Translated material
Without illusions
Television is, of course, a terrible force, but still the light has not converged on it like a wedge. In any case, for that “thick-magazine” audience to which Melikhov addresses. If you don’t want to watch the “box”, don’t watch it. Read magazines. From which you will learn a lot of interesting things. For example, Dmitry Oreshkin , whose article “The Burden of Space” prefaces Melikhov’s essay, writes: “The stylistics of recent years suggest that as its effectiveness declines, the Kremlin will move to an increasingly cruel scenario. To put it bluntly, this means that it serves as a source of long-term threat to the state unity of Russia. It does not at all follow from this that he is subject to ostracism or ignoring by the opposition. Exactly the opposite. Russia really needs a calm, without hysteria and frenzy, discussion with the authorities about ways to optimize state space.” It is necessary, but the call for dialogue does not fit well with the above formulation. But where is Oreshkin compared to Alexander Tarasov , whose article “On the other side of the barricades” opens the section “Youth of Russia: the beginning of life at the beginning of the century” in No. 1 of “Friendship of Peoples”. Having painted a terrible picture of the misfortunes of youth and briefly listed a dozen fatal issues, the author summarizes: “All these are real problems that the majority of young people face and which the minority does not face (or rather, this minority benefits from the existence of most of these problems). And the divide is openly based on class principles. The authorities are unable to solve these problems. On the contrary, the authorities gave birth to them, and the authorities are materially and politically interested in the existence of these problems. The authorities (the ruling class) are to blame for the fact that these problems exist at all <...> our society is seriously ill. Because the pro-government media (according to Tarasov, there are no others in Russia - A.N. ) hide the existence of the disease, the disease will not disappear. Vice versa. And treatment can only be surgical .” Italics of the righteous fighter. As illustrations for Tarasov’s manifesto, both Ksenia Perepelitsa’s essay “Features of National Education” and two stories by Zakhar Prilepin can be used. “Turning the poser around by the shoulder, I did something that I never allowed myself to do to club visitors - I hit him in the face, in the jaw, with a good, tight blow. I caught him by the cloak and didn’t let him fall. He grabbed him by the hair, it was greasy and slippery, straightened his head and hit him again, aiming for his teeth.
He let go of the poser, and he fell forward on his face, swelling with blood, saliva, and something else.
“He won’t go,” I told the taxi driver in an even voice. The taxi driver nodded his head and drove off.
Hammer (the second bouncer in the nightclub where the hero serves as a security guard. - A.N. ), with a red face, kicked him in the ribs with his heavy boot. He was thrown up by the blow. Coughing, he got down on all fours and tried to walk like that. I stepped on his coat.
“Don’t go,” I told him.
The hammer hit the poser again - on the stomach, and it seemed to me that something fell out of the poser's mouth.
His hands weakened, he could not stand on all fours and fell face down, cheek into a puddle, blowing out a pink bubble that kept bursting.
I sat down next to him, grabbed him tightly by the hair on the back of his head and hit his head, face, nose, and lips on the asphalt several times, it seems seven times. I wiped my hand on his cloak, but it still remained dirty, slimy, sticky.” Hello to surgeon Tarasov.
Are you wondering what exactly the “poser” did wrong? I inform you: specifically - nothing. The poser with the “voice of an old bugger” was not liked from the very beginning by the bouncer, who then had a nervous night. Do I sympathize with the guests of monied nightclubs? I don't sympathize. As well as their owners. And the guards. Which, obviously, has nowhere else to go. Moreover, I’m not sure that Zakhar Prilepin himself sympathizes with his hero, who, however, awarded him his own literary name.
Here Anatoly Azolsky treats his Afanasy from the story of the same name (also “Friendship of Peoples”) with sympathy - a lone wolf who has undergone camp training can give way (because of which another person ultimately dies), but then he you won’t stray from the right path: he won’t cover up his mistress-boss, he won’t play giveaway with the Soviet justice system - and in this manner he will either repent of his sin or escape from his seductively bitchy cohabitant. The industrial detective story of Khrushchev's times ends with a meeting of former lovers. It turns out that the hero, during interrogation at the prosecutor’s office, still did not tell how his friend-boss allowed a drunken man to do dangerous work, buying herself a continuation of the sweet night at the cost of his life. He remained silent because he was not asked about it. The lady, previously ready to eat the rebel-truth-loving lover alive, is amazed: “And you couldn’t call me?..” - “Why?.. What would have changed?” And in fact, nothing can ever change in this vile, thieving and drunken world, the mold and symbol of which is the most ordinary little factory. There was no smell of love here - it smelled of lust, lies, alcohol and Soviet power. And everything would be fine, but doubt arises: was it only because the hero remained silent because he was not asked directly about his partner? Or because he realized: you can’t break a butt with a whip, this whore will still turn out. Or because he was actually afraid of his passion, and even more wanted to finally get rid of it. Also - at any cost. It is clear that all this is my idle speculation. Azolsky does not give his own offense. His loners, no matter how cruel they are, no matter what they do, are always right, because the state and society are always worse.
There is not the slightest desire to defend executioners and bastards, thieves and demagogues, “elite” boys who buy coursework for hundreds of dollars, and thieves walking around brothels, lying journalists and pop idols. But those who believe that such a world is the only one that exists, who voluptuously scare us with both real and carefully and convincingly constructed horrors, who maliciously repeat the worse, the better, who purposefully teach society the science of hatred, let them also look for other lawyers and allies. And honestly, in order to differentiate from these and those, there is no need for an “illusionary” sublimation a la Melikhov. I’m a sinner, but I always thought and still think: the identification of ideals and “dreams,” that is, the denial of ideals as such, leads straight to cynicism.
It is worth reading in “Znamya” “Petersburg Letters” by Leonid Zorin and a “benefit” selection by philologist Vadim Baevsky (three sketches about Mandelstam, reflections on “our university science,” memories of M.L. Gasparov). After reading Zorin and Baevsky, you understand how “illusion” differs from hope.