Evgeny Reutov. A missed chance

And with foreign writers who created in the twentieth century it is difficult to call at least a few whose fate would not be tragic. Almost any name that comes to mind can serve as a confirmation of this thesis (let's forget that the authors mentioned below differ from each other with the degree of talent; Martyrist is not a handling time). Dicked out in the tuberculosis sanatorium of Kafka. Hemingway, a spied with a skyscraper, stepped off the skyscraper. Millers graduated in prison in prison in prison. The namesake manna accepted the poison. Made Ryunoske, comedian Harakiri. Before his death, young Hamsun was scored by a whip. For decades, the black playwright of Brecht was hiding from Ku -Klux -Clan (finding refuge only in our country) ... And although hedgehogs were not a black man (he was rather - at least at the beginning of his field - a literary planter using the work of lithoboters, consultants and other "non -casual" Logos), his name should also be knocked out to The memorial wall over the mass grave of the great martyrs of literature.

There is no need to retell the details of the life and death of Kosinsky - a reader, fallen for piquancy, will draw them in the preface, written by the translator of the book by Ilya Kormiltsev. Speaking of the latter. Also, after all, a person is an extraordinary, difficult fate. The writer who managed to compose for the Nautilus Pompilius the lion's share of the lyrics. Almost everything, roughly speaking. Except perhaps the "buzz of America" ​​and a few more exceptions. It is amazing where only Fatum does not bring his chosen ones together. In the night lane. On a secular party. Under one book cover. Truly: "Brothers - writers! In your fate, something lies fatal." Once again, you are convinced of the universality of this maxim, belonging to the pen of one of the most famous playback poems of Tsarist Petersburg.

But back to hedgehogs, Kosinsky, playing overseas, many pages of which, sorry for the tautology, are quite in the spirit of "playboy." Especially harvested to such novel "Steps". There are examples of non -traditional sex, and gangbang, and suicide in a public toilet, and a systematic force for a skeleton of the marshmallows of the village demented, and the descriptions of not quite ordinary games, which are mostly entertained by the nameless, cattle statists of the novel. Well, what - what, and in some “stone faces” the Bohemian Kosinsky himself probably played a kind of merchant at one time, just as the average reader - in the “spoiled phone”, “Czechard”, “hospital” or “bottle”. And yet, noting the ingenuity of the author of the “steps”, one cannot help but see that behind her is a desire to shock, shock the audience at all costs.

And again, we will pay their due to Kosinsky: in the most part-time time, he did this (Roman came out and received the title of "Best Book of the Year" in 1968). Canking parcels from Vietnam came. Shamanil of the ingenious Morrison. Acted Ku-Klux Clan and rally blacks. In general, the same solitaire that will take place two decades later in the country of Soviets. Their Vietnam, their jims Morrison, their rebellious dark brothers, similar in the literature - the more chernukhi and porn, the more (automatically) more "truth".

But today - after chicel, defaults, tank firing in the center of white -stone, hexogenic fireworks, protracted battles are already in their own colonies, etc. - It is unimaginable: what could I still go from a chill on the reader's scruff? What could make the book of book sleepless? Dumpal sin in the mausoleum? Zoophilia on the lawns of the Capitol Hill? Game of "point" (or "stone faces") at parliamentary hearings? Serial killer in sliders and a rattle? Boar - clonari? What such acts can he (the reader of that is, shake after everything that was with him? The audience now only smiles in matrinally to any pranks, Ponaroshka threatens the pranksters with a finger and looks with even greater tenderness behind the shut-off resources. But I suppose he remembers still, he remembers a strangled reader's skin of tearing “roofs” by wind and because of the ocean, from the shores of Garcia Marquez, from the islands of Melville! .. Alas, so far are calm.

But fresh drafts no, no, and they will play. “Before the finish, one of the racers lost control on a steep turn. His booer rolled over and crashed. One wheel rolled into the jungle, pounding a huge snake on the way, ringing a tree trunk. Thin wooden twig of the touge, pierced the human body, and dripped blood and drove into a yellow sail and immediately drove. The disturbed snake crawled to the wreckage and gently wrapped around the mast. " This is from the novel "Damn tree". And here is another example, from the "steps". "I remember that immediately after the war I got into the way to catch my butterflies. One of the districts of the city was bombed to the ground, and all the inhabitants left it ... Butterflies fluttered in the air in packs. Against the backdrop of blackened walls, they seemed with rebellious fragments of the rainbow." Continuous sparse air and nerve! .. Like Vivaldi's passages. In the "fall" for example. Having ears - he will hear. “Damn tree”: “In childhood, it seemed to me that death is something like a beast that lies inside us and once devour us. And until now, I should only feel this creature inside myself again, I feel exactly the same as then, in my father’s chair in my hands.” Virtuoso, mysteriously. Sho bolo, Tyatka? It is with this phrase that you can express the feeling with which you close the book.

We will try to everyone, "in our own words" retell the canvas of the "damn tree." The son of very wealthy parents at the death of her papenka goes into all the hard: drug addiction, nomadic life in Europe and Asia, erratic ties, oppressive longing, complete misunderstanding from the beloved. And while the essence is the matter, - from a partial orphan he becomes round. Upon reaching a certain age, the hero enters into possession of all parental factories, promotions, concerns and related infrastructure. Visits psychoanalyst. No longer worships, but no, no, no, yes, it will fit. He tries to understand - retroactively - what kind of people his "skulls" were. Looking around in the immense financial pattern inherited from them, consults with "serfs": lawyers, managers. Some people annoy him with their immoderate guardianship. He is very cunningly getting rid of a couple of such ones during the weekend, “for a minute” leaving the old men on a uninhabited island (and they, gray-haired durandas, and not know that the tide is coming). Sumbering, in short. He dumps himself on the mainland with an aqualanga. Under the curtain, he gets sick, it is not said what, therefore - something serious. But probably not fatal. The disease is most likely a symbol of close moral changes, mental, so to speak, mutations. The dilapidated cocoon, falling apart, is covered with cracks. In the last chapter of the novel, the hero leaves the clinic at night. Like the Chekhov hero - to the garden. And in the scattering fog, he sees Geneva lights on the other side of the lake (about the long -suffering Lake Geneva! How many celebrating characters in spiritual turmoil stomped your shores). Well, the moth and fluttered ...

What is the canvas? Canvas what is needed. Vital. Especially the exit to the coast. Stay on ... yes, on the same Tverskaya, on the courtesy of the heart of Peshov-Street. Proskatable homeless people dance in summer (winter) twilight, prostitutes are joyfully laughed, illuminated by the headlights of ultramodern, almost alien cars, in which - fucked up world sorrow (incurably sick?) Various gear of businesses and buried political corpses. Familiar acquaintances of acquaintances are rushed down the sidewalk on the sidewalk, and, jumping over the chopped off Hanyga, land in the North Caucasus. And the pager is silent (because from the "someone else's belt" or in general - a dummy); Having reached the nearest round -the -clock, instead of beer you take a check. And, despite the fact that a stone selva rustles and flickers around you and flickers, “The night is quiet. The desert hears God” ...

By the way, it is very noteworthy that the hero in the final of the last thing of the collection enters the garden. At the beginning of the first (the story " Gardener "), he leaves the garden. This story is probably not worth spreading. So as not to break the buzz to the reader. Moreover, a well -known film was put on it. Erich Fromm (!) Distracted it in sufficient detail in one of his works. We only touch her slightly. The illiterate hero in the final becomes president. And then the electorate, that is, the reader, parted with his favorite, with his "clean sheet". Behind the scenes there remains how flies and blots sit on this sheet. How all sorts of Vietnam, Irangates, obstinate Faddids, and various Monica stained his whiteness there. How sins appear, and with them the inevitable "human, too human."

In the end, we will dwell on such a tiny detail as the latent inability of the hero of the story to read-prescription. The bar is in the spirit of Swift, Nostradamus. It is possible that some abstract amateur of political memoirs will somehow stumble in the next autobiography of the state defender of the first magnitude on the phrase such as "... labor in gardens and on the gardens of the unclean, then tense party work, historically-enforced anti-Partyna, and, finally, the care of the country's well-being at the people entrusted to me by the people entrusted to me. time to learn the alphabet. " Do not grin. Whoever reads the books does not become an emperor. Only those who write these books with a stone face to become a chance. Even if with the agile hands of "blacks".