The sanctity of life

When I read a novel, I look to immerse myself in it. I look to get lost in the different worlds created by the author, make the characters as familiar as my friends, the scenes and places described my own. A novel that does not impart this sense of, for lack of a better word, "belonging", does not impress me much.

We the Living, I am glad to say, does not suffer this fate. It excels on all counts. Rich, detailed and vivid descriptions truly make the book come alive. You get the feeling that you have been transported back in time, in the year 1925, in Soviet Russia.

And while the book does deal with Communism in some depth, as the author herself mentions in the foreword, We the Living is "not a novel about Soviet Russia". Its not a novel about Communism. Its about life, and the struggle to make some sense of it in an insane world. Communism and "Soviet Russia" just serve as a pathway to get the main message across.

What the novel is about is rebellion, of standing up for your convictions, of not letting anyone dictate terms for you, of not just blindly following the masses. And of how tough it is if you do choose to go your own way.

The main protagonist, Kira, is a woman born in the wrong place at the wrong time. Placed in Russia at the height of communism, when individualism is looked upon as a disease, Kira is the individualist's individualist. The story follows her life, from her entry into Russia as a teen, through her joining a college which serves more as a center of politics than a center of learning. To the time when she gets kicked out of college, simply because her beliefs do not match that of the herd's. Then her struggle to live, to survive, and ultimately, to die violently, unrepentant.

Then theres Leo Kovalensky. Born in a nobel family, now living in a country where nobility is sneered upon. He starts out like Kira, strong willed and full of convictions, vowing never to allow external circumstances to break his spirit. The novel chronicles his life, how his strong willed spirit and shoulders cannot bear their heavy burden. They stoop and stoop, until, finally, unable to bear the load any longer, they break down completely. Leo sells his convictions and ideals.

Andrei Taganov. "Comrade" Taganov. A communist, member of the All-Union Communist Party, member of the G.P.U. As red as they come. He and Kira, despite their very different beliefs, surprisingly become friends. Because the one thing that they share in common is their belief in life. Taganov however, wants to fight for it, is willing even to die for it, while Kira just wants to live it. He too is sure of his beliefs, secure in the knowledge that they are right. Until he finds that the All-Union Communist Party has no place for values or morals, but enough place for dog eat dog survival. When his eyes finally open, when the curtain of idealism is finally pulled away from his eyes, he blows his brains out.

And a lot of other minor characters. Victor Dunaev, Irina, Pavel Syerov, Citizen Morozov, Galina Petrovna, Comrade Timoshenko, Alexander Dimitrievitch and a host of others. All of them emphasizing the main point in one way or the other: the sanctity of life.

That is what this book is all about. Its about life. I know it sounds like a clique, but there really is no other word to describe it. Its a tragedy, as almost all novels about life are, and you really have to read it for yourself to find out what it truly is about.

And to those of you who are planning to read Ayn Rand, I just have one suggestion to make: make sure that her We the Living is the first book that you read.

Her other works, such as Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead contain a lot of symbolism. Everything in the above mentioned books is in black and white --- the characters are either paragons of virtue, or the devil's advocates themselves. You are either right or wrong. There are no shades of grey, nowhere to hide. I must point out that the ideas and philosophy contained in both the books are excellent. She makes radical powerful arguments, and then backs them up well. But both The Fountainhead and in particular Atlas Shrugged give the impression that they are not novels in the true sense of the word. You get the feeling that she is fooling you, apparently presenting a novel while in reality presenting her ideas and ideals. Maybe you could say that about every author, but in Atlas Shrugged, this is a little too prominent. In We the Living on the other hand, she tells a story, a proper story.

AND WHAT AN ABSORBING TALE IT IS