I found this book yellowing in the bookcase of my childhood home. I would say I have read every book we own, so I was surprised to find this one, and in a spirit of completeness decided to read it.
It is a memoir written by a woman with a Russian father and a Scottish mother. She was born and grew up in Russia, and was only eventually forced to leave as a teenager by the economic collapse of the Russian revolution.
It’s an interesting account of the earliest days of globalization, and what it is to be a child of hybrid culture. It’s also a romantic picture of traditional Russian life. Most interesting though of course, is the collapse. They descend very quickly into hunger and tragedy. I was particularly struck by when the narrator, as a child of the bourgeoisie, goes to beg a peasant woman for milk. The woman tells her about how she used to have to rush home during her short breaks at their mill to breastfeed her baby, and never managed to feed him for long enough. She asks why she should give her any milk. A tough question indeed.