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Yakau Branshteyn (1897–1937): The Literary Scholar Who Tried to Define a Nation’s Literature

Yakau Branshteyn (1897–1937) was a Belarusian and Jewish literary critic who studied Belarusian and Yiddish literature and helped shape academic life in Minsk. A prominent scholar whose criticism was closely tied to Soviet ideology, he was executed during Stalin's Great Terror and rehabilitated in 1956.

Chapter 1. From Bielsk to a World of Books

Yakau Anatolevich Branshteyn was born on 10 November 1897 in Bielsk, a town in the Grodno Governorate of the Russian Empire, now Bielsk Podlaski in northeastern Poland. He belonged to the Jewish community of a region where languages, cultures, and literary traditions met.

His early life unfolded during a period of profound political change. The First World War reshaped Eastern Europe, borders shifted, and old empires collapsed. Between 1914 and 1918, Branshteyn lived in Warsaw. In 1919, he moved to Soviet Russia, settling in Oryol, where he volunteered for the Red Army during the Russian Civil War.

After military service, he began working at the newspaper Orlovskaya Pravda in 1921. Journalism introduced him to the daily work of public writing and political debate. But Branshteyn’s ambitions extended beyond newspaper reporting. He wanted to study literature systematically and understand how it reflected the society in which it was created.

For him, books were not simply works of art. They were also evidence of social change, political ideas, and the struggles of the people who wrote them. This belief would shape his academic career—and later become part of the controversy surrounding his critical methods.

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The Clock That Struck Thirteen

The Clock That Struck Thirteen

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The Clock That Struck Thirteen

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Chapter 1. The Thirteenth Bell

In the old town of Bellwether, every clock was expected to agree.

The clock above the bakery showed six minutes past seven. The clock in the school tower showed exactly seven. The clockmaker’s pocket watch insisted it was eight minutes past seven.

Nobody worried about these differences. People simply chose the clock they liked best.

But the great clock in the Academy of Time was different. It had twelve golden numbers, a moon-shaped pendulum, and a bell that could be heard from every street.

For three hundred years, it had never made a mistake.

Until one rainy Tuesday, when it struck thirteen.

The thirteenth sound rolled across the rooftops. Pigeons burst into the air. A row of streetlamps flickered blue. Every clock in Bellwether stopped.

Then, just as suddenly, they all began ticking again.

Everyone blamed the clockmaker.

Everyone except twelve-year-old Elin, an apprentice in the Academy’s smallest room, where broken instruments were kept.

Elin had heard something strange beneath the thirteenth bell.

Not a note.

A question.

Chapter 2. The Room of Unfinished Things

The Academy’s oldest scholar, Master Orven, summoned Elin to his office.

“The clock cannot strike thirteen,” he said. “It has twelve numbers. Therefore, what you heard was impossible.”

“But I heard it,” Elin replied.

“Then you heard something else.”

Master Orven handed her a thick book titled The Complete and Final Explanation of Time. Its pages contained answers to every question the Academy had ever approved.

“Study this,” he ordered. “You will learn why the thirteenth bell did not happen.”

Elin took the book, but she noticed something odd. Between its pages were narrow strips of paper, each bearing a question that had been crossed out.

Can a shadow remember the person who cast it?

Does a road exist before anyone walks along it?

Can two opposite answers both reveal something true?

That night, Elin returned to the Academy’s oldest corridor. Behind a portrait of the first clockmaker, she found a small brass door.

It opened into a room filled with unfinished things: half-built telescopes, unwritten music, maps with blank corners, and hundreds of clocks without hands.

In the middle stood a tiny clock with thirteen numbers.

Its hands were moving backward.

Chapter 3. The Keeper of Questions

A woman sat beside the little clock, repairing a silver gear.

Her hair was white, but her eyes shone like two clear stars.

“I am Mara,” she said. “Keeper of the Questions Nobody Finished.”

Elin showed her the strips of paper.

“Why were these crossed out?”

“Because someone decided that a question without an approved answer was a dangerous thing.”

“But questions are how we find answers!”

“Sometimes,” Mara said. “And sometimes a good question shows us that our answer was too small.”

She explained that the great clock had been built with thirteen gears, although the Academy taught that it had only twelve. The thirteenth gear was called the Possibility Gear. It moved whenever someone asked a question that nobody had dared to ask before.

For centuries, the gear had been locked.

Then, on the rainy Tuesday, a young student had written an unexpected question in the Academy’s examination book:

Who decides which questions are allowed?

The lock had opened.

“The clock struck thirteen because it had something new to tell the world,” Mara said.

“What will happen now?”

“That depends on whether the Academy listens.”

Chapter 4. The Great Examination

The next morning, Master Orven announced a public examination.

Elin was ordered to explain the thirteenth bell before the entire Academy. On the stage stood twelve clocks, twelve scholars, and twelve chairs for the judges.

“Tell us the single correct explanation,” Master Orven demanded.

Elin looked at the clocks.

One had stopped at midnight. Another showed dawn. A third ticked so quickly that its hands seemed to spin.

She could have invented one neat answer. The judges would have applauded, and the Academy would have returned to its comfortable silence.

Instead, Elin asked the audience to listen.

At first, they heard only ticking.

Then a baker noticed that his clock grew faster whenever he was late. A sailor said his watch behaved differently at sea. A little girl explained that time seemed to crawl whenever she waited for her father to come home.

The scholars began arguing. Some insisted that only one explanation could be correct. Others wanted to investigate every clock.

Master Orven struck his desk.

“Enough! A room cannot contain twelve truths!”

“No,” Elin said quietly. “But it can contain twelve people asking questions.”

At that moment, the great clock began to ring.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell continued past twelve.

And struck thirteen.

This time, nobody pretended not to hear it.

Chapter 5. A Clock with Room to Grow

The Academy did not change overnight.

Master Orven still liked orderly books. Some scholars continued to disagree. Several clocks were repaired, while others remained mysteries for years.

But the brass door was no longer locked.

Students were allowed to enter the Room of Unfinished Things. They could examine strange instruments, challenge old explanations, and write questions in the margins of approved books.

Elin became the youngest apprentice ever appointed to study the Possibility Gear.

She learned that a careful scholar must distinguish evidence from imagination, and that an unanswered question is not proof of anything.

But she also learned that certainty can become a cage when nobody is allowed to test it.

Years later, when Elin was an old woman, a child asked her why the Academy’s great clock had thirteen numbers.

“Because twelve is enough to measure a day,” she answered. “But it is not enough to measure everything we might discover.”

The child tilted their head.

“Then what time is thirteen?”

Elin smiled.

“It is the time to ask another question.”

And somewhere inside the great clock, the Possibility Gear turned once more.