2020 will surely go down in Russian history as one of the most word-productive years since the changes of 1917 and 1992.

Superstitious Russians — 99 percent of my acquaintances — believe that any високосный год (leap year) is an unlucky year. I scoffed until 2020.

Some linguistic tips on how to be a good dinner guest.

As the коронавирусная пандемия (the coronavirus pandemic) still affects just about every aspect of our lives, it has, of course, been changing the way we speak.

No matter what Russia does, it can’t seem to dam up the flood of Anglicisms.

If you believe the papers, Russia is in the grips of протестное настроение, which literally means a mood for protest, but which might be better translated as “loaded for bear.”

It’s that time of year: Americans are busy making — and breaking — their New Year’s resolutions. Russians are too smart to put themselves through such torture.

Every autumn, Russians only have one question: Когда начнётся отопительный сезон!? (When are they going to turn on the heat?)

On the language of fall and a changing climate.

If it’s hard to gracefully say “no” in English, how much harder is it in Russian, where dissembling requires linguistic gifts that you might not have yet developed?

In early March, when Moscow is still buried under more than a meter of snow and people are buried under many inches of fur and heavy wool, there is nothing more annoying than Instagram photos of daffodils, forsythia and cherry blossom buds.

If a Russian fox met an American fox, would they get along? If Russian folklore is to be trusted, the answer is a definite нет (no).