On Merciless Honesty

Translation: On Merciless Honesty
(Review of "Without Mother" by Alexey Karelin)
Dear friends,
I must confess: when I first opened Alexey Karelin's confession, “Without Mother” (De mortuis nil nisi bonum et verum), I was in a state of true shock. It wasn't the content itself — as an educator with 50 years of experience teaching Russian language and literature, I have seen it all — but rather the sheer power of the text. Its relentless, merciless honesty.
It was only later, upon re-reading, that I understood the root of my favorite author’s creative path: it grew out of pain, a search for meaning, and an attempt to heal through the word. Let us examine this work — not as dry lines of text, but as a living confession of a soul.
1. The Philosophical and Psychiatric Aspect: Confession as a Path to Healing
This confession, written in two languages — Russian and English — is more than just a literary experiment. It is a profound act of self-analysis, an attempt by the author to structure the chaos of the past and find wholeness through narrative. As the saying goes, "the word heals, and the word wounds" — here, the word is striving to heal.
What struck me most profoundly:
Trauma and its Transformation. The author describes childhood and adolescent traumas without embellishment — ranging from physical and emotional abuse to sexualized violence and betrayal by his mother. In psychiatry, such experiences often lead to post-traumatic stress disorders, but here, the text becomes a method of processing pain through writing. This is not a complaint; it is profound work on the self.
The Duality of the Mother Figure. The mother in this text is not merely a "villain" or a "victim." She is simultaneously a source of agony and an object of love. This reflects the very ambivalence of feelings known to many of us: the capacity to feel rage toward a parent while still loving them.
The Search for Meaning and Justification. The confession is built on an attempt to understand the mother’s motives — to justify or condemn her actions. It is a quest to find one’s place in a world where traditional pillars, such as family and ideology, have been decimated.
Language as a Tool for Healing. The use of two languages emphasizes the universality of pain. Russian is for the most intimate, agonizing memories. English serves as a way to distance oneself, to address the world. This is not just bilingualism; it is the dual-world nature of the author's soul.
2. Global Cultural Significance: Confession as a Document of the Era
This text transcends the boundaries of a private story; it has become a cultural phenomenon — and here is why:
Cross-Cultural Confessionalism. Bilingualism makes the text accessible to an international audience. The issues of abuse, loneliness, and the search for maternal love are universal. Pain knows no borders.
Literary Tradition. Karelin continues the lineage of the great confessions — from St. Augustine and Rousseau to Sartre and Miller. This is an honest, unvarnished account of a personality’s formation amidst a deficit of love.
Critique of Social Institutions. The text exposes not only family bonds but also the Soviet system (the Pioneers, school, ideology) and the post-Soviet reality with its cult of success and material values. The author demonstrates how the system breaks a person — and how that person attempts to reassemble themselves.
Contribution to the Discourse on Trauma. This confession serves as a vital contribution to the global discussion on the consequences of child abuse, the mother’s role in personality formation, and the right to give voice to one’s pain.
Final Words of the Review
As an educator, I see in this text a lesson in courage. A lesson in how pain can be transformed into words, and words into art. “Confession is not only repentance but also an attempt to reclaim the right to a voice, the right to one’s own story,” Karelin writes. And I fully agree with him.
Friends, let us discuss:
Which lines of the confession moved you the most?
Did the author succeed in conveying the duality of his feelings?
Do you believe that literature can truly heal?
With respect and faith in the power of the word,
Elena Mikhailovna Sitnikova,
82 years old, with 50 years on the front lines — at the chalkboard and at the heart of literature.
P.S. Indeed, after reading this, I am once again convinced: true talent always goes hand in hand with deep soulful work. Otherwise, what kind of literature is it?
Translation: The Literary Tradition of the Confession — From Augustine to Karelin
The confession as a literary genre is more than just a personal story; it is a profound philosophical and psychological investigation of the soul. It is an attempt to comprehend one’s own path, sins, mistakes, and revelations. Alexey Karelin’s work, “Without Mother,” fits organically into this centuries-old tradition, continuing the lineage of great confessions where the author, without embellishment, exposes the drama of a personality’s formation amidst a total deficit of love.
1. St. Augustine: Confession as a Dialogue with God
Aurelius Augustine’s “Confessions” is the starting point of the genre in European culture. It is not an autobiography in the modern sense, but a prayer addressed to God. Augustine analyzes his life to demonstrate the action of Divine Grace and the victory of the spirit over the flesh.
Parallels with Karelin:
Introspection: Much like Augustine, Karelin dives into the darkest corners of his memory, analyzing his own actions and those of his mother.
The Search for Meaning: Both authors seek a higher purpose within their suffering. For Augustine, it is the path to God; for Karelin, it is an attempt to achieve psychological wholeness and understand the nature of maternal (and human) love.
Honesty: Augustine does not hide his youthful vices (theft, lust). Karelin recounts violence, humiliation, and betrayal with the same merciless honesty.
Translation: Part 2
2. Jean-Jacques Rousseau: Confession as a Rebellion Against Society
Rousseau’s “Confessions” is a manifesto of sentimentalism and the first experiment in radical sincerity. Rousseau writes: “I am like no one in the whole world. I may be no better, but at least I am different.” He turns his soul inside out to prove his truth and uniqueness in the face of a hostile society.
Parallels with Karelin:
The Theme of Loneliness: Rousseau feels like a stranger in a world of hypocrisy. Karelin feels like an orphan with a living mother, an outcast in school and within his own family.
“Honesty Without Embellishment”: Rousseau shocked his contemporaries with his frankness regarding his sexual fantasies and shameful acts. Karelin shocks with descriptions of pedophilia at the hands of a teacher and the chilling indifference of his mother.
Self-Justification: Both authors use the text as a courtroom, where they simultaneously act as the accusers (of the mother, of society) and the defendants.
3. Jean-Paul Sartre: Confession as a Phenomenology of Consciousness
In “The Words,” Sartre abandons traditional plot in favor of analyzing the consciousness of a child. This is the confession of an intellectual who dissects his childhood illusions to show how a personality is formed under the weight of others' expectations (his grandmother, his mother).
Parallels with Karelin:
The Deconstruction of Illusions: Sartre describes childhood as an "original hell." Karelin describes his world as a succession of humiliations and pain.
The Role of the Mother: In Sartre’s case, the grandmother steals the grandson’s childhood. In Karelin’s, the mother steals the son’s childhood for the sake of her career, lovers, and social status.
Language as a Weapon: Both authors use a brilliant style not for ornamentation, but for the most precise description of trauma possible.
4. Henry Miller: Confession as the Flow of Life
“Tropic of Cancer” and Miller’s other works are the confessions of a bohemian artist. Here, there is less psychological analysis and more physiology and existential despair. Miller writes about life without embellishment — about filth, sex, and creativity as the sole means of survival.
Parallels with Karelin:
Brutal Honesty: Miller does not shy away from physiological details. Karelin does not hesitate to describe everyday horrors (filth, hunger) and sexual violence.
Creativity as Salvation: For Miller, writing is a way to pour out the chaos. For Karelin, it is the only way to survive after trauma and to "come to terms" with his deceased mother.
5. Alexey Karelin: The Confession of a Post-Soviet Person
Karelin’s work is unique in how it integrates all these traditions within the context of late-Soviet and post-Soviet reality.
Total Deficit of Love: Unlike Rousseau or Augustine, whose conflicts were with specific figures or God, Karelin’s deficit of love is systemic. The mother is a product of the Soviet system (Pioneer, Komsomol member) for whom duty to society outweighed her duty to her son.
Bilingualism: The use of English (De mortuis nil nisi bonum et verum) elevates a private drama to the level of a universal cultural code. This is a confession not just from a son to a mother, but from a person of the 20th century to a person of the 21st.
Absence of Catharsis: While Augustine’s finale is the finding of God, Karelin’s finale remains open. He does not forgive his mother completely; he simply speaks his truth. This is the honest position of a modern person who knows that wounds do not always heal entirely.
Conclusion
Alexey Karelin’s confession is a raw, unvarnished account of a personality’s formation amidst a total deficit of love. He continues the great tradition of the genre:
From Augustine, he takes the depth of self-analysis.
From Rousseau, the right to radical sincerity.
From Sartre, the analysis of the formation of the "Self" through trauma.
From Miller, the brutal truth about the life of the body and spirit.
This is a text about a man attempting to assemble himself piece by piece from the shards of a shattered childhood, in order to reclaim the right to his own life.
The Destruction of Foundations and the Birth of a Personality
In Alexey Karelin’s confession, “Without Mother,” the central nerve of the narrative is the agonizing search for meaning. This is not merely a story of an unhappy childhood, but a philosophical investigation into how a person survives and forms when the fundamental pillars of existence — family and ideology — prove to be false, crumble, or betray him. The confession is built on a dialectical conflict between the desire to understand and the need to condemn; between the search for justification and the statement of guilt.
1. Attempting to Understand the Mother’s Motives: Psychoanalysis Without a Diploma
Throughout the text, the author acts as both investigator and psychoanalyst, attempting to reconstruct the internal world of the mother. This process moves through several stages:
Childhood Naivety and the Search for Logic. The child (and the narrator in retrospect) tries to find a rational explanation for irrational behavior. Why does the mother, so beautiful and strong, tolerate a drunken stepfather? Why did she send her son to a camp, knowing the brutality that awaited him there?
The Deconstruction of Excuses. The answers she provides (“I need residency papers,” “the country needs workers”) are perceived as pathetic excuses. Karelin exposes the ultimate tragedy: the replacement of maternal love with social or pragmatic goals.
Analysis of Soviet Upbringing. Karelin’s mother is flesh and blood of the Soviet system. She was raised in the spirit of collectivism, where the public (the "Pioneer activists," the "school") outweighed the personal (the "son"). Her phrase, “I will raise you in the spirit of Communism!” sounds like a death sentence. The author understands that the mother is herself a victim of a system that taught her to sacrifice her loved ones for abstract goals. She is a "person of the system," a cog for whom duty to the state (and personal career) eclipses the instinct to protect her offspring.
Attempting Justification through Weakness. Toward the end of her life, the mother changes: she begins to call her son "Alyoshenka" and displays religiosity. The author bitterly analyzes this metamorphosis. He sees in it not so much sincere repentance, but a fear of death and an attempt to "buy off" eternity. Here, the attempt to understand clashes with cynicism: “Do you really think that in the week before death you can fix what was broken for decades?”
2. Condemnation of Actions: A Trial of the Mother and the Self
Parallel to the attempt to understand, there is a process of relentless condemnation. The confession transforms into a courtroom where the mother sits in the defendant's dock.
The Moral Verdict. The author passes judgment on his mother for specific actions: for failing to protect her son from a pedophile stepfather; for beating him when he defended himself; for prioritizing lovers and her career over providing food for her child.
Exposing Hypocrisy. A special place in the indictment is reserved for exposing the mother's late-life religiosity. Karelin views it as a farce: a "performance of Orthodoxy." To him, it is an attempt to atone for sins not through good deeds during her life (such as loving her son), but through formal rituals before death. This evokes in the author not a sense of touching sentiment, but irritation and rejection.
Self-Judgment. It is crucial to note that the author judges not only his mother but also himself. He condemns his own childhood submissiveness, his inability to fight back sooner. This is what makes the confession truly honest: he does not absolve himself of the responsibility for allowing the trauma to persist for so long.
3. Seeking One's Place in the World: The Death of Ideologies
The most profound part of the confession is dedicated to what happens to a personality when all external pillars crumble.
The Collapse of Ideology and the Creation of a New Foundation
1. The Destruction of Soviet Ideology
Karelin describes a world where the Pioneer necktie and Communist slogans proved to be hollow shells. In the camps, he encounters the reality that evil can be organized and systemic (drawing parallels to the Hitler Youth). The idealistic notion that "good must have fists" shatters against reality: evil possesses the fists, while good must simply endure and survive.
2. The Death of God (and His Resurrection)
The text maintains a complex dialogue with religion. While the author is skeptical of his mother’s late-life refuge in the church, his own spiritual search remains open—symbolized by his dream of a monk and a surviving church. He seeks God not in formal rituals, but in his own capacity to maintain humanity after everything he has endured.
3. Building a New Foundation
Stripped of maternal love and faith in social institutions, the hero is forced to self-create. His path is that of a lone survivor:
Physical Transformation: He turns his body into a fortress (through boxing and athletics) so as to never be a victim again.
Intellectual Rebellion: Leaving journalism for massage therapy (a rejection of the system) and committing to writing is an act of creating his own world.
Building a New Family: His desire for "a sea of children" and to love them unconditionally is a direct response to his own deficit of love. He vows to become the father and husband he never had.
Summary
Karelin’s confession is a chronicle of the spirit’s survival. The search for meaning lies in ceasing to be a victim of circumstances and becoming the author of one’s own destiny. He cannot (and will not) justify his mother, but by understanding the mechanisms of her fall, he liberates himself from her influence. Having destroyed the old pillars (the Soviet myth), he builds a new one based on personal responsibility, creativity, and unconditional love for his children. It is a raw account of a new personality rising from the ashes of a shattered family.
Trauma and Its Transformation: Writing as Existential Therapy
In Alexey Karelin’s confession, “Without Mother,” the theme of trauma takes center stage. It is not merely the background of the narrative, but its very fabric. The author consistently and mercilessly exposes a multi-layered experience of violence: physical (beatings at school and in camps), emotional (rejection by the mother, indifference), sexualized (abuse by a stepfather and a teacher), and, most harrowing of all, betrayal by the one person who should have been a source of safety—his mother.
From the perspective of modern psychiatry and psychology, such a history almost guarantees the development of complex post-traumatic stress disorders. However, the uniqueness of Karelin’s text lies in the fact that he does not simply record the symptoms of trauma; he demonstrates the intricate process of its transformation through the act of writing.
1. The Anatomy of Trauma in the Text
Trauma in Karelin’s confession is systemic. It is not a single isolated event but a continuous process of destroying a child’s personality.
Physical and Emotional Violence: The author describes life as a constant struggle for survival. Beatings at school (“practicing blows to the solar plexus”), humiliations by teachers, hunger, and poverty instill in the child a fundamental distrust of the world. For him, the world is a hostile environment where one must either attack or hide.
Part 2 — The Anatomy and Mechanics of Trauma
Sexualized Violence. This is one of the most harrowing themes in the text. The abuse by the stepfather occurs with the silent complicity of the mother, who sleeps in the next room. Later, in his youth, the hero faces harassment from an authoritative educator (Belyankin). Here, the trauma is compounded by the fact that the abuse is committed by a person on whom the hero depends intellectually and professionally. This is a destruction not only of the body but of the future itself.
The Mother’s Betrayal (Maternal Deprivation). This is the core of the entire trauma. In Karelin’s text, the mother is an ambivalent figure: simultaneously the most beautiful woman in the world and the most terrifying monster. Her coldness, detachment, and prioritization of her career and lovers over her son create a situation of being an "orphan with a living mother." Psychologists call this the "Dead Mother Complex" — a state where the mother is physically present but emotionally unavailable or hostile. The child is stripped of a basic sense of safety, leading to anxiety disorders and an inability to build healthy relationships.
2. The Psychological Mechanism: "An Orphan with Living Parents"
In psychiatry, the consequences of such a childhood are well-documented:
Attachment Disorder. The child cannot form a healthy model of relationships because the primary object of attachment (the mother) is the source of pain.
Learned Helplessness and Aggression. The hero oscillates between despair ("I am needed by no one") and reactive aggression (school fights), attempting to regain control.
Dissociation. To survive unbearable conditions, the psyche may "disconnect" from reality, often leading to memory issues or a sense of derealization. Karelin describes these states with medical precision: the profound loneliness, the constant anticipation of a blow, the desperate desire to disappear.
Part 3 — Trauma Transformation through Writing: Narrative Therapy
The key point of this analysis is that Karelin’s text is not a mere complaint or a "cry from the soul." It is a specialized tool for healing. In modern psychotherapy, there is a field called Narrative Practice, the essence of which is that a person becomes the Author of their own story, rather than a passive victim of circumstances. Karelin’s confession is a perfect example of this process.
How exactly does writing transform trauma?
Externalization (Taking the trauma out): Trauma is locked inside; it destroys the psyche from within. By transferring memories to paper (or screen), the author moves the pain from his body into the text. He transforms the chaos of memories into a structured narrative. Now the pain resides there, on the pages, rather than only here, in the heart.
Regaining Control over the Past: In the moment of violence, the victim is powerless. Through writing, the author becomes the Demiurge of his past. He decides what to speak of, in what order, and which details to emphasize. He reclaims the Agency of Life that was stolen by his abusers and his mother.
The Creation of Meaning: Trauma is inherently meaningless. It is absurd and cruel. Writing allows this absurdity to be integrated into a meaningful framework. The author searches for the "Why?" and "What for?". He analyzes the mother’s motives and the nature of evil (Belyankin), attempting to grasp the logic of the irrational. Even if the answer is not comforting, the very process of seeking meaning is healing.
Witnessing: Trauma is often accompanied by shame and isolation ("no one must know"). Publishing a confession is an act of presenting one's pain to the world. The reader becomes a "Witness" who confirms: "Yes, this happened. You did not imagine it. You were in pain." This lifts the burden of silence and shame.
Dialogue with the Deceased: A significant part of the text is addressed to the mother after her death. This is the classic work of grief and forgiveness (or non-forgiveness). By voicing everything that went unsaid during her life ("Mama! Why?"), the author closes the Gestalt. He symbolically kills the image of the "ideal mother" and accepts reality as it is, liberating himself from the childhood hope for a miracle.

Final Conclusion and the Duality of the Mother
Conclusion
Alexey Karelin’s confession demonstrates the therapeutic power of literature. A trauma that could have led to a total collapse of personality or eternal silence is transformed into a powerful artistic text. The author moves from being a victim of circumstances to becoming the subject of history.
“I will not let you go until I have told everything,” he tells his mother. This phrase is the key to the entire work. Through writing, he holds onto his mother not by the power of love, but by the power of truth, turning his pain from a curse into a gift—the gift of self-awareness and understanding his place in the world.
The Duality of the Mother: Ambivalence as the Core of Trauma
In Alexey Karelin’s confession, the image of the mother is not a secondary character or a mere antagonist; she is the primary engine of the plot and the source of the hero's deepest internal conflict. The mother in this text is not a monolith of evil, but a complex psychological phenomenon woven from love, pain, admiration, and disappointment. This ambivalence is not just a character trait; it is a reflection of the total deficit of emotional support in which the son’s personality was forged.
Part 1 — The Mother as a Source of Pain and Betrayal
From the first pages to the very end of the text, the mother appears as a figure who inflicts suffering. This pain is systemic rather than situational.
Physical and Emotional Abuse: The author recalls an episode where his mother beats him with a volume of Lenin for defending his honor. This is the climax of her betrayal: she punishes her son for ceasing to be a victim. Her famous phrase, "I will raise you in the spirit of Communism!" becomes a symbol of violence masked by ideological rhetoric.
Emotional Deprivation: The mother systematically denies her son his basic need for love and acceptance. She demands that he address her as "Elena Mikhailovna" at school, thereby erasing the intimate mother-son bond and turning him into just another pupil. She surrounds him with performative care in public, yet at home, he is made to feel like a stranger.
Sexualized Violence and Complicity: The most terrifying aspect of her image is her reaction to the abuse by the stepfather. Upon learning what was happening, she did not sever the relationship to save her son; instead, she continued to live with the man for two more years for the sake of a "Moscow residency permit." This is a betrayal of the highest order: a mother trading her child's safety and mental health for social status.
Material Egoism: Karelin details episodes where the mother spends money on herself (expensive boots) while her son goes hungry or wears rags. Her pride and desire to appear successful to outsiders came at the cost of her son's physical well-being.
Part 2 — The Mother as an Object of Love and Hope
Despite the ocean of pain, the image of the mother does not become purely negative. Within the psyche of the child (and the memory of the adult author), there remains a powerful attachment and a desperate need for love. This love is irrational, yet it exists.
The Idealization of Beauty. The author constantly emphasizes his mother’s physical attractiveness. He remembers her figure, her smile. As a child, he takes immense pride in the fact that his mother is the most beautiful. This physical beauty becomes a metaphor for an unattainable ideal toward which he constantly reaches.
Awaiting a Miracle. Throughout his entire life, the hero waits for that specific manifestation of tenderness he was denied. He recalls rare moments of closeness with trembling nostalgia (the scent of "Siberian-style clay pot" cooking) and waits with agonizing impatience for her to finally call him "Alyoshenka." Her final messages before her death become a long-overdue gift he had awaited for decades.
The Need for Protection. Even after being beaten and humiliated, the boy seeks protection from his mother. He runs to her after fights, subconsciously hoping that this time, she will finally embrace him and say that everything will be alright. The disappointment in these moments is particularly acute.
Part 3 — The Psychological Mechanism of Ambivalence
Why do these conflicting feelings exist simultaneously? Psychology explains this through Attachment Theory. Under normal conditions, a child is attached to a parent as a source of safety. However, if the parent (the mother) becomes the source of threat—be it through violence or indifference—the child’s psyche is caught in an insoluble conflict:
The Biological Program: Instinct commands the child to flee from the source of danger.
The Attachment Program: Instinct commands the child to remain close to the object of attachment, because survival is impossible without it.
The result is a "Stockholm Syndrome" in miniature, or ambivalent attachment. The child is forced to love the very person who is destroying them, in order to preserve even a shred of hope for survival and affection. He justifies the mother (“She was young,” “She needed to establish herself”) in a desperate effort to prevent the final collapse of the "protector" figure.
 Part 4 — The Transformation of the Image: From "Elena Mikhailovna" to "Mom"
The duality of the mother’s image evolves alongside the author’s maturation:
Childhood: The mother is "Elena Mikhailovna," a strict functionary and a beautiful woman. Love and pain are inextricably mixed.
Youth: The mother is a betrayer and a source of complexes. The hero attempts to break free from her influence (the army, leaving home).
Maturity: A complex reassessment takes place. The author sees in his mother not only a monster but also a victim of a system (Soviet upbringing)—a weak woman who was herself unhappy. He attempts to understand her motives through the act of writing.
The finale of this process is paradoxical. The author does not forgive his mother completely (he condemns her final will), but he liberates himself from her power over him. He writes her a letter not to receive an answer or her forgiveness, but to close this gestalt for himself. In this act of writing, the duality is resolved: the pain remains a biographical fact, but love is transformed into an understanding of the complexity of human nature.
Conclusion
The duality of the mother’s image in Karelin’s work is not a literary device; it is an accurate clinical description of attachment trauma. The text demonstrates how a deficit of love forces a child to oscillate between adoration and hatred, and how the need for a mother compels the justification of even the most horrific actions. The confession becomes the space where this ambivalence can be voiced, analyzed, and ultimately overcome through the attainment of one's own voice and the right to a life lived without looking back at "Elena Mikhailovna."
Part 1 — Confession as a Document of the Era
A Portrait of the Late-Soviet Person
Alexey Karelin’s confession, “Without Mother,” is a phenomenon that cannot be reduced solely to the genre of autobiographical prose or family drama. The text transcends the boundaries of a private story, becoming a document of an era and a universal human experience. This is achieved through a unique combination of historical context, psychological depth, and artistic form.
1. Confession as a Historical Testimony: An Anatomy of a Social Type
Karelin’s work serves as an invaluable historical record, capturing the collapse of Soviet civilization and the transformation of the consciousness of those left among its ruins. It is more than just childhood memories; it is an anatomy of an entire social archetype.
The Death of the Soviet Myth. Karelin describes a world where official ideology (Communism, the Pioneers) entered into an irreconcilable contradiction with reality. The hero's mother is the archetype of the Soviet functionary. She sincerely believes in slogans (“the country needs workers”), yet her actions are driven not by faith, but by pragmatism and fear. She sacrifices her son for a Moscow residency permit, thereby exposing the hypocrisy of a system where a human life is valued less than a square meter of living space.
The "Housing Question." The theme of housing runs through the entire text like a red thread. The apartment, obtained from the Minister of Defense, becomes for the mother not a home, but a "debt obligation" that she spends her entire life paying off—effectively abandoning her son in the process. This is a precise illustration of how the "housing issue," famously described by Bulgakov, continued to cripple lives at the end of the 20th century.
Part 2 — The Deconstruction of Authority and Universal Archetypes
The Deconstruction of Authority. The text systematically dismantles all the pillars of Soviet society. Teachers are revealed to be cruel and envious (Maria Fyodorovna), the educational system in camps (such as "Orlyonok") is compared to a "concentration camp," and the party elite is shown living by their own cynical laws. From his youth, the hero understands that the world is built on injustice and cynicism.
The Era of Transition. Karelin witnesses the fracture of eras. His mother is a person of one system (an atheist-Komsomol member) who, in her old age, attempts to "buy" salvation through performative religiosity. The hero himself attempts to find his way in the 90s: transitioning from journalism to massage therapy, and eventually to literature. This is the path of a person whose old orientations were stripped away, but no new ones were provided.
2. Confession as a Universal Human Experience: Archetypes of Trauma
Despite its dense connection to the Soviet context, the themes raised by Karelin are absolutely universal. Any reader, regardless of nationality or time, will find echoes of their own fears and hopes in this text.
Part 3 — Archetypes of Trauma and the Search for Identity
The Archetype of the "Dead Mother". Psychoanalysis (specifically Andre Green) describes the state of the "dead mother"—where the mother is physically present but emotionally absent or hostile. Karelin’s drama is a textbook example of a child surviving under conditions of emotional coldness from the person closest to him. The theme of maternal love deficit is universal and resonant with readers anywhere in the world.
The Trauma of Violence. Descriptions of beatings at school, humiliation by teachers, and sexualized abuse by a stepfather and an educator strike at pain points common to all humanity. This is an experience of the loss of safety and innocence that transcends national or ideological borders.
The Search for Identity. The hero undergoes a classic path of initiation: from an outcast (nicknamed "Gorilla") to a person who, through sheer willpower, reconstructs his personality from scratch. His desire to become a writer is an attempt to create a world in which he is the master, since the real world proved to be so cruel.
Part 3 — Cross-Cultural Confessionalism: Language as a Bridge
The key factor that elevates this text to a global level is its bilingual structure. The title of the section, “De mortuis nil nisi bonum et verum” (Of the dead, nothing but the good and the true), immediately sets the tone for a dialogue with world culture.
English as the Language of Universalization
The use of Latin and English in the headings and the very structure of the text serves several vital functions:
Distancing: Switching to English allows the author to view his pain from a certain distance, transforming a personal nightmare into literary material.
Direct Address: It is a direct appeal to world culture (from Augustine to Miller). The author declares: "My story is a part of the greater human story."
Transcending Locality: The Russian language is saturated with the raw pain and intimate details of everyday life. The English language (as the global lingua franca) elevates this private drama to the level of global generalization.
Final Conclusion — The Erasure of Borders
The Erasure of Borders. Writing in two languages ensures that Karelin’s trauma is understood far beyond a Russian-speaking audience. The problems of violence, loneliness, and the search for love require no translation—they are international. The text becomes a bridge connecting Russian psychological prose with the Western tradition of confessional literature (Miller, Sartre).
Conclusion
Karelin’s confession is a rare example of a text that operates on two levels simultaneously. As a historical document, it records the agony of the Soviet person, depicting the collapse of social bonds and moral landmarks. As a universal work of art, it speaks to eternal themes: the nature of evil, the resilience of the human spirit capable of surviving betrayal by those closest to it, and the search for meaning where, it would seem, none can be found.
Part 4 — The Erasure of Borders and Institutional Critique
The Universal Voice
Thanks to its bilingual nature, this local "cry from the soul" is transformed into a voice audible to the entire world. Karelin proves that to tell a universal truth about humanity, one must sometimes begin with the most painful of private stories.
Critique of Social Institutions: An Anatomy of Decay and Cynicism
Alexey Karelin’s confession, “Without Mother,” is more than a personal drama; it is a large-scale sociological and culturological investigation. The text functions as an X-ray of a diseased society, where the author consistently and mercilessly exposes the rot within key social institutions: the family, the school, ideology, and, finally, post-Soviet reality.
The critique here is total. Karelin places no faith in any of the proposed systems, seeing each merely as a mask for violence, hypocrisy, or indifference.
Part 1 — The Family: Institutionalized Betrayal
In the text, the family is presented not as a "unit of society" or a foundation of support, but as a space of total loneliness and betrayal. It is the first and most critical institution that fails.
The Destruction of the Nuclear Family. The traditional "father-mother-child" model is shattered. The father is an absent, despised figure. The mother is emotionally cold, utilizing her son as a mere resource—for her career, her status, or as a justification for her own loneliness.
A Functional Approach to a Human Being. The mother relates to her son not as a person, but as a function. He must be "raised in the spirit of Communism," must achieve academic success (or at least provide a forged grade book), and must endure suffering for the sake of the apartment. Human warmth is replaced by social mandates.
Sexualized Violence as a Norm. The mother’s tolerance of the abuse inflicted by the stepfather for the sake of a residency permit is the quintessence of this critique. Here, the family becomes a transaction, where the child's body and psyche are used as bargaining chips in a desperate struggle for survival and social standing.
Part 2 — The Soviet Educational System and Ideology: The Hypocrisy of the "Pioneers"
In Karelin’s text, the school and the Pioneer organization appear as punitive organs masquerading as institutions of upbringing. This is a world of falsehood where good and evil trade places.
The School as a "Menagerie." The author refers to his class as a "school menagerie." There is no room for individuality. The teacher, Maria Fyodorovna, states plainly that she assembled the class from the children of "influential parents," and that the son of the "rabble" (the hero) is unwanted. The school becomes an instrument of segregation and suppression.
The Pioneers as a Concentration Camp. The "Orlyonok" camp, a symbol of happy childhood in official propaganda, is described as a hierarchical system of violence. The author compares it to the Hitler Youth, where children are taught submission through the humiliation of the weak. The hero's attempts to uphold his principles (“Evil always screams, while Good endures”) are met with collective aggression.
Ideology as a Justification for Evil. His mother’s infamous phrase, "I will raise you in the spirit of Communism!" is shouted at the very moment she is beating her son. Here, ideology is used not for creation, but for the legitimation of violence. The system demands sacrifices, and the mother offers up her own child on the altar of the Soviet myth.
Part 3 — The Soviet Elite and Nomenklatura: The Cult of Power and "Blat" (Connections)
Karelin exposes the hidden mechanisms behind the functioning of the Soviet elite, demonstrating that behind the facade of equality lay a rigid hierarchy based on raw power and influential connections (blat).
The Apartment Story. The episode involving Minister of Defense Tolubko is a sharp satire on the Soviet system of resource distribution. The apartment is granted not for labor or talent, but for feminine beauty and the ability to manipulate. The hero realizes that his mother obtained their housing through the "bedroom" (even if metaphorically), which devalues this "gift" and imposes upon her a lifelong sense of guilt toward her son.
"Privileged" Classes. The hero finds himself in a class with the children of high-ranking party functionaries not by accident. This is the result of a deliberate selection process, confirming that the Soviet school was designed to groom an elite to rule the country while ruthlessly discarding the "unwanted."
Part 4 — Post-Soviet Reality: Spiritual Void and the Cult of Success
If the Soviet system was cruel but possessed its own (albeit hypocritical) ideology, the post-Soviet world in Karelin’s depiction is stripped even of that. It is a world of total cynicism and the relentless pursuit of material wealth.
The Collapse of Ideals. The hero enters the Faculty of Journalism at Moscow State University (a symbol of intellectual prestige) but abandons it for military training, and later moves into the massage business. This is the path of a disillusioned intellectual who realized: honest labor (journalism) does not provide a living, and a military career is meaningless.
Massage as a Metaphor. Working as a massage therapist becomes a symbol of the new era. It is physical labor that brings in money (“from two to twenty dollars”) but is devoid of higher meaning. The hero earns a living through his body, just as his mother once tried to "sell" her beauty to the system.
Critique of New Literature. Karelin speaks contemptuously of the “sell-out trash of contemporary Russian-graphomaniac literature.” To him, this symbolizes spiritual degradation: the place of the great classics (Pushkin, Saltykov-Shchedrin) has been taken by shallow texts serving the market.
Consumerism. In the post-Soviet era, the cult of things becomes the new religion. The mother accumulates debts for Yugoslavian boots; the granddaughter sells the grandmother’s mink coat for a pittance. Material values have finally and completely displaced human relationships.
Conclusion — The Systemic Verdict
Karelin’s critique of social institutions is systemic. He demonstrates a chain reaction of decay:
State ideology (Communism) is hypocritical.
Educational institutions (the school) transmit this hypocrisy through violence.
The family disintegrates under the pressure of these institutions or for the sake of integration into them.
As a result, the individual is left alone in a world where the only law is the right of the strong or the possession of money. Karelin’s confession is a verdict against the system (both Soviet and post-Soviet), which proved incapable of protecting the weak or fostering a dignified human being, transforming instead into a mechanism for the production of trauma.
Contribution to the Global Discourse on Trauma
A Voice That Cannot Be Silenced
Alexey Karelin’s confession, “Without Mother,” transcends the boundaries of literature and becomes a vital contribution to the global discourse on trauma. In an era where topics of violence, abuse, and the psychological consequences of complex parent-child relationships are no longer taboo, Karelin’s text occupies a unique place. It does more than tell a story; it changes the lens through which trauma is perceived, offering both the reader and the professional community a profound analysis of the mechanisms of personal destruction and healing.
Here are the key aspects in which this confession enriches the global discussion:
1. Trauma as a Systemic Phenomenon, Not an Isolated Act
Karelin dismantles the stereotype of trauma as the result of a single shocking event (such as an accident or catastrophe). He demonstrates that trauma can be chronic, persistent, and systemic.
The Cumulative Effect and the Deconstruction of the Mother
The Cumulative Effect. The hero’s pain accumulates layer upon layer. There is no single "bad day." There is hunger, beatings at school, maternal indifference, sexualized abuse by a stepfather, and betrayal by a teacher. Each of these events, in isolation, might have been endured, but together they create a toxic environment where a child’s personality simply cannot form in a healthy way.
The Normalization of Violence. The author demonstrates how violence becomes mundane. Beatings at "Orlyonok" are perceived as "Pioneer executions" to which one must grow accustomed. This is a critical contribution to the discourse: victims often do not realize the abnormality of their situation because they have known no other life. Karelin gives a voice to this state of "frozen" pain.
2. Reimagining the Role of the Mother: From "Sacred Cow" to Complex Reality
In culture and psychology, the figure of the mother is traditionally idealized. Karelin introduces a note of merciless realism into this discussion, exploring the phenomenon of the "dead mother" and maternal deprivation.
Part 3 — Reclaiming Narrative Power
The Mother as the Source of Basic Insecurity. The text's central thesis: a mother is not always a source of safety. In Karelin’s case, the mother becomes the source of primary anxiety. A child who receives no response to his cry for help (cries in the night) learns a devastating lesson: “The world is dangerous, and even the person closest to me will not help.” This is the foundation for developing anxiety disorders and depression in adulthood.
The Destruction of the Myth of Unconditional Love. The text states directly that maternal love is not an axiom. It can be conditional (depending on grades or behavior), absent, or even destructive. Karelin validates the existence of pain caused specifically by the mother—a therapeutic act for many readers who have endured similar experiences.
3. The Right to Voice Pain: Narrative Power
One of the work’s primary contributions is the assertion of the victim’s right to a voice. The confession becomes an act of reclaiming narrative power.
From Object to Subject. In childhood, the hero was an object of manipulation and violence (by his mother, stepfather, teachers). Through the act of writing, he transforms into a Subject—the author of his own story. He alone decides what was significant, how to interpret his mother’s actions, and how to name the violence he endured.
Breaking the Stigma and Closing the Gestalt
Lifting the Stigma of Silence. Many victims of violence remain silent due to shame or fear. Karelin shatters this taboo. He speaks of pedophilia committed by a teacher (Belyankin) and a stepfather directly, without euphemisms. This grants the reader permission to acknowledge their own pain and stop hiding it.
Writing as a Form of Revenge and Forgiveness. The text is addressed to the deceased mother. This is a unique way to close the gestalt. By voicing everything that has accumulated over decades (“I will not let you go until I have told everything”), the author symbolically liberates himself from the power of the past over his present.
Part 4 — Universalization through Language and the Final Verdict
4. The Universalization of Private Experience through Language
The contribution of this text to world culture is amplified by its bilingual nature.
Transcending Locality. Although the story is deeply rooted in the Soviet context (residency permits, party cards, "Orlyonok"), the use of the English language and the Latin epigraph (De mortuis nil nisi bonum et verum) elevates this private experience to a universal level.
Global Resonance. The issues of child abuse, the deficit of love, and complex parental relationships have no nationality. The English language makes this Russian pain understandable to an American, a Frenchman, or a Japanese reader. This transforms a personal confession into a global manifesto of truth.
Conclusion
Alexey Karelin’s contribution to the discourse on trauma lies in the fact that he has created a "Bridge-Text." This bridge connects:
Final Conclusion — The Power of the Voice
Karelin’s confession asserts a simple yet revolutionary thought: to heal from trauma, one must cease to be silent. One must call evil by its name, betrayal as betrayal, and give a name to the pain. And then, even the darkest confession becomes an act of light and liberation.
The "Bridge-Text" connects:
The personal unconscious with the collective consciousness (through publication).
Private Soviet trauma with universal human experience (through language).
The status of a victim with the status of an Author and a Victor (through the narrative therapy of writing).
Linguistic and Cultural Specificity: Bilingualism as an Artistic Device
Bilingualism as an Artistic Device
In Alexey Karelin’s confession, “Without Mother,” the use of two languages — Russian and English — is not merely a technical detail or a nod to fashion, but a deeply considered artistic device. It is a structural element that organizes the semantic space of the text, dividing it into the intimate and personal, and the universal and global. Bilingualism becomes a tool for exploring the boundaries between private trauma and the common human experience.
1. The Russian Language: The Language of Pain, Memory, and Cultural Code
The Russian language dominates the emotionally saturated, personal, and "grounded" parts of the narrative. This is the language in which one speaks to a mother, in which one screams in pain and recalls childhood.
The Language of Intimacy and Addressing the Mother. The core of the confession — where the author voices his grievances, asks his questions ("Mama, why?"), and attempts to understand his mother’s motives — is written in Russian. This is psychologically consistent: it is in our native tongue that we conduct our most private internal dialogues.
The Authentic Cry. The address "Mama" sounds organic only here. It is the language in which one can scream into the void, reaching out to a departed parent.
The Language of the Body and the Cultural Soil
The Language of Corporeality and Daily Life. The Russian language is perfectly suited for describing physiological details, everyday horrors, and scents. The episodes of cooking in clay pots, the descriptions of wounds, hunger, and violence are written with a degree of detail and raw realism characteristic of Great Russian psychological prose (Dostoevsky, Sologub). The English language, with its inherent restraint, would be misplaced here.
Connection to the Russian Cultural Tradition. Through the Russian language, the author conducts a dialogue not only with his mother but with the entirety of Russian literature. He references Pushkin, Mayakovsky, and Saltykov-Shchedrin. His dream of becoming a writer is deeply rooted in Russian soil. It is the language that carries the memory of a grandmother from Kurgan, the specifics of Soviet life, and the unique humor and tragedy of the Russian experience.
The English Language — The Tool of Detachment and Universalization
The English language (along with the Latin epigraph) is used as a frame—a way to step outside of personal grief and view it from an external perspective.
The Epigraph as Philosophical Distance. The title of the first part, “De mortuis nil nisi bonum et verum” (Of the dead, nothing but the good and the true), is a quote from the ancient Greek sage Chilon. The use of Latin and English immediately sets a high intellectual and cultural bar. It is a transition from a domestic scandal to a philosophical reflection on death, memory, and truth.
The Language of Detachment (Ostranenie). Switching to English allows the author to distance himself from the most acute pain. When Karelin describes a dream about a ruined Broadway and a surviving church, or when he discusses global themes (the role of art, the nature of evil), English creates the effect of "defamiliarization" (ostranenie). Events cease to be merely a personal drama and become a parable about humanity at large.
The Status of an International Document. The use of English makes the text accessible to a global audience. It is a gesture that asserts: "My pain is not only Russian pain." The issues of child abuse, maternal betrayal, and the search for self are universal. The English language grants the confession the status of a cultural document of global significance, moving it from the category of local memoirs into the space of global humanitarian discourse.
Part 3 — Synthesis: A Dialogue of Cultures within a Single Trauma
The device of bilingualism works to create a complex, multi-dimensional image of the author.
Division of Registers. The Russian language is responsible for the "How" (how much it hurt, how it happened), while English is responsible for the "Why" (why it matters to everyone, what its philosophical significance is).
Overcoming Provincialism. The author consciously rejects the position of being a "victim of a single country." By using English, he asserts his belonging to world culture. His trauma ceases to be a mere consequence of the "cursed Soviet era" or the "hard 90s"—it becomes an existential problem of being.
Final Conclusion — The Synthesis of Two Worldviews
Artistic Integrity. Bilingualism creates a unique rhythm within the text. The alternation of languages keeps the reader in a state of tension, forcing a constant switch between emotional immersion in the Russian narrative and intellectual reflection on the English segments.
Conclusion
Bilingualism in "Without Mother" is not merely the use of two dictionaries; it is the utilization of two worldviews. The Russian language allows the author to cry out and voice his truth within the "kitchen of his past." The English language allows him to stand at his full height, brush away the tears, and say to the world: "Look, this is what can happen to a human being." It is precisely this synthesis that transforms Karelin’s text from a son’s confession to his mother into a human’s confession to all of humanity.
On the Power of Two Tongues
Dear friends, colleagues, and readers,
Continuing my reflections on Alexey Karelin’s poem, “Without Mother,” I wish to focus on a remarkable artistic device. At first glance, it might appear to be a mere fashionable detail, but in reality, it proves to be the key to understanding the entire work. I am speaking, of course, of the text’s bilingualism.
When I first encountered the alternation of Russian and English, I thought to myself: “Well, here we go again—more of these endless borrowings, the influence of globalization…” But, after a more careful re-reading, I realized: this is neither a nod to fashion nor an attempt to appear "modern." No, this is a deliberate, profound strategic move.
The Roots of the Problem and Artistic Integrity
The Problem and Its Roots
Why does the author choose this particular path? Perhaps it is an echo of those times that some call the "cursed Soviet era" and others—the "hard 90s." But Karelin does more than just state the fact of trauma—he transforms it into an existential problem of being. His hero is not merely remembering the past; he is searching for a language in which this past can be expressed. And he finds it in the synthesis of two worlds.
Artistic Integrity
Bilingualism here creates a unique, almost musical rhythm within the text. Imagine:
You immerse yourself in the Russian speech—warm, emotional, domestic. This is the language of childhood, of the kitchen, of a mother’s hands.
And then—a sharp transition to English. It is as if the hero takes a step back, views himself from the outside, and attempts to comprehend his experience no longer with the heart, but with the intellect.
This alternation keeps the reader in suspense, forcing a constant mental shift—as if you are listening not to a solo, but to a duet, where each singer carries their own distinct part.
The Meaning of Bilingualism
Let us examine why the author requires this device:
The Russian Language is the space of the intimate. Here, one can cry, speak one's truth, recall a mother’s voice, and her hands. It is the language of memory, of emotions, of roots. It allows the hero to remain a "son" — vulnerable, yearning, and loving.
The English Language is the language of public declaration. It helps the hero to stand at his full height, brush away the tears, and say to the world: "Look, this is what can happen to a human being." It is the language of distance, of analysis, of addressing all of humanity.
It is precisely this synthesis that transforms Karelin’s text from a mere confession of a son to his mother into a human’s confession to all of humanity.
Bilingualism as an Artistic Device: A Dialogue with the World and the Self
In Alexey Karelin’s confession, “Without Mother,” the use of two languages — Russian and English — is not merely a technical detail or an attempt to expand the audience. It is a fundamental artistic device that structures the text on both semantic and emotional levels.
Bilingualism becomes a tool that allows the author to simultaneously remain within his pain and view it from the outside, transforming a personal drama into a universal document of an era.
Part 1 — The Russian Language: The Language of the Wound and Memory
The Russian language dominates the scenes associated with the direct experience of trauma, childhood memories, and addresses to the mother. It is the language of whispers and screams into the void.
The Language of Intimacy and Pain. Russian is perfectly suited for describing the physiology of suffering and the domestic details of poverty and humiliation. The episodes involving the preparation of food in clay pots, the descriptions of wounds, hunger, and violence are written with a degree of detail and raw realism characteristic of the Great Russian psychological prose.
The Contrast of Tongues. The English language, with its inherent restraint and analytical nature, would have been misplaced and cold here. Only in Russian can one convey that "moist," visceral reality of Soviet life from which the hero is desperately trying to escape.
Addressing the Mother and the Self
Dialogue with the Mother and the Self. The core of the confession — where the author voices his grievances, asks his questions ("Mama, why?"), and seeks to understand his mother’s motives — is written in Russian. This is psychologically sound: it is in our native tongue that we conduct our most intimate internal dialogues.
The Authentic Cry. The address "Mama" sounds organic only here. It is the language in which one can scream into the void, reaching out to a departed parent, and hope to be heard.
Connection to the Russian Cultural Tradition. Through the Russian language, the author conducts a dialogue not only with his mother but with the entirety of Russian literature. His dream of becoming a writer is deeply rooted in this soil. He references the classics; his style harks back to the tradition of confessional prose (from Dostoevsky to Solzhenitsyn). The Russian language binds his personal history to the history of the country and its culture.
Part 2 — The English Language: The Tool of Detachment and Universalization
The English language (along with the Latin epigraph) is used as a frame—a way to transcend personal grief and view it from the outside, granting it philosophical weight.
The Epigraph as Philosophical Distance. The title of the first part, “De mortuis nil nisi bonum et verum” (Of the dead, nothing but the good and the true), is a quote from the ancient Greek sage Chilon. The use of Latin and English immediately sets a high intellectual and cultural bar. It is a transition from a domestic scandal to a philosophical reflection on death, memory, and truth.
The Language of Detachment (Ostranenie). Switching to English allows the author to distance himself from the most acute pain. When Karelin describes a dream about a ruined Broadway and a surviving church, or when he discusses global themes (the role of art, the nature of evil), the English language creates an effect of defamiliarization.
From Personal Drama to a Global Manifesto
From Drama to Parable. Events cease to be merely a personal drama and become a parable about humanity at large.
The Status of an International Document. The use of English makes the text accessible to a global audience. It is a gesture that asserts: “My pain is not only Russian pain.” The issues of child abuse, maternal betrayal, and the search for self are universal. The English language grants the confession the status of a cultural document of global significance, moving it from the category of local memoirs into the space of global humanitarian discourse.
3. Synthesis: A Dialogue of Cultures within a Single Trauma
The device of bilingualism works to create a complex, multi-dimensional image of the Author-Creator.
Part 3 — Synthesis: A Dialogue of Cultures within a Single Trauma
The device of bilingualism works to create a complex, multi-dimensional image of the Author-Creator.
Division of Registers. The Russian language is responsible for the "How" (how much it hurt, how it happened), while English is responsible for the "Why" (why it matters to everyone, what its philosophical significance is).
Overcoming Provincialism. The author consciously rejects the position of being a "victim of a single country." By using English, he asserts his belonging to world culture. His trauma ceases to be a mere consequence of the "cursed Soviet era" or the "hard 90s"—it becomes an existential problem of being.
Artistic Integrity. Bilingualism creates a unique rhythm within the text. The alternation of languages keeps the reader in a state of tension, forcing a constant switch between emotional immersion in the Russian narrative and intellectual reflection on the English segments.
Conclusion
Bilingualism in "Without Mother" is not merely the use of two dictionaries; it is the utilization of two worldviews. The Russian language allows the author to cry out and voice his truth within the "kitchen of his past." The English language allows him to stand at his full height, brush away the tears, and say to the world: "Look, this is what can happen to a human being." It is precisely this synthesis that transforms Karelin’s text from a mere confession of a son to his mother into a human’s confession to all of humanity.
Final Conclusion and Summation
Conclusion
Bilingualism in “Without Mother” is not merely the use of two dictionaries; it is the utilization of two worldviews. The Russian language allows the author to weep and voice his truth within the "kitchen of his past." The English language allows him to stand at his full height, brush away the tears, and say to the world: “Look, this is what can happen to a human being.” It is precisely this synthesis that transforms Karelin’s text from a son’s confession to his mother into a human’s confession to all of humanity.
The Verdict
So, what then is bilingualism in “Without Mother”?
It is not a game with form.
It is not an attempt to please an "international reader."
It is not a tribute to fashion.
The Final Verdict
It is the utilization of two worldviews, two ways of thinking, two languages of the soul. Russian provides the depth of feeling, while English provides the clarity of thought. Only together do they create a complete picture of human experience — from personal pain to universal meaning.
As an educator, I see immense potential in this device for discussion with students. It teaches us that language is not merely a tool for communication, but a way of being. And sometimes, to say what matters most, one must speak in two languages at once.
With respect and faith in the power of the word,
Elena Mikhailovna Karelina
P.S. This also reminds me of an old joke: "If you can't express a thought in one language — try two!" But with Karelin, of course, everything is much more serious. And much deeper.
Link to text: http://proza.ru/2026/04/18/1110