Russia's successful bid to host the Football World Cup in 2018 has stirred me to write a post that's been on my mind for a couple of weeks, that is since the centenary of Tolstoy's death on 20 November. This event has not been officially celebrated in Russia to the same degree as the 150th anniversary of Chekhov's birth (see below) for some reason. However, the trajectory of Tolstoy's life bears comparison with that of Chekhov because of its contrary path. Tolstoy was born an aristocrat, but ultimately rejected his inheritance and died in a humble railway station master's house, whilst Chekhov had humble origins but enjoyed the ultimate celebrity death. Perhaps the message of this is that we may all have to eat humble pie* at some point, and the world of British football might like to reflect on this. Meanwhile, I hope for a Russian cultural renaissance in thr run up to 2018, along with all the sports stuff.
The wonderful colour photograph of Tolstoy is also taken from the Wikipedia Media Commons.
* I strongly recommend getting someone else to pay for this, and/or an accompanying rich sauce. Perhaps Boris's Bookshelf will visit the Cafe Pushkin for the next post.
