The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1929-04-06
BY ELI B. JACOBSON

Paradoxical as it may seem, the
literatures of imperialist America
and Communist Russia have much in
common. Both are young, vigorous
and crude, and are in the stage of
growing adolescence. From both
exudes the smelly atmosphere of the
factories, both are shaken by the
impact of the city culture upon rural
backwardness; both bow before the
ever-increasing demands of the
machine; literary weltschmertz and
sentimentality still sicken the read
ers of both; both stand helpless and
perplexed at the gradual transform
alton of the sex mores.
These characteristics are not
shared by all Russians or all Amer
leans; nor in the same degree and
intensity. But on a whole these
tendencies are revealed in both
countries.
For instance, Dresser gives US a
mere incidental glimpse of a collar
factory IAN American Tragedy /;
whereas almost the entire setting
is placed by N. Liashko, into ma
chine factory (The Song of the
Chains). In true American efficient
fashion Sherwood Anderson tram
forms farm village into an indus
trial community Poor White) !;
whereas Alexey Tolstoy merely ex-
presses distant romantic hope for
the same transformation in "Azure
Cities" The thick inky stains of
sentimentality that smear so many
of Michael Colds pages are barely
visible in Marietta Shaginian
Three Looms). In America Floyd
Dell is constantly pre-occupied with
his adolescent analysis of the chang
ing sex and marital standards,
standards that probably will BATTLE
him to the end of his already fading
literary days, and in Russia Boris
Pilniak is equally baffled and per-
picked, altho treading on a little
surer ground.
But the newer Russians scorn de-
cadence, introspection, investigation
of the meaning of Life. Beauty
is not truth with them nor truth,
beauty. Nor do they dwell in the
ivory tower. Nor do they idealize
perversion. Nor do they indulge in
wise-cracks. Nor do they sigh be-
cause the rich do not find sufficient
novel pleasure to fill up their leisure
time. Nor do they psychoanalyze
in and out of season. Nor do they
indulge in the luxuries of pessim-
ism. Nor are they cynical, "sexy,"
spoolzy, trivial and lecherous-all
these symptoms of decaying pluto
cratic civilization that so infest the
literary and artistic" circles and
writings of the United States are
not evinced by the Russians.
1t is this spirit which informs the
new volume of Russian short stories,
Azure Cities" Significantly enough
the volume begins with the great
dreams of the azure cities to be
erected all over Soviet Russia in the
Immediate future and ends with the
vigorous, muscular spirit of "youth"
(V. Lidin) that dominates the old
professor of science, the dying revo-
lutionary as we'll as the young avia-
tor, coursing proudly and bravely
over the vast spaces of Leningrad.
Where in all American literature
does such a healthy, non-morbid
spirit breathe and have it's being?
And how the factories sing! How
gladly and spontaneously the work
ers themselves decide to work on
three instead of two looms! Isn't it
their factory, their land?
No sentimentality is shown a
parent, because he is parent. Ii
be is an enemy of the new order,
then he must suffer. No reconcilia-
ton is possible. Both I. Babel in
"The Letter" and Seifullina in "The
Old Woman" (observe that the
author does not call her "The
Mother") automatically portray