From the outset, feel the tacit but heartbreaking valley of tears of a fervent religious believer like Solzhenitsyn; observe the human disillusionment through characters who—and I'm talking about none of them—have the slightest control over their fate. Neither the prisoners, like engineer Bobynin or Lev Grigorich Rubin—who is not fooled and knows that in the sharashka they occupy the first exquisite circle of Dante's hell—nor Gleb Nerzhin, for whom "The sexton sings the same for a fish as for a crab," exercise power over their fate. Nor can executioners like Yakonov, Minister Abakoumov, or lat…
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