I was killed near Vyazma. A diary novel
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This book was prepared for publication in 1944, but was banned. Its author, Fyodor Lvovich Kandyba (1903–1948), a native of Kharkov and descendant of a noble family, was an essayist and novelist. His literary career began in Kharkov, where he worked in newspaper editorial offices, publishing articles on science and technology. Later, after receiving an offer to work in Moscow, Kandyba moved to the capital. In 1941, he went to the front, joining the Moscow militia. His division was routed in the Vyazma encirclement, and the writer himself, having survived the march of prisoners doomed to die, miraculously escaped and accomplished the incredible—he made his way to his family in Kharkov, walking alone for a thousand kilometers and through eight circles of hell. The ninth, and longest, circle awaited him in the burnt-out and starving "Ukrainian Leningrad." Ahead lay almost two years of daily torment and agonizing choices: between life and nonexistence, between survival and servitude, between personal salvation and a Soviet upbringing.
Written shortly after the city's liberation, the diary-novel was awaiting publication, but at the last minute, the Moscow party leadership rejected the already-signed text. The directness of his desperate naturalism and the genuine emotions with which Kandyba captured the world, psychology, and inhabitants of the occupied society were deemed unacceptable. Eight decades later, the untouched original, extracted as if from a time capsule, mercilessly conveys the feelings and thoughts of an eyewitness, a lone splinter caught in the abyss of war and occupation.
Written shortly after the city's liberation, the diary-novel was awaiting publication, but at the last minute, the Moscow party leadership rejected the already-signed text. The directness of his desperate naturalism and the genuine emotions with which Kandyba captured the world, psychology, and inhabitants of the occupied society were deemed unacceptable. Eight decades later, the untouched original, extracted as if from a time capsule, mercilessly conveys the feelings and thoughts of an eyewitness, a lone splinter caught in the abyss of war and occupation.
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