In response to:
Novels Without Food from the June 12, 2025 issue
To the Editors:
In his review of our Platonov translations [NYR, June 12], Michael Hofmann says much about himself but oddly little about the many sides of Platonov’s genius. It is unlikely that any reader of Hofmann’s review would imagine that Platonov could write such passages as the following:
Soon afterwards Fyodorov came out into a clearing. The same chubby little baby hare was burrowing in the earth with his paws, trying to dig out some rootlets or a cabbage leaf that had been dropped on the ground last year. The hare’s concern for his own life was inexhaustible, since he needed to grow and his desire for food was continuous. After eating whatever was there in the ground, the hare defecated a little and played with his tail. He then began to bat one of his paws with the other three; after that he played with the remains of some dead bark, with bits of his own droppings and even with empty air, trying to catch it between his front paws. Finding a puddle, the hare had a good drink, looked all around with moist, conscious eyes, lay down in a little pit to one side, curled up into the warmth of his own body and dozed off. He had already tasted all the delights of life; he had eaten, drunk, breathed, inspected the locality, felt pleasure, played about a bit and fallen asleep. Sleep was good too: animals nearly always have happy dreams.
Robert Chandler
London, England
Michael Hofmann replies:
In his haste to pluck down disappointment (why?), Mr. Chandler seems to have overlooked my little word “tendresse.”
