The Madonnas

The Madonnas of Leningrad took me by surprise. I can’t say I even caught onto the premise straight away. Fortunately I had read that the author was previously a play actress, which explains why the characters’ actions and movements were so coherent, even if Marina was dreaming. Not having acted myself, but knowing that it’s not purely a delivery of lines, but a fluidity and full context which the cast creates, helped me appreciate the unique writing style of Debra Dean. It did not read like a script, it read like a ballet, at least I presume, as I have never read a ballet.

I have, however, visited St Petersburg, and all the gorgeousness of the Hermitage, and even walked along Nevksy Prospect. This familiarity added a lot to my enjoyment of the story. It’s like when you see the road you drive regularly in a race scene in a movie, and all of a sudden, you’re more there.

The story, which at first is entirely plausible then turns off only the slightest shades, imperceptibly at first to one's consciousness, until it’s absolute fabrication, was thrilling. Oh, how exciting to recreate one’s existence and interact with the gods, to see art so clearly – or reality so poorly – that art’s infamous characters are one’s contemporaries, their stories told like layers of oils on canvas over one’s own.

The only thing which was just too, too difficult to redeem was the bar of chocolate, except as compared against glue. I can still remember as a child trying to eat Soviet chocolate (circa 1989) and realizing that it was terrible. That big bar Marina goes for, and is her token as she again becomes the Madonna in her story, must have been a far better import in 1941.