According to critics selected novellas, short stories and assays included in this collection best reflect the essence and phases of development of the author’s creative work. One of the well-known short stories by Nugzar Shataidze November Rain is comprised into the collection as well. The story depicts difficult Stalinist era in Georgia in the 1930s and 1940s. Taking the example of one specific family, the writer masterly describes how totalitarianism destroys and devastates the human psyche, and how it fights against a person’s main value, dignity. In general the collection stands out for its multifaceted subject matter, its deep knowledge of Georgian language and history, and its depiction of the diversity of the actions of the human soul.
EXTRACT
Translated into English by Elizabeth Heighway
NOVEMBER RAIN
“Pardon me? Pardon?” Aleksandre cupped his hand to his ear, tilted his head slightly to one side, and stared with blinking, reddened eyes at Parunashvili, who was sitting in the third row.
Outside it was raining and dark. The classroom could be seen reflected in the wet window panes; Aleksandre was reflected there too, an old man with his hand cupped against his ear, head tilted slightly to one side, and staring fixedly at Paru-nashvili, while the other students in the young workers’ evening class sat behind their desks in silence and with their heads bowed.
“Parunashvili, stand up and repeat what you just said!” “Don’t shout at me.” Parunashvili’s face clouded over. “I said stand up!”
“You’re praising class enemies and spouting bourgeois propaganda and on top of that you’re shouting at me!”
“Who, boy? Who is this class enemy?” A bewildered smile played on the old man’s lips.
“The writer of this poem, who else?”
Aleksandre turned deadly pale, took his handkerchief out of his pocket, cleaned his chalk-covered fingers, then went over to Parunashvili, grabbed him by the ear, and shook his head violently.
A flurry of whispers swept through the classroom.
Parunashvili pulled his head back and freed his ear from the teacher’s hand. Aleksandre rapped his crooked finger sharply down onto the crown of his slightly balding head.
“Ha! – ” An uneven smile appeared on Parunashvili’s lips.
Aleksandre turned back around, went to his desk, pulled out his chair, sat down, and gazed sternly at the motionless class... (
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