Russian author Aleksandr Stepanovich Grinevsky (1880 – 1932) better known by his pen-name Alexander Grin, was born in Vyatka of an exiled Polish family. In his youth he was a sailor, gold-miner, construction worker, soldier and even, during a short stint as member of the Socialist-Revolutionary party, a would-be terrorist. These formative experiences provided plenty of raw material when he eventually gravitated towards literature. Grin churned out stories at an incredible – if not downright alarming rate – in 1915 alone, he wrote more than 100 short stories and poems. By the mid-1920’s, he had built a fairly solid reputation. However, he eventually lost favour with the Soviet regime and, whilst he did not suffer any direct persecution, the authorities’ dismissal of his work as “not needed” led to a marked decline in his fortunes and health. Following the Second World War, Grin’s writings underwent a reassessment and 1965 saw the publication of a six-volume collection of Grin’s works. In Russia, Grin is now considered a key author of the early 20th Century – his fairy-tale novella Scarlet Sails, in particular, is much-loved and has inspired film, opera and ballet, as well as lending its name to an all-night festival in St. Petersburg celebrating the end of the scholastic year.

It is fair to say, however, that, in comparison, Grin remains a little-known figure in the English-speaking world. Hopefully, he will get a wider readership, thanks to this selection of short stories, newly-translated by Bryan Karetnyk and published by Columbia University Press as part of their “Russian Library” series.

As far as the style and content of his stories are concerned, Grin has been said to be reminiscent of Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Louis Stevenson, Alexandre Dumas and Franz Kafka. In his introduction to the collection, Barry P. Scherr explains that the influences on Grin, whether as declared by himself or as stated by others, include not only these mentioned authors, but also Rudyard Kipling, James Fenimore Cooper, Jules Verne and Mayne Reid. This roll-call of potential influences is significant. It shows, first of all, that Grin was at odds with the Russian tradition, and closer to foreign authors, especially those writing in English. During his lifetime, this gave rise to a strange rumour about Grin – namely that during his sailing years he had killed an English sea captain and stolen a suitcase full of manuscripts, eventually translating them into Russian and passing them off as his own. Grin’s “foreignness” also contributed to his ostracization by the Soviet regime. In this regard, Barry P. Scherr further observes that Grin often employs convoluted syntax, as well as phrasing and similes which, in the original Russian, sound unusual and odd. Karetnyk’s translation brings out Grin’s style, yet remains readable throughout – even as plots get denser and more fantastic.

The difficulty to compare Grin to one or more specific authors, however, also reveals how protean a writer he could be, a fact which is borne out by the selection of eight stories in his volume, chosen from various stages in the author’s career. The chief common element in the featured pieces is the (very Romantic) presence of a male narrator or protagonist, who is generally facing some sort of physical or psychological struggle against which he must prove himself. Apart from this basic similarity, the stories are very different from each other. Quarantine, the earliest piece, has an autobiographical element, in that it presents us with a revolutionary who is having second thoughts about an assignment he has been given. “She” features another troubled male protagonist obsessed by the image of a woman – it is one of Grin’s first stories to reveal the influence of Poe.

Many of Grin’s later works are based in an exotic setting, which his fans fondly refer to as “Grinlandia”. Recalling the tropical backdrop of 19th century adventure stories, Grin’s made-up world seems strangely unrelated to any real geographical place. His made-up territory is generally populated by European emigrés and adventurers, usually with English, French, Spanish or strange-sounding names.

The first Grin work set in “Grinlandia” is “Reno Island”, from 1909. Karetnyk, however, opts instead for Lanphier Colony, published only a few months afterwards, and possibly a more typical example of Grin’s adventure stories. The hero here is one “Horn” who, hurt in love like the protagonist of “She”, tries to set up an ideal settlement on a remote island – with tragic consequences. There is a similar concept in The Heart of the Wilderness, although the mood of this latter story is lighter and its outlook more optimistic.

The Devil of the Orange Waters is another “Grinlandia” work – a psychological study of a Russian political exile whose experiences fill him with despair and antipathy to life.

Grin seems to purposely avoid reference to topical political events. The Poisoned Island is a notable exception, despite its exotic setting. It takes the form of an inquiry into what appears to be a mysterious mass suicide on a tropical island. There is a suggestion that this was a case of collective hysteria provoked by news of world conflagrations.

The final two stories in the collection abandon Grinlandia, being set in Petrograd and inspired specifically by the author’s experiences living at the House of Arts, an institution for artists established by Maxim Gorky. Ironically, despite their ‘realistic’ setting, these are also amongst the more fantastical of Grin’s tales, and could easily be classified as examples of “weird fiction”. The main character in The Rat-Catcher, who is recovering from typhus and has no fixed abode, is offered accommodation in a huge abandoned building in Petrograd. As night approaches, the protagonist realizes that the building is haunted by mysterious figures who seem to be plotting the murder of the eponymous Rat-Catcher. There follows a nightmarish adventure in the labyrinthine building, which can be either taken at face-value as a supernatural experience, or simply a hallucination provoked by the narrator’s fever and hunger. If I dare add another potential “parallel”, I would say that Grin’s brand of the unheimlich recalls some of the tales of E.T.A. Hoffmann.

Fandango – the title piece – also combines an actual setting (post-Revolution Petrograd) with extraordinary happenings, giving it a tinge of magical realism. Yet, its mood is markedly different from that of The Rat-Catcher. A contingent of Spanish-speaking visitors to the House of Arts, led by the mysterious Bam-Gran, appoints the narrator as an interpreter. A strange series of events transports the narrator to the Grinlandian city of Zurbagan which, in contrast with the bleakness of Petrograd, glows with Mediterranean passion, as represented by melody and dance-rhythms and melodies of the Iberian “fandango”. Perhaps herein lies the key to Grin’s work – it is “escapist fiction” in the best sense of the word, a transformative experience which, at least temporarily, carries us away from the everyday to a more colourful world.

For a full, illustrated review accompanied by a selection of examples of the "fandango" in classical music, visit https://endsoftheword.blogspot.com/2019/08/Alexander-Grin-Fandango-Russian-Libra... ( )