Gorky’s grandmother probably ensured his psychological and possibly physical survival, somehow rescuing him with her luminous spirit and her fantastic story-store.
There seems to have been no end to the stories she spun, though it isn’t clear whether she made them all up, or pulled them out of a wider cultural hat. It is clear that they were worth hearing.
After a pinch of snuff she would begin her wonderful stories about good robbers, saints, and all kinds of wild animals and evil spirits.
Source: Maxim Gorky, My Childhood, trans. Ronald Wilks (Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1966), p. 21
Photo credit: freestocks-photos at pixabay