From the review for “Walking on Ice. An American Businessman in Russia” from Russia Profile magazine, by its editor, Andrei Zolotov, Jr.  

Of the legion of Western entrepreneurs who came to Russia in the early 1990s in search of opportunities, many came here guided not just by greed, but by a quest for adventure. But there were few who had become infatuated with Russian culture built their businesses as a cultural matchmaking of sorts. They had the inquisitive minds and open hearts of cultural interpreters, which helped push their projects in the land, where, as one such person, Frederick R. Andresen put it, “everything is difficult—and everything is possible.”

Andresen put his insightful observations into a tenderly written, concise book, which is neither an academic study, nor a memoir; neither a business manual, nor a cultural history. Yet it somehow manages to serve all these purposes and can be recommended as an easy and highly educational read for aspiring Russia scholars and people preparing for a tour of duty in Russia.

One part of the book is structured in chapters on Russian geography, demography, culture, business and politics, while the other is simply called “An Essay Collection.” These pages bear an openly Chekhovian description of a weekend spent at the dacha with an extended Russian family next to a carefully worded account of the role of crime and corruption in business practices and how they can be worked around; a tribute to Boris Pasternak next to a report about the October 1993 revolt and the shelling of parliament from an unusual perspective of a businessman whose operation was headquartered in the Comecon building at the very center of those dramatic events.

The author analyzes the role of the Orthodox Church in shaping the Russian psyche and identity, and categorizes Russian women in types which would make some of them blush. What brings these essays together is a transpiring love for both the strengths and weaknesses of this country and its people.

Andresen was clearly intrigued by the “Russian soul” and made an unpretentious and humorous contribution to unwrapping the “mystery inside the enigma.” It rings true even to a skeptical Russian reader instinctively ready to catch factual or contextual flaws in a “naïve foreigner’s” reflection on his country.

One of the book’s high points is the account of how the author applied Dostoyevsky’s “The Grand Inquisitor” chapter to business management. Three things are generic to the traditional Russian character, Andresen wrote, referring to Dostoyevsky: “the idea that good, if any, will come from some unexpected outside source (miracle); that man is not ordained to be responsible for his own welfare and progress (mystery); and that guidance and protection come only from constant dependence on and obedience to someone else (authority). There is a reversion to this in today’s Russian government. That situation is pressing to be changed by the young, but it seems always there under the surface.”

For business people without a background in Russian studies embarking on a Russia-related project, Andresen gives a short reading list: “The Icon and the Ax” by James Billington, “The Brothers Karamazov” by Fyodor Dostoyevsky and “The Castle” by Franz Kafka. “Walking on Ice” would certainly complement the list—it can be consumed in one trans-Atlantic flight.

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When I lived in Moscow, I heard a talk on the play “The Mechanical Piano” by Oleg Tabakov based on a drama by Chekhov, written by that great Russian author at eighteen. It was apparently Chekhov’s first play, overly long, full of everything he ever dreamed to put into a play―crashing trains and dancing gypsies. When he brought it to the famous actress Maria Yermalova, she told him it was terrible. He burned it. He never even gave it a name, but it is commonly called “Platonov” after the main character. But a second copy of that play survived. It resurfaced, modified as a movie by Nikita Mikhalkov in 1977 – “An Unfinished Piece for a Mechanical Piano.” Three hours long and according to some Russians, one of the best films ever made. The story became the basis for a shorter stage play now also called, “The Mechanical Piano.”

The characters are typically Chekhovian. Platonov is a middle aged man with great aspirations and no education or family pedigree from which to launch his life’s direction. He is in love with a woman married to a young member of the intelligentsia, who has achieved nothing with his degrees and high connections and is mainly occupied with thinking about Russia.

The following Sunday I went to see the play and the next week coincidentally happened to see on television the 1977 movie directed by Nikita Mikhalkov. The most humorous part is when Platonov, despondent about life, attempts suicide by drowning himself in the river; not realizing the river was only three feet deep. He emerges soaking wet with his cream linen suit shrunken by two sizes. Failing even at suicide, he is now even more discouraged with life, and can only blame it on Russia. “Poor Russia,” he says.

I borrowed this hilarious episode for my book “The Lady with an Ostrich Feather Fan,” based on the story of the “Yusupov Rembrandts” now in The National Gallery of Art in Washington. The murder of Rasputin, by Prince Felix Yusupov and friends had humorous parallels to the Platonov scene when the chains to sink the victim’s body in the river were left behind. In my new book, the discovery scene in the Yusupov Palace is recognizably similar. This new historical novel is planned for 2011 publication.

Buy the book here  “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”

I have seen all of Anton Chekhov’s plays, some several times, and read many of his stories. I wondered why I was drawn to his writing and especially to his unique character development. I saw the Russian film “Ward 6” based on his story. It was the most depressing film I have seen. It’s all set in a 19^th century Russian insane asylum. How depressing can that be, right? But, the dialog was amazing.  It took me a time of quiet introspection to come to terms with all this. I came home and read Richard Pevear’s introduction to the book of Chekhov stories and that helped a lot.

 Chekhov was a doctor, but chose the human’s thought and not his body to dissect. His stories extol no cause, no political or social principle. He only demonstrates through his words, what each character thinks about all these issues, about life. Like any really great artist, he only represents his picture, and it is up to the observer, the reader, what is meant. And that may mean one thing to one and another thing to another. He was not a pessimist. He wrote about pessimistic characters.  ”Man is what he believes,” said Chekhov.

 Having lived and worked in Russia for the last almost twenty years, I understand the challenge to define what a Russian may really mean, the centuries of fatalistic orthodoxy so deep.  Chekhov so sensitively dissects each character’s thought and his relation to others, I feel like I am fly on the wall, just observing. A plot is hard to define. There are just the characters, interacting as their thought or events move them. It’s so real. The irony so clever. I love the last lines of “The Lady with the Little Dog: ”And it seemed that, just a little more—and the solution would be found, and then a new, beautiful life would begin; and it was clear to both of them that the end was still far, far off, and that the most complicated and difficult part was just beginning.”

Buy the book here  “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”