Showing posts with label Serhii Plokhy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Serhii Plokhy. Show all posts

Monday, October 23, 2017

'Lost Kingdom: The Quest For Empire And The Making Of The Russian Nation' & 'Red Famine: Stalin's War On Ukraine'


Veteran journalist and author Joseph C. Goulden offers a review of Serhii Plokhy's Lost Kingdom and Anne Applebaum's Red Famine in the Washington Times.

In a European continent torn by incessant warfare over the centuries, Ukraine deserves sympathy for its most-abused-state status. As the real estate adage holds, “Location is everything.” And Ukraine has the misfortune to be snuggled against the southeast corner of Russia, historically its prime tormentor.

Two complementary books trace Ukraine’s travails, climaxing with Russia’s brutal seizure of a Ukraine that sought to become an independent nation after the 1991 collapse of communism and the USSR. Russian strongman Vladimir Putin decreed otherwise, and the Red Army crushed Ukrainian hopes for independence.

The Harvard historian Serhii Plokhy, the leading Western scholar on Ukraine, details Moscow’s historic insistence that Russia and its East Slavic neighbors occupy a joint historical space, and essentially comprise a single nation — despite strong language, cultural and religious differences.
Ukraine attempts to retain its independent, medieval Kyvian state over the centuries had off-again/on-again successes. At one point it was amalgamated into Poland.

In the 19th century Russian imperial authorities compromised (in a sense) by creating a tripartite nation composed of three tribes: Great Russian, Little Russian (Ukraine) and Belarusian. Russian revolutions in 1905 and 1917 destroyed the forced alliance, and Ukraine was independent again until the communists seized power after World War I. The “Lost Kingdom” of Mr. Plokhy’s title refers to its involuntary incorporation into the USSR.

Although the reborn-state received swift recognition from many European countries (plus the United States) Lenin moved to reclaim it for the new USSR in January 1918. But would the mostly-peasant regime mesh with the new communist regime? Karl Marx considered peasants “at best an ambivalent asset.” In an 1852 essay he had claimed they were not a class and hence had “no class consciousness”

Lenin was more pragmatic — and even more so because Ukraine had agricultural resources needed by the rest of the USSR. The area’s fertile land and mild climate permitted two grain crops annually, far more than the rest of Russia.

The first scheme was to convert private farms into collective agriculture, run by the state. Lenin put it directly in a 1922 message to colleague Vyascheslav Molotov: “We must teach these people a lesson right now, so that they will not even dare to think of resistance in coming decades.” The dreaded Cheka, the secret police, aided by the Red Army, slaughtered resistant rural leaders by the hundreds. But grain production was not enough to alleviate national shortages.

Thus Stalin and the ruling hierarchy in the early 1930s moved to a more draconian plan: to destroy what remained of Ukrainian culture and to seize the land for the state.


Segue here to Anne Applebaum’s gripping account of the grim years during which Moscow deliberately sought to starve Ukraine into submission. Ms. Applebaum won a Pulitzer Prize for an earlier book, “Gulag”, on the Soviet prison system. “Red Famine” relates a story that is perhaps more cruel, an account of the misery the Communists inflicted on an innocent populace.

The state-evoked famine that stretched over two decades is well-known in USSR history. The consensus of previous historians was that the primary reason for starvation was Stalin’s campaign for collective farms. But having gained access to Ukraine archives, Ms. Appelbaum relates an even more chilling story: that in its latter stages, the motive driving “land reform” was in fact the deliberate obliteration of the Ukrainian people.

You can read the rest of the review via the below link:

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Stranger Than Fiction: 'The Man With the Poison Gun' Offers A Deadly Dose Of Reality


Lloyd Sachs at the Chicago Tribune offers a review of Serhii Plokhy's The Man With the Poison Gun.

"The Man With the Poison Gun," a nonfiction book that tells the unusual story of a KGB assassin during the Cold War, once might have fallen safely into the category of "stranger than fiction." But especially in light of recent events including the on-camera assassination of the Russian ambassador to Turkey, the exploits of Bogdan Stashinsky feel eerily relevant today.
Stashinsky was a 19-year-old university student in Soviet-occupied Ukraine in 1950 when he was conscripted by Nikita Khrushchev's secret police. They knew that Stashinsky's family had ties to the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists, which opposed the Soviet presence, and threatened to punish or kill his family members if he didn't inform on them and their friends.
After delivering the goods, Stashinsky became a paid employee of the secret police. Still telling himself he was playing ball with the Soviets to prevent harm to his family, he underwent extensive training in the espionage arts with the MGB, a precursor to the KGB (which was established in 1954). By 1957, when he received a newfangled poison gun, his self-image had undergone a serious overhaul to go with his new alias.
According to author Serhii Plokhy, a Harvard historian, Stashinsky's unusual exploits inspired Ian Fleming's 1965 James Bond novel, "The Man With the Golden Gun," which features a weapon that squirts liquid cyanide and leaves no trace. Plokhy is no Ian Fleming. His narrative skills are a bit stodgy. But this is one story that does a good job of telling itself.
You can read the rest of the review via the below link:

http://www.chicagotribune.com/lifestyles/books/sc-man-with-the-poison-gun-serhii-plokhy-books-1228-20161224-story.html

Thursday, December 1, 2016

The Interplay Between Truth And Fiction: The Man With The Poison Gun


Ian Fleming wrote his highly romanticized James Bond thrillers unabashedly for pleasure - his own and the reading public's. The novels contained some fantastic elements, yet Fleming said there was a thin line between fact and his fiction.

"Everything I write has a precedent in truth," Fleming said.  

A case in point is the story of the poison gun used by Fleming in his last Bond novel, The Man With the Golden Gun, and the true story of the KGB assassin Bogdan Stashinsky, who used a poison gun to murder two men during the Cold War.

Lewis Jones at the British newspaper the Telegraph offers a review of Serhii Plokhy's book on Stashinsky, The Man With the Poison Gun.

The title of Serhii Plokhy’s new book echoes that of Ian Fleming’s last and feeblest James Bond novel, The Man with the Golden Gun, published posthumously in 1965. Fleming’s story opens with Bond, presumed dead after his last duel with Blofeld, turning up in London, brainwashed by the KGB to assassinate M with a “curious sort of contraption” that shoots a poisonous liquid.
Plokhy points out that, before Bond tries to kill him, M mentions the recent murders of “Horcher and Stutz” in Munich. Fleming must have had in mind the 1962 trial of Bogdan Stashinsky, a KGB assassin, for the murders in Munich of two of his fellow Ukrainians – Lev Rebet, a journalist, and Stepan Bandera, the leader of the nationalist underground – with just such a device.
The man with the golden gun was Francisco Scaramanga, who grew up in a Catalan travelling circus, as the mahout of Max the elephant. When Max went berserk in Italy, the carabinieri killed him with such upsetting brutality that Scaramanga ran away from the circus to become a paranoiac fetishist and the world’s most feared assassin. The subject of The Man with the Poison Gun is a more prosaic figure – his career began with dodging a train fare – but really a more interesting one. 
Plokhy writes rather badly, and tells us that M’s “true name remains a secret to us”, which does not inspire confidence when Bond himself names him as Admiral Sir Miles Messervy. But as a professor of Ukrainian history at Harvard, Plokhy knows his stuff, and his account of Bogdan Stashinsky’s life brims with skulduggery.
You can read the rest of the piece via the below link:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/books/what-to-read/real-man-golden-gun1/


You can also read an earlier post on Fleming (seen in the above photo) and the interplay between truth and fiction via the below link:

http://www.pauldavisoncrime.com/2010/03/interplay-between-truth-and-fiction-ian.html

Note to Lewis Jones: As for The Man With the Golden Gun being Ian Fleming's "feeblest" thriller, the author died in 1964 before he could polish the novel. Yet it is still a very good thriller, better than most.