Alexander Ageev. Hunger 62

Hunger 62
Practical gastroenterology reading

Alexander Ageev

Publication date: December 7, 2001

... Meanwhile, on December 5, a year passed of my public hunger strikes on the “pages” of RJ. Not an anniversary, of course, but for our changing times it’s already something. Isn't “stagnation” really beginning in Russia, as one popular publicist believes ?

However, if you call “stagnation” a situation in which, when you wake up in the morning, you find familiar things in familiar places (including the column of a popular publicist), then I personally have nothing against such “stagnation.” And if the basis of the familiar is washed from time to time by waves of the new, then this is completely normal.

In general, I am in every possible way for the external forms in which cultural life organizes itself to harden upon reaching maturity, but so that their definiteness does not at all interfere with any internal evolutions that do not encroach on the maternal structure. For those who are cramped, you are welcome to stand out and create your own forms side by side, and there is absolutely no need to break what has been built.

When dealing with such defined, hardened forms (well, for example, with “thick” magazines ), one must, however, take into account the fact that part of their content is something like “connective tissue.” For example, the very appearance of the name of Fazil Iskander, whether on the pages of “Znamya” or on the pages of “New World,” is meaningful, but the stories that are signed with this name turn out to be pure connective tissue. This is Iskander’s obscenely weak short story “The Rotten Intelligentsia and Scams” ​​in the last “Banner”.

It's weak, but if I were the editor-in-chief, I would still publish it. And not even because Iskander, as they say, “has his own reader,” who is ready to immediately fall in love with everything coming from the master’s pen. But due to some higher journal considerations. Unless I would open an issue with this story, where, for a more effective opening, there is Nikolai Kononov’s story “The Source of Mutilation” or a selection of new poems by Svetlana Kekova .

Kononov’s story is indeed effective, but, so to speak, modestly effective: a mass of exquisite verbal bows on an artificial plot, which still takes a long time to get to through the abundant and confusing author’s (lyrical hero’s) forewarnings. The lyrics here convincingly destroy the epic throughout the entire narrative space. However, lovers of decomposing, analytical reading have something to profit from. Such internally cold things don’t particularly inspire me, although I can’t say that I read Kononov’s story only out of obligation.

There is also one more story in the issue - “Chizhik-Pizhik” by Felix Svetov. This is such a free memoir of an “old robber”, where “gray hair is in the beard, and a demon is in the rib”, a lot of alcoholic folklore and in general everything is very cute and readable.

I even thought: maybe the appearance of two stories at once in one magazine book prompted the editors of Znamya to think about creating a special prize for the story? The idea is sound, and the only surprising thing is that in the ten years of the history of literary awards in Russia, no one has implemented it. Meanwhile, back in the 70-80s, critics almost unanimously believed that the story was the most organic genre for Russian literature. At that time, as a rule, literary bosses like Sartakov or Georgiy Markov called their plump bricks novels. But then Booker came and began to rudely lobby for his genre guidelines. So the new prize, which really suits the name of Ivan Petrovich Belkin, will, you see, restore the natural genre structure of Russian literature. It’s a good cause, and in vain Slava Kuritsyn sneers at it as if on behalf of all advanced humanity, in vain hurls thunder and lightning at the founders for their refusal to accept online publications for consideration. The words he chooses are so heavy and contemptuous: there is “ small-town humor ,” they say, in the way “New World” and “Znamya” divided small forms of literature among themselves. And Slavik stands up for the dignity of the Network and has completely lost the last degree of adequacy in assessing the real comparative value of literary phenomena:

“It’s even somehow boring to criticize such an approach. The average level of fiction published on “Modern Russian Literature with Kuritsyn” or on “Babylon” is probably higher than the average level of the texts of “Znamya” and “New World”, and certainly higher level of texts from the magazine “Golden Pen of the Pskov Region”, who may not understand this, deliberately putting themselves on a par not with “Babylon”, but with the “Golden Pen of the Pskov Region”, is no longer just muddy crap, but a little bit. not, God forgive me, sabotage."

I don’t know, to be honest, what kind of publication “The Golden Pen of the Pskov Region” is, maybe Slavik himself invented it. But I know for sure that it is possible to compare the texts published on his website precisely and only with the texts published on Babylon. Because both those and other texts are “ bad ” and are, differently served graphomania of varying degrees of dull “advancement” and Balmont’s “audacity”. By definition, this worst thing, that is, unfiltered teenage gravity, cannot compete with fiction (of varying quality) published on the pages of Znamya and Novy Mir.

Who would have told Slava that the role of a fiery Internet adept had long ago become ridiculous and unfashionable, that he was banging on open doors, making a lot of fake noise. And it would be even better if someone came up with something even newer than the Network, so that Slava, without losing face, could remain an ardent adept, pioneer and conquistador for another five years.

And a few more words about bonuses. That is, about one of them - about “Triumph”. I admire the success of Tatyana Tolstoy . Having two and a half volumes of prose under your belt, receiving an award that is given based on the totality of many decades of merit is truly a triumph of selfless PR. A year was enough for the writer to not only remember her, half-forgotten, but also send her into retirement with the most pomp possible in Russia, because what is the Triumph Prize if not a pension?

And then what happened was what should have happened: winning the Triumph instantly knocked Tolstaya out of the Booker race, and Ulitskaya received the Russian Booker - this is how the “Kukotsky incident” came about. There is no strength to comment on the latest decision - that is, Booker has not yet fallen lower. A luxurious, so to speak, gift for the tenth anniversary.