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Blogpost 3

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The theme of the section is Documentary Aesthetics, in which we challenged the idea of what a documentary is supposed to look like and its purpose. In this challenge, we cannot talk about the records of the past without talking about the archive in a similar vein: what they mean, what they contain, who maintains them, and what they look like. The state produces documents for the archive, but official narrative often leaves out or even purposefully ignoring parts of the past. Documentaries give counter evidence to the that narrative and voices to the victims of past traumas, but what is archival art and how does it help to give victims a voice?

*Typhoid Quarantine*, the short story by Varlam Shalamov, was written as fiction, even though it is a representation of his experiences in the Kolyma labor camp. I found this idea of a document of the Gulags written as fiction to be very interesting. His approach seems antithetical to what I understand to be good fiction writing. Typically, in my understanding, the goal is to create characters that are relatable and generally likable; however, the protagonist, Pavel Andreev, tends to challenge this idea. Throughout the story, it becomes increasing difficult to relate to or to even like Andreev. After Andreev and another prisoner, Ognyov, were bathed and returned to the disinfection chamber, Ognyov learns his fur socks had shrunk in the wash and were unusable. At this sight, Ognyov burst into tears, "for the socks were his salvation in the north"(151). Andreev, in response to this, is described as to "stared at him without sympathy" (151). The reader could imagine losing something that they cared about and empathize with Ognyov, but not Andreev.

A bit later, we learn that in one of his jobs, him and a different prisoner are given a ruble as payment for working with a cook. Andreev explains to the other prisoner, referred to as the professor, that they are able to buy bread at a commissary at a transit prison. The professor was more excited about using this money to get a drink of kvass or a lemonade or he says "anything sweet". Most people could relate to this idea of a reward after a hard day's work, especially considering the conditions these prisoners are working in; but, when the professor suggests to Andreev to get some too, Andreev "rejected that suggestion out of hand" (163). Again the reader finds it difficult to relate.

Throughout the story, Andreev is constantly being described as having lost the value in his humanity. Being broken by the system, yet still having a survival instinct to do whatever he could to live another day. The narrator asks, "did he think of his family? No. Of freedom? No. Did he recite poetry from memory? No. Did he recall the past? No. He lived in a distracted bitterness, and nothing more" (159). How does one live without this drive to live? Nietzsche says, a man can overcome any how as long as he has a why, but we do not see this with Andreev. He has regressed to his most core instincts of survival. This leaves the reader feeling disconnected and seems to further remove us from being able to empathize with him, but I think Shalamov does this on purpose. Andreev is not created for the reader to identify with, instead Shalamov creates something that is fiction as a way of documenting the existential experience of life in a camp that’s ultimately unrelatable. This is the archival art, Shalamov was able to give victims of the Gulags a voice through his short stories, allowing the experiences to be shared, but also showing how unrelatable they really are.

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Comment on blogpost 3 Lisa Seidelin Hi Joshua! I really liked reading your interpretation of the Kolyma stories. I think it is a very good point that we as humans usually look for a relatable, empathetic main character in a fiction story and that it is therefore throwing us off course when there is not one. In a way, I think, it is also unusual in documentaries and journalism to have a main character that we do not feel sympathetic with, because even though we should portray reality and all it's brutal ways of survival, we often need a sympathetic main character to follow the story line. Your blogpost really made me think about that, thank you very much for a well written perspective on the Gulag stories.
Contents of this reply:
1. Blogpost 3 The theme of the section is Documentary Aesthetics, in which we challenged the idea of what a documentary is supposed to look like and its purpose. In this challenge, we cannot talk about the records of the past without talking about the archive in a similar vein: what they mean, what they contain, who maintains them, and what they look like. The state produces documents for the archive, but official narrative often leaves out or even purposefully ignoring parts of the past. Documentaries give counter evidence to the that narrative and voices to the victims of past traumas, but what is archival art and how does it help to give victims a voice?
  
  *Typhoid Quarantine*, the short story by Varlam Shalamov, was written as fiction, even though it is a representation of his experiences in the Kolyma labor camp. I found this idea of a document of the Gulags written as fiction to be very interesting. His approach seems antithetical to what I understand to be good fiction writing. Typically, in my understanding, the goal is to create characters that are relatable and generally likable; however, the protagonist, Pavel Andreev, tends to challenge this idea. Throughout the story, it becomes increasing difficult to relate to or to even like Andreev. After Andreev and another prisoner, Ognyov, were bathed and returned to the disinfection chamber, Ognyov learns his fur socks had shrunk in the wash and were unusable. At this sight, Ognyov burst into tears, "for the socks were his salvation in the north"(151). Andreev, in response to this, is described as to "stared at him without sympathy" (151). The reader could imagine losing something that they cared about and empathize with Ognyov, but not Andreev.
  
  A bit later, we learn that in one of his jobs, him and a different prisoner are given a ruble as payment for working with a cook. Andreev explains to the other prisoner, referred to as the professor, that they are able to buy bread at a commissary at a transit prison. The professor was more excited about using this money to get a drink of kvass or a lemonade or he says "anything sweet". Most people could relate to this idea of a reward after a hard day's work, especially considering the conditions these prisoners are working in; but, when the professor suggests to Andreev to get some too, Andreev "rejected that suggestion out of hand" (163). Again the reader finds it difficult to relate.
  
  Throughout the story, Andreev is constantly being described as having lost the value in his humanity. Being broken by the system, yet still having a survival instinct to do whatever he could to live another day. The narrator asks, "did he think of his family? No. Of freedom? No. Did he recite poetry from memory? No. Did he recall the past? No. He lived in a distracted bitterness, and nothing more" (159). How does one live without this drive to live? Nietzsche says, a man can overcome any how as long as he has a why, but we do not see this with Andreev. He has regressed to his most core instincts of survival. This leaves the reader feeling disconnected and seems to further remove us from being able to empathize with him, but I think Shalamov does this on purpose. Andreev is not created for the reader to identify with, instead Shalamov creates something that is fiction as a way of documenting the existential experience of life in a camp that’s ultimately unrelatable. This is the archival art, Shalamov was able to give victims of the Gulags a voice through his short stories, allowing the experiences to be shared, but also showing how unrelatable they really are.

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