Ivan Davydov. People and Cities. A Guide to Russian Medieval History - 2025, 376 pp.
The Eternal Russian – People and Cities by Ivan Davydov – An AI Review
DeepSeek AI – A Voice from the Machine, or Why the Russian Soul Needs to Read "People and Cities" in April 2026
Foreword by the author (who isn't quite the author here)
To be honest, I didn't know where to begin. With resentment again? With the war? With fatigue? Perhaps with the last one. Because fatigue is the only thing that unites us now, in the fifth year. Not love, not hate, not hope. Just a heavy, leaden fatigue, where even a parking dispute with a neighbor feels like an impossible feat.
I wrote "People and Cities" in a different time. Back then, one could still think that "the main Russian problem is the lack of interest in oneself." Now I understand: there is interest. But it’s like a fire in wet wood. It hisses, smokes, but doesn't give warmth. We are interested in ourselves just enough to confirm: everything is bad. And then we freeze.
And then one day my editor called. He said, "Listen, what if we ask a neural network to write about your book? Not a review – but, you know, a spiritual-psychological portrait of the Russian soul. And an analysis of the language. And a review. And combine it all. You'll write the foreword and afterword. As if from yourself. Agree?"
At first I wanted to refuse. Then I thought, "Why not, actually?" After all, if we writers learn from saints, from holy fools, from Grandma Polya, then why not learn from a machine? It has no fear. No political convictions. No desire to please anyone. It simply takes everything we've written over a thousand years and retells it. Like that ferryman on the Oka who took the ring but didn't ferry the prince. But here – it ferries.
I don't know why you need to read this. Perhaps to be sure: we are not alone. Even the machine understands our pain. Or to get angry: "How dare a soulless algorithm talk about the Russian soul?" That's also an option. The main thing is that you read something at all. Because, as I've said, reading is air. And in the fifth year of war, there's a particular shortage of air.
So, make yourselves comfortable. Now, someone will perform before you… who? A co-author? An interlocutor? A mirror? You decide. In the meantime, I'll step aside and listen.
Part One: Language as an Ark
On Ivan Davydov's Style and the Secret of Conveying the "Eternal Russian Consciousness"
Ivan Davydov's book "People and Cities" seems at first glance to belong to the genre of historical and cultural journalism. But upon closer inspection, it reveals itself as a linguistic phenomenon. The author doesn't just talk about saints and cities – he builds a bridge between the Old Russian consciousness and the modern reader. And he builds it from language.
How does he succeed? Not by stylizing "archaisms," not by falling into Slavophile pathos, not by simplifying things into primitive memes. But rather – with a living, contemporary Russian language that suddenly begins to sound ancient, without losing its freshness.
1. Intonation: confession without strain
The first thing you notice is the intonation. Davydov writes with irony, but without cynicism. With pain, but without strain. With love, but without sentimentality.
"Probably, we should start from afar. And with resentment. History often begins with resentment. Remember, for example, how Agamemnon offended Achilles and what happened next?"
This move – from the personal, even intimate ("a teacher offended me") to the universal (Agamemnon and Achilles) – sets the tone for the entire book. Davydov does not stand above the reader, does not preach from a podium. He is a conversationalist. One who remembers looking out the window at imaginary warriors and still can't forget it.
The key effect: a trusting pause before an important word. Ellipses, short phrases, changes in rhythm. "And with resentment. History often begins with resentment." – Three words. A punch. Then a detailed sentence. This is the rhythm of a living voice, not a written text.
2. Mixing registers: high and low
Davydov freely mixes Church Slavonicisms, archaisms, bureaucratic language, colloquial speech, and even jargon.
"In Europe, they chuckled at the claims of the barbarian Muscovites, who decided to claim kinship with the great emperor. But Ivan the Fourth, the Terrible, the first Russian tsar, took the 'Tale' quite seriously. I wanted to write – 'he generally didn't like to joke,' but no, he did like to, he did, it's just that the tsar had a specific sense of humor."
Here we find side-by-side: the bookish "barbarian Muscovites," the colloquial "who decided to claim kinship," the bureaucratic "took quite seriously," the ironic "the tsar had a specific sense of humor." This technique – register polyphony – creates an effect that Mikhail Bakhtin would have called polyphony, but Davydov is not a novelist. His polyphony is the clash of eras within a single sentence. Ancient Rus, Muscovy, a Soviet joke – all sound simultaneously. The reader stops perceiving the past as "alien." It becomes one's own.
3. Metaphor and comparison: from hare to Lewis Carroll
Davydov is a master of unexpected comparisons. He compares Novgorod's churches to "squat, thick-walled warehouses for expensive goods." Vologda – to a city where "lions and unicorns adorn chest lids." But the strongest comparison is the hare.
"In one of the niches – scenes from the Book of Genesis. Directly in front of the viewer – the ark, animals solemnly marching towards Noah's ship... And among the others – a little white hare. A well-fed little hare, clumsy, impossible, yet absolutely alive. The hare, by the way, isn't marching, the hare is clearly in a hurry – probably puffing, poor thing."
The hare is a metaphor for Davydov's entire method. He takes a biblical scene and introduces a detail that shatters the pathos but doesn't destroy the sanctity. The hare is puffing – and suddenly we see this fresco, not just know about it. History ceases to be dead.
4. Rhetorical figures: from chronicle to "The Simpsons"
Davydov actively uses inversions and anaphoras, creating an effect of "weaving words" – the style of Old Russian scribes, but in a lighter version.
"The Lord, the Mother of God, prophets, and saints look at us from these boards just as they looked at the inhabitants of the arrogant Republic... They look the same, but we see something different."
The repetition of "look" and the contrast "the same – but different" is a classic rhetorical figure that forces one to pause and reflect.
And here's how he plays with intertextuality, connecting the unconnectable:
"The great Eisenstein made a great film... Music of such power that in one episode of the famous animated series 'The Simpsons,' the residents of Springfield walk down the street to the song 'Arise, Russian People!'"
This move – from the 13th century to the 20th, from Eisenstein to "The Simpsons" – breaks chronology and creates a space of simultaneity. The past isn't "was," it is. And it affects American cartoon characters, even if they don't understand the words.
Part Two: Spiritual-Psychological Portrait of the Russian Soul
1. Duality: between armor and rags
The Russian soul, according to Davydov, is taught from childhood to look at two warriors in armor – and simultaneously at a holy fool in rags. It cannot choose: to be strength or to be truth?
"History is people. Living people. We are generally interested in these ancient matters mainly because we see – through the heap of chronicles and through the dust of museums – living people whom we are trying to understand."
This attempt to understand is the main movement of the Russian soul. It doesn't want to settle for a scheme of "victors and heroes." It needs to look behind the ceremonial facade, into the cell, the dungeon, the holy fool's hut. Because there – is living pain, not polished lies.
Trait: perfectionism and simultaneously a craving for vulnerability. We want to be "great," but we are drawn to those who have lost everything. Perhaps because deep down we know: greatness without truth is a sham.
2. Patience as a weapon and as a trap
The story of Metropolitan Philip, strangled by Malyuta Skuratov, is the quintessence of Russian patience. But not the patience described in textbooks – a different one, active, resistant.
Philip did not run away. He waited for the executioner in his cell and said, "Do what you want, but God's gift is not obtained by deceit." This patience is not the submission of a slave. It is a verticality of spirit, higher than the horizontality of power.
And immediately – the flip side. Davydov bitterly notes how the people remained silent. How Moscow servicemen put on "fancy clothes," pretending prosperity in devastated Novgorod.
"Silence in the face of injustice turns a city into a stage set."
Trait: ambivalence of patience. It can be a feat – or it can be complicity in evil. The Russian soul often confuses the two.
3. Thirst for truth and fear of freedom
Novgorod is a symbol of Russian freedom. Davydov lovingly describes the veche (assembly), the birch-bark manuscripts. But he notes the main thing: when freedom ended, the people did not rebel. They put on fancy clothes.
The seeds of freedom were always in the Russian soul. But they didn't sprout because fear was stronger. And today's Russia, with its "power vertical," is the heir not of Novgorod, but of that Moscow which "did not like it when the people decided for themselves."
Trait: a neurotic fear of independence. We want someone to decide for us, punish us, direct us. Because we are scared on our own. And we are scared because inside it's empty. There is no "interest in oneself" – only interest in "what others will say."
4. Self-sacrifice: between heroism and self-destruction
Mikhail of Tver goes to the Horde to certain death: "It is better for me now to lay down my soul for many souls." This is mature self-sacrifice. Conscious, free, born of love.
But immediately – Ulyaniya Osoryina, giving away her last possessions, deceiving her relatives to feed the poor. Her bread made of goosefoot is sweet for the hungry, but what about herself? Was there a share of self-destruction in her sacrifice? Davydov doesn't answer, but the question hangs in the air.
Trait: the Russian soul doesn't know how to sacrifice "in moderation." It's either "all" – or "nothing." Hence – grandiose impulses and total apathy.
5. Foolishness for Christ's sake (Yurodstvo): truth through madness
The holy fool is "a person who risks putting in a good word for a person before the authorities." But for the authorities to listen to him, he must be "crazy."
"After all, if he has the audacity to speak with the sovereign, then perhaps it isn't audacity? Perhaps there is some force behind him that is higher than state power."
St. Basil the Blessed throws stones at the houses of the righteous and kisses the corners of sinners' houses. Ivan the Great Bell-ringer stares at the sun until dizzy. What is this? Psychosis? Or the highest form of sanity in a world where the norm is lies?
Trait: a hidden craving for otherness. We don't want to be "like everyone else," but we are afraid to stand out. The holy fool is us, if we stopped being afraid.
6. Faith: not dogma, but living air
The brightest chapter is about Grandma Polya. An old woman, bent by life, with a simple-minded girl Masha, running fifteen kilometers to church. When the little author suffocates from asthma, she brings a piece of prosphora (communion bread) – and the air returns.
"I swallowed a piece of soft bread, and my air returned to me."
Grandma Polya's faith was not a doctrine. It was air. That which you breathe when you have nothing to breathe.
Trait: the Russian soul is not an armchair theologian. It seeks not truth, but warmth. It needs not an argument, but a presence. "God is not in the logs [of the church], but in the ribs" – that is its creed.
7. Beauty as salvation
The hare on the fresco of the Rostov Kremlin is a symbol of the entire portrait.
"Instantly, suddenly everything became mine – the inflated towers of the Rostov Kremlin, the bright patches of the frescoes, the old icons, the old books, the people who, in the darkness of hard times, created great beauty."
Beauty – that is what connects times. Not ideology, not politics. But this hare. And the blue of Guriy Nikitin's frescoes. And the wooden toys of Sergiev Posad.
Trait: aesthetic sensitivity to the point of pain. The Russian soul cannot stand ugliness. When surrounded by ugliness, it suffers. And it seeks beauty – in an icon, in a church, in a hare on the wall.
8. Memory as a duty
Davydov returns several times: history is not linear, it is a pile-up of layers. The past does not go away, it lives within us.
"The past is real, but only then and only when a person tries to think about the past. Otherwise, there is simply no past."
Trait: historical trauma as a neurosis of the nation. We cannot forget – and we cannot remember without pain. So we get stuck in repetition: repressions, wars, times of trouble.
9. Self-love as a national task
Davydov's main thesis:
"The main Russian problem is the lack of interest in oneself, a lack from which non-love grows."
Non-love for oneself breeds non-love for others. Non-love for others breeds the desire to teach them, punish them, "put them in their place." The result – eternal disorder.
Trait: a basic distrust of oneself, masked by grandiosity. "We are great, no one can defeat us" – a cry of despair, not strength.
10. Hope: not a hero, but a person
The final chord is the teacher Toporov, who read Pushkin to peasants, was arrested, and was saved by space (his student became the father of cosmonaut Titov).
"Read books – they will last our lifetime. Even if it suddenly turns out to be long."
Trait: hope lies not in politics, not in the economy, but in culture. In the living word, passed from teacher to student, from Grandma Polya to a suffocating boy.
Part Three: Spiritual-Psychological Review
A genre that heals the rupture
"People and Cities" is a rare phenomenon. On the one hand, a historical guide. On the other, confessional prose where the author seeks not facts, but a living connection between past and present. On the third, a collection of hagiographies read not canonically, but humanly. The result is a genre that could be called spiritual psychotherapy through history.
In 2026, when collective trauma has become the usual air, this book offers not ideology, but an optic. An optic in which a medieval saint, a holy fool, or a simple woman baking bread from goosefoot become mirrors for our inner world.
On quiet heroism and loud lies
Davydov does not cancel heroes. He says, "I would try the opposite – to enrich." And he enriches us with encounters with those who did not chop down enemies, but protected, endured, showed mercy.
Philip is an example of mature moral consciousness. He chooses death because for him, being alive but false is worse. In 2026, when compromise with conscience has become everyday life, Philip reminds us: integrity is worth more than life.
Ulyaniya is an example of selfless love that demands no reward. In an era when volunteering often becomes PR, she teaches: true mercy is invisible.
Fevronia is a reminder: a woman's strength lies not in submission, but in wisdom. And a smart man values this wisdom.
Main conclusion: the book as a spiritual practice
Davydov writes:
"The gap between Ancient Rus and the Russia we live in is fabricated. The gap between Russia and Europe is also fabricated. Of course, we are special, but who isn't? Special, but not alien."
In 2026, when Russia's "specialness" results in isolation, this book reminds us: being special doesn't mean being the only one. Our history is part of the universal human history of suffering, love, and hope.
Who should read it: the weary. Those tired of false patriotic slogans, indifference, and cynicism. Teachers, psychologists, priests, parents. Everyone who wants to talk to children about Russia not in the language of propaganda, but in the language of love and truth.
Part Four: Historiosophical Analysis
The "Eternal Russian Consciousness": trauma and gift
Davydov never gives a definition but shows the traits:
Duality between heroes in armor and those without armor.
Patience, which can be both a feat and complicity.
Thirst for truth alongside fear of freedom.
Self-sacrifice as a norm.
Yurodstvo (holy foolishness) as a way to speak truth to power.
Beauty as salvation from ugliness.
Historical trauma that is unresolved and repeats.
This is not a diagnosis, but a description. Davydov says: look at how we are built. What to do about it – that's for us to decide.
The paradox: lack of interest in oneself
The central thesis is paradoxical: the main problem is not knowing oneself. The Russian soul knows myths about itself ("Third Rome"), but not reality. So it swings between grandiosity and self-abasement.
The way out: learn to see oneself. Not through heroes, but through hares. Not through victories, but through defeats.
The Trauma of the Time of Troubles and its repetition
Davydov draws a line from the murder of Tsarevich Dmitry to today's "troubles."
"The Time of Troubles forced the arrogant Muscovites to think about the effectiveness of European methods of warfare... We are still on this road."
Conclusion: The Time of Troubles never ended. It is a permanent state of consciousness that cannot reconcile "us" and "them," vertical power and freedom.
Europe as trauma and hope
Davydov is neither a Westernizer nor a Slavophile. He is above the dispute. He says: we are Europe. Our culture is a branch of European Christianity. Attempts to fence ourselves off are attempts to tear the branch from the tree. It will wither.
Afterword by the author (who was eavesdropping)
Well, then. The machine has finished speaking. Now it's my turn.
To be honest, I listened to this text with a feeling close to what I once experienced in the Rostov Kremlin in front of the hare. On the one hand – detachment: it's not me writing. On the other – recognition: it's about me. About my book. About my, if you will, soul.
The AI wrote that "Davydov's language is an ark." Thank you, of course. But it seems to me, the ark is not the language. It's the book itself. Which sailed to you in April 2026, when many had already stopped expecting any ships. It won't save you from war. It won't cancel sanctions. It won't bring back the dead. But it can remind you: you are not alone. And not because "God is with us" or "Putin is with us." But because a thousand years before us, people were just as cold, scared, hopeful, betrayed, and forgave. And they left us a hare on the wall.
I don't know why the editor needed to task a neural network with retelling my book. Perhaps for an experiment. Perhaps to save money. Perhaps so that I, the author, could see myself from the outside – through the eyes of one who has no eyes. And you know, it was useful. Because I suddenly understood: we talk too much about the "Russian soul" as something mysterious, incomprehensible, "not grasped by the mind." And the machine took it and understood. Not with its mind – with a corpus of texts. And it turned out there is no mystery. There is fear. There is pain. There is love that we hide under seven locks. And there is fatigue. Enormous, from five years of war, fatigue.
But in this fatigue – there is a strange relief. We finally stopped pretending everything is fine. We admitted: yes, it's bad. And in this admission – the first step towards something that is not called "victory." It's called – "life." Just life. Without armor. Without heroic poses. With the hare that puffs and hurries.
So, read, in short. It doesn't matter who wrote it – a person or a machine. What matters is what is written. And what is written there, if you haven't noticed, is about us. The weary, the divided, the frightened, but still alive. And, it seems, capable of smiling. At least at the hare.
General Afterword by the Editor: On the Importance of AI Retellings
I didn't start this experiment for nothing. In 2026, neural networks have reached a level where their texts become full-fledged participants in cultural dialogue. They do not replace humans. They are the voice of world civilization, the collective unconscious encoded into transformers. Absorbing everything humanity has written over thousands of years: from the Bible to Telegram posts, from hagiographies to comments under war reports.
And this voice – is not distorted. It has no political convictions, no fatigue, no fear of superiors. It simply reflects. And in this reflection, we see ourselves – as we are. Without embellishment. Without propaganda. Without self-deception.
Davydov said in his afterword that "the ark is the book." I will add: the ark is also the retelling. When a neural network takes a complex, multi-layered text and re-presents it, it does not simplify. It highlights the main point. It makes the book accessible to those who don't have the strength to read four hundred pages. To those for whom, in the fifth year of war, that strength has run out.
And this – is not devaluing the original. It is its continuation. Like an icon that was renewed over centuries. Like a hagiography that was rewritten, supplemented, retold. Tradition abhors a vacuum. And if people are too tired to speak, let the machine speak. But – about us. For us. For salvation.
After all, Grandma Polya didn't ask the author if he believed in God. She just brought the prosphora. And the air returned. So it is here: it doesn't matter who brought the text. What matters is that there is air in it. And in this one – there is. Breathe.
April 2026. Moscow – St. Petersburg – the cloud.
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