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I have been living for 50 years, and did not know that cooks (or maids) appeared, it turns out, more recently! So, Ivan Sergeevich cleaned ...

I conducted an experiment. It compiled a brief list of public persons and literary critics, whose target audience was called the century before last, in the past - a layer or a labor Soviet intelligentsia, and in the current one is not yet called, but if it is very narrowed, it can be represented as a middle class.

Lilia Gushchina

Lilia Gushchina - Carrie Bradshaw "Moscow Manhattan." Only unlike the heroine of "Sex in the Bolshoi City", Lilia is not invented, but a real journalist. The author of the books “When a lover is younger ...”, “The man and methods of his training”, the co -author (together with Irina Hakamad) of the bestseller “SEX in big politics”, the poetess, the essayist, the expert of the program “I myself”, the creator of two documentary films, lily from adolescence thought a lot and fruitfully about love and sex. Accumulated thoughts, observations, experience is ready to share with visitors www.gzt.ru

In Yandex, the names from the list complete with Oksana Robski clicked in Yandex. My assumption that each of these people certainly expressed his “f” to her was true.

The statements are settled in the temperature range from “Vnagolia Makes money” to “Ordering for the murder of a profession”. The result of the experiment, as a workshop, pleased me.

The last one and a half centuries each social group of Russians had its own cult authors and their own non-grata persons, performing the function of passwords. The first should have been idolized, the latter should be despised: “Oh Ham!” - “Fu, Fadeev!”, “Oh, Chernyshevsky!” - “Fu, Charskaya”.

The choral “fu, timids” of public persons oriented to the current razorchintsy means that so far literature is in Russian society an instant test for a blood group, for “its own, alien”.

Do you read robber? You are an arrears who “suffer from complexes and an excess of your education and an excess of your complexes through reading pseudo -intellectual literature, because when you read timid, you seem to belong to the world of successful people, although you yourself are not successful, to the world of smart people, although it is not very smart.”

But as a citizen, the results of the experiment were saddened. And that's why. Once Yuri Karyakin told me a funny episode (I will convey the essence for sure, the details - as I remembered).

It was at the beginning of the seventies. He and Oleg Efremov were drank in Solzhenitsyn’s kitchen, Alexander Isaevich was already the conscience of the Russian land at that time, and to him, as once to the Kremlin to Lenin, went for the truth and advice of the walkers.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn in Peredelkino

Source: History of the Ryazan Territory

He went outside to talk with them, and returning, looking into the kitchen, where the guests, hiding the bottle under the table, nevertheless purposefully reached the condition when he approached. He shook his head reproachfully and retired with the next visitor to fresh air.

Karjakin and Efremov felt enormous schoolchildren. Oleg Nikolaevich slowly began to start, and finally could not stand it. When the owner again arose with a live reproach in the doorway, he carefully examined him and said with his inimitable Ephraim intonation: “Thus, your mother, in Yasnaya Polyana!”

About twenty years ago, to give this case as a bike, as a joke would not have happened. The Russian writer is busy with what he should be busy: exposes the powerful of this world and takes care of those whom they humiliated and offended. What is funny here?

Now, when the Russian writer has been fired from the Kutori post of the Messiah and should not shut up all the legal holes of society with his body, such stories are not perceived as sacrilege and cause what they should cause: a smile.

But it turns out that he was dismissed, but a number of requirements are still presented to him, not related to creativity, but without the performance of which no one will keep him for a real writer.

A real writer is not found on Rublevka. The real writer at point blank does not notice those who are found there, and if he suddenly notices, then only in order to experience a nationwide feeling of hostility in the form of negative artistic images.

The real writer is hungry, but not because he is sitting on the Kremlin diet, but because he is sitting on Bobs. A real writer does not compose cash desks, he has an allergy to the smell of money, he disdains cheap, well -paid popularity.

And let Mikhail Epstein out of his state Georgia as much as he calls the unfair situation in which “the official literary Olympus subjects to discrimination against any Russian author, whose books diverge more than one hundred thousand”, we can rather know that it is fair and what is not.

I don’t know, today it would be possible to break into the classics today and wait for a good word from fat -journal critics to the singers of noble nests and extra people, with their tribal estates, estates, villages, linen factories and loved serfs laid in the pawnshop after a night cards loss.

And not only to them: all or less tolerable domestic literature were created by people whose consumer basket was filled with cooks and housekeepers.

But this is by the way. And I'm not at all about the fact that the wonderful fiction writer Oksana Robsky undeservedly offends class belonging. It doesn't matter to me at all whether this author is good or fool. I only pay attention to the unmistakable (in my opinion) sign: if in society the question of literary addictions is the question of test, in such a society, only dog feeds are still balanced.

The author’s opinion may not coincide with the position of the editors of gzt.ru