Gogol’s play sounds strangely familiar, as if art and life were indistinguishable from each other. Two performances seem to be taking place in parallel: one inside the theater and another one in the streets outside, where soldiers in green balaclavas and no recognizable insignia—incognito, so to speak—have just arrived.
How can we slow time down? How can we shed rot, Raspad? Sleepless nights on the Volga coast unleash miracles.
Where the eye relied on the droughty steppe for mercy, there, in swirling mist, the haystack of revolution rises.
In distant granaries a [...]
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