The Nook’s Chronicle


A Thought for the Road

“All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”

Edgar Allan Poe

Certainty is thinner than it appears. Sometimes the mind only has to shift for the whole world to change with it.



  • When an Adjective Claims a Voice




The Word Of The Day

Malevolence

/məˈlev.əl.əns/ (UK and US)

Origin:


From Old French malevolence and Latin malevolentia, meaning “ill will,” from male (“badly”) and velle (“to wish”).

Definition:


The desire to harm others; a feeling of ill will or malice.

Example:


“There was a quiet malevolence in his smile that made her instinctively step back.”


Yesterday’s
Omen ›

Today’s
Malevolence ›

The Other Day’s
Sinister ›

Step into the Word Nook ›



What Happened On This Day?

On October 22, 1870



The Writer Who Made a Lost Russia Remember


On this day — October 22, 1870 — Ivan Bunin was born in Voronezh, Russia, on October 10 according to the Julian calendar then in use. He would become one of the finest prose stylists of Russian literature and, in 1933, the first Russian writer to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature. Raised amid the declining traditions of the provincial landowning class, Bunin developed an extraordinary sensitivity to the landscapes, customs, voices, and social tensions of rural Russia. Estates, villages, orchards, fields, changing seasons, and the complicated relationships between landowners and peasants became recurring elements of his writing. Following the Russian Revolution, he left his homeland and eventually settled in France, where he spent the remainder of his life. Yet geographical separation did not diminish Russia’s presence in his imagination. Exile made the country he had lost both more distant and more intensely visible.

In works such as The Village, Dry Valley, The Life of Arseniev, and the short-story collection Dark Avenues, Bunin explored memory, love, mortality, social change, and the fragile persistence of human experience. His prose is distinguished by its sensory precision, lyrical restraint, and remarkable attention to physical detail. A particular quality of light, the smell of an orchard, a familiar voice, or the movement of a season can carry emotional significance without requiring elaborate explanation. Yet Bunin was not simply celebrating a vanished rural paradise. His depictions of provincial life frequently reveal poverty, brutality, inequality, and the instability of the social order into which he had been born. Memory, in his hands, became a means of recovering the texture of experience while remaining conscious of its contradictions. The beauty of what had disappeared did not make it innocent.

Although Bunin wrote in Russian, his reputation spread internationally through translation, introducing English-language readers to a distinctive continuation of the Russian realist tradition associated with writers such as Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Chekhov. His Nobel Prize recognised a literary achievement that remained deeply connected to Russia even as its author lived in exile. Bunin’s work also belongs to a wider twentieth-century literature of displacement, in which memory becomes essential to preserving personal and cultural identity. His descriptions of ordinary places and fleeting moments suggest that what disappears from history may continue to exist through language, though never entirely unchanged. Ivan Bunin understood that remembering a lost world does not mean restoring it. It means giving its beauty, its suffering, and its contradictions a place where they can still be encountered.

A Bit Further Back…

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