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of maternity is vastly more multifaceted than the analysis of two novels can
convey.
Moreover, though it would be a gross simplification to suggest that the book
does not provide cultural and literary contexts, the focus on these particular six
writers is so exclusive that they appear as the only ones to shape what Davies
calls a ‘written discipline of maternal education’ (1). Others, like Hannah More,
Anna Laetitia Barbauld and Mary Lamb, only have their names mentioned.
Obviously, one does not expect analyses of Thomas Day or Frances Burney in
chapters devoted to Edgeworth or Austen, but a short comment on how the views
of the analysed authors situate themselves against the writings of others would fill
contextual gaps and create a more richly textured account.
A definite strength of the monograph is the variety of works by the
considered writers: from fictional to non-fictional, from artistic to utilitarian.
While this is certainly an advantage, Davies’s book is also characterised by
unequal distribution of analysis: some texts are discussed more thoroughly with
examples and quotations, while others are treated more perfunctorily, and the
reader is supposed to accept Davies’s claims on rather scant evidence. The
paucity of analytical support is particularly striking in the case of early children’s
fiction. Generally, Davies’s argumentative strategy seems to assume a reliance
on the authority of other scholars: she often builds her discussion on quotations
from secondary – and sometimes even tertiary – sources. A broader application
of the analytical approach to primary texts would result in a more original and
convincing book.
In spite of these reservations, Davies’s monograph is informative and
inspiring (albeit sometimes because her claims awaken doubt). However,
no positive opinion can be voiced about the conclusion, which appears
to be basically a three-page-long exercise in paraphrasing the first part
of the introduction: in many sentences only some words or phrases are
changed whereas semantic and stylistic identity is preserved. For instance, the
introduction opens with: ‘Throughout the long eighteenth century the figure of
the mother was employed symbolically in the service of numerous political, social
and religious functions’ (1), while the conclusion starts with: ‘Throughout the
eighteenth and into the nineteenth century the passive figure of the “mother” was
employed symbolically in the service of numerous political, social and religious
functions’ (147). Such an approach to scholarship seems to cast a shadow of
doubt on the seriousness of the whole project.
Jadwiga W˛egrodzka
University of Gdańsk
DOI: 10.3366/ircl.2015.0157

Fairy Tales and True Stories: The History of Russian Literature for Children and Young People
(1574–2010). Ben Hellman. Boston: Brill, 2013. 575 pages.
Over the centuries, children and the literature intended for them have figured
prominently in Russian ideological debates and plans for realising social and
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political ideals, as shown by early texts written for future rulers or works from the
Soviet period, when the child was regarded as a key part of the reconfiguration of
society and the creation of the new Soviet subject. As a result, Russian children’s
literature, ideology and censorship have been intricately intertwined.
Due to such complexities, and a related dearth of unbiased sources,
writing the history of Russian children’s literature is a monumental task. Hence
Ben Hellman’s Fairy Tales and True Stories: The History of Russian Literature for
Children and Young People (1574–2010) is all the more praiseworthy; it marks
a major contribution to the field of Russian children’s literature research. Its
scope is extensive; its encyclopedic assessment of a vast body of children’s
literature is invaluable; and its exhaustive use of rare materials and archival
research is impressive. Subdivided by time span, the twelve chapters of this
large volume contain descriptions or brief analyses of a vast quantity of texts
ranging from canonical darlings of the political establishment to little known
works removed from the canon. Moreover, Fairy Tales and True Stories compiles
comments by Russian critics, intellectuals, writers and other key individuals that
offer evidence for the rise of a critical tradition regarding children’s literature in
the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century.
Hellman also details the challenges presented to children’s literature by
political considerations at specific historical moments, as made evident by official
Soviet congresses addressing the topic of Soviet children’s literature. His archival
work is particularly valuable when he goes beyond unreliable government
statistics or publication numbers, reflecting not demand but top-down ideology,
to uncover actual reading habits of children from library records, surveys,
children’s comments or recollections of childhood reading. The bibliography also
offers a place to start investigating Russian children’s literature although it is not
comprehensive, lacking, for example, works by Kelly, Loseff, Okenfuss, Wachtel
and others.1
Hellman’s critical observations about the shortcomings of extant Russian
histories of children’s literature and his effort to tell a more nuanced story than
existing official versions are especially valuable. He attempts a comprehensive
description that reconsiders lost texts and seeks to restore their place. On
the other hand, an encyclopedic approach spanning such a long period also
limits the possibilities for lengthier analyses of individual texts. It proves
especially challenging in the contemporary period, which still remains in
flux; the history of contemporary Russian children’s literature remains to be
written.
It is commendable that Hellman includes in his literary history women
writers of the nineteenth century whose literary contributions had been neglected
for many years. Particularly valuable is his reconsideration of popular writer
Lidiya Charskaya. In addition to the harsh treatment of Charskaya by her
contemporary critics, official Soviet policy that made her materials ideologically
out of date conspired to reduce her accomplishment to a forgotten footnote.
Hellman’s book does much to rescue Charskaya from oblivion by reinstating
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her as a significant presence in the history of Russian literature for children and
young adults.
Hellman’s treatment of translated literature, meanwhile, allows for a
nuanced consideration of the interactions between domestic and foreign
literature, thereby revealing when a translated text might compensate for a
domestic absence or influence the native literature’s development. Details on
when canonical texts of international children’s literature were translated greatly
aid in understanding the unique situation of translations and adaptations in
Russia, where loose adaptations of famous texts secured a prominent place in
Russian culture, supplanting original works such as The Adventures of Pinocchio,
Winnie-the-Pooh and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.2
Hellman’s considerable achievement notwithstanding, at times his analyses
of texts could benefit from a more interdisciplinary approach to their cultural
and historical context. For example, his discussion of the stories about Pavlik
Morozov, the boy who was killed after he informed on his father and was lionised
by the Soviet state, would benefit from deeper historical contextualisation.
Critical studies of the Pavlik myth by Druzhnikov and Kelly have shown how
myth and misrepresentation diverge from the historical record.3 Likewise, the
elements of critical approaches to gender, race, ethnicity, the environment,
popular culture and genre that do feature in Hellman’s work highlight theoretical
directions that have the potential to enrich the study of Russian children’s
literature. Clearly, much work remains to be done in the continued theoretical
study of the fascinating works that Hellman covers, uncovers or recovers. Insofar
as Hellman situates his study at the intersection of children’s literature research
and Slavic studies, employing terminology specific to each field, his work also
might allow for the interpollination of these historically disparate fields while
bringing useful analytical tools to new audiences.
In sum, Ben Hellman’s Fairy Tales and True Stories: The History of Russian
Literature for Children and Young People (1574–2010) represents a great advance
for the field of Russian children’s literature research. It offers an essential tool
for basic research and an indispensable reference work for scholars in the
field.

Sara Pankenier Weld

University of California, Santa Barbara
DOI: 10.3366/ircl.2015.0158

NOTES
1. See Catriona Kelly. Children’s World: Growing up in Russia 1890–1991. New Haven: Yale UP,
2007; Lev Loseff. On the Beneficence of Censorship: Aesopian Language in Modern Russian Literature.
München: Verlag Otto Sagner, 1984; Max Okenfuss. The Discovery of Childhood in Russia: The
Evidence of the Slavic Primer. Newtonville, MA: Oriental Research Partners, 1980. Andrew
Wachtel. The Battle for Childhood: Creation of a Russian Myth. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1990.
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2. On Aleksei Tolstoy’s adaptation of Carlo Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio, see, for
instance, Natalia Kaloh Vid. ‘Translation of Children’s Literature in the Soviet Union:
How Pinocchio Got a Golden Key’. IRCL 6.1 (2013): 90–103; On Aleksandr Volkov’s
adaptation of L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, see, for instance, Erika Haber. ‘Is
Magic Land Oz? A. M. Volkov and the Question of Originality’. Detskie chteniia 6.2 (2014):
255–268.
3. See Catriona Kelly. Comrade Pavlik: The Rise and Fall of a Boy Hero. London: Granta,
2007 and Iu. Druzhnikov. Informer 001: The Myth of Pavlik Morozov. New Brunswick, NJ:
Transaction Publishers, 1997. In Russian, see Iu. Druzhnikov. Donoschik 001, ili Vosnesenie
Pavlika Morozova. Moscow: Moskovskii rabochii, 1995.