Russia's Lost Literature of the Absurd, ed. by George Gibian (1971)

Selected works by Russian Absurdist Daniil Kharms and a short play by his compatriot Alexander Vvedensky.

Book Review: Russia's Lost Literature of the Absurd is subtitled A Literary Discovery, and further subtitled Selected Works of Daniil Kharms and Alexander Vvedensky. In fact, the book, edited and translated by George Gibian, consists of various works by Kharms (1905-42) and a single short play by Vvedensky (1904-42). This may be the first collection of Kharms' work translated into English. Both authors were part of the Absurdist movement in Russia (the "Oberiu") in the early part of the 20th Century, and both may have been arrested by the Soviets after the Second World War began and died in custody shortly thereafter. The Russian Absurdists were trying to duplicate the radical nature of Communism in their art, but the government was less accepting of creativity and modernism in the arts than in economics and demanded socialist (soviet) realism, art that would serve the state. This didn't fit well with Kharms' vision, as he was a sort of literary Russian Salvador Dali (in Ireland, Daly). Dali isn't a bad choice because Kharms' work depends heavily on the visual. It's difficult to describe or explain Absurdist writing because it's, well, absurd. I can say that for the right mind it's hilarious, for some minds there may be deeper meanings, and for other minds it all will be meaningless (or, I suppose, absurd) at best and frustrating at worst. All I can really do is provide four shorter examples of Kharms' work (ellipses mine):

There was once a red-haired man who had no eyes and no ears. He also had no hair, so he was called red-haired only in a manner of speaking ... He didn't have anything. So it's hard to understand whom we're talking about. So we'd better not talk about him anymore.

The other day a man went to work, but on his way, he met another man, who had bought a loaf of Polish bread and was on his way home, to his own place. That's about all.

When Pushkin broke his legs, he got about on wheels. His friends liked to tease Pushkin and caught the wheels. Pushkin became angry and wrote poems in which he swore at his friends. He called these poems "erpigarms."

Khvilishevsky ate cranberries and tried not to wince. He expected everybody to say: What strength of character! But nobody said anything.

Apparently, this volume was later expanded and republished in 1997 as The Man with the Black Coat: Russia's Literature of the Absurd with the same two authors and the same editor slash translator. This earlier edition contains a useful introduction by Gibian, numerous "Mini-Stories," the longer story "The Old Woman," a play Elizabeth Bam, and two of Kharms' children's stories. To justify the second subtitle, a play by Kharms' compatriot Alexander Vvedensky is included as well as the Oberiu Manifesto. The Oberiuty (including Kharms and Vvedensky) were a group of Absurdists (related to the Futurists) who were working in all forms of the arts in 1920's Russia. The Manifesto seems to be a plea to the government to be allowed to continue their work despite the lack of Soviet Realism or a direct contribution to the regime. Although now there are numerous editions of Kharms' brilliant absurdist creations (e.g., see Today I Wrote Nothing), George Gibian performed a valuable service by gathering, preserving, and translating these works during his trips through Eastern Europe in the late Sixties. Having read Russia's Lost Literature of the Absurd and being introduced to Daniil Kharms, I not only have a better understanding of Absurdism, but a new author to explore.  [4★]