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Sasha Sokolov

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November 9, 1989 | DAVID REMNICK, THE WASHINGTON POST
"Rats," he says. "Hear them? Rats in the walls." The face, a Cubist mass of angles and planes, cracks into a giddy grin--the smile, it turns out, of a man who has come home after a long exile. All around him now, after 14 years of New England solitude and twang, the juicy, popped sounds of Russian, each glottal stop a seed, each word an acoustical event. "Listen," he says, holding a finger to his lips. "You can hear the rats talking. They're talking Russian, I think."
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BOOKS
February 11, 1990 | Alexander Zholkovsky, Zholkovsky is professor of Slavic languages and literatures at USC. and
Sasha Sokolov is a--many believe, the --leading voice of Russian prose today. In what has amounted to a passing of the lyre, Nabokov called Sokolov's first novel, "A School for Fools," an "enchanting, tragic and touching book." One wonders, however, whether Nabokov (who once dismissed Pasternak's "Zhivago" as the "adventures of a sentimental doctor") would have been as charitable to the threateningly consummate "Astrophobia."
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BOOKS
February 11, 1990 | Alexander Zholkovsky, Zholkovsky is professor of Slavic languages and literatures at USC. and
Sasha Sokolov is a--many believe, the --leading voice of Russian prose today. In what has amounted to a passing of the lyre, Nabokov called Sokolov's first novel, "A School for Fools," an "enchanting, tragic and touching book." One wonders, however, whether Nabokov (who once dismissed Pasternak's "Zhivago" as the "adventures of a sentimental doctor") would have been as charitable to the threateningly consummate "Astrophobia."
NEWS
November 9, 1989 | DAVID REMNICK, THE WASHINGTON POST
"Rats," he says. "Hear them? Rats in the walls." The face, a Cubist mass of angles and planes, cracks into a giddy grin--the smile, it turns out, of a man who has come home after a long exile. All around him now, after 14 years of New England solitude and twang, the juicy, popped sounds of Russian, each glottal stop a seed, each word an acoustical event. "Listen," he says, holding a finger to his lips. "You can hear the rats talking. They're talking Russian, I think."
BOOKS
February 11, 1990
Those men, so powerful, always shown somewhat from below by crouching cameramen, who lift a heavy foot to crush me, no, to climb the steps of the plane, who raise a hand to strike me, no, to greet the crowds obediently waving little flags, men who sign my death warrant, no, just a trade agreement which is promptly dried by a servile blotter.
ENTERTAINMENT
February 28, 1990 | ELIZABETH TUCKER, Tucker is a Moscow-based writer .
She stands like a steel reed on the stage of the Bolshoi Conservatory, her tiny figure encased in gold lame, her mouth marked by a single streak of scarlet. Only her hands move, now flaying a violent chord, now lulling the violin almost to sleep. At intermission, the audience is ecstatic; fans rush the stage, shower her with flowers, even kneel at her feet and kiss her hand. At performance's end, after three encores, she is flooded with roses, tulips and carnations--more than 50 bouquets in all.
NEWS
October 9, 1988 | DAVID REMNICK, the Washington Post
Andrei Bitov offers his guests shot glasses of brandy for breakfast. It seems this is a literary meal. "There is a proverb all Russians repeat," Bitov says, "One drink in the morning and you are free for the whole day." Bitov, an extraordinary novelist and a world-class talker, lets his brandy sit. His guests, however, drink to the health of "Pushkin House," Bitov's psychological novel that has been published officially here 17 years after its completion.
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