August 26, 2011 9:57 pm

Leningrad

Anna Reid’s narrative portrays a populace caught between the merciless Nazi enemy and the brutal Communist regime

Everything in the old Soviet Union had a political aspect. Individuals could be lauded one moment, then swiftly denounced when the political tide turned. Historical events could be subject to similar ideological vicissitudes; held up as salient examples of “world-historical forces”, then derided as irrelevant.

So it was with the wartime history of Leningrad (now St Petersburg). The longest siege of the second world war and the most murderous siege in history, the Nazi blockade of the city should have been a straightforward case of astonishing human suffering and heroism in the face of a barbaric invader.

Yet post-war Soviet historiography at first proclaimed the fiction that nothing extraordinary had happened in the city that bore Lenin’s name, before switching to a mawkish and rather disingenuous commemoration of the martyrdom of a model metropolis – a latter-day communist passion-play.

The truth, as ever, was rather more complex. Anna Reid’s book Leningrad is one of comparatively few that have approached the subject in English since Harrison Salisbury’s seminal 1969 book The 900 Days. She has a number of advantages, not least as a Russian speaker, but also in benefiting from post-Soviet archival revelations and from the work of Russian historians uncovering the truth of the siege. The narrative that she presents is not for the faint of heart but it is all the more important for that. It portrays a populace caught between the rock of a merciless Nazi enemy and the hard place of a brutal, often incompetent, Communist regime.

Reid uses first-hand accounts to tremendous effect, drawing on memoir and archival sources to weave a vivid, sometimes disturbing tapestry. Many of those she quotes are comparatively well known; the poet Anna Akhmatova, for instance, or Trotsky’s cousin Vera Inber. But it is the ordinary diarists that have the greatest impact; the 12-year-old girl starving to death or the young apprentice pressed into the city’s militia. Through such commentators all the horrors of the siege are represented; from the mendacity of the Soviet authorities to the fear and paranoia of a populace forced to the very limits of their endurance.

Though the winter cold and indiscriminate German shelling took many lives, starvation was the greatest peril. Hitler had no intention of his forces actually “taking” the city, preferring them instead to inherit it after the ravages of hunger had killed off its population. He nearly got his wish. When the Nazi ring around the city closed, it was estimated that Leningrad had only a month’s worth of food. As the rationing system collapsed, Leningraders ate household pets before consuming anything suspected to hold a modicum of nutritional value: from leather belts to cellulose, linseed oil to wallpaper.

In the first winter of the siege in particular, the corrosive, dehumanising effects of starvation soon made themselves felt, with theft and looting commonplace, pushing Leningrad society closer to a complete breakdown. Even cannibalism – vehemently denied by postwar authorities – was documented, with women from the suburbs, strange­ly, being most prepared to break the ultimate taboo and consume the flesh of those already deceased.

Entire families succumbed to starvation. Corpses would be dragged through the frozen streets on children’s sledges to be stacked for burial in mass graves when the thaw allowed. Countless others were left where they fell. The number killed in the city during the siege is disputed but is thought to amount to at least three-quarters of a million.

Despite such tribulations, Leningrad’s people were not spared additional horrors inflicted by their own authorities. The Soviet secret police – the NKVD – scarcely drew breath before continuing its campaign of persecution against its real or imagined opponents within the encircled city: “kulaks”, “defeatists” and “spies”. Many thousands fell victim to state-sponsored terror and institutionalised paranoia.

Reid tells the story of Leningrad under siege with considerable flair, providing a compassionate and sympathetic account of a city enduring unimaginable suffering. Impeccably re­searched, well-paced and beautifully written, Leningrad marks a new benchmark in the study of the subject and a more nuanced, objective interpretation for a new century.

Roger Moorhouse is author of ‘Berlin at War: Life and Death in Hitler’s Capital’ (Bodley Head)

Leningrad: Tragedy of a City under Siege, 1941-44, by Anna Reid, Bloomsbury, RRP£25, 512 pages

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