expressed whenever Russians are gathered together to celebrate some anniversary, that ‘Pushkin is our all’. Pushkin’s celebrated laconicism and lucidity represented only one orientation in literary culture. Many of his successors were inspired not by his finely honed precision, but by the different and in some respects antagonistic conventions of medieval sermons or eighteenth-century odic verse; some spurned written culture altogether in favour of folklore and popular culture. Yet a conscious consideration of how Pushkin worked (even if followed by a repudiation of this) was often or even usually the starting point for the efforts of later authors. And the very fact of the ‘Pushkin myth’, the obsessive commemoration of the writer in stone and bronze as well as in words, music, in the theatre, or on film, has made it next to impossible to avoid engaging with him. Pushkin is a relatively recent historical presence, and his life, unlike Shakespeare’s, is well documented in terms of events, if not in terms of motivation. Therefore, it has become difficult to separate the process of remembering personal history from the commemoration of Russia’s national poet, whose presence has dominated the childhood of educated Russians since the late nineteenth century. The best place to begin, then, is where they did: with a monument.