You Don’t Come Here Voluntarily
i
Anton Chekhov. Source: Wikimedia Commons
Experiences

You Don’t Come Here Voluntarily

Chekhov and Sakhalin Island
Andrzej Kula
Reading
time 9 minutes

“Why are you keeping a dog and a rooster tethered?” Anton Chekhov asked one of his interlocutors during a three-month stay on the Russian island that was then unknown to the public. “Here, in Sakhalin, everything is on a chain,” the host replied.

Lower down there stands a crumbling building, and not much further you can see the remains of another. In the background, there is a hill and the sea hitting it. Everything is covered with snow. The colour white dominates in these photos: in one of them the photographer managed to capture the snowstorm in the city, while in another you can see a woman struggling through snowdrifts reaching up to her knees. Here someone is fishing in a blowhole, over there a man is pushing wheelbarrows with coal. There is also an elderly man, in a rural setting, walking across a road that resembles a gutter surrounded by several-dozen-centimetres-high snowdrifts on both sides. This is what Sakhalin looks like today. With the size of an area similar to the Czech Republic, the island is situated on the eastern borders of Russia. Further, there is only Kamchatka. Even further, beyond the Pacific Ocean, the US begins (from Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk, it is closer to Honolulu than to Moscow).

Photographer Oleg Klimov prepared this photo report on the 120th anniversary of the publication of the book Sakhalin Island by Anton Chekhov. In 1890, the then 30-year-old writer went to the island and described

Information

You’ve reached your free article’s limit this month. You can get unlimited access to all our articles and audio content with our digital subscription. If you have an active subscription, please log in.

Subscribe

Also read:

The Nation of Many Christs
i
Jędrzej Morawiecki. Photo by Maciej Kurowicki
Opinions

The Nation of Many Christs

An Interview with Jędrzej Morawiecki
Jan Pelczar

Russia can be dangerous and unpredictable, but oftentimes, we view it through the lens of our own assumptions, some of which turn out to be rather far-fetched. Writer Jędrzej Morawiecki tells us more about breaking Russia’s spell without losing it for good.

In one of Wrocław’s cafés, its walls papered with pages from archival issues of “Przekrój”, I met up with Jędrzej Morawiecki – a lecturer, PhD, non-fiction writer, and above all, a Russia expert. His new book Szuga will be published in Polish in early 2022. The book, moving from melting Siberia to the burning Donbas is meant to be, among other things, Morawiecki’s way of squaring up with his enchantment with Russia, and the disenchantment that inevitably followed.

Continue reading