Today's seminar class was devoted to discussing A Mountain of Crumbs, the memoir of Elena Gorchova that we all just finished reading. I was glad to discover that opening up my experience of the work to the forum of our in-class discussion gave me an enhanced insight into the books events and themes.
I was particularly struck by our group analysis of the book's title. We postulated many possible reasons as to why A Mountain of Crumbs, one being that Mrs. Gorchova was trying to reflect one of the memoir's central themes: subterfuge both in the Soviet government and in personal matters (vranyo). Additionally, we wondered if perhaps the title was implying this notion of subsisting on a framework of self-deception, inducing happiness even when times are harsh. My favorite interpretation however was that the title was simply a metaphor for life, that Elena Gorchova essentially was saying that her life, that all lives, are merely mountains of remembered crumbs. I felt that this image, though somewhat disheartening, was beautiful in how it rendered not some idealized, romantic image of life, but rather life as it really is, brutal and bucolic and abrupt.
We flitted through many more disparate topics as our discussion evolved, touching on 9/11, Russian history, how it feels to leave home and so on. When four pm came and I found myself packing up my cream, drawstring back pack, there was this buzzing sensation in my head, of ideas stirring to the fore, eddying in riotous vortexes in my mind.
It was quite the feeling.
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