Process vs results

"Big Book" awards presented

Since the “Big Book” is famous primarily for its very large reward amounts, we’ll start with them. So, the third prize (a modest million rubles) was received by Mikhail Shishkin for the novel “Venus Hair” (M., “Vagrius”, 2005), the second (one and a half million) - Alexander Kabakov for the novel “Everything is Fixable” (M., “Vagrius” ", 2004), the first (three million, that is, more than one hundred thousand dollars) - Dmitry Bykov for the book "Boris Pasternak" (M., "Young Guard", 2005; series "Life of Remarkable People"). The choice is not exactly predictable (in our literary prize stories you can guess something only by chance), but certainly not stunningly new or daring: the awards went to the winners of the last two “National Bestsellers” (Shishkin and Bykov) and the winner of the last one (by results of 2004) expert prize named after Apollo Grigoriev (Kabakov). I consider Bykov’s biography of Pasternak not only a huge creative success, but also an extremely socially useful book (it gives the reader a real chance to join the world of the great poet, to perceive the lesson of true freedom, which is always good, and today, in my opinion, is especially important). I like Kabakov’s novel, although less than his “Moscow Tales” (which competed with “Everything Can Be Corrected” in the premium competition, which seems like a bad mistake by the expert council that formed the shortlist). I still think that “Venus’s Hair” is a mannered and calculated “trick”, quite consistent with the banal dream of the average intellectual about a spicy cocktail of “problematic”, “sophistication” and “tragedy”. I am sincerely sorry that the best novel of the outgoing year, “2017” by Olga Slavnikova, was left behind. But it’s not a matter of my preferences - the choice of a very motley Literary Academy (which includes writers, journalists, businessmen, public figures, and many others) did not clinch with either the judgments of experts or the preferences of the public - turned out to be representative and therefore not suggestive of painful reactions.

So everything is fine? As the hero of a Russian fairy tale used to say, it’s good, but not much. Because in addition to results, there is a process and there is a context. Let's talk about them.

The Literary Academy (aka the jury, whose members were required to give fifteen applicants scores ranging from zero to ten) includes about a hundred people. They could vote either in absentia (by mail or fax) or in person - by handing over the ballot to the administration of their colleagues at their only meeting (held on the day the awards were presented). Or even after it - right up to the applicants going on stage. This brilliant idea resonated in three ways. Firstly, not only the press, and therefore society (there was no press conference at all), but also the academicians themselves never knew how many of them voted and how many shirked their duties. (Not necessarily of his own free will; I know that one of those invited to the academy agreed to work, but did not receive either a ballot or a set of books to be evaluated. Probably a technical glitch. Question: is it a one-off?) Secondly, they were counting votes technical staff. Without doubting either their skills in working with a calculator, or the correctness of the award administration (on which the accountants are completely dependent), I note that such a “turn on the topic” cannot remain a secret and inevitably gives rise to “reliable versions” of “routes” and “underlyings” . (There were plenty of them on the sidelines.) Wouldn’t it have been easier to finish accepting ballots at the jury meeting and form a counting commission from its members (who also knew how to use simple equipment)? It’s better to have a “leak of information” (although why should academicians always be suspected of talkativeness? For fifteen Booker years, not one of the judges split before the announcement of the verdict) than the flicker of gossip. Thirdly, this counting procedure (apparently with the expectation of some belated VIP academicians) spoiled the mood of the audience who had gathered on time.

The Central House of Writers may be the navel of both Soviet and post-Soviet literature, but its foyer is not suitable for social talk - it’s cramped, stuffy, you might push someone or you won’t be able to hold a glass of champagne. We had to wait (again for a long time) not only in the foyer, but also in the hall, which was too large for the ceremony (and therefore poorly filled), listening to waltzes and cancans performed by an expensive orchestra. But the photojournalists had the fortunate opportunity to take plenty of pictures... no, not writers at all - bankers and dignitaries sitting in places of honor.

Finally, a smiling girl, diligently copying the hosts of the TV show, announced that Russian literature was having a great holiday, and invited the co-chairs of the academy, Daniil Granin and Edward Radzinsky, to the stage, from whose speeches it followed that the holiday was a holiday, but here they read “wrong.” " and "not so." Then Radzinsky began calling applicants onto the stage, and the girl with a lyrical “soul” read out the cloth annotations of their books.

Then a surprise happened. The chairman of the Accounts Chamber (who is also the president of the Russian Book Union) Sergei Stepashin, called to the stage, said that a special prize (whose? established by whom? does it have a monetary component? - history is silent) is being awarded to Naum Korzhavin (the shortlist included his memoirs “In temptations of the bloody era"). Stepashin recalled the past - his own, the KGB, and Korzhavin's - a Stalinist prisoner and dissident, kicked out of the country, and promised a presentation of the book at the Lubyanka. The oldest poet chose not to notice the “joke”, but thanked him for the prize. I felt ashamed. For the country and its liberal public, who still have not bothered to honor Korzhavin with the State Prize or “Triumph”. For the members of the Literary Academy, who did not understand that first they should have put “ten” on the ballot for Korzhavin, and then think about everything else. For the organizers of the award, who, knowing or anticipating such a twist, came up with a strange palliative. For the Korzhavin well-wishers (I don’t think it could have happened without them), who slept for so many years, and then - an opportunity presented itself! - began to take care of the truth. For the falsehood that envelops our “good intentions.”

Meanwhile, it came to the point. The curator of domestic books, Vladimir Grigoriev, announced that the “popular” (Internet) vote named “Big Books” “The Gold of Rebellion” by Alexei Ivanov, Bykov’s biography of Pasternak and the collection of stories by the absent (receives the Italian prize) Lyudmila Ulitskaya “People of Our Tsar”. Pyotr Aven and Alexander Mamut opened a casket containing Shishkin’s creation, which took third place in the real competition. The head of the press and telecommunications agency, Mikhail Seslavinsky, and the director of the Rossiya TV channel, Anton Zlatopolsky, emptied the casket named after Kabakov. Radzinsky brought to light the main treasure. Vice-President of Alfa Bank Alexander Gafin took autographs from the laureates - signatures on documents on which they will receive awards. Flowers, music, speeches... And “the miracle of meeting a truly artistic word.”

For after the announcement of each of the laureates, Alexander Filippenko read from a sheet a fragment from the award-winning essay. Grimacing with inspiration, rolling his eyes importantly, stupidly breaking syntax, simply getting confused in words... The most captivating thing was to hear about the “egg in the spleen” (in Shishkin’s text, as in the fairy tale, it, of course, was hidden in the drake ), but also the rest of the bends of the once brilliant artist with the reputation of a clever bookworm grabbed hold of the soul. The touching confidence of the organizers that as soon as the maestro unfastens a wad of bills, he will “give it away”, is worthy of the equally touching conviction of the presumptuous entertainer that any of his blather will be received with delight. Of course, he condescended to ennoble the holiday of Russian literature. However, even without Filippenko it looks a lot like a typical event in a district recreation center - if, of course, you forget about the money spent on this event.

They say that in the news releases of two different TV channels, Alexander Kabakov was persistently called Kabanov. I haven’t heard it myself, but for some reason I believe it. As well as the frenzied demand for Akunin’s new book, which went on sale the same day. As well as the fact that the “process” can greatly spoil its own – seemingly pleasing and encouraging – results.

Andrey NEMZER