Blame it on the alchohol

                 Recently I have been reading the book Winter's Garden by Kristen Hannah. Hannah focuses on a topic that in the past has been kept very close to the chest of the former Soviet Union. It is a story of dread, of hope, of starvation, of war, and above all, of desire. The desire to tell control your life, the desire to keep someone you love from hurt and harm, the desire to finally be free of whatever shackles that this material life chains you with. This is the story of Anya Whitson. The story that she is reluctantly telling her daughters. So she begins, Anya was not born Anya Whitson, she was gifted the name Vera Petrushka of Petr Valinokas, a seemingly ambiguous man who wanted to be a poet, wanted to make a difference under the oppressive rule of Stalin, the premier of the Soviet union, posed in such a substantial position of power that he captures and kills off all who dare defy him in even their choice of occupation. This is the world that Vera comes of age into.
                  Yet Vera is not afraid of Stalin, sure she knows she is not to do anything that might jeopardize herself or her family in the slightest, minuscule bit but she continues her life as it would be without him. She becomes a carefree adolescent, she falls in love, takes care of her sister. And above all, she is happy. That is Vera's ultimate defiance towards Stalin. Stalin is like a black hole, sucking in every star, anything that might shine against his darkness. He extinguishes that light in most people. Although they say they are in defiance of him, he has broken them. They have winked out. But not Vera, Vera is kept out of the black hole because her light shines on. But, alas, she is not invulnerable to the light of others. Vera's father is arrested under the unforgiving streetlights in front of their sparse home and Vera knows, deep inside that he will not come back. And so, she too becomes just another of Stalin's broken toys, her happiness and innocence destroyed because he has broken into her life and her bubble has popped.
                 So that is Vera Petrushka, but who is Anya Whitson? Why did she change her name and what isn't she telling her daughters about her past? This is what is going through the mind of Nina Whitson, Anya's daughter. Nina is a war photographer she uses her photos as a cathartic way for her to both help other people and distract herself from the loneliness she feels without her father, who has died recently and the fact that she is practically estranged from her mother and her sister Meredith. So Nina is used to investigating the facts. She is used to hunting down every single frame and shot until she has a compete clear picture of what has happened. And not only that, Nina is used to her photos being published, she relishes the idea of exposure, the fact that now everyone can know about the horrible things that take so much effort to hunt down, to triangulate the locations the names of things people want to keep covered up. So it comes at no surprise that Nina is the one to try to uncover her mother's hidden story. She needs to know the reason her mom can barely look at her, the reason she doesn't laugh, the tragedy or insanity behind the garden she plants in the winter when only ivy blooms. And Nina is used to getting her way.
                   So how does she find out what changed? What changed after the night Vera's father was captured in order to make this carefree girl into who Nina sees before her, a cold women with snow white hair, a woman who's age is unknown, who doesn't seem to love her own children. Just how much light could Stalin siphon off without killing the frail woman? Nina finds a way to get her mother to tell the rest of the story.

Get her drunk.

             Not really something one anticipates from such a poignant and sensitive story. How does alcohol play a part in this play set in the Soviet? Does it melt the ice that surrounds Anya? Or does it penetrate her deeper and deeper into the despair and semi-madness NIna and Meredith already see in her? Over their daily shot of alcohol Anya begins to open up to her daughters, but is it the truth? Anya is spinning tales and stories about knights and gardens that bloom in the winter, princes and snow bridges and ballerinas who can fly. How do you discern what is real or fake in this myriad of fairy tales? If Anya finally telling her story, how she changed that night and who she became? Do these fairies lead to something greater? Or is Nina just searching a woman who has fallen down the rabbit hole? Meredith, NIna's older sister sums it up perfectly when NIna asks her why her mother is seemingly insane

"Blame it on the alcohol."