Elise Blackwell: Hunger

Reviewed by MICHAEL LARSEN

Biologist Nikolai Vavilov's expertise lies in gathering seeds from all over the globe. Working at a research institute in Leningrad with other top-level scientists, he has amassed a collection that is one of the most important in the world.

But in the winter of the Hitlerite invasion, 1941, he finds that not only do he and his fellow scientists have to protect their collection from enemy fire, they have to secure it from themselves, or more importantly, their own hunger.

Despite the population being forced to live off rats and, in extreme cases, each other, the scientists make a pact to protect their work at all costs. "Science is not compromise," the director says at one point: but how far, and at what cost should one hold to such a belief?

As Vavilov guiltily starts to eat seeds from the collection, he thinks back to the origins of what he is consuming, something that allows us to gather an understanding of his character, and how his morality - one that is continually called into question - brings him to a place where he would betray a pledge to his colleagues in order to survive.

His self-loathing escalates as he realises just how undignified the whole situation has become, both on a personal level and for the Russian people. "I could see with my own eyes that deprivation debases more often than it ennobles," he says sadly.

He is a contradictory character: he has great respect and tenderness for his wife Alena, yet he can't stop himself cheating on her. He would do anything for her, it would seem, yet he survives on seeds while she starves to death.

Looking at war from the personal point of view is nothing new, but Blackwell's angle makes for an engrossing tale. This is a small, beautiful book written with great attention to historical detail, and a keen eye for the behaviour of humans when faced with extreme circumstances.

Blackwell's tone is non-judgmental - as clear and bright as the winter days she so brilliantly describes. Hunger reminds me of some of Camus' work in its candid and often clinical view of morality, existence and rationality, but Blackwell's precise and compassionate prose brings to the whole sorry tale a colour and warmth that set in relief the despair surrounding the characters as events unfold. It's a short read that lingers long in the consciousness.

Heinemann, $29.95

***

Michael Larsen is an Auckland freelance writer.