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Happiness
Happiness (1932) is the second novel in Yuri Felsen’s cycle The Recurrence of Things Past. Written as a diary addressed to his beloved Lyolya, it unfolds as an intense stream of consciousness in which Volodya – its anxious, self-scrutinising narrator – revisits the fragile equilibrium of their difficult relationship.
When new figures enter Lyolya’s orbit, Volodya’s hard-won certainties begin to collapse. Forced to contend with a series of rivals – a Soviet film star, a dashing ex-soldier, a wealthy businessman – he is driven ever deeper into jealousy and self-analysis, with tragic results. As the relationship fractures, Volodya probes the uneasy bond between emotional suffering and artistic creation, and the elusive nature of happiness itself.
Set among the exiled Russian community of interwar Paris, Happiness offers both a vivid social snapshot and an unnerving psychological portrait. Felsen’s exploration of desire, rivalry, masculinity and self-deception, shaped by shifting sexual and emotional mores, feels strikingly modern.
When new figures enter Lyolya’s orbit, Volodya’s hard-won certainties begin to collapse. Forced to contend with a series of rivals – a Soviet film star, a dashing ex-soldier, a wealthy businessman – he is driven ever deeper into jealousy and self-analysis, with tragic results. As the relationship fractures, Volodya probes the uneasy bond between emotional suffering and artistic creation, and the elusive nature of happiness itself.
Set among the exiled Russian community of interwar Paris, Happiness offers both a vivid social snapshot and an unnerving psychological portrait. Felsen’s exploration of desire, rivalry, masculinity and self-deception, shaped by shifting sexual and emotional mores, feels strikingly modern.
258 pages, Paperback
Published March 12, 2026
About the author
Yuri Felsen
2 books10 followersЮрий Фельзен. Pseudonym of the Russian émigré author Nikolai Freudenstein.
Felsen was very popular in the 1930s, known by critics as the Russian Proust, but close to forgotten after dying in Auschwitz, in 1943. His manuscripts and letters were lost – possibly destroyed – after his arrest.
Academic and translator Bryan Karetnyk discovered Felsen’s name while reading literary criticism from the 1930s, finding that he was widely praised, and going on to track down Felsen’s own writings.
Felsen was very popular in the 1930s, known by critics as the Russian Proust, but close to forgotten after dying in Auschwitz, in 1943. His manuscripts and letters were lost – possibly destroyed – after his arrest.
Academic and translator Bryan Karetnyk discovered Felsen’s name while reading literary criticism from the 1930s, finding that he was widely praised, and going on to track down Felsen’s own writings.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
July 8, 2026
Better than the previous book, even though it’s the same story and same thing basically it’s written in a more interesting and deeper way. Quite intense, men go to therapy please.
“It began, like all my moments of solitude, in a café, and at first I was a little distracted and even forgot myself–in cafés we occasionally feel an elusive connection with everybody around us, one that is vaguely reminiscent of what takes place at a spiritual séance: from the people sitting there, talking, arguing, playing games, enjoying themselves, united in a closed and sometimes stuffy room, there comes a kind of communal breathing, a complex force to which we unconsciously submit. But then, imperceptibly, our own personality breaks through-and the wider the artificial deviation towards the crowd, the quicker ind more irrepressible that intrusion is-and so my calm, indifferent neighbours, the undoubtedly false sense of security into which they lulled me, after such acute and maniacal bitterness, led me to a rapid rejection of tranquillity, to the return of my former alarm, which was now even more taxing and inescapable”.
“It began, like all my moments of solitude, in a café, and at first I was a little distracted and even forgot myself–in cafés we occasionally feel an elusive connection with everybody around us, one that is vaguely reminiscent of what takes place at a spiritual séance: from the people sitting there, talking, arguing, playing games, enjoying themselves, united in a closed and sometimes stuffy room, there comes a kind of communal breathing, a complex force to which we unconsciously submit. But then, imperceptibly, our own personality breaks through-and the wider the artificial deviation towards the crowd, the quicker ind more irrepressible that intrusion is-and so my calm, indifferent neighbours, the undoubtedly false sense of security into which they lulled me, after such acute and maniacal bitterness, led me to a rapid rejection of tranquillity, to the return of my former alarm, which was now even more taxing and inescapable”.
June 15, 2026
More of the same. Stream of consciousness, sometimes complicated to follow. With the originality of Deceit behind me, Volodya’s obsession and the narrative becomes tedious, his hubris more exposed and unlikeable. Volodya and his obsessive love interest Lyolya, are both unlikeable characters.
There are two parts to this book. Part 1 finished at page 112, roughly half way through. At this point I found myself not wanting to read anymore. I rested the book for a few days but the feeling would not go away - I was uninterested and it depressed me. So, with guilt and regret, and whilst appreciating the time and effort the translator put into this, I decided not to finish this book.
There are two parts to this book. Part 1 finished at page 112, roughly half way through. At this point I found myself not wanting to read anymore. I rested the book for a few days but the feeling would not go away - I was uninterested and it depressed me. So, with guilt and regret, and whilst appreciating the time and effort the translator put into this, I decided not to finish this book.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews