Must Read Russian Classics Novels & Stories

“You are American, mooncalf, get over it. You may have Russian blood, but you were born in the land of the fat, obnoxious and complacent.” “I am glad you think so highly of my heritage,” Anya snapped. She stuck out her tongue and crossed her arms. The engaged in a death glare match. “Enough, the both of you. I have had a long day’s work of herding animals and tending the trees, and I came home seeking peace, not squabbling,” Dmitri said. He sat beside the stove and began perusing his worn illicit copy of Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and the Margarita, bought from a black market in Moscow.

It was a priority fo her. Despite everything, she still had the Russian habit in her, since she was in Russia, she had hung around a lot of Russian women, whom were truly beautiful. They took high regard to their appearance, they were always so polished and she admired them. They had taught her many things and the main thing she learnt was to take care of her appearance first and foremost, because whoever told you that people would not judge a book by its cover is lying.

Other than my bestie, April of course. I can see the woodland straight in front of me and a lake, it’s serene and tranquil. Perfect for sitting on the deck and reading a book. I’m a huge book nerd and at the moment I’m in my classical era and currently reading Anna Karenina. One of my all-time favorites but it is an epic.

I hoped whatever I was looking for wasn’t hidden in a fake book—there were thousands of books in here. Knowing my uncle, though, he wouldn’t choose any book. He’d choose something with significance. I checked the sections for his favorite authors. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Taras Shevchenko, Leo Tolstoy, Alexander Dovzhenko…he had a soft spot for Russian and Ukrainian classics. Said they grounded him in his roots. But no, all the books were real. My eyes flitted over the rest of the library and landed on the limited-edition chess set in the corner. The pieces were still arranged in the same pattern from our last game.

My blood goes cold. KNOX YO he replied just to shut that down Romy I think you're onto something I type back: I'm leaving the groupchat because I hate you all. KNOX Nah you love us really. But more importantly ROMY YOU'RE DEFINITELY ONTO SOMETHING DMITRI We have a saying in Russian. Very beautiful. It translates to "if you throw a woman's Dunkin coffee at a fan, it is only polite to buy her a new iced coffee or a beverage of approximate equivalent value"

So I took the purple colored mixed drink Olya handed me and told myself I wouldn’t go crazy. I always hope to be proved wrong, but I never am. Rubbing my stiff neck, I surveyed the living room and scoffed. All my plants had crash landed and dirt was everywhere. Everyone comes here to drink and act like wild animals, but nobody can think to clean up when they’re done. Forty eight hours back home and already I wished to be asleep beside my girlfriend, in her quiet apartment in America. I really enjoyed it there. It’s a common occurrence for Russians to scorn the West because our government views differ vastly, but we listen to their music and dress alike. We watch their films in subtitles, and

“Oh? And how do you find it?” “Depressing. But it was either that or War and Peace, so.” A low chuckle left his lips. “My personal recommendation would be Crime and Punishment, but we do have more to our library than Russian literature, you know.” Dani played with her soup, changing the topic. “You said you had some business to attend to in the area?” One of the servants returned, carrying a plate of steak. It was perfectly cooked to her request, garnished with shallots and carrots.

Inside she takes a look around. “Have you read all these books?” There is a mild hint of wonder in her voice. “Most of them. I am an avid reader, we have everything from Tolstoy, Bronte, to modern day literature, biographies, and books on art, architecture, modern history, and other subjects. My father ensured his children were wide read and well versed in the classics.” “You surprise me, you don’t strike me as a man who’d read classics.” “For a few seconds they looked into each other’s eyes, and the distant and the impossible suddenly became near, possible, and inevitable.” I I quote one of my favorites from War and Peace. She cocks her head.

“She’s ready. She’s just torturing me on purpose. She’s already your daughter.” He chuckles low. “Fair.” He reaches for the book on the coffee table. It’s old, leather-bound, the pages yellowed. Russian poetry. Pushkin, Akhmatova, some Tsvetaeva. He’s been reading it to my belly every evening for the last two weeks. Says it’s tradition, his mom used to read poetry to him when he was little, in Russian, and he wants Sandra to hear it too. Before she’s even born. He opens to a marked page. Clears his throat.

There were not much dust alongside the shelves which meant Anton did care about them. “You told me you are a fan of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy right? I went here the other day and found this.” He pulled out the first edition, hard cover print of Anna Karenina in three volumes, three books completed with the cards and everything. It was wrapped in a protective box to shield it. When Ana saw it, her eyes widened.