Why I love Russian literature

Growing up with alone and loving Russian literature

I did not grow up in Russia or even Eastern Europe where I now live, but rather, preppy, snowy New England. Like many teens, I felt like I lived in a world that was more pain than happiness.   I felt like I lived in an ‘alien world, a world that was as deaf to my music as it was to my sorrows.’  I felt I would never find my one and only princess. I questioned why did God put us on this earth and why we suffer so much.   I believed, and to some extent still do believe that this life is a test. We are here for toil, suffering and lament to purify our souls and make us more beautiful inside.  Like many people, who do not openly admit this I felt deep and real pains of loneliness.

Enter Russian literature

I was going to an all boys English boarding school in Avon, CT.   And to my luck there were a couple of courses in Russian history including Russian literature.  In Russian literature I found a world of people who felt just like I did.  They saw the world as gray dark world, cold tragic. Not tragic in the modern literature sense or dark like vampire dark, that is too much cream not enough milk.  Rather Russian stories we filled with people who were alone and searching for God. Now this was something I could relate to.

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