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A review by jpronan124
Petersburg by Andrei Bely
5.0
The most beautifully written book I've ever read. Dense, challenging, funny, and a little prophetic. Part of the canon in Russia, but fairly unknown in the English-speaking world. Highly recommend.
"Listen carefully to the noise."
"They're noisy, all right."
"You think you hear 's-s-s,' but you really hear 'SH'..."
Lippanchenko, in a daze, had retreated into his own thoughts.
"You can hear something dull and slimy in the sound 'sh.' Or am I mistaken?"
"No, not at all," and Lippanchenko tore himself away from his thoughts."
"All words with 'sh' are outrageously trivial. 'S' isn't like that. 'S-s-s': sky, concept, crystal. The sound 's-s-s' evokes in me the image of the curve of an eagle's beak. But words with 'sh' are trivial. For example: the word fish. Listen: fi-sh-sh-sh, that is, something with cold blood. And again:
slu-sh-sh-sh; mush, something shapeless; rash, something diseased."
The stranger broke off. Lippanchenko was sitting before him like utterly shapeless mush. And the ash from his cigarette slushed up the grayish atmosphere. Lippanchenko was sitting in a cloud. The stranger then looked at him and thought: "Ptui, what filth, how Tartarish." Sitting before him was simply some kind of "SH."
"Listen carefully to the noise."
"They're noisy, all right."
"You think you hear 's-s-s,' but you really hear 'SH'..."
Lippanchenko, in a daze, had retreated into his own thoughts.
"You can hear something dull and slimy in the sound 'sh.' Or am I mistaken?"
"No, not at all," and Lippanchenko tore himself away from his thoughts."
"All words with 'sh' are outrageously trivial. 'S' isn't like that. 'S-s-s': sky, concept, crystal. The sound 's-s-s' evokes in me the image of the curve of an eagle's beak. But words with 'sh' are trivial. For example: the word fish. Listen: fi-sh-sh-sh, that is, something with cold blood. And again:
slu-sh-sh-sh; mush, something shapeless; rash, something diseased."
The stranger broke off. Lippanchenko was sitting before him like utterly shapeless mush. And the ash from his cigarette slushed up the grayish atmosphere. Lippanchenko was sitting in a cloud. The stranger then looked at him and thought: "Ptui, what filth, how Tartarish." Sitting before him was simply some kind of "SH."