This is criticism

This is criticism
Issue 4


Publication date: May 22, 2003

Quite a lot has been written about the changes that have occurred over the past decade and a half in Russian literature; much less is said about the changes that occurred during the same period in Russian criticism. The Russian magazine, as part of the project “ This is Criticism ,” begins publishing a series of materials, the purpose of which is a systematic analysis of the current state of Russian literary criticism. Prospects for Russian literature and Russian criticism; Network and offline; "high" literature and mass culture; the self-perception of a critic in the 2000s; the role of today's criticism; criticism in new, unfamiliar environments; genre shifts and stylistic experiments; functions of the Academy of Russian Contemporary Literature (ARSS) and literary prizes are just a few of the topics that will be raised in the materials brought to your attention.

Each issue will be dedicated to one of the leading literary critics - members of the ARCC (in the future we hope to continue the project and reach critics not “covered” by the Academy). All episodes follow the same pattern: a conversation with the “guest” and a kind of postscript to this conversation, written by Mikhail Edelshtein . We hope that such a structure will make the project more voluminous and combine within its framework the view from the inside and the view from the outside. We see the result in the creation of a kind of “mini-encyclopedia” of modern Russian criticism - free in form, but quite informative and rich in content.

Today the “guest” of the column is Alexander Leonidovich Ageev .

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Russian Magazine: Alexander Leonidovich, what goal do you set for yourself as a critic? When you sit down to write, are you motivated by the desire to influence something or someone - literature, the literary process, reader interest or book demand?

Alexander Ageev: “To influence” is an overly ambitious goal for me. You have to place yourself too highly to believe that my article or review - and even the entire corpus of my articles or reviews - can seriously “influence” any of the above. Even in my worst dreams, I never dreamed that, while working on this or that text, I was fulfilling some kind of “mission.” On the other hand, the humble (though not unprofitable) “service” of literature or, even worse, the book publishing process disgusts me. Rather, with the help of literary critical reflections, I solve some purely personal problems: using a worthy occasion (someone else’s text), I think up some of my own thoughts, process them and express them. If what you end up with somehow “impacts”, that’s great, but there’s definitely no such goal.

RJ: You have repeatedly spoken of yourself as a person of the “thick magazine” culture; you worked for many years at Znamya , but now you practically do not collaborate with the “thick magazines”. Why?

A.A.: I became a “thick magazine” person long before I came to work for the Znamya magazine in 1991 . And he did because in those years, if a teenager developed a serious interest in literature, there was simply no choice. This is quite difficult to explain to young people: you go into a bookstore, you see shelves filled with various works of Kazakh, Turkmen, Hungarian and very, very Soviet-Russian masters, but there is absolutely nothing to buy. Sooner or later you go out to magazines and very quickly begin to appreciate the charm of this culture, which, in my opinion, is much more a “national treasure” than some kind of Gazprom. We'll evaluate it when we finally put it down. But I don’t cooperate with “fat people” now for the simplest everyday reason: I have no time. There you need to write leisurely texts, having in reserve large chunks of time that are not dissected by any rushed work.

RJ: Your book, “ Newspaper, Gloss, Internet ,” published two years ago, has the subtitle: “A Writer in Three Environments.” How do these environments differ from each other for you? Do you yourself feel the difference between your works for different environments?

A.A.: Well, this is quite obvious, besides, it is written about it in the preface to my book. Different environments mean different “formats”, different styles, different degrees of subjectivity, different readers. You always remember this, and, in fact, you quickly switch to “automatic” or, if you like, “to autopilot”.

RJ: And this experience of working in different environments - does it enrich you as a critic, as a writer?

A.A.: Experience enriches everyone.

RJ: Okay, then, with your permission, about the same thing, but a little differently. Do you love all of these environments equally?

A.A.: As for “love,” the question is, of course, more complex. Let's put it this way: closer is the environment in which you feel most natural, where you are not constrained by the boundaries of the genre, stylistic "politeness" and tasks external to your will. Such an environment for me, of course, was the Network.

RJ: But it was the Network that you sacrificed. Is this a choice dictated by purely external considerations or are there some creative reasons behind it? And, of course, are you planning to return to the Network, to RJ first of all?

A.A.: I didn’t “sacrifice” the Network, I simply gave it up forcedly and temporarily, due to elementary overload. But next week, if nothing extraordinary happens, I will return to RJ.

RJ: From the very beginning of your work at Znamya, you acted both as a critic and as a publicist, and now you work even more as a pure publicist. What would you do with great pleasure if this choice were determined only by you, without taking into account all the factors involved?

A.A.: Honestly speaking, these definitions have always irritated me - “critic”, “publicist”, always seemed like some kind of external violence against me. If I think at all about who I am, I prefer the vague word “writer,” that is, a person who writes texts. What, in essence, does it matter what served as the basis for the text - a work of art or some fact of life? In some historical periods, literature provides more reasons, in others - life. If I myself have something to say, then the origin of the occasion is practically indifferent. It’s not that this is some kind of thoughtful “creed” - it’s just how I live and, apparently, will live.

RJ: If you still try to separate one from the other, journalism from literary criticism, in one of the “ Hungers ” you speak rather harshly about those critics who “only focus on art.” Are you sure that modern criticism needs a social, journalistic component?

A.A.: There is no “art” separate from history; every “art” is generated by a very specific confluence of social, economic and other seemingly extra-aesthetic factors. Full-fledged criticism, even when it deals only with “art,” is based on knowledge of the era in all its diversity. I spoke sharply about petty snobs who constantly and comically demonstrate their commitment to “art” and contempt for everything else.

RJ: And also about “Hunger”. In its 39th issue, you write approximately the following (to summarize): it is between ourselves, critics, that we can judge by the “Hamburg score” and assert that nothing interesting is happening in modern literature. And when communicating with the reader, they should tell him about Mamleev , about Slavnikova , about Zorin , etc., recommend them for him to read, and help him with their comments. What for? Why can’t the reader be given the same “Hamburg score”?

A.A.: We can judge among ourselves by the “Hamburg score” because we have read everything we are talking about, have the opportunity to compare, and besides, each of us has in our heads a certain ideal image of both the writer and the work . But by “losing” the “Hamburg score” on the reader, we will discourage him from even trying to follow our path. That is, read. In fact, current criticism very often does just that. And in my opinion, a person’s desire to read is a much more important value than all the “Hamburg scores” of the dubious corporation of critics taken together.

RJ: Let’s say, but besides “ Znamya ” and “ New World ” there is another “thick” magazine - “ Foreign Literature ”. What’s stopping you from saying, turning to that Ivanovo librarian whom you mention in “Hunger”: “You know, there has been some lull in Russian literature for the last couple of years. But in “Foreigner” a magnificent novel by J. Coetzee was published. And a wonderful collection of short stories was also published Woody Allen ... And Graham Greene's amazing novel was recently published, never translated (the names, of course, are to some extent arbitrary - as, I think, with you, in the example with Mamleev, etc., when something equal appears in Russian literature). - I promise to inform you about this"?

A.A.: I answered this question in one of the first “Hungers”: I like to read to myself, but in modern foreign literature (at least for the last half century) I am not. Moreover, literature is also a language. Reading Asar Eppel or Olga Slavnikova, I can enjoy it. And while reading the “overridden” Graham Greene , I always remember that he is on the crutches of translation. It would be nice if the current boom in foreign literature were based on universal knowledge of foreign languages! But no, we read translations, and very often craft translations. The taste for language is being discouraged on a mass scale, and books are perceived on a purely plot level. This is simpler, and this, like any simplification of the complex, is bad.

RJ: In the same “Hunger”, characterizing the relationship between the critic and the reader, you use (with a somewhat ironic tinge, of course) the words “propaganda”, “agitation”, “PR”. I have had the feeling for quite some time, and your recent answers, I must admit, reinforce it, that such a characterization very accurately reflects the current state of affairs in criticism: our criticism, as it were, helps current literature look “more interesting” than it actually is. And the same ARSS : doesn’t it, in addition to the functions of an expert council, also perform the functions of a kind of PR agency that promotes not specific figures, but modern Russian literature in general? In your opinion, is this feeling justified and is such PR necessary? And more broadly, should criticism “make up” literature or “cut the truth”?

A.A.: If possible, criticism should combine PR with the “womb truth”, in any case, paint an image of literature as complexly structured and therefore obliged to evoke respect for the system (or “organism”, although I don’t like this word when applied to literature) . Individual elements of this system (works, writers) may be worthy of praise or blame, but the entire system must be presented as a high and necessary value for everyone. Unfortunately, ARSS is still a very weak PR agency. As for criticism in general, it, in my opinion, does not so much “make up” modern Russian literature as “lower” it. And this is not good.

RJ: You polemicize often and passionately. But the intonation difference in your polemics with different people is obvious (say, Rodnyanskaya , Nemzer , on the one hand, on the other... let's dispense with names). Can you identify the line beyond which the polemic on your part turns into a “fight”? That is, what gestures (ideological, stylistic) of your opponent make you perceive him not as an equal party in the dispute, but as (relatively speaking) an “enemy”?

A.A.: With Rodnyanskaya and Nemzer, I dare to think, we are “people of the same culture,” and I respect these critics, despite all the (sometimes very serious) differences. Polemics turn into “fights” only when I see that I have encountered either cynicism or stupidity. I'm not even talking about people with openly "unsanitary" views. By the way, contrary to popular belief, I don’t really like “fights”. Of course, they are a kind of “show”, but after them there is always heartburn. And no benefit.

RJ: On the cover of your book there is a description of it as a “public diary”. In this regard, have you ever wanted to “play” LiveJournal ? After all, “Hunger” was, in fact, a step on this path.

A.A.: I have been closely following LiveJournal since its appearance, but while there was “Hunger”, there was no point in “playing” LiveJournal. On the other hand, a public diary (what is LJ?), which pretends to be intimate, is, in my opinion, a malignant development of the genre. So I still have no temptation to get myself this toy. I'd rather continue with "Hunger".

RJ: As a “literary critic-deserter” (your self-description), do you regret literary criticism and teaching at the university?

A.A.: Sometimes I regret literary criticism - for me now it is an image of peace and pleasure. In fact, only the preliminary work was peace and pleasure - sitting for long periods in libraries, leisurely reading, the feeling of working “for oneself.” Then came the agony of formulating it - in that specific language that was always too small for me. I don’t regret teaching at the university at all: there are some damn nice things in it, but overall it’s not “my thing.”

RJ: Is what you are doing now more “yours”?

A.A.: Well, I’ll understand this probably in ten years. Or when I start doing something else.

RJ: A question that I hope to ask all those with whom I will talk here, but to which it is probably especially interesting to hear your answer - after all, you started with scientific work on the history of criticism, then taught the history of criticism... Is there any Is it a tradition in Russian or world criticism with which you relate yourself, and of which you feel like a successor?

A.A.: To answer this question, you need to “get out of yourself” in some way, take a certain external point and look at yourself from the outside. I think this is not my business, but the business of those (if there are any) who evaluate me. And to “attribute” oneself to some tradition in criticism, to feel like a “continuator” is for me too pretentious and therefore comical.

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PS (Mikhail Edelshtein)

My youth was spent in an atmosphere of a cult of personality. The person was Alexander Leonidovich Ageev. I was studying either in my second or third year at the Ivanovo philological department, when he finally gave up teaching and left for Moscow. We were the first thread he didn't work with. And the intelligent, but no less attractive girls who studied a year or two older did not pay any attention to us - “Ageev didn’t know what to talk to them about.” Of course, “Ageev himself!” - that’s what it was called then at the philology department. However, we also had enough junior students.

The consequences of the cult are still felt in the “city of the second supply category”. The other day, while preparing for this interview, I began looking in the cathedral library for the old “Litoboz” with Ageev’s “Consect on the Crisis,” which was sensational in its time. I came out of the closet about ten minutes later, rather dusty and very disappointed. Eleven numbers of the 1991 set are available, but the third number, naturally, is not. In search of sympathy, he turned to the laboratory assistant. “Really not?” she was surprised. “Took away? But I remember this article, like that... well, with a photograph.” Then I thought for a few seconds and clearly summed up: “That’s why they took me away.”

In general, from early youth this is what happened: the tree is an oak, the flower is a rose, the animal is a deer, the critic is Ageev. I, as befits a philologist, especially a fellow countryman, diligently looked through everything that he published in Znamya, as, indeed, I read other critics in other thick magazines. And then came the "Hunger". And then I realized that I really liked it. This was all the more surprising because of everything written there, I only agreed, in my opinion, with the lyrics of “Beatles” and “Jethro Tull”.

And so it went: I continued to read A. Ageev’s texts, not sharing his tastes, nor his views on literature, nor his ideas about criticism, but admiring the way he spoke about all these things that were quite distant to me. I experience similar feelings, perhaps, only when reading Ageev’s eternal opponent Dmitry Bykov , with whom they have been arguing strangely for many years, sarcastically referring to each other at every occasion and without it.

I don’t agree with much in this interview either. Which, I'm afraid, is noticeable from time to time even in questions - a complete disgrace from the point of view of the canons of the genre. But what’s interesting there, in my opinion, is something else. A. Ageev’s first speeches at the turn of the 80s and 90s created his reputation as a literary extreme leftist, almost shaking the foundations. The landscape has changed, and in today's literary scenario, A. Ageev is something of a right-of-center, despite all the inappropriateness of such terminology here, a keeper of traditions, defending norms and values ​​from the “young punks.”

Irina Rodnyanskaya once noticed that A. Ageev does not like the word “pathos”. The word doesn't like. But he doesn’t disdain pathos. He just hides it better than others. This pathos, often unspoken, but always present in the foundation, is aimed, as I see it, primarily at upholding the idea of ​​literature as an unconditional value, doubts about which are appropriate only to a certain extent and, rather, on private occasions. The division into “cultural” - “barbaric” or even “sacred” - “profane” (although this would seem to be a concept not at all from the Ageev world) is constantly present in the consciousness of the critic and is quite often and clearly manifested in his texts.

Today, the line in the critical community (and among readers) is between those who believe that literature is “serious” and those who see in it something like a section of social life - surfing, sushi, Viktyuk, Pelevin. A. Ageev, on a general basis, takes part in patrolling this border and protecting border fortifications and does not skimp on his responsibilities. In specific works (not only Ageev’s, of course), this is most clearly manifested in the debate about whether or not to accept B. Akunin and other dubious origin, but very wealthy relatives into a well-born but impoverished family. It is precisely clear self-determination on this “main issue” that allows A. Ageev to see in A. Nemzer and I. Rodnyanskaya people of the same culture as himself; it is this that removes all private disagreements and makes them, in fact, insignificant.

The flip side of this “seriousness” is the unexpectedly harsh, although rarely coming to the surface, attitude of many famous critics to the current dominance of translated fiction on the book market. It is much more difficult to suspect A. Ageev of pochvennichestvo, and yet... The point here, of course, is not the quality of this bad lite (if you conduct a survey among leading Russian critics about their familiarity with “fashionable” Western - and Eastern - authors, the result, I’m afraid, will be disappointing), but in the reader’s interest in it. Murakami's circulations cannot but evoke feelings of jealousy in a person who feels like an extraordinary and plenipotentiary ambassador of Russian literature. The Japanese and Americans are seen as just as much of a hindrance to “serious” Russian authors as Pelevin and Akunin.

Fully sympathizing with the traditionalist “party,” I see precisely in this attitude towards foreign literature perhaps its main weakness. Alas or hurray, it is the Japanese and Americans who shape the reader’s attitude towards modern Russian literature and expectations from it. They set the bar, if you will. O. Slavnikova and A. Eppel exist not only against the background of L. Tolstoy and Y. Trifonov, but also against the background of J. Coetzee and M. Houellebecq. To perceive Russian literature and “educate” the Russian reader without taking this factor into account is both unnecessary and wrong, and, most importantly, nothing will come of it anyway.

Sharing the fundamental values ​​of his “party” and some of its prejudices, A. Ageev stands out from his fellow traditionalists not so much in his ideas as in his constant readiness for formal experimentation. The genre (to a lesser extent - style) search in the works of A. Ageev at the turn of the millennium is carried out with exceptional intensity. This is due, among other things, to his heightened perception of culture as communication and, accordingly, to the feeling of the need for new forms of conversation between the author and the reader. The main result of this search was "Hunger".

It is no coincidence that the platform for “Hunger” turned out to be the Internet (by the way, transferred to paper along with all the links, “Hunger” looks rather strange). The difference between the Internet and offline today is primarily psychological. Runet is perceived as a “Russian field of experimentation”; the author feels more relaxed here and shows a greater appetite for risk. The results, of course, vary, but in the case of “Hunger” the risk paid off. In place of separate criticism, separate journalism, separate essays, a synthetic “public diary” of a writer, a person who perceives literature as a fragment of a “big” reality, arose.

I have already spoken about my attitude towards “Hunger” above, I will not repeat it. There is, in fact, only one danger here - the deceptive ease of this path. After A. Ageev succeeded, many will want to try. And from synthesis to eclecticism is much closer than from the great to the ridiculous. But A. Ageev will have his own epigones - a recognition more serious than any other.