The work of Daniil Kharms was lost to the West for many years. A poet and black humorist, creator of Russia's short-lived literature of the absurd, Kharms shared the fate of many of his contemporaries. His work, which was passed from hand to hand after his disappearance in 1941, began to surface in print only in the late 1960s. But in spite of a number of recent publications, Kharms remains largely unknown and misunderstood. His eccentric, often grotesque stories are too easily dismissed as lacking depth. Part of this misunderstanding stems from an incomplete knowledge of Kharms's work: because Western readers are limited to published materials, they are unable to perceive the strong religious strain that underlies much of Kharms's writing.

The most common Russian population records of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries—the revisii—were the product of the state's effort to keep track of the population primarily for tax purposes. The narrowness of this approach to documenting the size and distribution of the population—particularly the absence of socioeconomic data—gradually led to replacement of the revisii by more comprehensive statistics, including the census. Unlike the revisii, the census of 1897 was to be a statement of population size and characteristics on a specific date of record, a “single-day” census (odnodnevnaia perepis’). In addition, the census collected relatively broad data on the population, including items ranging from age, sex, and place of birth to items such as class, literacy and schooling, employment, and so forth. Finally, it was the aim of the census to collect and publish these data for the entire population of the empire regardless of social class, tax status, or place of residence.

The period of Russian history between 1905 and 1914 has been the subject of continuing controversy. Coming as it did before the traumatic shock of world war and revolution, the decade has been a battleground between those who see tsarist society as one that was undergoing a process of gradual but positive evolution in response to the revolutionary crisis of 1905 and those who insist that social tensions within the empire were moving it toward yet another revolutionary outbreak. Although initially concentrated on the urban sector of Russian society, attention in the debate has also been extended to rural areas of the empire. Here, as in the city, the question of the nature and direction of change is complex, and its resolution requires the investigation of a variety of phenomena, not the least of which is rural crime.

On October 25-26, 1917 (O.S.), the nominal government of Russia, the third coalition of the Provisional Government headed by Alexander Kerensky, was pushed from power with ridiculous ease by the Bolsheviks. The Bolsheviks' plans were no secret; it had been common knowledge for some weeks that they were planning a move against the government. The Provisional Government, however, was incapable of taking any effective action. By October the government's power had drained away, leaving little more than an empty shell which could be pushed into the dust bin of history with a minimum of difficulty.

Stalin's “last word” on German reunification was contained in the Soviet diplomatic note of March 10, 1952, which proposed a peace treaty with Germany. Until the middle of 1953, Stalin's heirs continued to press for reunification on the basis of the 1952 note. The East German uprising of June 17, 1953 (which is commemorated in West Germany, with unintended irony, as the “Day of German Unity“) marked the de facto termination of the Soviet reunification initiative. As a result of the uprising, the rulers of the Soviet Union and East Germany were forced to place greater emphasis on the consolidation of the Communist regime in the GDR—that is, the stability of East Germany required policies explicitly directed toward the development of a separate, socialist East German state. Thus, the uprising and the subsequent Soviet intervention further undermined the credibility of an already questionable Soviet reunification initiative.

In the past, newspaper accounts and many scholarly articles have made dire and sweeping predictions about the imminence of civil war or the collapse of the Yugoslav federal state following the death of President Tito. The substance for these apocalyptic visions generally stems from Yugoslavia's nationality tensions, regional inequalities, and external pressure from both the Eastern and Western blocs. The widely accepted forecast is that the three factors will reinforce each other and exacerbate existing societal cleavages, leading to chaos or strict military rule. But most of the “dismal school” analyses of post-Tito Yugoslavia ignore the profound changes that have occurred in the country since 1945 and assume that the League of Communists of Yugoslavia (LCY) is unwilling or unable to take steps toward increasing the probability of political stability after Tito's death. In this article I shall critically evaluate the societal changes that have occurred and the LCY's response to them.

Among Soviet Central Asians who have achieved international attention, Bobodzhon Gafurovich Gafurov, the late director of the Institute of Oriental Studies of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR, stands out as a leading figure. Gafurov was politically the most prominent Tadzhik, if not Central Asian, in the Soviet Union. During the twenty-one years that he served as the Institute's director, he influenced and made decisions which have led to an overall increase in scholarly research and publication about West Asia, and about Soviet Central Asia in particular, emanating from the Soviet Union.