My Childhood, by Maxim Gorky

I fell in love with Russian literature as a teenager, which led me to majoring in Russian history in college, but somehow I missed out on reading Maxim Gorky (1868-1936). I very much enjoyed the first part of his autobiography, My Childhood.

The story begins with Maxim’s father dying of cholera and, from there, does not get happier. My biggest warning to readers is this: Steer clear if you do not want to read about a child being beaten, repeatedly. Other people too.

If you have the stomach for reading about violence and poverty, I recommend this one. Gorky is a hell of a storyteller. I came to care about the characters—young Alexei (Maxim’s name before his adopted nom de plume), his troubled mother, his saint of a grandmother. I found Gorky to be more accessible to the modern reader than most of the classic Russian writers.

I enjoyed the audiobook as narrated by Nicholas Boulton, who did a great job with the voices, even if their accents were English rather than Russian. That took some getting used to.

Besides the plot and the characters, I loved Gorky’s way with words.

“Much later, I realized that Russian people, because of the poverty and squalor of their lives, love to amuse themselves with sorrow, to play at it like children, and are seldom ashamed of being unhappy. Amidst their endless weekdays, grief makes a holiday.”