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Hunger

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This is such a small book to contain so very much. Elise Blackwell has created something very special indeed with this, her first novel. With eloquence and empathy, she transports the reader back in time to Leningrad in 1941 - the German army approaches, and the people in the city prepare for the attack, but it comes in a form they do not expect. The Germans simply cut the city off from the outside world, and sit and wait for the inhabitants to starve to death.

Blackwell's narrator is an elderly Russian botanist living in America, looking back at his time in the blockaded city, remembering his wife and coworkers - remembering the choices that he and the others made in order to survive. Before and during the war, he traveled the world with his colleagues, collecting specimens of plants and seeds from every continent in order to study them and find ways to better feed people in need. The institute where he works - like every facet of Russian society at the time - is caught up in the political upheaval of a country being painfully reborn. The director of the institute, once widely revered and respected both as a scientist and a human being, falls out of favor with the authorities and is sentenced to die. Those who are left behind must choose to bend and survive or resist and perish - professionally, physically or both. Once the German blockade of the city begins, however, they realize that there are far more pressing choices to make. Do they open the storehouses of the institute and distribute the grain samples to the people, or do they preserve them in the name of science, for future generations? The scientists at the institute agree to preserve the samples, to starve before they touch them - but it's a difficult promise to keep.

All around them in Leningrad, people from all walks of life are facing similar decisions. As the blockade drags on - and it lasted for 900 days - desperation becomes more and more intense. Horses disappear - then family pets, even rats are killed for their meat. People begin to strip the bark from the trees to eat - lichen-covered stones are boiled for soup. Food becomes the currency of the city - and people are willing to do all sorts of things to obtain it.

More than simply a picture of a horrible time, when so many people died and suffered, Elise Blackwell's novel is an incredibly moving portrait of humanity itself, a picture of what it truly means to be human and to be forced to make unthinkable decisions based on the need to survive. The thoughts and memories of the narrator - and the words and actions of those around him - paint moving images in delicate but sure strokes. An incredible amount of not only research, but sheer thought and contemplation went into the conception and creation of this book. It would be a stunning accomplishment by a seasoned writer - as a debut, it shimmers. This is a writer of great talent, soul and promise.

"It is not so uncommon for those near the end of their lives to run their mind's hand over the contours of those lives."

HUNGER, Elise Blackwell's first novel, begins with this sentence, elegant in its simple statement. And from there an anonymous scientist, the narrator, endeavors on his personal recollection of one of the most horrific periods in history.

The narrator lived through the "hunger winter" that began in 1941 in Leningrad. For 900 days, he witnessed the city fall around him and the deaths of the city folk at the hands of Nazis. Following a lifetime of exotic travel that took him to Mexico, Afghanistan and other welcoming places in search of rare seed and plant specimens, he now finds himself trapped with his colleagues protecting the botanical institute they've worked so hard to build. A pact is made --- the scientists will not eat their collections, no matter how desperate for food they may become; they will preserve their store for future generations, even if they perish in their attempts. Only our narrator cannot truly accept this agreement. Directed by his appetites, he watches his colleagues barter their bodies and their few material possessions for scraps, for tree bark to make soup, for a single potato. Ultimately they die, as he indulges in the institute's seed supply behind their frail backs.

Among his colleagues is Alena, his wife, a woman of great principle. He also watches her dwindle away to nothing, while he feeds his appetite. He tries to rationalize his secret meals by saying he must do anything to survive at any cost. But his explanations are selfish; he is an indulgent man whose every choice in life has been dictated by his wants, his desires. In recounting his memories we learn that he collected women the way he collected seeds --- for their variety, their beauty, even their danger --- and with little regard for his wife, whom he says he adores. He claims that with each affair, with each poor decision, regret was always instant, but his regret is less for the guilt of what he did and more for having "awakened the horrible hunger" again.

A brief book, Blackwell's writing is economical, replicating the very deprivation her book depicts. Her prose is spare, short passages and short memories. But to not remember might render the power to finally do the narrator in: "I told myself that pain was the price of life; its absence was the step into death."

In the end the narrator, like his long lost colleagues, saves seeds too. In a jar he has "reproduced each mouthful of food I stole during the winter of hunger ... I wonder if such a meager portion could have kept my Alena alive." Does he regret his choice, or hers?

The shelves are full of excellent books, fiction and non-fiction, about the travesties of World War II and the Holocaust. While the setting of HUNGER is unique, it is an all-too-recognizably-human story about the choice between one's own life and what one might leave for the next generation (in this case, the institute's collections). A true humanitarian would put the good of others before the good of the self --- but not Blackwell's narrator. He lacks redeeming qualities, and it is that lack that makes his personal story such an original and oddly fascinating read.

--- Reviewed by Roberta O'Hara

A book about people in extreme situations is always in danger of descending into melodrama or outright sensationalism. Elise Blackwell avoids this danger by employing two strategies: A prose style that avoids the merely decorative adjective, and a protagonist who is too true to be good.

"Hunger" reminds us that much of what we think of as humanity simply disappears when people are starving (as most people have for at least part of their lives throughout much of history). Yet it also reminds us that humanity is often at its most heroic when heroism consists of something as simple as behaving decently in the midst of barbarism.

Reading this book brought to mind something that Bertrand Russell said about how the 20th century destroyed the comfortable optimism of 19th century thinkers that history was essentially the march of progress: "Our age calls for greater energy of belief than was needed in the 18th and 19th centuries. Imagine Goethe, Shelley and H.G. Wells confined for years in Buchenwald; how would they emerge? Obviously not as they went in . . . Most philosophers have more breath of outlook when adequately nourished than when driven mad by hunger, and it is by no means a general rule that intense suffering makes men wise."

Blackwell's novel is short, because it's the right length for what she was aiming to accomplish. She succeeds in making a protagonist who is in many ways utterly unsympathetic someone we can understand as an example of what happens to a talented and admirable person who is placed in situations that tempt him beyond the limits of his virtue.

It is worth considering in just what ways this same thing is happening to oneself.

As a professional geneticist, I was initially interested in Blackwell's book as a potential literary document of the sociology of science, and was not disappointed in this. Perhaps few lay-people would approach a novel in this way, nor be aware of the geneticist Lysenko's role in Stalin's Soviet Union. Under Lysenko's direction, crop breeding and agriculture were analogous to Lamarck's belief that by cutting off the tails of mice, one would breed short-tailed mice-or in the soviet system adopted in China, the forcing of even western-trained scientists to inject blue dye into cotton plants in order to breed pre-colored cotton. But, Blackwell is immaculate in making the story true to the scientific climate in the Soviet Union at the time, in a way that appears effortless and does not distract from the drama. The author also captures the social climate of the time and place, and echoes of Solzhenitsyn's Gulag arose in my mind. It is simply remarkable and exceedingly rare to find a novel that has packed in, almost hidden modestly, historical fact and understanding. The same is true of the "seeds" and other botanical specimens in Hunger. When Blackwell blithely describes Babylonian plant use, or details the collecting trips of the unnamed protagonist, I believed it was just so.

And I was not disappointed in the sociology of science ....changes in Science often take the form of "Revolutions," and though the ultimate acceptance of theories is based on knowledge and demonstrable fact, the road leading to final consensus is also paved with the lesser virtues of social standing in the community, ambition, and even greed, and when Vavilov is lead off that field.... Moreover, the political importance of Lysenkoism to the Soviet system should not be underestimated, and though far less extreme its reflected opposite in the US was social Darwinism, particularly the early use of "survival of the fitness" in justifying laissez faire capitalism, and the legacy of the robber barons. What is most fascinating to me about Hunger, is the way that biology and social and human insight are intertwined. It is simply remarkable, and one would think that Blackwell is both a novelist and trained biologist. In short, Hunger informs us a great deal about the field of Biology as the study of life, a shaper of society, and institutionalized in political power. These are things we should all be keenly aware of as this just-developing age of genomics, genetic modification, biological weapons and inevitably several forms of cloning reshape social consciousness, as for example in the debates on embryonic cloning, and become institutionalized, e.g., in the systematic collection and recording of DNA fingerprints. These things also force us to make unprecedented individual choices, such as a pre-parental choice for genetic screening of birth defects, and then what to do with that information. And, do you want to clone your cat or dog? Would you eat genetically unique seeds?

In the bargain, I had a great read of a story, and agree with the general consensus of other "reviewers," in Hunger being riveting, haunting, and leaving a lasting impression. Hunger is also a metaphor for the modern yet chronic neglect that herbarium's are facing all over the world. Perhaps as some have suggested the book IS too short, leaving readers hungry for more, and eagerly awaiting Blackwell's next book. In the end, Hunger is about individual character and choices, something we could all use reminding of.

From his home in New York, an elderly man, whose name we never know, looks back on his life in the Soviet Union and remembers the physical and moral agonies he endured during the Siege of Leningrad in 1941. In a spare and finely crafted story, he tells of his moral choices, decisions, and actions and how he came to survive the siege while others around him starved.

When the siege begins, the speaker and his wife Alena are both botanists at the Research Institute of Plant Industry. Their goal has been to collect unique seed and plant specimens from all over the world, to preserve species, and to develop new strains of better plants. As the siege develops, the institute holds a meeting to discuss the preservation of its collections, including several hundred tubers, which could, conceivably, feed some of the city's hungry people. Ultimately, they decide that they will preserve the institute's collections at all costs. The speaker, who has not supported this decision wholeheartedly, wonders whether the decision has really been made out of moral bravery and intellectual courage, or if it is purely the result of naivete--is it right for people who have never known starvation to make such decisions for others to follow?

As the siege takes its toll, the speaker constantly fantasizes about food and the trips he's made around the world to gather specimens, and he often associates the exotic meals he's had abroad with the lovers he's taken during these trips. Imagery of food and love, seeds and fertility, propagation and new life, and fruitfulness and barrenness fill the novel, with clear parallels drawn between the overwhelming urge for food during times of extreme starvation and the desire for love-making during times of plenty. Always these images are counterbalanced by the realities of people starving during the 900-day siege. When the speaker finally succumbs to hunger and eats some seeds at the institute, he feels sadness but no remorse. "I was justified to take what I needed," he says. "I barely took more." By eating the seeds, he survived to continue his research.

Every image is perfect here, not a word is wasted, and the multi-leveled themes are developed with both delicacy and precision. Despite the subject matter, the author resists the temptation to tug on the heartstrings, preferring to present events factually and without elaboration, enhancing their power by juxtaposing contrasting scenes. Scenes of deprivation are contrasted with scenes of plenty, ugliness with beauty, barrenness with fruitfulness, and starvation with love. References to ancient Babylon provide a wider historical perspective and contribute to a fully satisfying, beautifully crafted novella. Mary Whipple

A subject not often written about in fiction, "Hunger" explores one man's fight for survival in a city with a dwindling food supply. Once a renowned scientist working tirelessly to gather rare plants for the botanical institute he works at, his life is changed forever when German troops overtake Leningrad in the 1940s. His focus turns to finding innovative ways to stay alive as food supplies dwindle and he finds himself held captive in Leningrad.

As one person after another that he cares about dies, he ponders his own death. Feeling guilty for past infidelity against his wife, he wonders why he was allowed to live while so many others have perished. But as days turn into weeks, he is confronted daily with the fact that he may lose his life as well.

From the thought-provoking questions to the day-to-day struggle for survival, "Hunger" provides an interesting look into one man's moral conflicts.

It's an easy to read, distinct novel that explores a subject that most readers have never been confronted with. Part history lesson, part examination of a man's fight for life, "Hunger" focuses on the basic need for man to sustain himself through food.

During the 1940's, Hitler's troops attempted to invade Leningrad. Most people are familiar with this as an abstract historical event, but not as a personal one. This book takes you to that time of extreme hunger. It is an astonishing tale of the things people will do to eat, but more importantly, the things they will do protect the people and the objects they are passionate about.

As German troops surround the area, a group of goverment botanists decide that it is more important to save their live's work- a collection of seeds, grains, and tubers - than feed their growling stomachs. As one man guards over the stock of food, he recounts his conquests, both of the land and of the flesh.

The subject is not an easy one. I had no idea what people went through to stay alive at this time. Due to that, the author is wise in using a rather distant, detached voice throughout this book. Despite the loss of his collegues and other people close to him, the narrator does not guide our emotions. The suggestions of brutality and desperation were more than enough to conjure up a reaction within readers without the addition of flowery prose.

This is not a book that will keep you engrossed for days on end (I finished it in one sitting) nor is it a book that will make you laugh and cry. It will, however, make you more aware about the atrocities of history and what people will do to survive. The ability to weave such a fascinating tale in such a spare way is truly the mark of a talented author. I walk away from this book with a knowledge that there is more to history than what I have been taught in textbooks, and a sudden need to find out all the details that have been left out. It's rare when a book inspires me that way.

This small, but soulful journey is stripped of affectation and rationalization as a group of scientists at the Soviet's premier botanical institute use their knowledge to isolate and preserve particular seeds for future use. They take a vow not to eat their small cache of seeds when they are subjected to the siege of Leningrad in the fall of 1941. The German aggressors tear a page from history, surrounding the city, eventually cutting off all supplies, waiting patiently for the isolated citizens to expire from starvation. Each individual will be tested as time slowly passes and all grow gaunt with longing, their vivid imaginations the only source of abundance.

The narrator of Hunger is an old man looking back over the years of a long and often emotionally painful life. He has lost his beloved wife during the siege and now seeks to expiate the guilt that weighs upon his conscience. From the beginning, he betrays the marriage in a series of opportunistic sexual adventures, affairs that now diminish his sense of self and the memories of a marriage that should offer comfort rather than regret. In contrast, his wife's courage looms large, a constant reminder of his own shortcomings.

The scientist plumbs his memories of Leningrad in 1941, evoking scenes of people trapped in a situation where starvation dictates their thoughts and actions. In their solitude, the prisoners witness the horrific manifestation of the slow rigors of starvation. Yet this same starvation is the catalyst for acts of unexpected bravery or cowardice, when the drive to live supercedes even moral imperatives.

The struggle of these individuals, particularly the contrasting mores of the man and his wife, are a reminder of the humanity that links all of us, dramatizing how extreme circumstances diminish our capacity for empathy, kinder, gentler selves defeated by the urge for survival. Of necessity, the body reverts to the most elementary conditions, requiring moral vigilance when temptation lurks and loved ones are left behind. Such is the conundrum. It is one thing to ponder such extremity, quite another to live with the reality. Hunger can alter the mind as well as the soul, compassion an unwanted by-product, a luxury that proves unsustainable, after all.

Blackwell lifts this moment from history and illustrates the nature of the ordeal and how sorely one's resources are tested. This thoughtful and revealing novel illuminates the spirit, suffused with the generosity and grace inherent in all humanity. Luan Gaines/2003.

Unforgettable writing, much like a long poem. Read it over a long, relaxed dinner.

Author Elise Blackwell understands minimalism: offer a minute corner of an idea and allow that to engender volumes of information to the senses. HUNGER is a physically small (123 pages, and tiny pages at that) book that is a reflection of a botanist recalling the actualities of the Nazi seige of Leningrad (from September 8, 1941 to January 27, 1944), focusing on the winter of hunger ('41-'42) when thousands died from hunger and cold, resorting to cannabalism, stealing, murder, and prostitution as a means of survival. As a member of the Botanical Institute our narrator reveals his own stealing of the intitutes guarded seed, eating even a small portion that saved his life but could have saved the life of his wife had he shared.
And here begins a series of memories about his life before the seige, about his infidelities to his wife, about the various exotic ports he visited in the name of science (and indulgence).
And he shares his regrets, as he survives the seige and lives in New York years later in a house storing only unperishable food. "I told myself that pain was the price of life, its absence was the step into death."

Author Blackwell shares her legacy of a rich exposure to botany and an eqally rich knowledge of fascinating places of history such as her often used metaphor of Babylon as a perecursor to Leningrad. She sets her visuals well: "...I saw a man on a stretcher, the left half of his head gone and stuffed with cotton wool, as if the the fabric could sort numbers, direct his limbs, feel pain, remember a beloved." And after the seige has ended and the people of Leningrad return to life, she places these words in the mouth of her botanist narrator: "a bit of decency and the physical labor and small rewards of cultivating a garden from seed are the best we can strive or hope for to dull the pain of lost expectation, or to cover our vices of weakness, boredom, and need."

This is a small book in size but the experience it engenders in the reader is mighty. A most impressive first novel from a writer well worth watching.