By Elena Gorokhova
Elena Gorokhova's A Mountain of Crumbs is the relocating tale of a Soviet woman who discovers the truths adults are hiding from her and the lies her fatherland lives through. Elena's nation isn't any longer the majestic Russia of literature or the tsars, yet a kingdom suffering to maintain its strength and its delight. Born with a wish to discover the realm past her borders, Elena unearths her ardour within the complexity of the English language--but within the Soviet Union of the Nineteen Sixties one of these ardour verges at the subversive. Elena is managed by way of the nation a similar manner she is managed by means of her mom, a replicate photograph of her motherland: overbearing, protecting, tough to go away. within the conflict among a strong-willed daughter and her authoritarian mom, the daughter, after all, needs to separate from and depart so that it will survive.
Through Elena's eye-catching voice, we examine not just the tales of Russian relatives existence within the moment half the 20 th century, but in addition the tale of 1 rebellious citizen whose interest and resolution ultimately delivery her to a brand new global. it's an elegy to the misplaced kingdom of youth, the place those that depart can by no means go back.
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Extra info for A Mountain of Crumbs
I picked out a beautiful rosewood acoustic and went back to work. Two or three weeks later Uncle Woodrow called me back into his ofﬁce again. This time he had a guitar case on the top of his desk. ” I thought that this is torture for me. All that I had was that old metal National Dobro that Big Mama had given me. I opened it up and it was beautiful. He asked me to take it out and play it for him. I remember thinking how lucky Wilson and Dennis were to have him as their dad. And how fortunate Wilson was to be getting this beautiful guitar.
It’s just that I have now what I seriously lacked then—experience. I could sing and play, but I had no life experiences. All that I knew was what I had been subjected to in my then relatively short existence here on earth.
As a matter of fact I’m sure that she was because she piled my plate high with turnip greens and she knew that I hated turnip greens. He had told me that we would take care of this after we ﬁnished eating. That sanctimonious hypocrite started praying and this was one time I was glad that he was pilled up. When he was wired he would pray forever. The food would always get cold. We would all sit there with our eyes open looking at each other and picking out our piece of chicken while he was praying to some hole up in the sky to some invisible God that wasn’t helping anybody, especially my Mother and me and my little sister.
A Mountain of Crumbs by Elena Gorokhova