A few years ago, I was in St. Petersburg and on a tour to the Hermitage.  The guide was a big man, over six feet tall, impressively built with a scar on one cheek.  I was able to ask him a few questions about his life and I found that he had been a Colonel in the Soviet nuclear missile forces stationed in Siberia. When asked why he left such a responsible position to end up on a bus loaded with tourists, he explained that when the Soviet Union collapsed, he was deactivated and yet he preferred his new job.  Why?  As he explained, his base was in the middle of a great forest, snowed in for most of the year, surrounded by vicious bears and all there was to eat was gruel.  The look on his face and the way he said the word “gruel” brought home to me more than any book what his life, which was relatively privileged must have been like for those who were imprisoned in the Gulag.