Easy for Tolstoy, but not for me
Learning Russian isn't a snap. Oh, if he had only started sooner.
By Bob Blaisdellfrom the March 5, 2007 edition
Page 1 of 3
"Why are you studying Russian?" asks each new acquaintance I make in St. Petersburg.
"I am studying Russian," I confess, "because I love Tolstoy."
"Ah."
"I read all books by Tolstoy – books in English," I say in ungrammatical Russian, "and I want to read in books Tolstoy wrote only Russian."
In spite of the bad grammar, for once no one corrects me. My noble plan usually receives a nod of encouragement.
In my four-hour sessions with Albina, a young, earnest university lecturer, I, an English professor who has been teaching half my life, am not one of those cheerful, bright students who never misses a trick; who has revelations at each clever explanation the teacher offers; and who never slumps his shoulders in despair at the unexpected twists, back flips, and booby traps of Russian grammar.
No, in spite of Albina's talent as a teacher, in spite of how well she has assessed my deficiencies, and in spite of how well she paraphrases simple Russian into simpler Russian, I wince and shake my head, about to weep with frustration when she asks if now I understand about reflexive verbs.
Only a foundering student would resort to philosophical questions at such a moment. And so I think, "What is 'understanding' anyway? Is it knowing? Is it a blurry image? Is it being able to distinguish colors or shades? Depth? Is it having a vague idea?"
At best I have a vague idea, but I don't think I understand, and after a several-moment pause, during which my teacher patiently waits, I admit I'm still in the dark: "Izvenitiya, Albina! Ya yesho ni punimaiyu!" ("I'm sorry, Albina, I still don't get it!")
We sit in a seminar room at the school by ourselves because I have come for two weeks during the Russian holidays that extend from just before New Year's through a couple of days after Russian Christmas (Jan. 7).
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