Mikhail Edelshtein. Horse vs. gopher

Horse vs. gopher
Mikhail Edelshtein

Publication date: March 6, 2003

Constancy always inspires respect. A year ago, Anna Kuznetsova wrote an article “ A Novel with Time Pressure ,” in which she exposed critics who speak “about... novels without reading them.” The list of hack-attackers then included A. Vasilevsky , A. Uritsky , A. Nemzer , M. Zolotonosov , D. Bavilsky , who had not properly read “ American Ajabsandal ” by A. Ayvazyan, “ Baby’s Big Journey ” by E. Popova, “ Love ” to the tombs of the fathers " by A. Melikhov and a number of other equally passable thick-magazine publications. For the edification of her careless colleagues, A. Kuznetsova retold the mentioned novels in detail and analyzed them, from which operations, however, little changed, because retelling the text does not raise its level higher.

The year after “An Affair with Time Pressure” was well spent. A. Kuznetsova was lucky to finally find the ideal non-reader. Her latest article contrasts a white author, who reads “everything the magazines” he trusts, “and what columnists with reputations for excellence recommend,” and a black author, a certain Mr. Edelstein, who hasn’t read anything since the 1980s. XX years - reaches mythological purity. The character of A. Kuznetsova’s article “On Horses and Elephants” “M. Edelshtein” not only has not picked up a book for the last ten years (this characteristic with variations is repeated in the article several times - I missed six), he is also a bearer of “mythology” everyday thinking" (also known as "innocent consciousness"), and the secret, but brought to light by the critic, Stalinist (A. Kuznetsova herself prefers G.-G. Gadamer to Stalin). In addition, he sings out of tune and does not know how to shoot (the latter, by the way, is true - I have absolutely no ear for music and have never held a firearm in my hands).

If the content of A. Kuznetsova’s article was limited to diligent mythologization of my humble person and personal insults, it would not be worth responding to. However, there are also a number of fundamental comments. The main thing is that I am wrong in assessing the general state of Russian literature. Our country is “in the prime of talents and genres,” and its main problem is an overabundance of good writers. In general, “many people have high withers, and beautiful tall horses walk over the river in a herd,” which the evil Kai, with a piece of a crooked mirror in his eye, calls hedgehogs and gophers.

When I read (not only from A. Kuznetsova) such assurances about the luxury and exuberance of our literary landscape, I begin to believe that no objective reality really exists, but only an endless variety of individual experiences that do not at all strive for a single center. It seems to me that we live in some kind of parallel worlds, and my colleagues are happy surrounded by all sorts of “exquisite giraffes,” while my world is left with only all sorts of rodent trifles (please understand me correctly, I have nothing against gophers, and in childhood I fed hedgehogs milk from a saucer, about which I still have the most sentimental memories; I just don’t believe that if you tie a tie to a gopher, it will immediately turn into a human). It’s probably good to look at literature “like a meadow in May, like a meadow along which women and horses walk.” It's even enviable. I would have swung without looking. But it is not given.

It’s funny that in the hope of instilling in me a love for modern prose, A. Kuznetsova persistently recommends that I read “ The Way Back ” by A. Dmitriev. The fact is that it was precisely after reading this story and the critical responses to it that I became so angry. Before that, I was a calm, mentally balanced newspaper columnist, but then it seemed to me that if this was being praised and awarded, then not everyone in the Danish kingdom was really at home. Because “The Way Back” is a professionally written text, behind which stands the consciousness of a proper high school student. Maybe he really is an excellent student, as A. Kuznetsova believes, and not a good student, as I wrote - I don’t know. But the fact is that, in terms of the level of artistic thinking, this primitive and pretentious “oven” about the nanny and Pushkin is right next to school essays (and not even real ones, but rather from the book “One Hundred Best Essays” - for a real essay “The Road Back” is too sleek and stenciled), I have no doubts. I undertake to return to A. Dmitriev’s story in the near future, especially since there is a reason: the other day they will be awarded a prize. Apollo Grigoriev - how can we not remember the previous laureate?

Anna, do you really believe that a critic “feels irritated” and becomes angry because he “doesn’t have time to read... the text” of this or that work? Yes you! Quite the opposite, reading year after year a bunch of nonsense (professional, skillfully made, well-written nonsense), which your colleagues, friends, people you love and respect, review, discuss, praise, include in long- and short-lists, reward with specially invented bonuses for such an occasion - in short, they take this nonsense seriously - you end up feeling an irresistible need to say this very word “nonsense” loudly and clearly.

But it’s time to move from saying to fairy tale. It really seems to me that writing a critical text - whether positive or negative - is, first of all, the realization of a certain internal need, a kind of “I can’t remain silent” in miniature. I don’t think that R. de Gourmont greatly sinned against the truth when he called criticism “the most subjective kind of art” and “a continuous confession.” When talking about this or that writer, we are talking, first of all, about ourselves. That is why it is difficult for me to agree with Alla Latynina , who, referring to S. Chuprinin , rightly notes that such star authors as V. Sorokin or T. Tolstaya do not need a positive expert assessment for their promotion to the masses, mechanisms for their promotion completely different, and if so, then you shouldn’t take your anger out on quiet rodents who do not claim star status, but have a “forgivable weakness for scribbling paper” (I must admit, I did not expect to hear a call for mercy from the lips of such a harsh and uncompromising critic as A. Latynina).

I don’t think that criticism is intended to influence reader preferences, at least this is not its primary task. I am not very interested in serving as a mentor to a girl from “Cosmopolitan” or a young man from “Torch”, which Vladimir Gubailovsky mentions in the article “ On Criticism ”. My ambitions are both less and more at the same time. I believe that “the biography of a critic acquires a truly historical meaning only at the cost of guessing the historical significance of [his] “characters” ( Vl. Novikov ) and that by deceiving the reader - whether out of mercy, out of friendship or for strategic reasons - we are deceiving, first of all, ourselves. We are all participating in a kind of lottery, where the only way to get the winning ticket is to guess and not lose in the general list those names that are worthy of representing the era. Therefore, I believe that the reputation of a critic does not consist of a subtle and detailed analysis of a mediocre novel. V. Makanin and not from discussions around the completely secondary prose of O. Pavlov, but solely from the ability to name and evaluate those works that, in terms of their artistic quality, really stand out from the general background.

And here is the root of my differences with V. Gubailovsky. I don't like non-judgmental criticism - perhaps it's a matter of temperament. It is difficult to argue here - the initial premises themselves are too different. For me, criticism is, first of all, a substantiation of immediate taste sensations. I recognize the subjectivity and limitations of any critical assessment, and am not bothered by the lack of a common standard. On the contrary, it’s even more interesting. Only scammers have win-win lotteries.

I don’t see the point in approaching S. Averintsev’s monograph and the works of, say, N. Pereyaslov with an equal degree of seriousness. If the first, with all the private agreements and disagreements with it, certainly deserves close attention and careful analysis, then the only possible conversation for me about the nonsense of the Literaturka columnist is a conversation within the framework of a feuilleton (not in the nineteenth century, of course, but in the current meaning term). It's the same with modern literature. I think D. Bykov’s review of “Fox Mulder...” and “Thirst” by A. Gelasimov is an example of an approach to “imaginary quantities” that is adequate in style and tone, despite the fact that I do not agree with the reviewer in everything, and A. Gelasimov, in my opinion, is a quite interesting writer.

I am ready to agree that “a critic must try to understand a specific literary work” (V. Gubailovsky), but first he must try to understand whether there is something worthy of understanding in this work. “Every real literary discovery breaks the existing system of criteria, adding a new degree of freedom” - that’s all true, but who is called upon to separate “real discoveries” from fakes? Isn’t it a critic with his subjectivity, partiality and inevitable flaws of taste? It turns out that in any case, the assessment - spoken or implicit, it doesn’t matter - precedes the analysis.

And therefore, if I were asked to identify the best critical text of the 1990s. - I would probably point to a short note by a certain D.S. from “Anti-Tenet”: “Mikhail Shishkin’s novel “The Taking of Ishmael” is truly an event, this is the strongest novel in Russian published in the nineties. Those names that were heard throughout the decade - Pelevin, Sorokin, Makanin, Dmitriev, Slapovsky, add to your taste - they have never demonstrated such a level. The most talented writer wrote an excellent book, but no one has yet noticed this. The critics, carried away by something of their own, simply did not pay attention to the fact that for three months in one of the most famous magazines. an outstanding work is published." Be the first to name the best novel of the decade the best novel of the decade - what more could a critic ask for?

PS. A. Kuznetsova quotes a fragment of my essay “On Hedgehogs and Gophers” - “Formulations like “strong prose”, “professionally written novel”, “high-quality text” migrate from article to article, from review to review: “ a competent thing"... These formulations are presented as praise..." - and comments: "Fathers of the world! In the face of my comrades, I solemnly swear: all these "formulations" in the mouth of any of the critics are an unambiguous reprimand. Even a "professionally written novel" “: this means that the author created a dead text, which, on the one hand, you can’t find fault with, but on the other, it’s not clear why it exists.” But nearby V. Gubailovsky quite respectfully speaks of V. Makanin, O. Pavlov, A. Dmitriev as “professionals”, and in the words of A. Kuznetsova herself about the “quantitative increase in quality material”, despite all my efforts, I was not able to catch the intonation of “unequivocal dissent”. Be careful with the face of your comrades, Anna!

And one more thing about caution: if Roman Senchin is a “very talented” prose writer, then what will we call Turgenev or Bunin?

P.P.S. I apologize to A. Kuznetsova for the “young colleague”. It slipped through automatically, but for some reason I didn’t clean it up when editing. Guilty.

PPPS. And in Hebrew, horse is “sus”. So the gopher is such a small horse.