Socialist Churches examines Soviet heritage and preservation policy vis-à-vis ecclesiastical buildings in today's St Petersburg, a ‘model socialist city’ in the communist era. The penultimate page presents part of a recent interview with a ‘senior St Petersburg priest’ who describes in prosaic terms the changing fortunes of Orthodox churches: ‘Under Lenin they took [the churches] away, and under Stalin they took them away, during the War they gave them back, under Khrushchev they closed them again, and then under Brezhnev things stayed as they were, then under Gorbachev they started giving them back, and under Yeltsin.’ He concludes fatalistically: ‘Well, today they're returning them – tomorrow they'll take them away’ (p. 275). ‘They’ are state authorities, who over the course of the past century have taken wildly different approaches towards Orthodox churches, as they have to religion more broadly. Behind the wavering fortunes of the Orthodox churches of Petrograd, as St Petersburg was known from 1914 to 1924, and Leningrad, as it was known from 1924 to 1991, lies a fascinating story of competing visions of heritage, preservation and of faith itself.

The Bolshevik Revolution of October 1917 marked the end of the Orthodox Church's imperial-era privileges and the start of a tenuous relationship with the communist state. The destructive impulses of revolution gave way to the Bolsheviks’ efforts to restore order and control, and out of this was born the Soviet tradition of heritage preservation, a source of pride in the Soviet Union. Perhaps the most complex aspect of heritage protection was the preservation of religious buildings, valued by Orthodox believers as sacred spaces but by communist authorities merely as historic buildings. There was a fundamental and enduring tension in the state's approach to church buildings: these were remnants of the past but valuable as works of architecture and filled with art. Kelly summarizes the nub of the problem thus: ‘Is it “Soviet” to preserve historic churches, or not?’ (p. 105). In some cases, the argument for demolishing or repurposing churches was born of ideological hostility and designed to expunge Orthodoxy from the cityscape. In others, the practical considerations for the demolition of a church were, Kelly finds, quite sensible, like facilitating transport links or acquiring buildings for children's homes.

Kelly describes with remarkable clarity the jostling between various bodies – party authorities, preservationists, believers, museum officials and public associations – over the ownership, management and upkeep of church buildings and liturgical items. Her forensic analysis of the politicized field of heritage preservation and careful examination of the bureaucratic wrangling which comprised city governance is essential to understanding Soviet heritage policy, urban planning and the authorities’ approach to churches. Kelly also shines a light on the way individuals shaped policy on heritage and conservation, such as Nikolai Belekhov (1904–56) who, although a planner by training rather than a conservator, was committed to preserving the aesthetic fabric of Leningrad's urban environs. There are also interesting insights into departures from European norms, such as post-World War II reconstruction being concerned with nationally significant buildings, especially medieval ‘Old Russian’ structures, which was not characteristic of the approach elsewhere in Europe.

Scholars of Russian history and culture have come to expect major interventions from Catriona Kelly across a range of fields, among them Slavic studies, Russian literature and Soviet history. This latest book does not disappoint. Her interdisciplinary approach draws on an intimate knowledge of St Petersburg. The book brings together fragmentary evidence from a wide range of archives in St Petersburg and from interviews carried out by Kelly and her research assistants with architects, local historians, parish representatives and residents from 2007 to 2015. It is meticulously documented: of the book's 413 pages, 95 pages are endnotes. It is richly illustrated with photographs, architectural plans and more. The list of abbreviations and the glossary are invaluable in deciphering the array of administrative bodies involved in deliberations over ecclesiastical buildings. This micro-history of the preservation and destruction of Orthodox churches in a city celebrated for its art and architecture is valuable for our understanding of Soviet urban history and heritage policy (official and undeclared). The book may be too focused for undergraduate students or a general readership but it is essential reading for scholars and postgraduate students in a wide range of fields, including Soviet history, religious history, urban history and heritage studies.

Leningrad was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1990, the pinnacle of achievement for Soviet heritage policy. The seismic changes in Russian polity, economics and society since then have meant that the forces of business and commerce have transformed the cityscape. The final photograph in Socialist Churches is a poignant one, which cannot help but be affecting for those with an interest in heritage. The photograph, taken by Kelly in 2015, shows the famous Smol'nyi Cathedral being all but crowded out of the urban landscape by high-rise offices and apartment blocks which press in on it from every side. This is the story of how the religious structures of the Russian imperial capital have managed to endure despite the twin assaults of communism and capitalism over the past century.