have poked the beehive; that ominous smudge on the horizon, the queasy sensation of impending doom, the damned infernal buzzing — well, we fans of Gothic heroes are prone to melancholy and vociferous choler, most often expressed in the comments sections. Beware! And Godspeed, sir, Godspeed!

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