USSR, 1950s. In cold windswept Siberia, Ivan Denisovich Shukhov struggles through another bleak day as a prisoner in the Gulag labour camp. Why he is in there isn’t relevant, and it is pointless to think of when he would get out. He can only think of getting through the day, to keep his chin up, and scrounge for the meanest comforts… a little tobacco, an extra bowl of gruel, or a small piece of a hacksaw blade.
He never lets the system get to him, he does not despair. He does the best he can, putting in all his effort, and taking pride in the labour he is forced to do.
I wish I had the resilience and moral fortitude that Ivan Denisovich demonstrates if I was ever in challenging circumstances.
I live a comfortable life. I have a home, a wife, two kids, a job, clothes, a full stomach. And yet, when reading this harrowing account, I was transported. I felt cold, I felt hungry, I felt scared, I felt harassed, I felt helpless, I felt hopeless, I felt powerless, I felt humiliated.
It is very rare that a book moves the reader as much as this one does. Solzhenitsyn writes from personal experience, and the power emanates from every sentence of this superb tome. His Nobel prize in literature was awarded for his life’s work, including the seminal Gulag Archipelago. But this… this book alone moved me to tears several times.
An absolute must read.