I pored over documents, seeking to understand what Soviet children's literature was and what it meant to be Soviet. My experience, particularly with the human component of conducting scholarly work in Russia, illustrates the utter randomness characteristic of the post-Soviet disorder. At the present time, in Russia, the unusual somehow seems de rigueur. To make ends meet, one children's literature library on Tverskaia reluctantly sold some of its space to an expensive European clothier. Archives and libraries close for unspecified lengths of time because they can afford neither heat nor electricity.
Workers go without pay for months.
In the former Lenin Library, frail and rare books remain in circulation because the library lacks the resources to sort through them. My experience was both aggravating and gratifying. Because I had identified the documents I was looking for and their locations, I was able to photocopy and microfilm all of the materials I requested. When I tried to give her ten dollars as a token of appreciation, she protested. She accepted the gift only when I convinced her that she could use the money to buy tea and cookies for the entire office.