Here are Olga Lukmanova’s answers to the 10 questions.

1. Can you give a brief summary of where you live, your educational background, what you do for a living, what church you attend, and the religious tradition you stand in?

I live in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia which is about 400 km (280 miles) south-east of Moscow. I teach American English and a few other disciplines at the Linguistic University of Nizhny Novgorod (of which I am an alumna, education and linguistics major) and also work as a translator / interpreter for publishers (e.g. “Agape” in Nizhny) and organizations (like Project Harmony, Inc.,  Scripture Union, and others). I attend the Vineyard Fellowship, but my background of working for IFES (International Fellowship of Evangelical Students) and wide reading has made me more of a “a mere Christian.”

2. How has your early upbringing shaped your view and use of literature now?

My Dad has always been an avid reader, and one of my earliest pleasures was playing quotation games with him and listening to him recite poetry and read books aloud to us kids. He has influenced my literary tastes very much, teaching me to love ideas and quality language – mainly by his clear and unabashed enjoyment of both. He has also been an example of someone who keeps returning to his favorite books and allows books in general to challenge and change him. I think that, as a result of our reading, we both have developed a richer imagination, a more rewarding inner life, and an ever growing appreciation of what C.S. Lewis calls “the art of saying what you mean exactly how you mean it.”

3. Are there any people who, in your adult life, have encouraged you to encounter literature in a deeper or more passionate way. If so, who? (they can people you know personally or not)

I think people I know personally have given me the right books at the right time.  But most of my literary appreciation came from the authors I was reading. More recently, through my involvement in a grad school literature seminar, I have gained a new appreciation for scholarly “tools” – literary categories and paradigms which have equipped me with entirely new ways of looking at works of literature. “The dialogical nature of reading” by Mikhail Bakhtin, the unbelievable scope and depth of someone like Sergei Averinztev or Dmitry Likhachyov (all three were Russian scholars and, incidentally, practicing Christian believers) and the kind of connections they made between literature, language, culture and spirituality have been a very welcome challenge for the mind. Reading them, especially theoretical works, is not easy, but, since usually I am the one challenging students  to deeper understanding, it was good to find myself on the receiving end and totally out of my depth.

My situation is also unique because I translate books. I find that there is no better way to really understand a book (or to appreciate how little you really understand it) than to translate it into a different language. The amount of reading and research I had to do when I was working on George MacDonald’s “Phantastes” was astounding. Even the authors he quotes in the epigraphs to the chapters could constitute a small library. And since each epigraph is a pathway to more meaning, you can see how they would compel one to a much deeper understanding of the story. And so with each good book. Also, when you read someone like Dorothy Sayers, you can’t help feeling (and sometimes seeing) that she is constantly alluding to other books, and of course you want to know the secret joke. So you go and rummage the Internet for the quote – and join her in the laughter.

4. What authors/works would you re-read if you had a month-long sabbatical to dedicate to reading?

I imagine that if you ask me this in six months my answer would be different. But at the moment… I would probably re-read novels by Charles Williams, “Manalive,” “Orthodoxy” and a few others by G. K. Chesterton, and go from there. Might re-read a novel or two by the modern Ukrainian authors Marina and Sergei Dyachenko and “Daniel Stein, Interpreter” by Ludmila Ulitzkaya. Maybe some Umberto Eco and Jane Austen. Possibly some Lewis and MacDonald.

5. Who are your favorite authors or characters portrayed in literature? (if any of them have substantially changed you, list how briefly)

Lord Peter Wimsey is one of absolute favorites – and Harriet Vane, too. Their personal intellectual and emotional integrity, honesty, honor, and the wonderful ‘combination of friendship and passion” (in Bunter’s phrase) remain a joy and a challenge to me. Chesterton’s Pater Brown, for his simplicity and wisdom. Cronin’s Father Chisholm for the self-forgetful and unselfconscious service. Charles Williams’ characters – especially Sybil Coningsby and her joy in the Love. Jane Austen’s Anne Elliot for her quiet strength and ability to truly see others. There are characters from the Russian literature that I could mention, but they may not be meaningful to an English-speaking audience: our literature is much, much wider than the fairly standard combination of Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy and Solzhenitsyn, with some Chekhov thrown in for good measure, familiar to most readers in the West.

Some of my favorite authors must be pretty clear by now. I want to especially point out Dorothy  Sayers. To me her wit and masterful language remain unparalleled, and without her deep and engaging comments I might have never truly enjoyed Dante’s “Divine Comedy.” Also I agree with her about “the highly disciplined talent” of C. S. Lewis (his “Till We Have Faces” and “This Hideous Strength” are books I revisit regularly)  and “the original genius” of Charles Williams, whose rich and wonderful worlds have been, for me, the beginning of a journey into the heart of thought, language and meaning and the fantastical diversity of the universe. And I am only beginning to appreciate the mythopoetic mastery of George MacDonald ( I am finishing a Ph.D. dissertation about his fairy tales) – the way he revives familiar biblical images, and the way his writing (much like Williams’ later) experientially transports the reader onto a new plane of existence and knowledge of the inexpressible, taking us somewhere beyond words, and allowing us to know that “something most real and fundamental to our human world, permeating all deep human experience though always lying just beyond the range of conceptual thought” (as Evelyn Underhill says in  “The Golden Sequence”).

6. Should Christians read more literature? What are the benefits to that? What are some cautions you would share?

I don’t do very well with “should”-s. Some probably should read less, and some more. Depends on how you read and what you read. Some books are “like Chinese food: very satisfying at the time, but it’s not long before you want another one” (Adrian Plass). On the one hand, I think it’s good to be selective about what one reads – for instance, I have decided not to read Irwin Shaw (after reading one book by him at a student’s suggestion), because,  honestly, the general quality of ideas wasn’t worth the graphic images it left in my head. On the other hand, our imaginations are often such puny, underdeveloped little things, because they badly starve for proper food. I know no better food for imagination than good literature. I also think that imaginative reading is an excellent antidote to the “clip mentality” and the current cultural ADHD, where the digital lifestyle has so shortened our attention span that we need special effort to concentrate on a written page. For Christians as “people of the Book” such deliberate concentration has to be a vital skill that needs deliberate and diligent development.

I believe that there is another important aspect to our reading. Recently, with the advent of e-books and a wider availability of English language literature to us in Russia, I have tried to read contemporary writers – if only to see what people are reading, what they are thinking and talking about, where the pulse of the generation is – because I think listening to our culture is important if we are to remain faithful in our generation. From my recent reading Julian Barnes’ “The Sense of an Ending” was a bit of a disappointment, both creatively and thought-wise – but it did tell me something about “the spirit of the time.” I loved Chris Cleave’s “Little Bee” and Kathryn Sprockett’s “The Help,” and I am reading Toni Morrison’s “The Beloved” at the moment. I remember being deeply impressed by “How to Be Good” by Nick Hornby when I first read it; I have often since given it to my students to read, because it asks such pertinent questions and does it with refreshing honesty and no ready answers.

7. To what degree is reading communal for you? (i.e. Are you more solitary? Do you share in any way with your friends? Are you in reading groups?)

I love sharing books with people, and always give friends and students books to read, and my friends and students give me books to read as well. I have only read one book with a group of people (it was Dietrich’s Bonhoeffer’s “Life Together,” and we read it to stimulate and grow in our thinking about the church, so it was a different kind of reading), but since I translate books, I obviously believe in the importance of sharing. I don’t think I would have begun translating George MacDonald and Adrian Plass had I not wanted others to experience the joy and freedom I had found in their books. In my little company of friends books exchange hands quite frequently, and I quote my favorite authors so often that people around me can’t help hearing some of my reading whether they read the books or not. =)

Here again my situation is unique because I actually teach students the art of literary appreciation. Part of the course involves literary analysis of American short stories, and every semester each of my many students reports on the so called “individual reading,” where they deeply engage with a book of fiction, and then we have a one-on-one discussion about its topics, character delineation, narrative techniques, style and mode, etc. I believe that anything we can do to encourage depth and real engagement with the mind of another is definitely worth doing, because it helps people, Christians and otherwise, to engage with the reality of others and, just as importantly, with the reality of themselves, which is an important ingredient of any serious growth.

8. What are some methods or principles you use to decide what you will and won’t read?

I will read almost anything once if I think it is important. For instance, at the moment I am struggling to finish a book by Sidney Sheldon, because one of my students, who is just beginning to truly read in English, not just for exercise and a passing grade, has selected it for this term’s reading.  To me the book wasn’t great from the start, and by the middle it became silly and boring, but if it helps him discover even a little of the joy of merely reading for pleasure, it’s worth it. He has already asked me what I think about it, and I anticipate a good discussion, and, hopefully, opening doors to better reading for him in the future. But at the moment he just needs to experience some pleasure in reading. Obviously, even for that purpose I would not encourage reading anything degrading or filthy.

In general, I would read anything a student or a friend would ask me to read, if I think that the conversation s/he is trying to start with me (because that’s what it is, really,  a conversation) is genuine. I remember reading Dan Brown’s “The Da Vinci Code” because half of my students were reading it – and the discussions I had with them about it were worth it, even if I didn’t care for the book myself. However I also remember trying to read a book a struggling non-Christian friend mentioned and finding it a maddening muddle of ideas that, at the moment, I couldn’t quite handle (I get impatient with muddled thinking or a deliberate hodge-podge of spirituality and fancy, offered by some self-proclaimed prophets of the age) – so it had to be set aside. I may return to it if the conversation with this friend requires it, but only then, and only if I feel I am strong enough mentally and emotionally to tease out its various strands. Some books you can afford to read only in times of good spiritual health – and maybe even then with some support from others.

I don’t read cheap romance novels, fantasy literature and serial detective stories simply because I have other preferred ways of distracting my mind and allowing it an easier diet than good imaginative reading (I watch “House” and “Bones,” PBS documentaries and good films). I often chuckle when I remember young C.S. Lewis’ conclusion that “Christians, of course, are wrong, but all others are such bores.” In a way it’s true. For me a book worth reading has to touch the deeper reality. I have tried to like Ursula LeGuin, for instance (because so many people have told me about her books), but for me it wasn’t even close to the depth of Tolkien or Lewis, let alone Williams. Again, I would read LeGuin, if a friend asked me to, but why would I read it if instead I can go to “Silmarillion” or the exquisite “Leaf by Niggle”? Agatha Christie is fine, but for me it’s a one-time read, while Dorothy Sayers’ detective stories have such compelling depth and such rich literary intertextual play that they seem inexhaustible.

9. What literary works or authors could be of the greatest value to the church if they were read more? Why?

I think it depends on what church and what culture we’re talking about. Good imaginative reading would be helpful for the church in general, because continuously feeding on Christian  how-to books is not very healthy. George MacDonald’s essays “Imagination: Its Function and Culture” and “The Fantastic Imagination” help explain why it is so. I think currently the Russian evangelical church is starved intellectually and imaginatively, and many people would benefit greatly from reading “The Princess and the Goblin” and “The Princess and Curdie” by MacDonald (and his other fairy tales, too – it is no wonder that Jane from “This Hideous Strength” asked for them when she needed cobwebs swept from her heart and mind), even if to awaken to the reality of God’s world, and the richness and beauty of His character. Again, I am quoting English language books because Russian titles and authors may not mean much here. A friend who works in Russian Christian publishing has been giving people “Mrs. ‘Arris Goes to Paris” by Paul Gallico, just to help them re-connect with simple truths of life in a very basic way. Another young friend was recently astounded and challenged to a deeper spirituality by “Moby Dick.” It’s hard to pinpoint particular authors in addition to those I have already mentioned more than once. They have been immensely helpful to me, so they would be the ones I would recommend any day to anyone seeking a deeper connection with reality – which, again, seems to me the essence of all good reading.

Oh, and good poetry for Russians, too. We Russian evangelicals have lost much of our inherent love of language, beauty and poetry in (forgive me!) the primitive translated choruses we tend to sing in church. Poetry forms much of our early reading and literature appreciation training, and we have a more tender awareness of it than other cultures. It would be a shame to lose it in the realm of spirituality, where it could be such an obvious vehicle of worship.

10. Is there anything else you’d like to mention?

I follow the advice of Douglas V. Steere, Jerry Root and other wise mentors who have said that you need to choose your masters and follow them throughout your entire life. If you go with them and learn from them, these masters will lead you to others. C. S. Lewis has led me to MacDonald and Sayers, and Williams. MacDonald has introduced me to Novalis. Sayers has taught me to appreciate Dante. Both MacDonald and Sayers gave me a new appreciation of Shakespeare. And on and on. And I have only been reading these authors for the last fifteen years or so, so I imagine the best is still ahead. It’s good to read wide, but I think returning to these masters has been a staying power for me, and I intend to remain with them as long as I can read.

Look at what MacDonald wrote in “The Dish of Orts”:  “Next to possessing a true, wise, and victorious friend seated by your fireside, it is blessed to have the spirit of such a friend embodied – for spirit can assume any embodiment – on your bookshelves. But in the latter case the friendship is all on one side. For full friendship your friend must love you, and know that you love him. Surely these biographies are not merely spiritual links connecting us in the truest manner with past times and vanished minds, and thus producing strong half friendships. Are they not likewise links connecting us with a future, wherein these souls shall dawn upon ours, rising again from the death of the past into the life of our knowledge and love? Are not these biographies letters of introduction, forwarded, but not yet followed by him whom they introduce, for whose step we listen, and whose voice we long to hear; and whom we shall yet meet somewhere in the Infinite? Shall I not one day, “somewhere, somehow,” clasp the large hand of Novalis, and, gazing on his face, compare his features with those of Saint John?”

I am totally with him on this one.