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SOME PAGES FROM MY SCHOOL DAYS

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Introduction

Recently, I have been reading more books in the humanities than before. One such book is "The Narrow Cage & Other Modern Fairytales" by Vasily Eroshenko and translated by Adam Kuplowsky. In my younger years, I read some comic books at the library, but there was a long period where I loathed fiction until recently. Then slowly, it dawned on me that this interest transcends any specific domain of knowledge.

If you learn about a culture through its history, you'll learn that societal change happens very gradually. Those who understand a culture best seem to be those who publish fairy tales. Rarely does a piece of work not draw inspiration from something else. We are story-driven creatures; we are told fables in our childhood. But time makes us forget. The story of the fable isn't as important as what it represents, just like any story with a moral theme.

In Eroshenko's anthropomorphic stories, there is an indifferent prose that narrates the death, pain, and love characters feel. In "By the Pond," little creatures come to realize that they have no purpose in life other than to be eaten or used for amusement. In "The Martyr," a zealous mosquito uses the scientific method to find our Creator but is squashed by the hands of a priest after landing on his forehead. In "The Tragedy of the Chick," one teeny chick in a family of chicks repeatedly wanders to play with the ducklings, questions mother chick, “Must I eat fish to swim in the pond?”, and is found dead early the next morning. In "The Narrow Cage," a caged tiger, living as a zoo spectacle, goes insane and breaks out, only to find more narrow cages everywhere he explores.

From "SOME PAGES FROM MY SCHOOL DAYS"

Some time later, the Grand Duke Sergei Aleksandrovich, uncle to Tsar Nicholas II, paid a visit to our school. The grand duke was, at the time, the governor-general of Moscow. A week before his visit, we began making preparations at the school, learning how best to greet such a person of distinction. Policemen and soldiers filled the school grounds, as well as the neighboring courtyards and streets. People were afraid that the anarchists or revolutionaries would attack the grand duke on his way to the school.

On the day fixed for the grand duke’s visit, every preparation was made. We waited for the bell to indicate that it was time to gather in the assembly hall. Then, ten or twelve minutes before the scheduled time of his arrival, the bell began to ring. Thinking Old Mikhail [school groundskeeper] was simply getting excited, I decided to wait a few minutes before leaving the dormitory.

On the way to the assembly hall, I was stopped by a strange man.

“Where are you going?” he asked me.

“To the assembly hall,” I answered. “The Tsar’s uncle is paying us a visit.”

The man asked me if I had eaten breakfast.

I told him I had.

“Was it a good breakfast?”

“Why?” I asked. “Can you give me something better?”

“Certainly,” answered the man.

“Then why don’t you? The food here is awful.”

He laughed. “Tell me, can you like a person you cannot see?”

“Of course I can. I cannot see my friends, but I like them very much.”

“Do you like me?”

“I don’t know you,” I replied. “But even if I did, I probably wouldn’t like you. At any rate, I don’t have time to speak to you. The Tsar’s uncle should be here any minute.” And I headed towards the assembly hall.

I was later informed that during this conversation, the teachers had all turned white, then red, for the strange man who had stopped me was none other than the grand duke himself. With a royal wave of his hand, he had forbidden anyone from interrupting our conversation.

What I learned from Eroshenko

Besides having one of the most memorable childhood stories above, the themes in his fables blend ethology and consciousness to "...[condemn] the pathetic ignorance and voyeurism of common people, who are not much freer than the caged tiger." Bringing into perspective that "[we] make prisons out of freedom". He was also inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's stories in a dogmatic prose.

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