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3.6 AVERAGE
3.6 AVERAGE
The story of the russian inventor of the theremin, his life-long love Clara Rockwell and his many adventures in Soviet Russia, including work in a gulag. Chilling stuff at times but it was incredibly sweet to see a picture of the real Leon and Clara after I was done reading this.
It's hard to come up with the correct rating for this book. The premise is interesting - a Russian scientist invents the theremin and spends 11 years in the USA before ending up in a Siberian gulag (loosely based on the life of the actual Lev Termen). However, the jumping timeline and sudden switches to second person narrative were a little off-putting and disruptive to the flow of the story.
Loved this book so much! The narrative was really captivating, the characters were great, and I loved the historical fiction aspect of it. Really great read.
Wonderfully amusing historical fiction. I want to learn more about the theremin after reading this.
Not being knowledgeable about physics and not being a lover of electronic music, I did not find this book’s subject matter appealing and so read it only after it won the 2014 Scotiabank Giller Prize. Though I have not yet read the other books on the award’s shortlist, I must admit that this novel did not strike me as being of the quality I would expect for one of Canada’s foremost literary awards.
The book is very loosely based on the life of Lev Sergeyvich Termen, the Russian inventor of the theremin. He is sent to the U.S. to showcase his musical instrument and, by extension, the greatness of Mother Russia. As he meets with famous and influential Americans, he gathers contacts and intelligence for his homeland and falls in love with Clara Reisenberg, a theremin virtuoso. The novel is written as a long letter from Termen to Clara, “a letter that will never be read” (218) because he is a political prisoner.
My objection to the novel is what lies at the heart of the book: Lev’s love for Clara. He becomes obsessed with a girl who at eighteen is fifteen years younger. She periodically spends time with him, but there is no evidence of romantic feelings on her part. She seems to see Lev as a “dance partner . . . a diversion” (83) though Clara herself remains opaque and elusive; perhaps she could best be described as ethereal, like the music of a theremin. In fact, Lev’s love seems ethereal, in the sense of “tenuous” as opposed to “celestial.”
Lev remains emotionally distant with and ambivalent about other significant women in his life (Katia, Lavinia, his sister), yet we are to believe that he is capable of such an undying love for someone who does not return his love and even rejects him? Besides not being consistent with his detached personality, his constant mooning over the much younger Clara becomes annoying and is unbecoming if not a tad unsavoury. The novel may have been intended as a paean to love; its message seems to be that even unrequited love can help one survive. Unfortunately, Lev’s love seems more like obsessive infatuation, not genuine love, and a middle-aged man who is such a slave to an unrequited love is just pathetic. And after Lev’s last conversation with Clara, which we learn about only at the end, I could only shake my head in disbelief.
For an intelligent scientist and inventor, Lev seems very naïve, if not delusional. He thinks the theremin, because of its simplicity, is an instrument of public good: “Because it trusts the worker’s own senses, not the knowledge locked away in the lessons and textbooks of the elites, the theremin becomes a revolutionary device – a levelling of the means of musical production” (28). After being held as a prisoner on board a ship forcibly bringing him back to Russia, he still believes the Stalinist government will allow him to “build new wonders” (214)?!
The first part of the book, 214 pages, I found rather tedious. It reads like a dull journal: I did this and then I did that and then I met so and so. Events like marriages which should receive more detail are glossed over. Given the intended audience of Lev’s letter, one would expect more honesty if the depth of his love is to be convincing. He is certainly not given to self-examination and only in the end seems to fully realize that he has been a useful instrument of the state and admits, “What did I know of conducting” (293). He concludes, “I was in play. I was Lev Sergevich Termen, conducted” (301).
All this is not to say that the book has no merits. Its depiction of life in New York City in the 1920s and 1930s is marvelous. Likewise, life in a Siberian gulag is described in vivid if disturbing detail. And the writing is beautiful; lyricism is found throughout.
I will conclude by stating that perhaps the fault is not in the book but in my cynicism. Surely all those who have found the book to be a literary masterpiece, including the judges of the Scotiabank Giller Prize, could not be wrong.
Please check out my reader's blog (http://schatjesshelves.blogspot.ca/) and follow me on Twitter (@DCYakabuski).
The book is very loosely based on the life of Lev Sergeyvich Termen, the Russian inventor of the theremin. He is sent to the U.S. to showcase his musical instrument and, by extension, the greatness of Mother Russia. As he meets with famous and influential Americans, he gathers contacts and intelligence for his homeland and falls in love with Clara Reisenberg, a theremin virtuoso. The novel is written as a long letter from Termen to Clara, “a letter that will never be read” (218) because he is a political prisoner.
My objection to the novel is what lies at the heart of the book: Lev’s love for Clara. He becomes obsessed with a girl who at eighteen is fifteen years younger. She periodically spends time with him, but there is no evidence of romantic feelings on her part. She seems to see Lev as a “dance partner . . . a diversion” (83) though Clara herself remains opaque and elusive; perhaps she could best be described as ethereal, like the music of a theremin. In fact, Lev’s love seems ethereal, in the sense of “tenuous” as opposed to “celestial.”
Lev remains emotionally distant with and ambivalent about other significant women in his life (Katia, Lavinia, his sister), yet we are to believe that he is capable of such an undying love for someone who does not return his love and even rejects him? Besides not being consistent with his detached personality, his constant mooning over the much younger Clara becomes annoying and is unbecoming if not a tad unsavoury. The novel may have been intended as a paean to love; its message seems to be that even unrequited love can help one survive. Unfortunately, Lev’s love seems more like obsessive infatuation, not genuine love, and a middle-aged man who is such a slave to an unrequited love is just pathetic. And after Lev’s last conversation with Clara, which we learn about only at the end, I could only shake my head in disbelief.
For an intelligent scientist and inventor, Lev seems very naïve, if not delusional. He thinks the theremin, because of its simplicity, is an instrument of public good: “Because it trusts the worker’s own senses, not the knowledge locked away in the lessons and textbooks of the elites, the theremin becomes a revolutionary device – a levelling of the means of musical production” (28). After being held as a prisoner on board a ship forcibly bringing him back to Russia, he still believes the Stalinist government will allow him to “build new wonders” (214)?!
The first part of the book, 214 pages, I found rather tedious. It reads like a dull journal: I did this and then I did that and then I met so and so. Events like marriages which should receive more detail are glossed over. Given the intended audience of Lev’s letter, one would expect more honesty if the depth of his love is to be convincing. He is certainly not given to self-examination and only in the end seems to fully realize that he has been a useful instrument of the state and admits, “What did I know of conducting” (293). He concludes, “I was in play. I was Lev Sergevich Termen, conducted” (301).
All this is not to say that the book has no merits. Its depiction of life in New York City in the 1920s and 1930s is marvelous. Likewise, life in a Siberian gulag is described in vivid if disturbing detail. And the writing is beautiful; lyricism is found throughout.
I will conclude by stating that perhaps the fault is not in the book but in my cynicism. Surely all those who have found the book to be a literary masterpiece, including the judges of the Scotiabank Giller Prize, could not be wrong.
Please check out my reader's blog (http://schatjesshelves.blogspot.ca/) and follow me on Twitter (@DCYakabuski).
I was reluctant to read this, but loved it! Beautiful language and vivid descriptions.
I'm afraid this was just an OK for me.
Us Conductors is a story about a scientist forced to become something more sinister and the processes that cause him to adapt his skills for the state.
My favourite parts were the first few chapters. The plot moves very quickly but Lev still grapples with interesting questions: what does research mean to him? Does he belong in Physics or some intersection of Physics and arts? What does it mean to serve your country?
And the descriptions of his research and the passion he has for it were instantly recognisable and a lot of fun to anyone who has ever worked in experimental electronics.
Unfortunately Michael's protagonist is a loathsome human. He commits adultery without qualms, to multiple women over decades, he is entirely self-centered. It's possible to get away with an unlikable central character if their motivation is something past instant glorification but, bizarrely, his initial introspection never makes it past the first few chapters and his own part in the monstrous path his life takes is never considered.
The fast, plot-driven first person narrative quickly loses its appeal when you realise that the story just becomes a series of events with no consciousness. This happened, then this, then that...
There is reflection, but not around the driving forces in the novel: rather the narration and recolection is directed towards his former student and, reluctant, lover.
This, the central (although never convincing) romance feels creepy, put-upon, and pointless. I would have enjoyed the book a lot more without it.
Fast paced but lags towards the end but an interesting story and subject matter!
Us Conductors is a story about a scientist forced to become something more sinister and the processes that cause him to adapt his skills for the state.
My favourite parts were the first few chapters. The plot moves very quickly but Lev still grapples with interesting questions: what does research mean to him? Does he belong in Physics or some intersection of Physics and arts? What does it mean to serve your country?
And the descriptions of his research and the passion he has for it were instantly recognisable and a lot of fun to anyone who has ever worked in experimental electronics.
Unfortunately Michael's protagonist is a loathsome human. He commits adultery without qualms, to multiple women over decades, he is entirely self-centered. It's possible to get away with an unlikable central character if their motivation is something past instant glorification but, bizarrely, his initial introspection never makes it past the first few chapters and his own part in the monstrous path his life takes is never considered.
The fast, plot-driven first person narrative quickly loses its appeal when you realise that the story just becomes a series of events with no consciousness. This happened, then this, then that...
There is reflection, but not around the driving forces in the novel: rather the narration and recolection is directed towards his former student and, reluctant, lover.
This, the central (although never convincing) romance feels creepy, put-upon, and pointless. I would have enjoyed the book a lot more without it.
Fast paced but lags towards the end but an interesting story and subject matter!
The beginning of this story is mesmerizing and the prose is lyric and witty. I bought it after reading a friends review of it where he describes it as half Baz Luhrmann party scene and half Werner Herzog voice over. This comparison is not my own but it is so apt that it warrants repeating.
Michaels's 1920's New York is intoxicating. The Russian gulag that takes up the second half of the book is both grotesque and banal. I suppose someone must write about the gulags so that we do not forget what a sadistic vacuum Soviet Russia was. In the end, the book is satisfying in that it does not stoop to dramatic death nor hollywood ending. Michaels satisfies with the strangeness of the theremin and this man's story and the honesty of a life's potential continuously thwarted.
Michaels's 1920's New York is intoxicating. The Russian gulag that takes up the second half of the book is both grotesque and banal. I suppose someone must write about the gulags so that we do not forget what a sadistic vacuum Soviet Russia was. In the end, the book is satisfying in that it does not stoop to dramatic death nor hollywood ending. Michaels satisfies with the strangeness of the theremin and this man's story and the honesty of a life's potential continuously thwarted.
What a great book! Fiction based on fact, and very creatively done. It won the Giller Prize in 2014 and I can see why. Fascinating look at technological invention, combined with Russian espionage. Seems even more relevant today given the Russians involvement in the US. Recommended read.
Should be fascinating, the inventor of the theremin, a Russian agent, lev termen, in America in the late 20s. Isn’t fascinating. The unrequited love story is a little cliched, and termen’s character is just not well drawn. I have a much better sense of the minor characters’ personalities. Termen is a bit of a blank. 100 pages in, and I’m calling it quits. Couldn’t even hang in for the gulag lab scenes.
Also, why do men always have to fall for girls of around 18? Come on. He’s in his 30s for goodness’ sake. Come on. I know this is historical fiction, based on real events, but it’s just so cliched. Older man, slightly bitter about life and love, revived by the willowy young girl who seems so mature and wise. Yawn. Not that it can’t be written about, but you’d better make it good. This wasn’t.
Also, why do men always have to fall for girls of around 18? Come on. He’s in his 30s for goodness’ sake. Come on. I know this is historical fiction, based on real events, but it’s just so cliched. Older man, slightly bitter about life and love, revived by the willowy young girl who seems so mature and wise. Yawn. Not that it can’t be written about, but you’d better make it good. This wasn’t.