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As a fictionalized version of Mila’s life story, The Diamond Eye is fundamentally a narrative about coming to terms with past losses and integrating them into a new sense of self. When the work opens, Mila is terrified of Alexei and the power he represents. She castigates herself for her poor choice of partner, saying, “I’d already made one colossal error when I fell into the arms of the wrong man” (20). She does not recognize until later that she was far too young to understand the consequences of sexual intimacy and that he should not have pursued her. As Eleanor Roosevelt tells her, her quest for perfection “made [her] a brave soldier, but a frightened woman” (330). Mila’s discovery of her shooting skills marks a turning point for her when “[she] realize[s] who and how [she] could be” (30).
War reveals Mila’s skills but also exposes her to more suffering and loss, and her wartime struggle requires its own efforts to face the past by embracing both grief and anger. Mila is stunned by the story of Maria Kabachenko’s survival of a violent sexual assault by German troops, saying to her imaginary detractors, “[Y]ou didn’t hold her clutching hands in yours as she begged you, kill them all” (98). For Mila herself, grief and violence become intertwined. She and Kostia drink together at Lyonya’s grave, weeping and torn apart at their loss, but Mila is equally concerned that her grief is preventing her from doing her job as a sniper. Only shared grief with Kostia brings back Mila’s steady hand; honest reckoning with the past is key to her healing. Mila’s friendship with Eleanor takes a similar turn when the older woman sees Mila’s largest scar and embraces her. Mila reflects, “I had so many broken pieces stabbing me inside, I didn’t know what to do but dissolve into the hug” (327).
After Eleanor suggests that self-compassion may lead to a happier life, Mila is able to accept the love and passion Kostia offers her. They both agree that Lyonya would say, “[N]o one should waste time if there’s a chance to be happy” (359). Mila’s final triumph, her ability to definitively end the threat Alexei poses, is its own stage in her transformation process, as she tells him, “[A]ll you’ve ever been is a collection of pieces scavenged from someone else, mostly me” (400). In ending Alexei’s threat, Mila proves that she has the power to protect herself, know her past, and accept her right to a peaceful future.
Although her work is somewhat solitary, Mila’s war is shaped by friendships, romantic relationships, and the bonds of combat camaraderie that span both categories. These connections give Mila strength, remind her to trust herself, and reveal the real motive for her struggle: to preserve the relationships that mean the most to her.
Mila instantly bonds with Lena, as “[they] were two women traveling alone in a compartment of rowdy young men—such alliances are fast, practical, and nearly primal” (43). Lena is with her after every wartime injury, urging her to care for herself and rest. Lena also shares Mila’s revulsion for Alexei and encourages her to pursue a more fulfilling relationship with either Kostia or Lyonya. When Mila is told Lena died at Sevastopol, this enhances her sense of devastation and loss following Lyonya’s death. Mila also forms close bonds with the men in her platoon, especially her sniper partner, Kostia. She reflects that a shooting partner had “better be someone she trusts more than a husband” (88). Mila also accepts tokens of regard from Vartanov, who teaches her to track silently through the woods of Ukraine; for example, he presents her with a pipe she valiantly attempts to use properly.
Mila also uses wartime bonds to create needed distance and establish boundaries. She tells Lyonya he cannot use the diminutive for her until they have shared battle experiences. After he saves her life, she tells him, “[C]all me Mila” (173). Mila uses the memories of the men she cared for and fought with to fuel her speeches in the United States, remembering Lyonya’s support at her earlier speeches.
Mila’s friendship with Eleanor is also born out of wartime pressure, though in a more peaceful setting. Mila is surprised to find that Eleanor is a capable and patient advisor, including in matters of how to win over American audiences and those within the president’s cabinet. After Mila challenges Eleanor about wartime inequalities, Mila is surprised when Eleanor declares, “[I]t isn’t enough to believe in equality and peace and human rights. One must work at it” (336). The trust between them leads Eleanor to believe in Mila absolutely when danger comes. War forces Mila to endure the unthinkable but also shows her the bonds she is capable of.
One of the key themes of Mila’s life is being surrounded by men who underestimate and undervalue her, despite her wartime service. This is most apparent when she confronts notions of honor, bravery, and commendation. Mila’s drive to improve her shooting first comes from a desire to “prove [her]self worthy of being [her] son’s father as well as his mother” (23). Alexei’s version of masculinity has nothing to offer Mila, so she must construct her own identity to raise Slavka into the person she wants him to be. From her postwar retrospective, Mila reflects, “[W]hen someone (especially a woman) earns her stars as I have done, people shiver” (29). The secrecy and cunning of sniper work runs counter to gendered expectations. Mila’s second captain refuses to promote or commend her because he disapproves of women serving in the army. Mila also contends with the assumption that her war record is a fabrication, and she resents the idea that she would be bothered by the “unflattering” aspects of her uniform (279).
Mila is initially uncomfortable with the notoriety that comes with her work, disliking her nickname of Lady Death—taken from Russian and Slavic mythology about the assistant to the enchantress Baba Yaga. The nickname suggests that Mila’s powers are supernatural due to their association with the feminine gender. However, Mila grows to use the name herself, telling Alexei, “The world knows me as Lady Death, and I earned that myself. I don’t owe you for your name” (297). She even reminds American audiences that they have depended on her for protection, and she pointedly addresses the “gentlemen” present (345). Mila thus comes to accept that her challenge to gender expectations can be a strategic asset, as when she uses the sniper’s diamonds and her fur coat to lure him out of hiding.
Mila says in the Epilogue that her official audience is eager for a story of a “heroine to root with a story clean and simple as a full moon. [She] was that young woman, but [she] was more” (418). Mila refuses to see her gender as a weakness or her work as anything to apologize for. The imagery of the moon, frequent in the text, evokes mythological traditions where the goddess of the moon was also the goddess of the hunt, as in Greek mythology. Mila thus posits that femininity inherently contains the capacity for violence in defense of what one values most.
By Kate Quinn
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