One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich

by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn


The introduction to the edition I read pretty much describes this perfectly: a straightforward, simply-worded account of the persistent state of low-grade horror that made up daily life in the Gulag. It is somehow more memorable than Journey into the Whirlwind when talking about Russian prison memoirs. I rate it near the same level of another prison memoir, Primo Levi’s Survival in Auschwitz, although the latter was obviously about the Holocaust-era concentration camps. Both have the same level of unrelenting realism as well as priceless descriptions of the daily politics and goings-on of prison life. This has the similar advantage of being as quick a read on a weighty subject matter as you’re likely to find.

Update: I like to write my reviews before reading others’ reviews and just leave them at that, but I saw so many misguided remarks that I felt compelled to add to my original comments.

Many people have responded that this book “isn’t that depressing” or not as dark as they thought it would be, or is actually about a “good day” that Ivan Denisovich had so what’s-the-big-deal?. It seems like they are missing the point entirely. The fact that these events are considered “good” is a devastating subversion of conventional expectations concerning dignified life. The fact that it’s only one out of many thousands of days, most of which probably weren’t that “good,” is even more damning. But let’s imagine that Shukhov experiences these “good” days most of the time; the very dimness of these bright spots only makes the whole of his existence that much more pitiful (both the title and structure of the novel, of course, brilliantly emphasize this).

Most subtly and perhaps most importantly, the remarkable nonchalance with which Shukhov narrates the day masterfully illustrates the insidious and enveloping nature of this miserable means of existence. Solzhenitsyn, through Shukhov, perfectly channelled the ground-down resignation of life in the Gulag. It’s this craftsmanship that makes the book truly special; many people have experienced such horrors and written about them, but very few have so artfully designed their account in order to transmit the smoldering wretchedness with such utter precision.

I’m actually glad to have read comments with which I disagree so strongly, because in revisiting my thoughts on this book, I realize that I like it even more than I had realized!

Original Review


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