Of all my novels, this lurid one is the best.Emigration, abject poverty, and homesickness have not affected the novel's careful planning and ingenious conception.The novel was conceived on the beach in Pomerania in the summer of 1927, framed in Berlin the following winter, finished in the summer of 1928, and published in "King, Queen, Bodyguard" by the Russian émigré publishing house Slov in early October of the same year. The title of the book was published in Berlin.This is my second novel published in Russian.I was twenty-eight years old that year.I lived in Berlin on and off for six years.I am convinced, along with some intellectuals, that at some point in the next ten years we will all return to a hospitable, repentant, banyan-blossoming Russia.

In the autumn of the same year Ulstein Verlag acquired the German copyright.I have no doubts that Siegfried von Fegersacker's translation is very good.I remember that I met Siegfried von Fegerzak in early 1929. At that time, my wife and I hurried through Paris and went to the Eastern Pyrenees with the generous advance of Ulstein Publishing House. The province goes on a butterfly hunting trip.We interviewed him at his hotel, and he was lying in bed with a bad cold, wearing a monocle, looking very discomfited; meanwhile, other famous American writers were having fun in bars, etc., as is often said , Americans are used to going to bars.

One might easily guess that a Russian writer who chose an exclusively German character (my wife and I are purely visiting in the last two chapters of the novel) created for himself insurmountable difficulties.I don't speak German, I don't have German friends, and I haven't read a single German novel in original or in translation.But in art, like nature, a glaring disadvantage may become a subtle means of protection. "Human moisture," chelovecheskaya vlazhnost, permeated my first novel, Mashenka () published by Slofer in 1926 and also in Germany by Ulstein, both editions Excellent, but the book no longer delighted me at the time (and it delights me now for new reasons).The immigrant figures I collected in that display case were so recognizable, they were the center of attention of their time, and one could recognize the logos on their backs at a glance.Fortunately, it's not very clear what those signs say; however, I'm not inclined to use a technique peculiar to the French "human archives" to preserve an isolated community whose members have faithfully described the Community Something akin to the euphoric and dry national psychology that so often feels depressing in modern fiction.In a phase of gradual unraveling of the mind, I have not yet found or dared to use the very special means of reshaping the historical environment (which I used ten years later in "The Gift"). The lack of emotional involvement in the environment, together with the inherent fairy-tale freedom, answered my purely creative dreams.I might be able to stage it in Romania or the Netherlands.However, familiarity with Berlin's topography and weather determined my choice.

By the end of 1966, my son had translated the book word for word into English, and I kept the translation next to the Russian version on my podium.I figured some revisions would have to be made, since the original novel was written forty years ago, and I haven't read the original since I revised the proofs twice, when I was younger than the revisers today.Soon enough, I'm sure, the original is a lot looser than I expected.I don't want to discuss the small changes I've made to the original so as not to spoil the enjoyment of reading for future proofreaders.I just want to say that I don't want to make these changes to beautify a zombie, but to let a body that is still breathing enjoy a certain natural inherent capacity in the novel; Sloppy, because the wording is tired, readers cannot appreciate this natural and inherent capacity.In the structure of this novel, those various possibilities are almost shouting, hoping to be further expanded or sorted out.I have completed the modification of the novel with a lot of taste.The "vulgarity" and "lewdness" of the novel shocked my most benevolent critics of the Exile Journal, but those chapters survived, although, I confess, I ruthlessly deleted and rewritten many lame bits and pieces , for example, during a crucial transition in the last chapter, in order to keep Franz out of the scene for the time being, he should not interfere (at the same time, some important scenes in the tourist resort of Grewitz caught the author's attention), the author Using a despicable expedient, Dreyer sent Franz to Berlin to deliver a scallop-shaped cigarette case that had to be returned to a merchant, who I acquiesced in leaving it somewhere (I understand, I used the same technique in my 1966 book Speak, Memory, and it was quite apt, since the shape of the cigarette case was that of the famous In Search of the Past cake).I can't say I feel like I wasted my time on an outdated novel.The revised text may have softened and made interested in the novel readers who, no doubt for religious reasons, were originally opposed to the author's abridgement and ruthless reconstruction of all his old works one by one. At the same time, the author is also working on a new novel, which has taken five years so far.However, I do think that even a godless writer should be extremely grateful that his early work did not exploit a situation that is almost hard to replicate in the history of Russian literature, the oblivion of the government, in his sad and distant country Rescue books banned because of fear.

I haven't said anything about the plot yet.The plot of the novel is not fundamentally unfamiliar, and in fact I doubt that two worthy writers, Balzac and Dreiser, would accuse me of serious imitation, but, I swear, I did not Having read their absurd writings, I don't even now quite know what they were talking about under the cypress trees.After all, Charlotte Humbert's husband wasn't so innocent either. Speaking of literary moods and currents, I must admit that I was a little surprised at how many passages of "inner monologues" - which had nothing to do with - in my Russian version, I knew almost nothing about them at the time; Of course, I've been reading it since childhood, and there's a whole scene in it, including those chanting, New Eden a hundred years ago, that's widely used today.On the other hand, the careful reader will not fail to notice my little imitation of amiability, a thoughtful homage to Flaubert.I remember a scene in which Emma sneaks into her lover's castle at dawn, along deserted alleys where people barely notice, even just for the nod of approval for Hammer.

As usual, I'd like to see the Vienna delegation uninvited as usual (as usual, a few sensitive people I like will appear arrogant).However, if a determined Freudian manages to sneak in, I should warn him or her that some cruel traps are laid here and there in the novel. Finally, the question of titles.The three face cards were all hearts, so I kept them and discarded a small pair.The two new cards I was dealt probably justified the gamble in which I always had the ivory thumb.Evenly matched, very lucky, inextricably pushed through the sting of the smoke, squeezed out a little advantage.The heart of a frog - as they say in the Russian canyons.And sleigh bells!I can only hope that my good old poker partners, all with full houses and straights, think I'm scaring off my opponents with big bets.