Introduction

BookMovement members receive a 22% discount from the list price of $17.95 (discount price is $14) by ordering the book directly from the publisher at http://www.solotoye.com/index.php?page_id=297. Contact the publisher for details at [email protected].

"It's difficult to believe this is a first novel, and that a writer could hit his stride the first time out. On the surface, it appears that Tony Haas has written a relatively simple story about everyday people in a small Russian village who wish to emigrate to America. But as one reads the graceful and absorbing text, many additional layers of the character's lives unfold. This is a novel that beckons the reader to linger, to savor, and to enjoy." Mike Durall, author of "The Almost Church Revitalized."

Emma, a young, defiant, aspiring writer living in Solotoye, Russia at the dawn of the 20th century is full of life, full of the devil, and eager to shed the shackles of a male dominated society. An old photograph of six American women prompts Emma to embark on a life-changing journey to a seemingly exotic place where women make the rules. A fateful event separates Emma and her family.

Editorial Review

No editorial review at this time.

Excerpt

One Village . Many Names

When our ancestors stepped down from their wagons so many years ago, boots and bare feet pressed the soil of a place called Solotoye, which was nothing more than scattered remnants of an abandoned village on the road between Saratov and Samara. The emigrants called their new home Wittmann, the name of the first elected mayor.

A short time later, the people changed the village name to Solothurn, the Swiss Canton where many of the settlers originated. The German-speaking colonists called it Solothurn, but the local soviet called it Solotoye. And so, we call our village Solotoye, sometimes Solothurn, sometimes Wittmann, but mostly, we simply call it the village ... or home.

Old School Papers

I veiled a blushing sixteen-year-old face with shaking hands as familiar words clanged in my ears like a rusty, off-tone, hand-held, school-bell. When I wrote the words, they rang true. They had resonance, meaning, and sweetness. Surely, Schule Meister Hohgan wouldn't read the whole report. I tried to convince myself, but sweetness soured, meaning took flight, and clang, clang, clang.

The schoolhouse was stuffed with parents and students. Naked windows let in a cool breeze and framed fiendish faces of young boys standing outside. Why did I continue to look at them? When not examining and questioning those faces, I surveyed my feet, that I forgot to clean, and hands that refused to stay in my lap. Desperate ideas flooded my consciousness. I tried making myself smaller. I willed myself younger. I attempted a vanishing trick.

I abandoned my futile, childish wishes as thoughts turned to how I got myself into this embarrassing situation. I wanted to get out of doing laundry, other chores, so I convinced Father and Mother that I should stay in school to learn to write … stories, poems. They reluctantly agreed because I was relentless and persuasive. And, they love me. I had outgrown school as I did many of my clothes. But I continued to wear them because we had little money. I stood head and shoulders above the boys. It never occurred to me to slouch.

'Tell me the story of Solotoye,' Herr Hohgan said. 'Tell me how it smells, tastes, looks, and sounds. Tell me, from your perspective, how it really feels to live day-to-day in Solotoye.' That's what he said. I remember. And so, I filled empty papers with a developing voice.

Now, old and crumpled papers tell the story of my Solotoye. Now, I cover an older blushing face.

Like Solotoye's roads that take us here and there, my school papers are included, here and there, to reveal a Fräulein's perspective of the village.

Tavern's Gate

The sign simply reads Wiggens' Place,

But it says so much more.

It says welcome

To the tired men of Solotoye.

It says hello.

You have a friend here.

It says relax,

Enjoy warm Zhiguli beer from the barrel,

Rodnik vodka by the glass

While you sit on benches made of wood

Under a roof made of grass.

Touch the sign when you enter

For good luck.

Touch the sign when leaving.

Good luck.

Guarded Conversation

Commissar Shishkin peers over his shoulder. The short bill of his tilted Russian-Army hat masks one dark gaping eye. Long and stringy hair, the color of pitch, crawls from the hat resting on a soiled collar. Olive-colored skin, oily and wrinkled, compliments his ill-pressed and shiny uniform. He moves closer to Buchs as he checks his back again. Their shadows drop off the weathered table, slither across straw-covered ground, resting on Wiggens' wooden shed. Lantern-light projects black images on gray wood. They huddle over half-empty vodka glasses guarding their conversation.

Shadows On Weathered Wood

A solitary, low-pitched, somber tone rolls off the belfry's bronze bell, slow like sap oozing from a pine, sticking on the moist evening air. Another follows. Long pauses irritate. Bong ... bong ... We wait for the next toll ... the next rain ... for crops to grow. We wait. The evening bell tolls six times. At noon, the bell peals punishing penance ... enough for a lifetime of sins.

As the final punishing note wafts over the village and vanishes, three simple souls slip from their farmyard below whirling windmills and amble to the tavern. It's a penitent's pilgrimage. Their pace is set by the bell's resonating cadence. Patrons confess trespasses to the tavern keeper who dispenses endless understanding and forgiveness. When this public admission of sin is not enough to purge their souls, they drink until drunk ... drink to forget. Father Thomas blesses this secular cleansing ritual not with prayer, but with vodka.

"What tales will Wiggens tell tonight?" asks my father, Jacob, of his two sons. He doesn't expect an answer. He doesn't get one. The two young men simply shrug their shoulders in unison and continue on - step by slow sticky step. Like caring guards protecting their charge, Bernard and Wolf frame their father.

The men step out in silence towards the village square taking a subconscious and gratuitous bearing on the church steeple. The dominant church and belfry sit majestically on the square's southeast corner. The sanctuary's open doors welcome all travelers at the meeting of Little Karman and River Road. Around fall equinox, when the sun slides past twelve bells, the steeple's undressed wooden cross accepts the sun's golden gift, sending a ghost-like Calvary image onto warped crossing roads. West of our rural cathedral, rectory and schoolhouse sit in divergent triviality competing for morning sun. The unnamed street on the west of the square boards the general store and the soviet's office - both are meager in appearance, but busy. Nestled in the northwest corner of the square is the favored Wittmann farmyard. The remainder of the square consists of well-attended grounds, including Father Thomas' garden located behind the church.

Rocks Plunk Plunk

Day's closing - eventide - I rest and meditate at Matushka's sanctuary. My eyes scan from north to west across the river's drowsy drift. I gaze beyond hills and forest. Soothing soft tones reach into the vast evening sky. I seize the twilight like tenuous paper takes possession of the artist's watercolors. A beautiful pale-blue horizon hides the sun. Scattered delicate clouds, like a child's hand, catch rays and let them escape through playful fingers. Elusive silver streams of sunlight appear free and mysterious. I envy them. Matushka paints the scene with fluid strokes. I breathe it. I invite the colors to enter my sacred room on this tree-lined rocky shore.

I watch Peter and Maria trying to skip rocks on river's flat palette. Rocks go plunk. Children laugh and silently seek Mother's admiration. My beautiful children complete this lovely landscape - this magical moment. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. The book's main character, Emma, struggles as a woman in a male-dominated society at the dawn of the 20th century. In what ways do those conflicts mirror women's issues today?

2. Emma is a complex character who is continually undergoing self-analysis. Does she see herself accurately? Is she honest about who she really is?

3. The author attempted to string together many vignettes to tell the story of Solotoye as experienced by Emma. Was he successful?

4. In the vignette titled "Little Things That Cost So Much," Emma leaves the general store with a grin on her face. Why?

5. In "Sweep . Clean . Polish," why does Emma lose if she chooses to remember the Russian boys' mockery?

6. "Reflections" is a fast-forward summary of important events that took place in Solotoye. These events included unanswered questions, questions never asked, and village secrets. "Solotoye stored those secrets like the Volga Hills' forest safeguards the mysteries of countless days and nights." What were these secrets?

7. In Emma's poem titled "Like Black Soot Thin," Emma explores her emotions. Who is the object of her jealousy, anger, and hate? Why is she experiencing these emotions at this time in her life?

8. A strange phrase, inside a sideway second, comes to Emma during the night. She asks herself what it means. What do you think the phrase means and why?

9. In "Scattered Papers," Emma comes to the realization that she wants her papers carried by the winds and she wants Solotoye's soil marked. Why is this important to Emma?

10. Emma writes a final poem titled "Shadows." Who are the shadows? Who are the craven pillagers? What are the carriage marks?

11. Does Emma find struggling people's elusive trinity - dignity, hope, and right? Why do you think she has … or has not found it?

Weblinks

»	Book's Official web site

Book Club Recommendations

Recommended to book clubs by 1 of 3 members.

Member Reviews

Rate this book