CENSORIAL INDISTINCTION

With little green plastic buckets in hand we headed to pick raspberries in the garden. The bushes are taller than I am, dotted with big red berries, and I can hardly keep pace with Adomas Subačius, who is eighty-eight years old. Subačius was an associate editor for several decades at a publishing house in Kaunas. He vividly remembered censors from Glavlit (the Main Directorate for Literary and Publishing Affairs), the major censorship agency.¹ “The censor was Jewish,” says Subačius, smiling. “He used to come to announce new requirements. We would celebrate his visits, having a couple of drinks whenever he