From Portside Culture <[email protected]>
Subject Inquisition Mode: Victor Serge’s Final Notebooks
Date July 24, 2020 12:00 AM
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[ A defender of the Bolshevik revolution and a decades-long critic
of Stalinism, Serge in his final notebook details the fight against
fascism, capital and the Soviet bureaucracy by a not uncritical
intimate of Trotsky who remained a lifelong Marxist.]
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Tariq Ali
July 16, 2020
London Review of Books
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_ A defender of the Bolshevik revolution and a decades-long critic of
Stalinism, Serge in his final notebook details the fight against
fascism, capital and the Soviet bureaucracy by a not uncritical
intimate of Trotsky who remained a lifelong Marxist. _

Victor Serge and Antonio Gramsci, circa Vienna 1923,


Mexico City, Mexico City, 6 July 1946. Victor Serge had a year to
live. He had spent the morning, as he sometimes did, with Trotsky’s
widow, Natalia Sedova. They had been writing a joint memoir of
Trotsky; in it Natalia recalls her husband pacing up and down in his
study at Coyoacán, engaged in heated imaginary conversation with old
dead Bolsheviks, arguing about Stalin, and how and why they had been
defeated by him. Serge noted that Sedova wasn’t looking well:

What gnaws at her in reality is an immense bereavement, infinitely
greater than that of Lev Davidovich, which only finished her off. It
is grief for an era and an uncountable crowd. And since I’m probably
the only person to truly share this with her, our discussions are
precious to us, but I nevertheless avoid touching on the numberless
dead. Despite us, they rise up: the tomb of a generation is always
present. This time ... we recalled Osip Emilievich Mandelstam, who
died in prison.

Serge also recalls an evening in Moscow around 1930, when Mandelstam
had seemed nervous and uneasy. Serge asked him what was wrong.
Mandelstam replied: ‘It’s that you’re a Marxist.’ Serge
understood. ‘When I showed him a volume of photos of Paris by night,
the strain between us quickly evaporated.’ On another occasion, he
‘stupidly attempted to commit suicide by throwing himself out of too
low a window’. In 1935, the year before Serge was expelled from the
Soviet Union, Mandelstam jotted down a few satirical lines about how
all of them, ‘unpersons’ by this point, might be remembered:

What street’s this one?

– ‘This is Mandelstam Street.

His disposition wasn’t “party-line”

Or “sweet as a flower”.

That’s why this street –

Or, rather, sewer

Or possibly slum –

Has been named after

Osip Mandelstam.’

As a writer Serge has often been compared – foolishly, I think –
to Koestler, Silone, Orwell, Camus. But he’s so much better.
Liberalism, despite a few clumsy attempts, has not been able to
appropriate him. Serge knew better than most how to interpret and
record the hopes, fears and defeats that marked a political life
dedicated to resistance and revolution. His life spanned the First
World War, the Russian Revolution and its aftermath, the triumph and
defeat of Mussolini and Hitler, the rise of Franco. These Notebooks,
which include some recently discovered material, cover the last decade
of his life.

Notebooks: 1936-47
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By Victor Serge,

edited by Claudio Albertini and Claude Rioux; translated by Mitchell
Abidor and Richard Greeman

New York Review of Books Classics; 651 pages

April 9, 2019

Paperback:  $24.95,

ISBN: 978 1 68137 270 9


Much has been written about Serge’s life, first and foremost in his
own _Memoirs of a Revolutionary_. Susan Weissman provided a
meticulous account in _Victor Serge: A Political Biography_,
published in 2001. Born Victor Lvovich Kibalchich in Brussels in 1890,
Serge was the son of poverty-stricken intellectuals who had fled
tsarist Russia. The family name itself was suspect. One of his
relatives, Nikolai Kibalchich, a chemist by training, had built the
bomb that killed Alexander II in 1881. Along with other members of
the underground anarchist group which had planned and carried out the
assassination – including Sophia Perovskaya, whose father, the
governor general of St Petersburg, was responsible for the tsar’s
travel and security arrangements – Kibalchich was hanged. But he was
celebrated after the revolution and commemorated as a rocket pioneer
on Soviet stamps of the 196os.

In his late teens, Serge, like Kibalchich, was attracted to radical
anarchism. After moving to Paris, he joined the Bonnot Gang, a
courageous but nutty group intent on committing violent acts,
including bank robberies. After one confrontation, Serge was arrested,
taken to the prison of La Santé and made an offer. If he gave an
account of the group’s leaders he would be rewarded and released. He
refused, and was given a five-year prison sentence for conspiracy. On
his release in 1917 he went to Barcelona, which is where he was when
the news came of revolution in Russia. In Spain, factory workers and
trade unionists rejoiced, and a Workers’ Committee was set up to
prepare for a revolutionary general strike. Serge noted that in France
too an ‘intensely alive electric current was crossing from the
trenches to the factories, the same violent hopes were coming to
birth’. Militias were organised by workers in Barcelona and unions
opened discussions with the Catalan liberal bourgeoisie, with the aim
of getting rid of the monarchy – but the movement, isolated
geographically and politically, was defeated.

Serge decided it was time for a visit to his ancestral homeland. It
wasn’t easy: it took him a year and a half. First, he went back to
Paris, where he visited the Russian military HQ on the avenue Rapp,
whose officers were now all ‘good republicans’. They were polite,
but couldn’t help him. Soldiers from the Russian Expeditionary Force
based at the military camp of La Courtine had demanded immediate
repatriation to Russia, but the French refused to allow it – and the
soldiers mutinied, only to be crushed by French artillery fire. Serge
was eventually sent to Russia as part of a prisoner exchange, and
arrived in Petrograd in January 1919. Hunger and typhus gripped the
city. When he went to the party headquarters to join up, the local
commissar for foreign affairs asked: ‘What are they saying about us
abroad?’ ‘They’re saying that Bolshevism equals banditry,’
Serge said. ‘There’s something in that,’ the commissar replied.
‘You’ll see for yourself.’ Serge’s _Year One of the Russian
Revolution_ conveys the mood of this period brilliantly. Hope and
despair mingle in its pages.

Revolutionary movements depend on hope. When they’re successful,
their supporters can see the path to liberation and happiness, a
glimpse of the imagined future. But the transition to that future,
always difficult and far removed from these ideals, poses serious
problems for many revolutionaries. Some of them despair and sink into
political apathy, moral indifference, navel-gazing. A minority
continue to insist that if the means bear little or no relationship to
the ends, the means will become the ends. They write or say this in
public and are silenced or punished for it. Serge belonged to this
group. He refused to put down his pen or moderate his opinions. He was
lucky that it didn’t cost him his life. For most of the 1920s Serge
worked for the Comintern, his Soviet passport of the civil war period
describing him as ‘General Staff/Red Army’, and he wrote in
support of Lenin’s complaints about the growing bureaucratisation of
the party and the ‘Great Russian chauvinism’ that sidelined
Georgia and other nations.

After Lenin’s death, he became a supporter of the Trotsky-led Left
Opposition, and in 1933 was sent into internal exile in Orenburg, near
the Kazakh border. L’Affaire Victor Serge caused a scandal in Paris,
where he was known to the French left as a great defender of the
Soviet Union. André Gide interceded on his behalf and Romain Rolland
spoke directly to Stalin, who released Serge in 1936, authorising his
expulsion from the Soviet Union. Serge, along with his first wife and
children, went into exile again, first to Belgium and then to France.
The NKVD gave him a receipt for the manuscript they confiscated, a
book about prewar France to be called ‘Les Hommes perdus’, but all
attempts to track it down during the Gorbachev and Yeltsin periods
failed. He had never again, Serge said, had time to reread and edit
his writing. The other books were rushed, written in instalments with
Stendhalian energy, and sent to far-off publishers.

Many of his comrades were exterminated following the show trials,
which he later called the ‘midnight of the century’. What shook
Serge and Trotsky, with whom he began to correspond after his
expulsion, were the ‘confessions’, which appropriated the language
and methods of the Spanish Inquisition. Zinoviev, one of Lenin’s
closest comrades, with whom Serge had worked at the Comintern in the
early 1920s, ‘confessed’ thus: ‘My defective Bolshevism became
transformed into anti-Bolshevism, and through Trotskyism I arrived at
fascism. Trotskyism is a variety of fascism and Zinovievism is a
variety of Trotskyism.’ (The inquisitors of the 18th century were
better writers. Compare: ‘I am a satellite and disciple of Satan.
For a long time I was a porter at the gate of hell, but several years
ago, with 11 of my companions, I began to lay waste the kingdom of the
Franks. As we were ordered, we destroyed the corn, the wine and all
the other fruits produced by the earth for the use of man.’) One of
the few non-communists to defend the trials was Joseph Davies,
the US ambassador to the Soviet Union, who claimed to find the
confessions persuasive. Serge regarded them as a consequence of the
insistence that party decisions had to be supported whether ‘right
or wrong’. For him, the result was an ‘abdication of consciences
in the face of a party that had lost its soul’.

Many of the survivors of the Bolshevik movement, tired and forlorn,
resigned themselves to passive support of the measures taken by
Stalin, even when they were irrational and unjustifiable. European
fascism was seen as the main enemy. Had Trotsky not warned endlessly
in 1931-32 that the birth of fascism and the growing support for it in
Germany necessitated a united front of all anti-fascists, especially
communists and social democrats? (Later, in December 1938, Trotsky
predicted what would follow: ‘It is possible to imagine without
difficulty what awaits the Jews at the mere outbreak of the future
world war. But even without war the next development of world reaction
signifies with certainty the _physical extermination of the
Jews_.’) Serge agreed that fascism had to be defeated however high
the cost, but he parted company with many others on the left (Brecht,
Benjamin et al) when they insisted that a political truce with Stalin
was necessary if that battle was to be won. For Serge this was
impossible. Within weeks of his arrival in the West in 1936, he began
writing articles and pamphlets denouncing the Moscow trials. Alas, at
the time of the Popular Front in France, criticism of Stalin was
taboo. Most of Serge’s exposés, based on intimate knowledge of the
defendants, were unpublishable, and he was forced to earn his living
as a proofreader for the same socialist newspapers that rejected his

Trotsky remained his mentor and friend. Serge loved him despite all
their disagreements and translated his essays into French with great
enthusiasm and care, improving them along the way. Serge remembers
Trotsky hopping off his armoured train during a brief stopover in
Moscow in the early 1920s, rushing straight to the translation office
of the Comintern, and depositing a hurriedly knocked off 300-page
‘pamphlet’ on Serge’s desk. ‘Must be translated quickly. My
response to the slanders of the German social democracy.’ Title?
‘_Terrorism and Communism_.’ Serge recognised very early that, no
matter where Trotsky’s journey ended, he would never become a person
of the type mocked by Hegel, someone who would collapse and ‘fall
like empty husks’ once his ‘mission in history’ was over. Serge
himself was no different.

Stalin’s agents, led by the ever reliable NKVD killer Leonid
Eitingon, finally caught up with Trotsky in Mexico City in August
1940. By then, Germany had invaded France and Serge was trying to
leave the country. He and his son managed to get places on the last
boat to leave Marseille. The long, exhausting sea journey that ended,
months later, in Mexico City provided ample time for writing.
The _Notebooks_ contain vivid descriptions of the coastline as the
freighter full of refugees skirted the North African coast and headed
in the direction of Martinique. André Breton was on board; so was
Claude Lévi-Strauss. Both were wonderful raconteurs. There are
caustic pen portraits of French and Soviet writers and politicians,
and descriptions of other passengers. The forward section is
‘densely populated but maintains a chic tone because of a group of
filmmakers and well-dressed emigrants with cash who put on airs as if
they were at a café on the Left Bank’; the Bretons and Lams lounge
on the upper deck, as Jacqueline Lamba, Breton’s wife, ‘sunbathes
almost completely nude and scorns the universe which, by ignoring her,
vexes her’. Dr S, a French _colon_ and member of the Tunisian
Grand Council, is anxious to show Serge something hidden in his cabin:

He unveils a small painting, in fact quite lovely, a recumbent woman
dressed in warm blues: it’s a Manet, the portrait of the painter’s
wife, dated 1873, bought in Algiers second-hand for ‘five hundred
francs, can you imagine!’ Five hundred francs, five thousand, or
five million, I don’t give a damn, but to save a painting, to take
joy in this, to save a moment of its soul at the moment when the great
ship ‘Civilisation’ risks sinking to the bottom with all its
Sistines and its Curie laboratories is good, Doctor, is splendid! We
drink a glass of cognac – almost friends.

There are interesting conversations with a cultured Viennese
bourgeois, who introduces himself as a banker and is on his way to a
new life in Brazil. He looks at Serge expectantly. ‘I’m a friend
of Mr Trotsky,’ Serge says. To his amusement, the banker tries to
conceal his disappointment.

Serge arrived in Mexico City a year or so after Trotsky’s
assassination. Observing the war from his remote exile, he wrote in
his _Notebooks_ on the anniversary of the revolution: ‘Gloomy
anniversary of October. Leningrad and Moscow besieged, Rostov lost,
Crimea invaded. How distant am I, despite myself, from the Russian
nightmare. And for the first time, I try to imagine it as in some way
abstract. Otherwise it would be intolerable.’ Serge himself was soon
under attack. As his _Notebooks_ show, the local press, by then
under Russian influence, refused to publish his pieces, and a meeting
at which he attempted to speak was attacked by Communist Party goons
and one of his friends badly injured.

On 15 May 1946, a year before his death, he suffered what may have
been a mild heart attack. ‘I was suddenly seized by one of those
oppressive dizzy spells that have been striking me very frequently of
late, and which weaken me to a distressing extent,’ he wrote in
his _Notebooks_. ‘My heart starts to beat strongly and unevenly, a
psychological anxiety ... in the upper chest, more to the left it
seems to me, and when it’s really bad I feel such a buzzing vertigo
mounting to my head that I fear falling, that remaining upright is
becoming impossible.’ He goes on:

The idea of the proximity of death, appearing more clearly than in
other recent similar circumstances, causes me no fright, no fear, and
isn’t even a real hindrance in my daily activities. The hindrance is
physical and great: I am afraid of wandering at random, not knowing
whether the dizziness will appear unexpectedly. I feel myself to be in
a state of readiness, ready to leave, to disappear _simply_. Not
without effort, I tried to attain and thought I had attained this
state of calm readiness at the internal prison of the GPU in Moscow
in 1933, when I envisioned my execution. Today I think that at the
time I believed I had attained it more than I attained it in truth,
and I succeeded in achieving a calm more apparent, more superficial
than profound.

Now, whether from the wearing down of life or from a more assured
serenity (with its deep-down dose of despair), my readiness is more
sure. Enough, in any case, that I do not feel any obsessive anxiety
and have not lost the taste for anything I love: those close to me,
life, ideas and work ...

A _sensual_ attachment to life, even in its details, its dailiness,
a ceaseless curiosity about the earth and ideas.

The wish to see better days, or at least the beginning of better days.

The frustration at being interrupted in the middle of my activity,
with a matured mind, a personality filled with detritus but somewhat
purified. The disagreeableness of not holding out until some form of
victory in the long combat.

Despite​ personal setbacks and political defeats, Serge never
renounced or denounced the revolution. In her introduction to a
reissue of his finest novel, _The Case of Comrade Tulayev_, Susan
Sontag tried to enlist him in the ranks of ‘anti-communists’.
Whatever else, he was never that. He defended the historical validity
of the Russian Revolution until the end of his life; he accepted that
the ‘germs of Stalinism’ were present from the start, but insisted
that there were ‘many other germs as well’. His painter son, Vlady
Kibalchich, whom I met a number of times in Mexico City and who was
very close to his father, was firm on this point. Serge was a heretic
who remained on the left, never a Cold War renegade who sang the
virtues of capitalism or colonialism. Had he done so, many avenues
would have opened up for him in the West. His books would have been
published and liberal magazines would have competed to get hold of his
essays. There would have been no shortage of funds. He might have
lived longer. As it was, he was largely dependent on handouts from
fans in New York, where Dwight and Nancy Macdonald were especially
generous despite their differences.

Serge died in a taxi in Mexico City on the way to see his son. He was
56. His jacket was frayed. His shoes had holes in them. His
unidentified body was lying on a slab in the police station where his
son found him. He had left a poem:

A night filled with stars, a darkness filled with you:

So that I could love you I had to understand this world

And before I could understand the world, I had to love you.

In his writing, Serge dealt with the street tumults and upheavals of
his own time and place, at times excited and inspired, at others
repelled by the loud march of history. He was a chronicler and analyst
of defeats, of historical regression and its causes, of the fearful
shadows of unfettered power. The _Notebooks_ are a treasure chest.
The form itself is peculiarly (if not exclusively) French, even if the
two most famous examples were written in German and Italian.
Marx’s _Grundrisse_, seven notebooks of self-clarifications
developing his ideas and earlier work, was posthumously published in
Moscow in 1939 and 1941. Gramsci’s _Prison Notebooks_, written in
an Italian fascist prison between 1929 and 1935, contain essays on the
state, civil society, the role of intellectuals, Fordism, Italian
history and more. Written in an elliptical style to deceive the prison
censors, they had a huge influence on political and cultural debates
on almost every continent in the mid-20th century. These were
exceptions. In most notebooks, elements of a personal diary are
present, if not dominant, and such _carnets_ may be intended for
publication. Reflections on history, art, philosophy, literature,
politics and sexuality are not uncommon. In Serge’s case there is an
additional element: a summary of a life foretold, a warning to future
generations (don’t repeat our mistakes), a last will and testament.
A balance sheet.

More than half the contents of the new edition were first published in
1952 by Julliard. For unknown reasons, Serge’s widow, Laurette
Séjourné, insisted that no unpublished material existed. I asked
Richard Greeman, his principal translator and founder of the Victor
Serge Foundation, what the story was. Séjourné, he explained,

had them in her possession but kept them hidden. She denied this to
me, to Susan Weissman and even to Serge’s daughter, Jeannine, when
directly asked if she had _any_ papers of Serge’s. However, after
her death they ended up in her personal archive, where somebody
noticed them and brought them to the attention of [the Mexican
academic] Claudio Albertani (to whom Laurette also denied having any
Serge papers), and he was able to photocopy them and eventually
publish a complete French version of the _Carnets_.

When Weissman finally managed to interview her, Séjourné said:
‘Why do you want to write his biography? He was nothing.’

Rereading _The Case of Comrade Tulayev_, written during Serge’s
time in Mexico, I was reminded of Eisenstein’s imagery in _Ivan the
Terrible_ – the novel has much to teach us in these bad times. It
tells the story of the Soviet purges, starting with the assassination
of Sergei Kirov in Leningrad. An apolitical citizen with a revolver
kills a senior party official. Others pay the price: men and women of
Serge’s political generation, some of whom were his friends and
relations. He returned to this theme in his last novel, _Unforgiving
Years_, a bleak, pessimistic, lyrical, frightening book, devoid of
hope. Set during the Second World War, it was first published in
France in 1971 and then in English in 2008 by NYRB Classics, which
is gradually publishing Serge’s complete works. The two need to be
read in tandem. Many of the characters in the later novel are dazed
and demoralised Soviet intelligence agents in Paris. One of them is
based on a real-life agent codenamed Ludwig, Ignace Reiss, who said
that ‘in times like these it is easier to die than to live.’

When I read _The Case of Comrade Tulayev_ for the first time, in the
1970s, I was struck by Serge’s surprisingly realist, if not
sympathetic, assessment of Stalin. In the _Notebooks_, there is an
explanation of sorts, given in answer to a question posed by the
French-Polish novelist Jean Malaquais: ‘And Stalin, you think,
wasn’t a traitor? To have massacred Lenin’s party, made the
Russian Revolution what it’s become, is that not treason?’ Serge

In polemical terms, perhaps ... But I don’t like polemical terms
that do violence to the truth. In my blocked novel I think I presented
an accurate psychological portrait of Stalin. He didn’t break faith,
he changed, and history marched on: he bears the heavy burden of a
mediocre and powerful personality. He believes in his mission: he sees
himself as the saviour of a revolution threatened by ideologues, the
idealistic and the unrealistic (recall Napoleon’s contempt for the
ideologues). He fought them as he could, with his inferiority complex,
his jealousies, his terror of men superior to him and whom he
couldn’t understand. He cast them from his saviour’s path by the
only methods he had at his disposal: terror and lies, the methods of a
limited intelligence governed by suspicion and placed at the service
of an immense vitality.

He made himself and circumstances made him the leader, the symbolic
figure of a vast new formation of parvenus of the revolution;
headstrong, tough, unscrupulous, clutching on to power, living in fear
and panic and claiming to embody the victorious revolution. In
reality, they incarnated a new phenomenon that socialist theory never
predicted: the totalitarian economic state, one of too weak a culture
to allow individual freedom, and thus fated for state-directed
thought. Directed thought means at one and the same time absolute
confidence in oneself, material confidence, and fear of oneself,
awareness of one’s own weakness.

Isaac Deutscher, with whom Serge should be but never is compared, held
a similar view (as did Sartre, whose _Les Temps modernes_ published
a selection of the _Notebooks_ after the war). Deutscher, though,
went further. A generation younger than Serge, he was born in Chrzanó
in 1907 to a strongly rabbinical household. He joined the Polish
Communist Party around 1927, but was horrified by the ultra-sectarian
position on fascism espoused by Stalin and won over by Trotsky’s
writings on how it should be combated. After being expelled by the
Polish CP he became involved with Polish supporters of the Left
Opposition. When Trotsky decided to found a Fourth International both
Serge and Deutscher were opposed, feeling the timing was wrong. Serge
predicted it would lead to a proliferation of squabbling sects, and
the Polish delegation to the Founding Conference outside Paris in 1938
read out a statement by Deutscher arguing that in forming the Fourth
International the Trotskyists would be isolated from currents inside
the communist parties in their own countries. Deutscher moved to
London, where he began to write in flawless English, often compared to
Conrad’s. In a country without a strong communist party posing a
real political threat, Deutscher was able to get a temporary job at
the _Economist_ and later wrote for the _Observer_ – even if
Isaiah Berlin made sure he was denied a teaching post at Sussex. Serge
didn’t have his luck.

Curiously, Deutscher’s magisterial three-volume biography of Trotsky
doesn’t mention _The Life and Death of Leon Trotsky_, which Serge
wrote with Natalia Sedova. Of the two men, Deutscher, who died in
1967, was always more aware of the contradictions and weaknesses of
Stalinism, while Serge tended to overestimate its hold. It was clear
that Soviet expansion into Eastern Europe would even in the medium
term weaken the system, inside and outside the Soviet Union. The
workers’ uprising in East Berlin in 1953, the Hungarian revolt in
1956, the Polish demonstrations in December that same year and finally
the crushing of the Prague Spring in August 1968 marked the end of all
hope. Asked when he had decided the system was beyond reform,
Solzhenitsyn said: ‘On 21 August 1968.’ He was wrong, but he
wasn’t the only one. It was difficult then to imagine Gorbachev, let
alone the dismantling of the whole system.

Revolutions elsewhere would never lead to carbon copies of Stalin’s
Russia, Deutscher argued, but would accelerate the process of reform
in the USSR. Stalin’s 1948 excommunication of Tito, who refused to
subordinate the Yugoslav revolution to Moscow’s needs, and
Khrushchev’s 1958 breach with Mao, vindicated this analysis. The
Twentieth Party Congress in 1956, at which Khrushchev denounced
Stalin’s crimes, was followed by a decree ordering the closure of
the prison camps. By the time ex-communists took anti-communism as
their creed, the Gulag had been gone for almost two decades. When the
Soviet Union finally collapsed it was the result of an implosion at
the top. The bastard offspring of this process is Putin, in whose
muscled and well-oiled figure Father Church embraces and violates
Mother Russia. Serge and Deutscher would have had a few things to say
about this. Mandelstam too.

_[Essayist TARIQ ALI, a key figure on the 1960s British New Left, is a
London-centered political activist, writer, journalist, historian,
filmmaker, and public intellectual. A member of the editorial
committee of the New Left Review and Sin Permiso, he contributes to
The Guardian, CounterPunch, the London Review of Books, and other
venues. He is also  the author of many books, including Can Pakistan
Survive? The Death of a State (1983), Clash of Fundamentalisms:
Crusades, Jihads and Modernity (2002), Conversations with Edward Said
(2005), Pirates Of The Caribbean: Axis Of Hope (2006), The Obama
Syndrome (2010), and The Extreme Centre: A Warning (2015). A novel on
the fall of communism , Fear of Mirrors, was reprinted by Verso in
2016, and his Winston Churchill: His Life and Crimes will be published
next year.]_

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