THE STEPS LEAD TO THE FUTURE

From Santa Rosa to the Pacific Ocean was a bit of a distance — about 60 km, past the ridges of the Sonoma Mountains. There, in March of 1812, in Bodega Bay, landed the first Russian expedition led by Ivan Kuskov, a commercial advisor. Having settled 15 km North of the now-famous Fort Ross — the Russian settlement of hunters and farmers, as well as providers of provisions and furs for Russian America — Kuskov was able to trade this piece of land from the Indians for three blankets, three pairs of pants, two axes, three hoes, and few strands of beads — that was all.

The next morning, Milo and I were driving through the picturesque town of Sebastopol, along the Russian River on a great freeway, toward Fort Ross. Here was the initial Russian settlement in California, before there were any Americans around. We barely spoke. I put in a tape with Russian songs. On our entire trip toward the ocean, the sounds of "Lipa Vekovaya" (Ageless Lime-tree), "Zhuravli" (Cranes), "Moskva Zlotoglavaya" (Gold-headed Moscow), and "Samovari — Pryaniki" (Samovars and Gingerbread) played out dreamily and tenderly. I tried to translate the song "Letyat Utki" (Ducks Flying) to Milo, who, for many years, had been protecting water animals and birds. He was humming something, keeping his eyes on the road. To the right, in the base of the mountains, sequoias were towering; to the left — a small river and simple wooden houses and cottages were for rent for the season. It was somewhere around there that Jack was hired to deliver his first lectures while Bessie, with baby Joan, enjoyed living close to nature. Finally, there is the fort.

Russian colonists only lived for 30 years in Fort Ross. They hunted otter and beavers, hunted along the shores of the San Francisco bay and in the valleys of the Russian and Sacramento rivers, as well as in the Sonoma Valley (Valley of the Moon). They cultivated the land around the fort, growing cabbage, potatoes, squash, beans and even cantaloupes. They bartered. The population of the colony often reached 500 people, among which were quite a few Aleuts and Kodiaks. Ivan Kuskov took an Indian woman for his wife. They were friendly with the Indians, the Spanish and the Americans, now coming from the East. California belonged to Mexico at the time. Later on, the Russians sold their settlement to a Mexican Caterra, but it's told they never got their money.

With time, the unique structures of the fort have dilapidated and weathered. Those were replaced by new buildings. In their place, a village appeared, with a saloon, hotel and a school. By the beginning of the 20th century, only a church and a few houses from the Russian settlement still remained. Soon, though, everything burned to the ground.

Jack London visited Fort Ross. In June of 1911, he traveled there with Charmian on a four-horse carriage. Fort Ross was a stop on his trip around California and Oregon. There, he got in touch with simple Russian living, breathed in the air of Russian old culture (he never got to visit Russia, after all!). Relaxed, the couple spent a night here.

"Most of the old Fort Ross is still here," wrote London, "Bastions made of wood, a church, storage buildings. We felt somehow very comfortable here on squeaky floors and among rusty metal parts. We warmed up at the huge fireplace, created a hundred years ago, and fell asleep, at peace, under the cover of plank roof crudely put together with home-made hammered nails."

The photographs taken during that visit by Jack London helped later on with reconstructing efforts of structures of the historical Russian settlement in California.

Today, the fort is largely restored as a historical park: there is a church, the houses of Kuskov and Rochev, workshops and storage buildings, wooden fortress walls and two warehouses at the corners, diagonally from each other. We got lucky — it was a clear day, the breeze brought at times the salty smells of the sea, at times with the aroma of the wilted grass. The Pacific Ocean was not calm and was angrily throwing the waves against the sharp rocks. From this tall American shore, it seemed there, beyond the horizon, the remote boundaries of Kamchatka borders were visible in the West.

In my speech at the symposium, I showed the complexity of the fate of Jack London's works in the USSR. I talked about the disparity in the evaluation of literary critics and general readership of his works, especially in the 1930s. I told that the deep understanding of the true meaning and value of the great writer didn't come easily. In fact, it was the Russian reader who helped the critics to figure things out.

I talked about how a long time ago, while working on my dissertation on the writer's novels, I was able to visit the Ranch for the first time. For London's nephew, Irving Shepard, the creation of the museum there was quite a serious problem at the time. It was also a hard task for the Huntington Library, which acquired the writer's archives, to find a specialist to go through seventy boxes filled with the writer's manuscripts. At that time, the author of Martin Eden and Iron Heel was not among the respected belletrists of his country. Nowadays, I see with joy how numerous are his friends. The Jack London Foundation has been operating for over the quarter of a century in California. The Jack London Society has successfully opened its research activities. The State Historic Park accepts up to 100,000 visitors a year. There are several museums in California and a "village" in Oakland. In recent years, about a dozen substantial books have been written about his life and work.

At a conference held in Baltimore by the American Literature Association, a report titled "Jack London as a Youth Writer," caught everyone's attention. According to the teachers, school children inevitably show interest in such works as The Call of the Wild, White Fang, Sea-Wolf, as well as short stories such as "Love of Life," Law of Life," "Chun Ah Chun," "White Silence," "Koolau the Leper," and "The House of Pride." And the novel Martin Eden evokes in students the desire to write as well. Today, schools are increasingly eager to include London's works in the school curriculum. A competition has been held among the middle school students for the best paper on London's works. The winner was invited to the banquet commemorating the writer's birthday. She was congratulated in front of the members of the Jack London Foundation and presented with gifts and an honorary diploma.

I was so pleased to see the enthusiasm and excitement of the speakers at the banquet and at the conference. It seemed, it was obvious, they were all grounds to confirm the victory of truth — the true meaning of this artist, his statement in the history of American letters.

So, we were faced with an exhausting 14-hour flight past Alaska, over the Arctic Ocean, the Polar night. The light had glimmered for an hour from the right side, and again the plane was swallowed by darkness. At 7:30pm, barely having passed the tough night and having jumped the time zone barrier, we successfully landed in Sheremetyevo.

Unfortunately, my happy conclusions on the decisive victory of truth and overall acceptance of the true place of Jack London in American and World literature have not been accurate.

One January evening, a phone rang on the Ranch. Milo gave me the phone. The phone call came from the Pacific Film Company in New York. They wanted to shoot a documentary "Jack London — an American Writer" and needed some advice. About two more months later, a letter came with a detailed shooting schedule. The movie was planned to be a two-hour video tape. They planned to interview famous writers and social figures, including Norman Mailer, E.L. Doctorow, as well as give commentaries from Eugene O'Neill and Jack Kerouac, supplemented with discussions with famous history and literary scientists. Numerous photos and cinematography, as well as fragments from films based on London's works, were to be used. The musical accompaniment was to be the melodies of that time. Of course, home-made videos were going to be used as well. It was obvious, the cinema crew took the job energetically, with interest and expertise. The beginning of shooting was planned for the Spring, wrapping it up in the Summer of 1997.

Judging by the listing of credits, awards and previous films, the movie company was an experienced and a worthy one. Their goal was "to give the new generation of Americans an idea about the life and work of the world-famous writer." Such a film would have been met with gratitude abroad as well, in the countries where Jack London has been known for awhile. I received the next letter upon my return from the symposium. With great regret, the producers (the letter had three signatures on it) were informing me that their topic was not approved at the top. "In academic circles," wrote producers, "there are still serious ongoing debates about the value and appropriateness (as well as political correctness) of Jack London's work." My pen pals were convinced that the latter element played the main role in the refusal of the wealthy to fund, support and to approve their initiative.

I immediately remembered Russ Kingman's letters to me in the early 1980s, during the period of tense relations between the governments of our two great nations. "If Jack London were alive," imagined Russ," we could have sent him on a diplomatic mission. He would have been able to establish normal relationships with Russia . . . and we could have built the world where a man, a woman and a child do not go to bed hungry and cold, and where butter would take the place of weapons and love would win over hatred."

Good, noble thoughts. However, even 80 years after the writer's death, for some influential forces in America — especially, in the West, where academic circles were full of strong followers of antiquated "Finesse Tradition" and the recurrent feelings of Cold War were still alive — the humanist writer Jack London remained a politically questionable character.

Yet as time went by, the unrelenting all-present attention of readers and academic audiences was overcoming rudimentary McCarthyism; this "Hunt for the Reds," would help Jack London — I was convinced! — to calm the suspicious and win over supporters even among conservative literary scholars.

Already had come an announcement of the customary banquet in January and of other seminars on Jack London in Florida, San Diego and Los Angeles. There were also plans to conduct scholarly discussions in 1999, in New Orleans.

Anxiously, just like forty years earlier, I walked through the rooms of the historical cottage, opened for the 80th anniversary. I stepped out on the veranda and entered the office. This was where this inspiring, amazing man worked persistently, selflessly.

Talking about Soviet literature, Vasily Shukshin once expressed his hopes that one day we would have our own Jack London in Siberia. There were quite a few talented writers in Russia, who developed "Northern" or "Southern" themes and were taken by travel. There would probably be a lot more of them. Yet, it was doubtful any one of them would replace for us this American artist, who so sincerely admired everything heroic in life and who exuded such a healing energy of kindness.

New small planets were being discovered in the open space by astro-physicists the in Crimean Observatory. They were being named after our science and cultural activists. For example, some of them carry names of famous Russian writers like Alexander Green and Vasily Shukshin. Only one planet was given a foreign name: the too dear and well-known to us name of Jack London.

Evidently, we should not have talked about the interest in Jack London among the wide audience of Russian readers nor even about his influence on our belletrists and cultural activists. Instead, we need to talk about the organic rooting of his work in our literature. The best of the wide artistic heritage of the Great Son of California has naturally fused into our writing. It has enriched it and generously complemented it. And life will always demand a strong, steadfast and also highly moral protagonist, who is able to defend the oppressed and stand up against evil and vulgarity. It was of such people that a glorious son of California, the courageous and romantic Jack London, wrote, himself being one of them.

Good journey to you, my curious reader, in this wonderful land — Londoniana!

1959 - 1997 - End