The Russian word, «корпус», (“corpus”), from the Latin, plural of corpora, is used in the sense of building, when «Раковый Корпус» (“Cancer Corpus”) is translated, “Cancer Ward”. However, its first meaning, as in Latin, is ‘body’.
It is easy for one to assume that the character of Oleg Kostoglotov represents Solzhenitsyn himself. However, I’ve never really been comfortable with the simplicity of this view. The composer has taken the view, that although there are biographical similarities, that Kostoglotov is not Solzhenitsyn, nor, is he representative, necessarily, of his views and beliefs.
It was with interest, when I picked up a paperback edition of Nikolai Gogol’s “Dead Souls,” (translated by Christopher English, Oxford University Press, 1998), and read in the Introduction by Robert Maguire, about one of the characters in the book, Konstantin Fyodorovich Kostanzhoglo.
It struck me, that the resemblance of the name Kostanzhoglo to the name Kostoglotov might not be accidental. And so I’ve spent the past few weeks reading “Dead Souls,” and wondering about the relationship between it, and “Cancer Ward.” Not wondering what the relationship was – but IF there was one. The result is somewhat indefinite. I believe that there is a conscious relationship -- but it is very abstract, and practically intangible. It is somewhat like arguing for the relationship between the titles, "Dead Souls" and "Cancer Corpus".
What follows is not an argument, or a dissertation, but some notes and quotes, which might or might not be formalized as part of an argument at a future time.
‘Kost’ in both names means ‘bone’.
(Dead Souls) Kostanzhoglo -oglo is a common Turkic suffix
(Cancer Ward) Kostoglotov Kostoglot ‘bone-swallower’
“Dead Souls” (Platonov, to Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov) (Quotes from translation by Christopher English, Oxford University Press, 1998)
‘Would you object if we drop in for a moment? I’d like to take leave of my sister and her husband.’
‘With the greatest pleasure,’ said Chichikov.
‘If you’re interested in estate management,’said Platonov,’you’ll be very interested to meet him. You won’t find a better-run estate anywhere. In a mere ten years he has brought this estate, which used to yield barely thirty thousand a year, to the point where it now brings in two hundred thousand.’
‘Indeed, he must be a most estimable man! It would be most interesting to make the acquaintance of such a one as he. After all—I mean, when you think of it…What is his name?’
‘Kostanzhoglo.’
‘And his first name and patronymic?’
‘Konstantin Fyodorovich.’
‘Konstantin Fyodorovich Kostanzhoglo! I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance. It will be most instructive to get to know such a man.’
Chichikov inspected with interest the dwelling of this remarkable man….But he was disappointed. The rooms were all simple, even bare….in short, everything bore witness that the man who lived here spent the great part of his life not within the four walls of this room, but in the fields outside, and that even his thinking was not conducted at leisure, in sybaritic fashion, reclining in a soft armchair before a blazing hearth, but out there, where his ideas were to brought to life – that was where the thought came into his mind, and that too was where they were put into effect. Only here and there, in the appointments of the rooms, could Chichikov detect a woman’s touch: clean limewood boards had been placed on the tables and chairs and flowers spread out on them to dry.
“What’s all this rubbish lying around, sister?’ asked Platonov.
“What do you mean: rubbish?’ said their hostess. ‘That’s the best cure for a fever. We used it last year to cure all our peasants. These here are for liquors, and these for syrups. You may laugh at any mention of making jam and pickles, but when you taste them you’ll be full of praise.”
‘Aha! There he is! He’s on his way here! said Platonov. Chichikov also hurried over to the window. Walking towards the porch was a man of some forty years, lively, and swarthy in appearance, wearing a camel-hair coat. He had no thought for his attire. He wore a velveteen peaked cap.
Then Kostanzhoglo appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. Chichikov was amazed by the swarthiness of his face, the crispness of his black hair, prematurely grizzled in places, the lively expression in his eyes, and a suggestion of bitterness, the print of his provenance from the fiery south.
(Kostanzhoglo is speaking)‘….This is work that elevates a man’s spirit. Whatever you may say, on the farm a man walks side-by-side with nature, with the seasons of the year, he is both participant and interlocutor in all the processes of creation….in the vegetable gardens the spade is hard at work and in the fields – the plough and harrow. Then there is the planting, sowing and winnowing. Do you know what that means? You think it a small matter? Sowing the future harvest! Sowing the bounty of all God’s earth! Sowing the nourishment for millions….No, nowhere in the whole world will you find another such pleasure! It is here, precisely here, that man works in God’s image: God has reserved to Himself the task of creation as the supreme delight, and He demands of man that, like Him, he too should be the creator of prosperity and beneficence all about him…..
“Cancer Ward”
(Quotes from the translation by Nicholas Bethell and David Burg, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, Seventh Printing, 1999)
Oleg to Zoya
‘….When you graduate, why don’t you apply to come out? I shouldn’t think they’ll refuse. They wouldn’t refuse anyone who applied to join us.”
‘Is it that bad?’
‘Not at all. Only people have distorted ideas about what’s good and what’s bad. To live in a five-story cage, with people banging about and walking to and fro above your head and the radio blaring on all sides, is considered good. But to live as a hardworking tiller of the soil in a mud hut on the edge of the steppe – that’s considered the height of misfortune.”
He wasn’t joking at all, his words had the weary conviction of people who have no desire to strengthen their argument even by raising their voice.
‘But is it steppe or desert?’
‘Steppe. No sand dunes. But there’s a bit of grass. Zhantak grows there, camel thorn, you know. It’s thorn, but in July it produces pinkish flowers and even a very delicate smell. The Kazakhs make a hundred medicines out of it.”
“It’s in Kazakhstan, then?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s it called?”
“Ush-Terek.”
“Is it an aul?”
“Yes, if you like, an aul, or a regional administrative center. There’s a hospital. Only there aren’t enough doctors. Do come.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Doesn’t anything else grow there?”
“Oh yes, there’s agriculture, but under irrigation. Beets, maize. In the kitchen gardens there’s everything you could wish for. Only you have to work hard, with the bucket. In the bazaar the Greeks always have fresh milk, the Kurds have mutton, and the Germans pork. They’re such picturesque bazaars, you should see them! Everyone wears national dress, they come in on camels.”
Kostoglotov in Chapter 4, to Ludmilla Afanasyevna Dontsova:
“Ludmilla Afanasyevna.”…..”Discussions about the sanity or insanity of contemporary man will take us far from the point…I am really grateful to you for bringing me into this enjoyable state of health. Now I want to make use of it a little and live…..In fact, I don’t want to pay too high a price now for the hope of a life some time in the future. I want to depend on the natural defenses of the organism….”
And in Chapter 6:
“Obviously there’s no logic.” Kostoglotov shook his shaggy black mane. “But maybe there needn’t be any, Ludmila Afanasyevna. After all, man is a complicated being, why should he be explainable by logic? Or for that matter by economics? Or physiology?
“…I just want you to let me go. I want to recover under my own resources. Then maybe I’ll just get better. Isn’t that right?”
There are also strong affinities between the philosophy of Kostanzhoglo, and the "old doctor" Oreshchenkov. And because Dontsova is a protègè of Oreshchenkov, there are relationships here to explore and examine, as well.
When one considers the pervasiveness of the time-frame, or flashback as a narrative device used by both authors, then, one must admit, that there is certainly a relationship between the two books. If we say, that,(arbitrarily), 85% of poets and 95% novel writers employ the time frame, or flashback, in their work, this does not invalidate a relationship between "Dead Souls" by Gogol, and "Cancer Ward" by Solzhenitsyn.
Further, when Chichikov draws up his deeds, with the list of the dead souls that he has purchased, this has some physical resemblance to the scene in Chapter 12 of "Cancer Ward", where Oleg helps Zoya fill out the patient's card history. This physicality of a person's name to a list, history card, or even an X-Ray -- suggesting a reduction of a whole person's life to a word, or chart, or object -- is something which is not exclusive to either work, and, in a broader sense, suggests the actual function of words in the consciousness, something more readily attributed to Gogol, (his exploration of words and meaning), than to Solzhenitsyn.
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