Mikhail Sholokhov

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Sholokhov, Mikhail 1905–

Sholokhov is a Russian novelist. His greatest achievement, the monumental The Quiet Don, has long been the center of literary controversy. It is a saga of his own Don Cossack region during the chaotic decade of the Russian Revolution. Sholokhov was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature for 1965. (See also CLC, Vol. 7.)

Alexander Solzhenitsyn

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From the time when it first began to appear in 1928 The Quiet Don has posed a whole series of riddles which have not been satisfactorily answered even today. The reading public found itself confronted with something unprecedented in the history of literature. A twenty-three-year-old beginner had created a work out of material which went far beyond his own experience of life and his level of education (four years at school)…. [The book] could have been written only by someone closely acquainted with many sections of pre-Revolutionary society in the Don region, [for it is] a book whose most impressive quality was its deep insight into the way of life and the psychology of the characters it portrayed.

Although in terms of his origins and his personal record he himself was an "outsider", a non-Cossack, the emotional force of the young author's novel was directed against the influence of "outsiders" and its destructive effect on the traditional culture of the Don—a message which he was never to repeat in later life or in any public statement, however, remaining faithful to this very day to the mentality of those who requisitioned produce from the peasantry by force and served in "special purpose" units. He described vividly and with apparent first-hand knowledge the World War, in which he had been far too young to take part (he was only ten or so at the time), and the Civil War, which was over by the time he was fifteen.

The critics commented at once that here was a novice who wrote as though he had a great deal of literary experience behind him…. The book revealed the kind of literary power which can normally be attained only after many attempts by a practised and gifted author—and yet the finest sections were those which came first. The first volume was begun in 1926 and delivered complete to the editors in 1927; the splendid second volume was finished only a year after that; the third volume was ready within even less than a year of the second, and it was only on account of the "proletarian" censorship that this astonishing output was held up. So what are we to conclude—that we are dealing with an incomparable genius? But neither the level of achievement nor the rate of production has been confirmed or repeated in the subsequent forty-five years of his career!

Too many miracles!—and even when the early volumes first appeared there were widespread rumours that the novel had not in fact been written by the author who had put his name to it, that Sholokhov had found a complete manuscript (or, according to other versions, a diary) belonging to a Cossack officer who had been killed, and had turned it to his own use….

The true story of this book was apparently known to, and understood by, the Don writer Alexander Serafimovich, who was by then well on in years. Because of his passionate enthusiasm for everything to do with the Don, however, he was primarily concerned to see that the way was open for a brilliant novel about the region: any revelations about its having been written by some "White Guard" officer could only have prevented it being printed. And, once he had overcome the opposition of the editors...

(This entire section contains 997 words.)

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of the magazineOktyabr, Serafimovich insisted that The Quiet Don should be published, clearing a path for it with a glowing review in Pravda (April 19, 1928)….

There are in fact people who were alive then and are still living now who are convinced that Sholokhov did not write this book. But, restrained by the general fear of a powerful man and of his capacity for taking revenge, they will never speak their minds….

Nothing was done to confirm Sholokhov's authorship or to explain either the speed or scale of his achievement…. And here is another point: no rough drafts or manuscripts of the novel are preserved in any archives, none has ever been produced or shown to anybody (apart from Anatoli Sofronov [Soviet writer and literary official; editor of the popular weekly Ogonyok], who is too biased a witness for his evidence to count)….

A careful examination of The Quiet Don itself reveals many odd features. Coming from a major literary artist, there are instances of inexplicable slovenliness and forgetfulness: some of the characters simply disappear (the author's favourite characters, too, the vehicles of his cherished ideas!). There are breaks in personal story-lines; insertions of substantial episodes which have no connexion whatever with the main narrative, and differ in quality; and finally, in a work which displays great literary sensibility, places where passages of the crudest propaganda have been inserted (literature had not yet become accustomed to this in the 1920s).

Even at a first reading, I think, one notices a kind of sudden break between the second and third volumes, as though the author were starting to write a different book…. [While] the last sections of The Quiet Don were still appearing Sholokhov also began to publish Virgin Soil Upturned, and anyone with an ordinary feeling for literature can see, without having to undertake any special research, that this is not the same thing, not on the same level, not the same canvas, not the same perception of the world. The contrived, coarse humour of Shukar alone is quite incompatible with the style of the author of The Quiet Don, and it grates on the ear at once….

What is also surprising is that over the years Sholokhov has given permission for numerous unprincipled corrections to The Quiet Don—political and factual, affecting both the plot and the style…. To wipe out all the bright colours and reduce it to a dull greyness—could any artist really do that to a work which he has created with so much effort?

Alexander Solzhenitsyn, "Sholokhov and the Riddle of 'The Quiet Don'," in The Times Literary Supplement (© Times Newspapers Ltd. (London) 1974; reproduced from The Times Literary Supplement by permission), No. 3787, October 4, 1974, p. 1056.

Herman Ermolaev

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Under the title Qui a écrit "le Don paisible"? the anonymous French translation of Roj Medvedev's study Zagadki tvorceskoj biografii Mixaila Soloxova (Riddles of Mixail Soloxov's Creative Biography) came out in the summer of 1975…. [It] represents the second major publication on the controversial subject of the authorship of The Quiet Don…. Medvedev is a more thorough, cautious, and impartial investigator…. In the face of all [its] good points, Medvedev's study suffers from a glaring defect: a rather scarce use of materials published during the civil war by the Whites and an absence of reference to White Russian émigré sources. Medvedev obviously had only a very limited access to these sources, without which no serious investigation of the historical background of The Quiet Don can be complete. (p. 293)

Although Medvedev does not claim to have arrived at a definite conclusion, his strong preference for [Fedor Dmitrievic Krjukov (1870–1920)] as the possible author of The Quiet Don is quite obvious, especially since he does not consider any other names and dismisses Solzenicyn's conjecture [see excerpt above] that The Quiet Don might have been the work of an unknown genius who reached his creative peak during the civil war and perished soon after its end….

The reasons for Soloxov's low score in Medvedev's rating are first of all biographical and ideological. The image of the author arising from the pages of The Quiet Don has in Medvedev's eyes little in common with the young Soloxov, a non-Cossack by blood and upbringing who took no part either in World War I or the civil war and who had no chance of knowing intimately the situation in the White camp, especially in its top echelon. Nor could he have created the historical background of The Quiet Don with the aid of printed sources, which were very scarce at the time the first three volumes were being written. Neither, Medvedev points out, had Soloxov exhibited anything but a strong pro-Soviet feeling both in his fiction and topical writings before or after the appearance of The Quiet Don, nor had he created anything approaching the philosophical and artistic level of that novel. (pp. 293-94)

Medvedev repeatedly refers to Soloxov as a member of the Komsomol and puts great weight on the argument that the political sympathies of the author of The Quiet Don could not stem from a person of Communist persuasion. This argument, however, is somewhat weakened by the probability that Soloxov never joined the Komsomol and that three volumes of The Quiet Don had been written before he became a Communist party candidate at the end of 1930. (p. 294)

Soloxov's inability to create The Quiet Don is, according to Medvedev, evident in the unbridgeable philosophical and artistic gap separating that novel from the rest of Soloxov's writings, beginning with volume 1 of Virgin Soil Upturned. In Medvedev's judgment, the narrow class orientation of this work is of a lower moral value than the universal humanism of The Quiet Don…. "The Science of Hatred" is "extremely partial" …, They Fought for Their Country is marked by astounding mediocrity …, "The Fate of a Man" is highly overpraised by Soviet critics to camouflage the paucity of Soloxov's literary production after World War II …, and volume 2 of Virgin Soil Upturned is much weaker than volume 1, and in it Soloxov appears to have lost all his ability to tell the truth to the extent that not a single page of volume 2 is worthy of the author of The Quiet Don…. Soloxov's journalistic writings are for Medvedev "dogmatic and reactionary," displaying a shocking poverty of language and thought…. It is hard to disagree with Medvedev's evaluation of all the above-mentioned works. One can only wish that he had probed deeper into the causes of Soloxov's moral and artistic decline and made allowances for the circumstances under which a Soviet author writes and publishes. It is, for example, very unlikely that the censors would have passed volume 1 of Virgin Soil Upturned had it contained a more detailed description of the tragic conflicts which arose in the early stages of collectivization and which, Medvedev believes, Soloxov treated too hastily…. It would have been impossible to publish "The Science of Hatred" and "The Fate of a Man" had Soloxov, in accordance with Medvedev's wishes, explored in depth the real reasons why millions of Soviet troops were taken prisoner by the Germans…. Although Medvedev seems at times to demand too much from Soloxov and although one can give several reasons for the writer's moral and artistic decline, the fact remains that there is indeed a big difference between the balanced objectivity of The Quiet Don and the heavy ideological slant of nearly all of Soloxov's writings, which generates understandable doubts about the authorship of The Quiet Don. A possible explanation for this discrepancy is that almost three fourths of The Quiet Don was written during the period when Soloxov perhaps was not in a strongly pro-Soviet frame of mind…. [The] principal work of the novel, from the end of 1925 to 1930, was done in a conservative and predominantly anti-Soviet milieu. Besides, this work coincided with the period of NEP when many people, especially such conservative elements as the Cossacks, cherished hopes that the Soviet regime would eventually abandon its Communist dogmas. All this could have weakened Soloxov's original devotion to the Soviet regime. It could also have contributed to the development in The Quiet Don of an objectivity whose elements were already present in some of his stories. With the beginning of collectivization, when there was no middle way to follow, Soloxov sided with the regime and subsequently bound himself to it by joining the Party and by propagating its views in his writings. This could not but seriously impair his objectivity and the artistic quality of his works. Soloxov's moral and artistic degeneration should not necessarily be viewed as evidence that he was not capable of creating The Quiet Don. It can, instead, be regarded as a case of inevitable deterioration of a great talent in the service of a mendacious political power. There can be a variety of reasons why a masterpiece or simply a good literary work is not matched or surpassed by subsequent works, especially in the Soviet conditions after the NEP. (pp. 295-96)

The main difference between Krjukov and the author of The Quiet Don, which Medvedev has failed to comment upon, is the sympathy for the poor and humiliated permeating many of Krjukov's works. This sympathy is expressed at times in a lyrical and sentimental tone, calling to mind Karamzin and the nineteenth-century populists. At the same time the feeling of admiration is conveyed in a lofty and emotional diction. One looks in vain either in Soloxov's stories or in The Quiet Don for passages written in this manner.

Medvedev finds more stylistic differences between Soloxov's stories and The Quiet Don than similarities…. Taken as a whole, Soloxov's stories appear to have more features in common with The Quiet Don than do Krjukov's works…. The Quiet Don shares with Soloxov's stories and Virgin Soil Upturned hundreds of identical or similar figures of speech. The stories, The Quiet Don, and—to a lesser extent—Virgin Soil Upturned contained in their earliest editions a great number of identical or similar blunders of grammatical, semantic, and stylistic nature…. Extensive mishandling of prepositions in the earliest editions of the stories and The Quiet Don [in addition to other errors, is one] evidence of their kinship. Practically all of the cases show an ungrammatical use of one preposition instead of another which can be explained by the influence of the local dialect on a writer with modest formal education. There are about thirty such abnormalities in the stories and about a hundred in The Quiet Don involving over thirty varieties of faulty usage. Many of these varieties appear in both the stories and the novel…. [Note that later volumes] of The Quiet Don had only a few errors involving prepositions because the editors began to catch them in The Quiet Don as early as 1928.

If, in Medvedev's opinion, Soloxov was unable to produce The Quiet Don because it is a masterpiece beyond his artistic reach, one can argue that Krjukov, a well-educated and experienced author, would not have written a work riddled with hundreds of transgressions against literary Russian. To illustrate one more point of similarity between The Quiet Don and Soloxov' works one could list numerous characteristic examples of the rate of recurrence of certain words. (pp. 302-03)

Lack of space prevents me from listing Medvedev's factual errors and inaccuracies. Half a dozen of them are related to history and over thirty to literature, including wrong statements about the time the works were written or published, the time, extent, and nature of political revisions in The Quiet Don, and the details of plots. The most deplorable feature of Qui a écrit is the extraordinarily large number of errors or, possibly, misprints pertaining to publication data and page numbers which appear in the footnotes. More than an average number of misprints occur in transcriptions of Russian words and among faulty translations are the titles of the stories "Rodinka" … and "Sibalkovo semja"….

Although Medvedev has failed to give persuasive evidence that Krjukov is the more likely author of The Quiet Don than Soloxov, he has written an interesting, thought-provoking, and—in certain aspects—pioneering study. One wonders what direction it would have taken had the White émigré sources been available to him. (p. 304)

Herman Ermolaev, "Who Wrote 'The Quiet Don?': A Review Article," in Slavic and East European Journal (© 1976 by AATSEEL of the U.S., Inc.), Vol. 20, No. 3, September, 1976, pp. 293-307.

R. A. Medvedev

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Ermolaev is one of the most competent specialists in the history of the Don region and the Don Cossacks, and he is obviously one of the best Western experts on M. A. Soloxov and F. D. Krjukov. This of course makes his remarks and conjectures especially valuable [see excerpt above].

However, not all of Ermolaev's observations are equally convincing. He agrees with me, for example, that the novel Podnjataja celina (Virgin Soil Upturned) is incomparably weaker as a work of art than Tixij Don (The Quiet Don). The level of volume 2 of Virgin Soil Upturned (1960) is especially low in quality, as are the chapters published at the end of the war and the still unfinished novel Oni srazaliś za rodinu (They Fought for Their Homeland, 1943–44). "However," Ermolaev notes, "even in the works written after The Quiet Don one finds incomparable descriptions of the Don countryside which could belong only to the creator of The Quiet Don. Who else could have written the opening of volumes 1 and 2 of Virgin Soil Upturned and in particular the first two pages of chapter 34 in volume 1?" (p. 104)

This is a weak argument. In Virgin Soil Upturned one can of course encounter four or five incomparable descriptions of Don nature and the Don village reminiscent of analogous pages in The Quiet Don. But it is precisely the fact that there are so few of these sketches that causes one to wonder. One may assume, as Ermolaev does, that growing political demands on literature … interfered with the flowering of the dramatic talent which had manifested itself so strongly in the first volumes of The Quiet Don…. But what ideological pressures can possibly explain the obvious impoverishment of Soloxov the painter, who drew such stirring pictures of nature and life in the Don lands? We encounter such pictures in practically every chapter of The Quiet Don, but we have to leaf through hundreds of pages to find them in Virgin Soil Upturned. Could it be that the source of these valuable deposits was exhausted by 1932? (pp. 104-05)

Individual stories from Donskie rasskazy (Tales of the Don) and many pages of other short stories reveal indubitable talent and originality on the part of their author, although they do not testify to his educational preparation. This essentially contradictory characteristic of the young coauthor [following the theory that Soloxov was, indeed, coauthor] would surely be reflected in his editing of any practically prepared text. The young coauthor's talent would have made a fair text even more powerful and more artistically impressive. But his lack of formal education or haste would cause ungrammatical turns and phrases which would not usually be noticed by a reader excitedly following an otherwise masterful narration.

Ermolaev is absolutely correct in saying that "infelicities of this sort are more likely to have come from the pen of the half-educated, though extremely talented Soloxov than from that of Krujkov, a graduate of the Petersburg Institute of History and Philology and an experienced pedagogue."… But this argument still does not prove that the "poorly educated, but extremely talented Soloxov" … could not, on the strength of the right combination of circumstances, become a coauthor with a much better educated but artistically less talented writer, Fedor Krjukov. Thus, Ermolaev has not disproved the "Author-Coauthor" hypothesis itself. (p. 106)

In my book Riddles of the Creative Biography of M. Soloxov, or Who Wrote The Quiet Don? I examine the "Author-Coauthor" hypothesis to a large extent from a different point of view. I reach the conclusion that the hypothesis is by no means unpromising, even though the general picture of how The Quiet Don was created is far more complex than … [others] have assumed…. [As Ermolaev concludes,] I did not have the White émigré sources available to me when I wrote my book…. With the exception of a few of the especially "initiated," however, no one has had access to these dossiers….

It is even more difficult to gather materials in the Don region about Krjukov, his literary and public life in the Civil War years. Soloxov himself answered a written query from a Moscow journalist in his usual fashion, with a bold and brief note: "I do not know and have never read the writer F. D. Krjukov. M. Soloxov."

Nor does anyone even know anything about the Moscow archival material relating to Soloxov's life and activity. Where can one find the proceedings of the meetings of the commission which in 1929 deliberated the question of plagiarism? What materials did Soloxov present for the deliberation of this commission?

Information regarding Soloxov's education is likewise extremely vague. In the very first autobiographical note to Tales of the Don Soloxov informed his readers that he "studied two to three years in a Moscow gymnasium." Moscow gymnasia were not very numerous in those years, and the question naturally arises: in which Moscow school should a commemorative plate be hung today, and in which should a small Soloxov museum be built? (p. 107)

It is paradoxical, but a fact, that in our country, where Soloxov has for so long been regarded as a classic of Soviet literature, there are no biographies in existence. There are only brief notes, often totally inconsistent with each other, based on limited data provided occasionally and in various circumstances by Soloxov himself. That is why it is not surprising that not only in my book, but also in Ermolaev's article we encounter quite important inaccuracies. (p. 108)

Ermolaev's argument is weakened … by the circumstance that it was precisely in 1924–25 that Soloxov wrote most of his short stories and tales, and there is no trace in these works of the influence of a conservative and anti-Soviet milieu. In their tendency these works are undoubtedly the stories of a member of the Komsomol, and criticism of the time judged them precisely as such.

And is it really so probable that, as Ermolaev maintains, Soloxov "never joined the Komsomol" …? A whole generation of Soviet schoolchildren could have read [that he did] in their tenth-class standard textbook…. (p. 109)

Of course, one can adduce many examples, even in Soviet literature, where biographies of various venerable writers, poets, and journalists were later "made," and which differed in certain respects from factual biographies. Some facts are ignored and others exaggerated (and sometimes even fabricated). But if this applies also to Soloxov, if it can be proved that he really never was a member of the Komsomol, that in 1924–25 he was already under the influence of a conservative and anti-Soviet Cossack element, then Ermolaev has added yet another curious riddle to the long list of riddles relating to Soloxov's creative biography. (p. 110)

[We] do not at all mean to say that Tales of the Don is no more than a collection of Bolshevik literary agitki. There are stories written here with talent, distinguished by unquestionable impartiality and objectivity…. And really, few could fail to be moved by the story of the old Cossack thinking with pain and grief about his only son killed in a retreat, and still believing in his son's return while disbelieving the rumors of his death. And by this Cossack and his wife who hide a wounded young soldier of a food supply detachment, care for him, grow attached to him as if he were their own son, call him Petr after the dead boy…. The objectivity of the author of Tales of the Don, however, is decidedly one-sided. It is impossible to imagine a plot in one of these tales where a Red Cossack family whose son has died at the hands of the Whites would hide and care for a young White officer wounded in battle. The objectivity of the author of The Quiet Don is something quite different. When Soloxov read fragments from part 6 of his novel at a workers evening in 1930 many listeners wiped away their tears during the reading of the chapter on the funeral of the White officer Petr Melexov who died at the hands of the Bolshevik Misa Kosevoj.

Ermolaev singles out separate phrases and whole passages of The Quiet Don which he believes that only a Communist author could have written…. Ermolaev himself admits that these phrases could have been inserted later into an already prepared text. For one of the riddles of The Quiet Don consists of just this: there are even more phrases in the novel (particularly in the first journal variant) which no Communist author could have in any way written.

Ermolaev agrees with me that after the completion of The Quiet Don in 1937–38, Soloxov's literary output for the next forty years has been extremely meager, mediocre in quality, and, if one speaks about his political and publicistic pronouncements, extremely reactionary to boot. Ermolaev is inclined to explain such creative impoverishment by citing the political conditions of our country in the years which made it impossible for a powerful and original artist to manifest his talent…. One can agree only partially with this. Soloxov could not, of course, portray the famine and destruction [and other situations]…. But during World War II and in the first postwar years, opportunities were opened up to writers for a truthful depiction of reality. Soloxov, however, could no longer use them. From 1942 through 1947 a number of novels, books, and tales were written and published in our country which became solid Russian classics…. But Soloxov, who at the beginning of the war had not even reached the age of forty, wrote several weak sketches, quickly fell silent, and then wrote almost nothing until 1956. (pp. 110-11)

According to the testimony of Soloxov's close friends, there was a sudden change in his character right after the terrible experience of his arrest, his dramatic flight to Moscow, and his lengthy conversation with Stalin which took place soon after. This happened in the summer of 1938…. The long conversation, about which Soloxov has kept silent to this very day, was brought to an end with another no less significant phrase [according to those who were present]: "Good working conditions must be created for the great Russian writer Soloxov." Maksim Gor'kij had already died by this time and Stalin was in great need of a properly obedient Russian literary great. But from 1939 on Soloxov was psychologically and morally broken…. He was confident at the end of the 1920's that he would create many more works on the level of The Quiet Don and thereby silence the rumors and gossip that hurt him so much. But as years passed nothing has been forthcoming; nothing is forthcoming now; and apparently nothing will ever be forthcoming. (pp. 111-12)

Even if we could prove that Soloxov is not the principal author of this remarkable novel, it does not at all follow that Krjukov would have to be an author….

I do not maintain, but only suggest, that Krjukov was far more likely than Soloxov to have been a first-hand observer of the most important events described in The Quiet Don…. (p. 112)

I still think that most of volume 1 and certain parts of volumes 2 and 3 were not written by Soloxov, although I cannot prove this with absolute certainty. Most of volumes 2, 3, and 4 (much more than I assumed before I read Ermolaev's work) was undoubtedly written by Soloxov. I am certain even now that The Quiet Don has both an author and a coauthor. The only matter for discussion is who, by the degree of his participation in creating the novel, is the author, and who the coauthor.

From an essentially philological point of view, Ermolaev considers similarities and differences in literary technique, style, and the use of various epithets, similes, and nature scenes in both Krjukov's works and The Quiet Don, as well as in Tales of the Don and Virgin Soil Upturned. He admits that in a number of details and in literary technique the style of The Quiet Don is similar to the style of Krjukov's short stories and tales…. Nevertheless, the differences are still greater than the similarities. Krjukov's language is always smoother and more literary, and there are no unexpected dialectisms and unpronounceable words. The language of The Quiet Don is always more coarse and more energetic, more economical, and filled not only with words in common usage but also with rare dialectal forms. And although the differences in literary language and style between The Quiet Don and Tales of the Don are also significant, the similarities are, according to Ermolaev, greater than those between The Quiet Don and Krjukov's short stories and tales.

I shall not polemicize here on this subject with Ermolaev. In my book I too pointed out the serious differences between the literary styles of Krjukov's stories and The Quiet Don. Moreover, I am not a specialist in language and literary technique, and I did not have available to me the machine technology—a computer—which Ermolaev indicates helped him to obtain his findings.

Ermolaev explains, for example, that one can find in The Quiet Don, Tales of the Don, and Virgin Soil Upturned hundreds of identical or similar figures of speech, and also, what is even more important, a multitude of similar grammatical, semantic, and stylistic errors. (p. 115)

It would be incorrect, of course, to ignore [Ermolaev's grammatical] computations, for they are quite convincing. Nevertheless, they do not fully refute the "Author-Coauthor" hypothesis, for they do not eliminate the basic riddles of The Quiet Don, and in fact add new ones. The countless stylistic errors of The Quiet Don should be referenced according to parts and chapters of the novel in which they occur. Are they encountered often in the first and second books? And what picture would emerge from a comparison of volume 1 with volume 4, of volume 1 with Tales of the Don? Ermolaev does not offer a differential analysis of stylistic peculiarities, and this diminishes the value of his conclusions. After all, much can be explained here by the supposition that Soloxov did not simply transcribe texts, but edited them in his own fashion. He could have worked with the texts the way a poet-translator works with an interlinear translation. In this way a partial explanation can be offered for the gaps in the novel—when after such brilliant chapters as, for example, chapter 11 of part 3, one meets such feebly and clumsily written chapters as chapter 23 of the same part. When Soloxov had an interlinear translation at hand—a sketch of a picture—he did not as a rule weaken, but rather improved the picture, and his young talent was superimposed on the experience and knowledge of a more mature, but less talented author. When there was no interlinear translation, the result was gray and boring.

Ermolaev considers Soloxov the sole author of The Quiet Don, although he does admit that he has reason to pause for doubt now. He makes skillful use of those features of the novel which are in correspondence with his hypothesis. But nevertheless, he has not examined, or has only touched on, the important features of The Quiet Don which can best be explained with the help of the "Author-Coauthor" scheme. But of course, the whole complex of questions raised in this discussion demands further study. I would be very pleased by the appearance of other works as serious and competent as [Professor Ermolaev's]…. (pp. 115-16)

R. A. Medvedev, "The Riddles Grow: A Propos Two Review Articles," translated by George Gutsche, in Slavic and East European Journal (© 1977 by AATSEEL of the U.S., Inc.), Vol. 21, No. 1, March, 1977, pp. 104-16.

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