Translated material
Pink hair
The Teen series of the St. Petersburg publishing house "Limbus" is perhaps one of the most relevant publishing projects at the moment. If the space of children's literature is at least filling up (the other day even the first "children's" prize was awarded), then the teenage niche is somehow chronically empty. Some teenage novels, of course, are published, but they rarely reach the target audience. Teenagers react faster and more sharply to changes in slang, street, computer and music fashion, so in modern teenage stories it is easy to goof off and “give a rooster”, nullifying all efforts with one phrase. I inaccurately transcribed the name of the cult computer shooter - and it is obvious to the reader that the “author” is not on topic. It’s not even a matter of factual inaccuracies: it’s difficult to find an adult author who is capable of not only penetrating the material world of teenagers, but also remembering on a physiological level and harshly describing the hellish torments of puberty.
Joe Meno's novel “Hairstyles of the Damned” (the Russian translation sounds overly delicate and coincides with the title of the group’s album “Hands Up”), American critics compare it to Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye,” and the main character, pimply, bespectacled Brian Oswald, was dubbed “Caulfield Holden.” new century." Brian is certainly no Caulfield, “Good night, nerds!” It’s obviously too weak for him to shout, but some paragraphs agree. In any case, Meno’s novel, like Salinger’s, was written without any concessions or indulgences to the “adult” world. There is no clever didactics, no hidden propaedeutics, no final morality here. Adults here are relegated, at best, to the roles of extras and harmless, meaningless creatures; at worst, their existence is simply ignored. In this integral and strictly hierarchical world, all roles are distributed and all insignia are distributed; adults can only come to terms with the fate of outside observers and smile ingratiatingly, trying to understand the rules of the game.
The rules are simple. The hero is almost sixteen, and he is in love with a punk girl with bright pink hair and a very big butt. He either dreams of becoming the lead singer of a punk band (the girls always hang themselves with them), or, at worst, of creating his own rock band (which is less prestigious), but for now he only plays in the school orchestra and sings on Sundays in church. He also lives in the south side of Chicago, where all the neighbors hate blacks, and as luck would have it, his only friend, with whom he can spend hours listening to Chet Baker vinyls in search of the “perfect tune for love,” turns out to be black. He also eats junk food at fast food, listens to Guns n' Roses, and instead of roses gives his fat-assed girlfriend tapes of tunes from his favorite albums. The girlfriend, meanwhile, affectionately calls him “fucking”, calls on him to fight together against the consumer society, and she herself treacherously falls in love with a local playboy, a Nazi named Tony. The first sex in his life takes place according to all the laws of the modern world - by mutual consent and with the use of a condom, which he carried with him “just in case” in the pocket of his worn jeans for a whole year, and does not bring any moral satisfaction. School days suddenly come to an end, and the school Halloween fairy touches him with her wand and says: “This is the last time I come to you because you are no longer a child.” And at the end, on the last pages, there is an intermittent and long-awaited sigh of relief. “Finally, I won’t have to worry about dying my hair pink.”
If we compare “Turn It Up” with any work in “adult” literature, it is definitely “Hi-Fi” by Nick Hornby. The hero of the novel, Joe Meno, has the same passion for compiling all kinds of musical lists - "most romantic", "saddest", "most incendiary" and "ideal" tunes - as Hornby's character. And when he finally breaks up with the school Halloween fairy, he will probably open a used vinyl store somewhere on the south side of Chicago and spend hours listening to his favorite Guns n' Roses, waiting for rare customers.
Doris Derry. Blue dress. Translation from German by A. Kukes. M.: Fluid, 2006.
Doris Derry is a professional filmmaker who has produced several films and dozens of scripts. In his debut novel, it is the cinematic skill and almost detective ability to twist the plot around one insignificant detail that captivates.
“The Blue Dress” is full-fledged prose, rather leisurely than cinematic, chopped up and rhythmically edited. The main character of the novel is a blue dress of the Azuro model from the 2001 summer collection, the last masterpiece from a young couturier who died of AIDS.
An intricately tailored piece of sky-blue silk somehow immediately attracts attention. As soon as the grieving friend of the fashion designer casually mentions the smooth and cool silk material, goosebumps immediately run through and it becomes obvious that the plot will be wrapped in this particular piece of fabric. Perhaps only one other screenwriter, Tonino Benaquista, can craft a plot so masterfully around a single detail.
But Derry is still not Benaquista. Excessive pathos and German directness slightly harm his prose. Although the idea is good: a blue dress, a small piece of happiness, gives luck to three desperate characters - a young gay fashion designer, a young widow and a gloomy doctor. And the novel is complex in a very inventive way, the lines of the heroes always intersect at the same point - where the blue silk sways. I just want to repaint this dress. The blue color is too obvious.