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The award-winning author of Villa Air-Bel returns with a painstakingly researched, revelatory biography of Svetlana Stalin, a woman fated to live her life in the shadow of one of history’s most monstrous dictators—her father, Josef Stalin.
Born in the early years of the Soviet Union, Svetlana Stalin spent her youth inside the walls of the Kremlin. Communist Party privilege protected her from the mass starvation and purges that haunted Russia, but she did not escape tragedy—the loss of everyone she loved, including her mother, two brothers, aunts and uncles, and a lover twice her age, deliberately exiled to Siberia by her father.
As she gradually learned about the extent of her father’s brutality after his death, Svetlana could no longer keep quiet and in 1967 shocked the world by defecting to the United States—leaving her two children behind. But although she was never a part of her father’s regime, she could not escape his legacy. Her life in America was fractured; she moved frequently, married disastrously, shunned other Russian exiles, and ultimately died in poverty in Spring Green, Wisconsin.
With access to KGB, CIA, and Soviet government archives, as well as the close cooperation of Svetlana’s daughter, Rosemary Sullivan pieces together Svetlana’s incredible life in a masterful account of unprecedented intimacy. Epic in scope, it’s a revolutionary biography of a woman doomed to be a political prisoner of her father’s name. Sullivan explores a complicated character in her broader context without ever losing sight of her powerfully human story, in the process opening a closed, brutal world that continues to fascinate us.
Illustrated with photographs.
759 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 2, 2015
What would it mean to be born Stalin’s daughter, to carry the weight of that name for a lifetime and never be free of it?
Buried in the minds of us who are lucky is a childhood landscape, a place of magic and imagination, a safe place. It is foundational, and we will return to it in memory and dreams throughout our lives.
As he lay dying on the evening of March 1, it is unlikely that Stalin was sending a silent cry for help to Svetlana, however much she may have longed for him to do so. It is heartwrenching that she imagined he was.
One thinks of Svetlana at that door, banging for an hour until she broke the glass and her hands bled, and imagines that she was beating in fury against all the ghosts of her past who had failed her: her mother, her father, her brother. Her lovers. And now, this new life.
„A fi rus înseamnă să nu spui niciodată că-ți pare rău (...). Nici măcar astăzi, rușii nu sînt în stare să deplîngă și să se căiască pentru crimele lui Stalin...”
Se plângea că poporul rus nu se uita la toate astea: nivelul de trai se îmbunătățise în mare măsură datorită creșterii prețului petrolului și gazelor, dar mita și corupția făceau ravagii, și oamenii erau hrăniți de propaganda naționalistă și cu măreția Rusiei „de parcă ar fi fost laptele mamei lor”.