Recent research challenges this assumption. Far from dominating the arts and creative life, politics seems to have developed, particularly in the late imperial era, in isolation from Russian cultural life. Plays, operas, ballets, and newer forms such as operetta, cabaret, vaudeville, film, and the circus were largely apolitical in content, geared toward audiences who either had little stake in the system or remained apathetic toward it or, if they cared about politics at all, preferred to keep it separate from entertainment. Theaters and cinemas were turning into places of diversion and relaxation. This chapter assesses the merits of both arguments...' > Recent research challenges this assumption. Far from dominating the arts and creative life, politics seems to have developed, particularly in the late imperial era, in isolation from Russian cultural life. Plays, operas, ballets, and newer forms such as operetta, cabaret, vaudeville, film, and the circus were largely apolitical in content, geared toward audiences who either had little stake in the system or remained apathetic toward it or, if they cared about politics at all, preferred to keep it separate from entertainment. Theaters and cinemas were turning into places of diversion and relaxation. This chapter assesses the merits of both arguments...' > Recent research challenges this assumption. Far from dominating the arts and creative life, politics seems to have developed, particularly in the late imperial era, in isolation from Russian cultural life. Plays, operas, ballets, and newer forms such as operetta, cabaret, vaudeville, film, and the circus were largely apolitical in content, geared toward audiences who either had little stake in the system or remained apathetic toward it or, if they cared about politics at all, preferred to keep it separate from entertainment. Theaters and cinemas were turning into places of diversion and relaxation. This chapter assesses the merits of both arguments...'> Recent research challenges this assumption. Far from dominating the arts and creative life, politics seems to have developed, particularly in the late imperial era, in isolation from Russian cultural life. Plays, operas, ballets, and newer forms such as operetta, cabaret, vaudeville, film, and the circus were largely apolitical in content, geared toward audiences who either had little stake in the system or remained apathetic toward it or, if they cared about politics at all, preferred to keep it separate from entertainment. Theaters and cinemas were turning into places of diversion and relaxation. This chapter assesses the merits of both arguments...' /> Recent research challenges this assumption. Far from dominating the arts and creative life, politics seems to have developed, particularly in the late imperial era, in isolation from Russian cultural life. Plays, operas, ballets, and newer forms such as operetta, cabaret, vaudeville, film, and the circus were largely apolitical in content, geared toward audiences who either had little stake in the system or remained apathetic toward it or, if they cared about politics at all, preferred to keep it separate from entertainment. Theaters and cinemas were turning into places of diversion and relaxation. This chapter assesses the merits of both arguments...' />
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Culture and Revolution in Revolutionary Russia. Was Russian cultural expression subsumed by politics during the revolutionary era?

Дата публикации: 20 сентября 2007
Публикатор: Научная библиотека Порталус
Рубрика: RUSSIA (TOPICS) - Soviet Russia (1917-53) →
Источник: (c) http://russia.by
Номер публикации: №1190293988


Was Russian cultural expression subsumed by politics during the revolutionary era?

Viewpoint: Yes. The Bolsheviks and other groups redefined culture as revolutionary political expression.

Viewpoint: No. Russian culture generally evolved apart from politics in the revolutionary era.

______________________________

An old cliché about Russia holds that its culture and politics are and have always been (at least in modern times) inseparably bound. Lacking parliaments, civil institutions, civic freedoms, and pluralistic environments, Russians' sole opportunity to articulate political ideas was within the only realm where they enjoyed relative freedom, thought and creativity. Russian literature, the argument holds, was full of social ideas about peasants, women, democracy, socialism, reaction, conservatism, and all other sorts of matters that Russians could discuss but never do much about.
Recent research challenges this assumption. Far from dominating the arts and creative life, politics seems to have developed, particularly in the late imperial era, in isolation from Russian cultural life. Plays, operas, ballets, and newer forms such as operetta, cabaret, vaudeville, film, and the circus were largely apolitical in content, geared toward audiences who either had little stake in the system or remained apathetic toward it or, if they cared about politics at all, preferred to keep it separate from entertainment. Theaters and cinemas were turning into places of diversion and relaxation. This chapter assesses the merits of both arguments.



Viewpoint: Yes. The Bolsheviks and other groups redefined culture as revolutionary political expression.

In January 1917 Russians prayed for the health of Tsar Nicholas II during church services. During state ceremonies, they listened to verses praising tradition and sang God Save the Tsar before flags displaying two-headed eagles. They addressed their betters as "Sir" or "Madam" or "Your Honor." Less than a year later, Russians sent abusive letters to the former tsar and his family. Newspapers published whole columns of poetry denigrating tradition. Public ceremonies were a sea of red banners, with nary an imperial eagle to be seen--and only a person careless of his or her own safety would claim to be someone else's better. Clearly, something had changed. Russians had begun to see the world differently. The spoken, written, and visual expressions of their ideas changed accordingly, both in 1917 and throughout the remaining years of Russia's "revolutionary era." Writing in 1919, poet Aleksei Gastev saw a new culture springing up around him: "Cascades of novel ideas gush forth amid the storms of war and revolution; and trains of new words wind their way through the smoke, the blood, and the joy of the Revolution."

These "new words" did not appear from thin air. Most traced their origins to prerevolutionary Russia. Furthermore, what journalist John Reed termed "petty conventional life"--the performances at the ballet, the novels available at the bookstore, and the daily routine--remained unchanged for many people, and in many ways, for some time after the February Revolution, and even after October. Nevertheless, the February and October Revolutions and their aftermath influenced Russian culture in ways that are significant, far-reaching, and indisputable.

To begin with, the revolution had a destructive effect on some aspects of Imperial Russian culture. Works of art disappeared into the hands of looters, while historic buildings perished in fires set by arsonists. The Soviet government closed down newspapers and theaters. Seeing the effects of the revolution, many Russians simply left the country. Historian Richard Stites has noted that this emigration included "cultural figures later destined to achieve fame in another country."

Cultural changes reflected the needs and values of the new state. Epaulettes disappeared from military uniforms. Double-headed eagles, the symbols of the old regime, were taken down or covered up. So were portraits of Nicholas II--especially in Petrograd and Moscow. Schoolrooms in Saratov and elsewhere no longer displayed icons. One government decree abolished titles of nobility. Another proclaimed the adoption of the Gregorian calendar, which had long been in use elsewhere in Europe. Still others attempted, with little success at first, to eliminate traditional religious holidays. Even the alphabet was simplified.

New symbols emerged to replace those the revolutionaries had discarded. Streets and squares received new names like Freedom or Revolution. You Fell Victim, the Marseillaise, and the Internationale replaced God Save the Tsar as the ceremonial songs of choice, to be replaced in their turn by the new Soviet anthem. A monument honoring Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels was erected in Moscow, which replaced Petrograd as Russia's capital city. In many places, pictures of Marx, Lev Trotsky, and Vladimir Lenin took the place of icons or portraits of the tsar. After Lenin survived an assassination attempt in August 1918, Russians could purchase copies of his biography and see movies of him taking a walk. The "cult of Lenin" eventually grew ubiquitous throughout the Soviet Union. So would the celebration of new holidays, of which the most significant were May Day and the anniversary of the October Revolution. On the first anniversary of the October Revolution, the Bolsheviks began a new tradition by staging a massive parade in Red Square. Like Lenin's image, these parades became synonymous with Soviet power.

Parades and other public ceremonies in the new era required copious amounts of red cloth. Russians had always loved the color red, but now it appeared everywhere as a symbol of revolution. During the February Revolution, soldiers tied pieces of red fabric to their weapons to show their support for antigovernment protests. Revolutionaries ripped the blue and white stripes off old flags to leave the red, and public ceremonies consumed innumerable yards of red bunting. Vasilii Pankratov, a commissar whose duties in late 1917 included opening the mail addressed to Nicholas II's family, recalled that Nicholas and Alexandra received a steady stream of abusive letters, "many . . . in revolutionary red envelopes with the revolutionary motto 'Long live the Russian Revolution.'" The first official symbol of the Bolshevik state was a red star containing a hammer and plough, later replaced by a hammer and sickle. An unembellished red star, in the words of Stites, "migrated to the new flag in 1918, to the Kremlin walls, to hundreds of posters and [book] covers, and to its later central place as the emblem of the Soviet military and of communist movements rising into ascendance." Stites notes that this central symbol of Soviet culture "had no prehistory in the Russian radical tradition," much less the mainstream of Imperial Russian culture.

While Russians acquired new revolutionary role models, their daily language acquired new words. "The daughter of a friend of mine," recalled Reed, "came home one afternoon in hysterics because the woman street-car conductor had called her 'Comrade!'" Over the next few years, "comrade" became an acceptable way for any citizen to address another. Along with "commune," "Communist," "bagmen" (itinerant black-marketeers), "kulak" (a well-to-do peasant), and "commissar," it had entered the cultural mainstream. So did several words created as shorthand references to new institutions: kombedy (committees of the poor), Sovnarkom (Soviet of People's Commissars), and Proletkult (Proletarian Culture).

Bolsheviks also looked to the French Revolution for cultural inspiration. The government decreed that Russians should address each other as "citizens," just as the French revolutionaries had. Committees of soldiers and sailors took as their slogan "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity." According to historian Donald J. Raleigh, "V. Iustinskii and other local futurist artists [in Saratov Province] depicted the heroic aspects of revolutionary victories with allegorical or neoclassical figures influenced by the French Revolution, or with images of the sun." Although revolutionary art rarely depicted women before 1920, artists did sometimes borrow from neoclassical art, in which women portrayed abstract concepts like "freedom" and "history."

Russian folk art slowly became a stronger influence in the visual arts because the government considered it easier for viewers to understand and identify with. Traditional designs and motifs conveyed new, revolutionary messages. Politically oriented art came to be known as agit (short for the Russian word for "agitation"), as it was supposed to excite its audience and provoke revolutionary sentiments. Artists created agit-plays, agit-songs, agit-films, and thousands of agit-posters, all of which traveled the country on agit-trains.

New organizations encouraged agit and other examples of "proper" revolutionary culture. The Zhenotdel (Women's Section) campaigned for women's rights, particularly those related to sex and marriage. The Komsomol (Communist Youth) brought youths into the revolutionary fold. On a local level, governmental bodies encouraged workers to join newly established art, music, and theater groups. Most influential of all was Proletkult. In Stites's words, "Proletkult became a genuine mass movement during the Civil War, reaching a peak estimated at half a million participants in 1919, with thirty-four journals and about 300 organizations." Significantly, governmental organizations not only encouraged "proletarian" and "revolutionary" culture but also actively suppressed cultural activities of which they disapproved. Some banned, or tried to ban, the production of works seen as "bourgeois." Others, like the Moscow and Petrograd Soviets, decided that artists needed proletarian supervision to ensure that they produced works suitable for working-class viewing.

What sort of messages did revolutionary organizations consider suitable for citizens of the new state? Class conflict was a key theme. In 1917, Wilhelm Liebknecht's pamphlet Spiders and Flies, which contrasted fat capitalist spiders with impoverished worker flies, sold more than a million copies. Ironically, a Bolshevik Party led by intellectual men and women also encouraged the production of works that mocked the educated class.

In addition, Bolshevik culture particularly emphasized the need for military struggle. Life was seen as a battle against the many foreign and domestic enemies who opposed the coming of the new, revolutionary world. Mark D. Steinberg and Vladimir M. Khrustalëv write that one scholar later analyzed revolutionaries' speeches and found them "filled with images of the avenger of the oppressed, images of iron and blood, rapacious beasts, hydras, hydras with millions of tentacles, and enormous fires spread over the earth by whirlwinds." The many public funerals of revolutionary "martyrs"--another new addition to Russian culture in use at least since those of the liberal academic Prince Sergei Trubetskoi and the murdered Bolshevik activist Nikolai Bauman in 1905--provided excellent opportunities for these speeches. Images of struggle also made their way into "high" literature. The most famous example is Aleksandr Blok's poem The Twelve, about Red Army soldiers who personify the rejection of the old and are compared to the biblical Twelve Apostles. Dozens of poems by less-distinguished writers, many of whom were members of the lower classes, appeared in revolutionary newspapers. Like V. Aleksandrovsky's Sowing, which appeared in Pravda in 1918, the poems urged readers to "Chop apart / The old world! / In the heat / Of universal combat / And in the red gleam of fires / Be / Merciless!" For decades after the revolution, Soviet literature and movies would feature plots involving heroic Soviet citizens who defeated various "enemies of the people."

In poems with titles like Liberty Bright, Destiny Red, and Dawn Has Broken, revolutionaries pictured the world they would achieve through struggle. In this world, all men and women were free and equal. Reason reigned supreme. Vladimir Kirillov's To the Proletariat (1918) claimed that "Reason" was the proletariat's new faith. Similarly, The ABC's of Communism (1919), an instant best-seller written by Nikolai Bukharin and Evgenii Preobrazhensky, not only summarized Marxism and the Marxist view of history, but also described the coming Soviet state as one in which machines and scientific calculations ensured that every citizen found a career and enjoyed adequate food and housing. In 1920 Evgenii Zamiatin's We took this revolutionary vision to a dystopian extreme, depicting a society in which individuals no longer had names, only numbers.

By 1921 the revolution had altered Russian culture immensely. Its effects could be seen everywhere: in public and private spaces, in official ceremonies, in literature and the arts, in social mores, and in the mind-set of a growing number of citizens. The revolution presaged the explosion of Soviet culture that would occur in the next decade. More ominously, it presaged the government's assumption of control over the cultural sphere.

-- Catherine Blair, Georgetown University


Viewpoint: No. Russian culture generally evolved apart from politics in the revolutionary era.

One of Russia's most popular newspaper columnists, Vlas Doroshevich, wrote a comical article about his desire to run for election to the post-1905 Parliament, the Duma, as a representative from the Sandwich Islands (as Hawai'i was then called). Basing his competency for office on his consumption of sandwiches, Doroshevich tapped into the general disregard that the majority of his fellow citizens had for their legislature. Although much more serious and sober political themes engaged Russian culture, it cannot be argued that they represented a dominant or even popular trend. This apathy was even present among the workers whom many of its producers claimed to represent, and remained present throughout 1917 and the turbulent years that followed. The evidence suggests that most Russians showed no inclination to use culture as a vehicle for identifying with the politics espoused by parties across the spectrum, from conservatives to revolutionary Marxists. Doroshevich, a prominent figure in popular commercial culture, was not simply satirizing the Duma; he was dismissing it.

First, it must be stated that late-imperial Russia was a pluralistic society, and it is therefore necessary to write in terms of multiple "cultures" rather than assume that there was only one to which all Russians had to adhere. Rapid industrialization and urbanization produced both a viable bourgeoisie and a working class that, although disadvantaged by comparison, nonetheless developed fundamental literacy skills and enjoyed entrance into a modern commercial economy. Beyond both of them stood the intelligentsia, a powerful force in the nineteenth century, but now forced by the emergence of these two newer groups to face competition over directing Russian culture into the future. Examined separately, each reflected the aspirations of its group-audience, and despite overlap, they were also playing off of each other in order to create distinctive identities. Significantly, none engaged in the polemics served up by the various political parties, whether their members sat in the Duma or in prison.

Of the three groups, the intelligentsia held the highest profile because of its historical role in politics, when luminaries such as Vissarion Belinsky, a prominent literary critic, had used the writings of Nikolai Gogol and other satirists to assert the political role of culture in the 1840s. By the turn of the century, however, a new generation of intellectuals eschewed the activist role bequeathed to them by their forebears and fell into a movement that celebrated art for its own sake instead of asking how it might be utilized for political purposes. Nineteenth-century realism, with its underlying mission of exposing social inequities and injustices, gave way to the self-indulgence of symbolism, which its critics dismissed as "decadence," and later to acmeism, which professedly pursued beauty for its own sake. Both symbolism and acmeism were intentionally elitist, structured by their natures to be inaccessible to a broad audience. Modernism, the most internationally influential cultural movement of the era, of which symbolism was a notable part, concerned itself primarily with language and subjective experience rather than with objective activities and political statements. Although Russia's most famous modernist novel, Andrei Bely's Petersburg (1913-1922), is set against the backdrop of a terrorist political assassination, the author was choosing sides in a battle about literary expression, not politics. In this way high culture became divorced from politics. For both its producers and consumers, it took on a purely artistic character, which at its deepest explored social change as a series of spiritual and aesthetic debates and eschewed politics.

The rising bourgeoisie can be credited in part with chasing the intelligentsia into their self-imposed exile. Self-critical as well as celebratory, this group made commerce a part of culture in ways that it was not a part of politics. Such authors as Aleksandr Ostrovsky, Petr Boborykin, and Aleksandr Amfiteatrov presented merchants and other "bourgeois" types as positive characters in plays whose popularity with audiences endured until well after 1917, when those figures and the values they represent had become officially taboo. That the reputations of these writers did not survive them may well attest to the intellectuals' charges that they did not engage in "the eternal questions." Yet, their popularity in their own times reflected a diversification and sophistication developing among Russian readers and theatergoers. The fictional middle classes evolved alongside their factual counterparts, from objects of the radicals' ridicule to characters who expressed their sense of social responsibility through hard work in the economic sphere and in the building of civic institutions. They used their disposable incomes to commercialize entertainment, party in nightclubs, sing along with phonographs, dine in restaurants, and attend vaudeville, cabaret, and operetta. Wealthy merchants and industrialists financed many of the leading artists, artistic journals, and theatrical enterprises of the era. Only during the Revolution of 1905 did political figures appear in staged satires, but by and large they disappeared after political events receded from having a serious impact on daily lives.

The middle classes could, however, engage in issues that should have been politicized. In fact they borrowed the social critique of realism and repackaged it in melodrama. The novelist Anastasiia Verbitskaia kept the "woman question," including sexual relations, at the forefront of her enormously successful novels. With a popularity that rivaled Leo Tolstoy's, she sent her heroine Mania Eltsova through five novels to find the eponymous Keys to Happiness (1909), which would unlock the door to personal emancipation. Mikhail Artsybashev brought decadence down to the bourgeoisie with his Sanin (1907), the scandalous life of an egotistical hedonist whose exploits raised doubts about the future of Russian youth, wandering without direction. Middlebrow realists Leonid Andreev and Alexander Kuprin framed social criticism in a masculine bravado not unlike that of their American contemporary Jack London, who was also popular in Russia and remained so in Soviet times.

The lower classes, especially workers, benefited from both the commercialization of culture and the attentions of social reformers who had replaced the intelligentsia in the mission to use culture as a political medium for transforming "peasants into Russians." These changes guaranteed them a mix of bandit tales and detective stories, as well as classic works by writers such as Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin, Tolstoy, and Anton Pavlovich Chekhov. Inexpensive pulp fiction and serialized novels in daily newspapers challenged the intelligentsia tradition that literature for the masses must be didactic, as readers learned to exercise their imaginations in order to locate themselves in the exciting vistas opening up before them. Tempered as this new individualism was by classical authors, readers from the lower classes also learned moral lessons from literature that helped them to deal with their inequitable position at the bottom rung of the social ladder.

Although political radicals liked to think of theater as a means of revolutionary propaganda, their audiences rarely reacted to it in a positive or embracing way. Before, during, and after 1917, most Russians wanted to be entertained by melodrama, suspense, humor, human relations, and other apolitical themes. This preference can be measured by box-office receipts, which made the best works in these genres into hits that kept commercial theaters in business. On the other hand, overtly political plays and works with socially transformative themes were usually critical and popular failures. Even Maksim Gor'ky's famous The Lower Depths, by far his most successful play, became popular for its characters and had no clear political message. This apolitical nature of Russia's stage culture touched off a major debate within radical circles. Ultimately, those who argued in favor of theater as an instrument of social change were marginalized and superseded by pedagogues who looked to theater as an institution that could at best raise the culture awareness of the lower classes and possibly interest them in education. Although some of the former remained active in the Soviet avant-garde, it was the latter whose ideas dominated everyday cultural life after 1917. The repertoires of "serious" theaters barely changed as a result of the revolutions of 1917, and audiences continued to take in Chekhov, Ostrovsky, William Shakespeare, and other classic authors in the same way as they had in tsarist times.

Even a cursory analysis of revolutionary Russia's most original artifact of culture, motion pictures, demonstrates culture taking the lead over political institutions. Although the Bolsheviks would later use the medium to advertise and propagandize their ideology, prerevolutionary Russia's blossoming film industry was dominated by adventure stories, seduction plots, exoticism, and in general everything but political messages. In trying to come to terms with the new medium, government and other national political leaders found themselves confused and on the defensive, unsure whether to control the content or protect the industry from foreign competition. The movies, in the meanwhile, flickered on without paying heed to the politicians. The Soviet government's takeover of film after 1917 did give moviemakers with radical agendas advantages in production and financing, but even such lionized movies as Sergei Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin (1925) failed before the demanding audiences of the Soviet 1920s. Although the prerevolutionary domestic film industry that had catered to their tastes was gone, they eagerly sought its replacement in foreign, and especially American, movies that featured the same themes for the commercialized audiences of another society.

-- Louise McReynolds, University of Hawai'i, Manoa


MAY DAY, 1918

The Streets

Lubyanka Square was swamped in red. The countless silk, velvet and other banners, embroidered with sequins and glass beads were quite dazzling to the eye. One focus of attention was the metal workers vehicle, draped in red material and bearing a huge globe with a portrait of Marx on it.

The vehicles of the workers' collective were also striking. On one a band played, while the other was covered in greenery and flowers arranged in the shape of an arch.

Another wonderful spectacle was the Sokolniki District lorry, decked out from top to bottom in flowers. Invalids walked on crutches behind the maimed soldiers' lorry.

Next came the machine-gunners, on foot with their guns loaded on horses. They were followed by the Alexandrovsky College Training School. A detachment of sailors, smartly dressed in black, marched past, followed by firemen and then a float displaying emblems of agricultural work. Children paraded past all holding little red flags. . . . Detachment after detachment of the army of labor, the army of Revolution. . . .

Speeches were given and a series of meetings held on Skobelev Square in front of the Moscow Soviet. The column of the stage workers' trade union was particularly interesting; on the front lorry, beneath a poster reading "Free Worker," representatives of the most important kinds of labor stood at their machines; on the second lorry was a band, and behind it an allegorical group depicting Russia heralding peace to all peoples.

There were performers in the costumes of all nationalities, a peasant woman with a sheaf of rye in her arms, boys holding rakes and sickles, and nearby the courageous figures of soldiers holding red banners. And above them all stood Russia with a palm sprig in her hands.

In front of the Moscow Soviet, the participants in these pictures sang the "Internationale," the "Marseillaise" and other revolutionary songs to the accompaniment of the band.

Red Square

The Kremlin wall was hung with flags from Nikolsky Gate to Spassky Gate. An obelisk, draped in red and black canvases, towered above the communal grave of victims of the October Revolution.

A rostrum was erected nearer Spassky Gate, on which stood the members of the Central Executive Committee and representatives of the Moscow Soviet. The Place of Execution (Lobnoye Mesto) was covered in black canvas and an enormous crimson flag fluttered on top.

The columns of people streamed endlessly along the wall, past the communal grave and the rostrum, the bands and banners at the head of each column. As they passed the grave, they lowered their banners and the band played solemnly. . . .

Other Districts

In the Presnya District, which is mainly inhabited by workers, the people generally responded very enthusiastically to this proletarian festival, and the small houses were painted red and covered with workers slogans, summoning people to fight for the happiness of all. . . .

All the railway stations were beautifully decorated: Alexandrov Station looked grand, Ryazansky Station, still under construction, was colorful, and Nikolaev Station was rigidly austere in accordance with its style.

The decoration of the Yaroslavl Station was particularly splendid with the words "Peace and the brotherhood of the peoples!" printed in large white letters on a red background right above the entrance. A long red banner with the inscription: "Long live the Third International!" hung on the pediment. A vast red sheet with the inscription: "Long live the Soviet Federative Republic!" was wrapped round the station's tower.

The festivities continued on the streets and in the theaters of Moscow until late in the evening. . . .

The lights on the House of Soviets and the House of Unions shone bright against the darkness.

The fountain on Theater Square looked most effective, bedecked with garlands of electric lights.

Source: "May Day Celebrations," Izvestiya, no. 88, 3 May 1918, in Street Art of the Revolution: Festivals and Celebrations in Russia 1918-33, edited by Vladimir Tolstoy and others (New York: Vendome, 1990).

FURTHER READINGS


References


Victoria E. Bonnell, Iconography of Power: Soviet Political Posters under Lenin and Stalin (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997).

Bonnell, "The Representation of Women in Early Soviet Political Art," Russian Review, 50 (July 1991): 267-288.

Jeffrey Brooks, When Russia Learned to Read: Literacy and Popular Literature, 1861-1917 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985).

Katerina Clark, Petersburg: Crucible of Cultural Revolution (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995).

Orlando Figes, A People's Tragedy: The Russian Revolution: 1891-1924 (New York: Viking, 1996).

Figes and Boris Kolonitsky, Interpreting the Russian Revolution: The Language and Symbols of 1917 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999).

Catriona Kelly and David Shepherd, eds., Constructing Russian Culture in the Age of Revolution: 1881-1940 (Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press, 1998).

Louise McReynolds, Russia at Play: Leisure Activities at the End of the Tsarist Era (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2003).

Donald J. Raleigh, Experiencing Russia's Civil War: Politics, Society, and Revolutionary Culture in Saratov, 1917-1922 (Princeton & Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2002).

John Reed, Ten Days That Shook the World (New York: Boni & Liveright, 1919).

Mark D. Steinberg and others, eds., Voices of Revolution, 1917 (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2001).

Steinberg and Vladimir M. Khrustalëv, eds., The Fall of the Romanovs: Political Dreams and Personal Struggles in a Time of Revolution (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1995).

Richard Stites, Revolutionary Dreams: Utopian Vision and Experimental Life in the Russian Revolution (Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press, 1989).

Stites, Russian Popular Culture: Entertainment and Society since 1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992).

Stephen White, The Bolshevik Poster (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1988).

Опубликовано на Порталусе 20 сентября 2007 года

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