Confessions of a Lapsed Standard-Bearer - Andrei Makine

It feels a bit weird to put my bookish head on after so long with my nose buried in scientific papers and frantic coursework scribblings. ("Adaptive radiations in phytophagous insects" and "Habitat heterogeneity on a coastal dune system", if you’re interested [Please be, no one else is]. Which makes me pause and reflect on the fact that scientists do like stupid words, don’t they? Basically that translates as: “Plant eating insects wot have split into new species” and “Sand dunes have dry bits, wet bits, green bits and sandy bits.”)

Anyway, having handed in an assignment, and with a whole four weeks til the next one is due, I treated myself to reading some fiction. Only a short book to start with: Confessions of a Lapsed Standard-Bearer by Andreï Makine.

As a reader of epic fantasy, short books have been something of a revelation to me. This one is no exception: 136 pages that paint perfectly a childhood, too-short adolescence and adult reflection on life in Russia after the Second World War. The story is mainly told as a series of childhood memories, interspersed with back stories from other characters. Ellipses often separate scenes, the prose sometimes drifts, becoming dreamy or poetic, and references to history or political theory tend to be oblique. Together with the vivid, crystal sharpness of the descriptions, this perfectly captures the feeling of childish memories: strong visual images in a background of poorly understood or misinterpreted adult meaning.

It is, I suppose, a deeply political book – exploring both the dream and reality of communism, patriotism, war and national identity. But it is an entirely human story, with no grandstanding. Points are made, but feel like personal revelations not laboured lectures.

This is intentional on Makine’s part, and comes across very powerfully in one section towards the end of the book where the narrator is recalling an incident from his time serving in the Afghanistan war. I won’t ruin it for you by quoting it in truncated form – I think it works much better when reading the book as a whole.

And I really would recommend this book. Perhaps I am biased – I’ve always had a fascination with Russian literature (Makine is French, but was born and grew up in Russia). There’s something about the way emotions are described which always seems perfectly right to me; it’s the way emotions sound in my mind, if that makes any sense. Maybe it’s just the translation into English which gives it a stilted, restrained but naive air, or maybe it’s the preoccupation with suffering and doomed love affairs. Or maybe I just really like descriptions of fur coats, snow and horse-drawn sleighs. Who knows. Anyway. Read it. It’s only a short book.