Komsomol members, in a word

Petrushevskaya

At the end of May, the public celebrated the anniversary of Lyudmila Stefanovna Petrushevskaya. In particular, Andrei Bitov in a small text in Novaya Gazeta admits: “She rolled me, as I thought, with a novel, and this is just a story -“ Time Night ”. Such a powerful impression of the work, which seemed - was a whole novel. “Time of Night” is such a thing in prose, which I have nothing to compare with. This is no female, not the other prose. This is, as it were, a female blood that pushed with a throat. And she is scalded. It was a real image of timelessness. ” Indeed, twenty years after the publication “Time Night”, he does not lose his artistic persuasiveness at all: for every fireless case I will give a link to the text for those who have not yet read it over the years.

Well, very short prose

You can’t pass by the publication of two seniorly (or rather, one until recently was set high, and the other a lot below) literary functionaries. Firstly, the magazine "Day and Night" offers us a new portion of diaries of the former rector of Literary Institute Sergei Yesin. You can find personal confessions in them, and geopolitical forecasts sitting in the kitchen, and a brief lesson in the behavior of loyal intelligentsia during protest events: “The most interesting began after the seminar at our department. They recalled how a rally on Pushkinskaya passed yesterday. In the morning I grabbed the Internet that the rally had already lost my strength. At the department, my interlocutors supplemented that the people came much less than expected, only 13 thousand people. It turns out that Maxim was at three rallies and this thought argued as follows: “Recently, the people have seen enough at the“ leaders ”at rallies, and Putin’s rating increased immediately.” To my surprise, Olesya Nikolaev spoke very sharply about the current situation. She remembered how she pulled her hand, asking for a word, on the program from Vladimir Solovyov. I saw this, just as I saw Volgin - they both looked like petitioners. Olesya said that she compared the whole situation with the situation described in Dostoevsky’s novel “Demons”. Again, calls to the destruction of Petrusha Verkhovensky, again the thirst for “wake up” Russia and lead it is unknown where. It was a passionate speech, what I noticed to Olesa Alexandrovna, that this was just her party ... In the literature it is possible, but in life that can damage individual writers, this is impossible? But the anger at what was happening was right -handed and strong to opposition from Olesya Alexandrovna. Later, they told me that after this performance on TV, her phone was repented from Brary. Well, this is natural, “work comrades”. The opposition is like a Vologda convoy: a step to the right, a step to the left ... In connection with this, I remembered Tanya Beck, who also allowed herself self -will, spoke out as she thought ... " It is difficult for me to suspect love for the work of Sergei Yesin, but by reading these diaries we can conclude about the life and moods of a certain part of the old -mode intelligentsia, completely unproductive from a creative point of view, but preserved certain nomenclature benefits. Whereas the publication of the “very short prose” of the editor of the “children of the RA” Evgeny Stepanov (usually publishing his immortal works in his journal) does not allow us to draw any conclusions. Indeed, the lyrical hero of this prose obscures everything, there is nothing more important than his life and opinions. Most of them exist, as they say, on the verge of a foul and nevertheless amazingly exactly: “A woman who is twice younger than me, talks to me after a concert of classical music. She admires Rachmaninov and Skryabin ... And some half-forgotten, incomprehensible trembling pierces me, no, not erotic, more precisely, not quite erotic-another, and I, filling the healing force of the body poisoned by Moscow, by Moscow. I can’t say that I will lust this girl, no, this is really something from a completely different opera. But what? I don't know. And most importantly: why is she talking to me at all, with an old goat?! "

"Classmates"

In the June issue of the New World, Oleg Yuryev’s large article “Odnoklassniki” was published, dedicated to two authors, whose heritage was published only at the most recent time: we are talking about Vsevolod Petrov and Paul Saltsman. (By the way, the materials from the archive of Saltsman are published in Khreshchatyk, next to the revelations of the editor Stepanov.) This article is in some way-this is the continuation of the recently published book of the Essay “Filled Cunnering”, in which a lot of attention is also given to phenomena, which in one way or another continuing the dialogue with modernism in the circumstances that do not have (first of all, we are talking about the 1930s and 1940s about the 1930s and 1940s about the 1930s and 1940s about the 1930s and 1940s about the 1930s and 1940s about the 1930s and 1940s about the 1930s and 1940s about the 1930s and 1940s about the 1930s and 1940s years, but not only). “But first of all and most importantly, that disaster has finally took shape due to the real arrival of the new generation-the first generation grown under the Soviet devastation and really had nothing to do with the culture of Russian modern, or even with the culture of the revolutionary avant-garde and only a little with the“ classical ”Russian culture (in the volume of the school and Rabfak course). This refers to both writers and readers - “Young lovers of white -toothed poems”, according to the poisonous expression of O.E. Mandelstam. Komsomol members, in a word. " As far as one can judge, the Soviet experience (in the broadest sense) is unambiguously negative for Yuryev and it is important for him to find in the texts of Saltsman and Petrov (as well as Vera Panova, who is difficult to suspect in the dialogue with modernism) of the point, which in one way or another, do not fit into the notorious “experience of Soviet man”.

Actually prose

Firstly, I would like to recommend the story of Sergey Solovyov “Anna” published in the Volga.

Secondly, during the reporting period, new releases of the network almanac “ Textonly ” and “air” have appeared on the network. In the first, a small story of Polina Barskova was published (which, it seems, along with verses and scientific publications, also addressed prose), as well as a prone fragment of Andrei Ivanov’s novel “Batiscaf” . In general, this issue of “ Textonly ” is quite rich in prose texts: in addition to the story of Margarita Meklin (who becomes a constant hero of my reviews, which I cannot but rejoice) here published the prose of the poets Anastasia Afanasyeva and Dmitry Vedenyapin . The miniatures of Stanislav Snytko are published both in Textonly and in the air . We can say that they fully show a fairly wide range of those that this author addresses: from a paradoxical sketch to Prose Poetry , where the connection of objects and phenomena is only outlined. Also in the "air" the witty sketches of the St. Petersburg prose writer Dmitry Bolotov and the rather extensive text of Natalia Artemyeva "Book of the weekend", including both prose and poetic fragments, were published. Extremely saturated, dedicated to the description of the extreme states of human experience - it seems that this thing deserves careful reading:

“The changes in color, time and space. The letter crackles, and through me the blinded path shines. For I am the path received across: impressive, shooting, crack.
The murder was talking about decoration. Time loses its place, the landscape (you are in the landscape) to nausea is not Pollock, but Misho.
Work of memory: She holds raw sheets in the wind, easily, beyond the edges, light flows from them when the memory is taken. ”

And yet

“Private correspondent” publishes the conversation of Nikolai Kononov and Anatoly Ryasov: it touches on the problem of neo -modernism, the possibility of the coexistence of philosophical and writing optics, etc. In this conversation, the difference in the author’s approaches of Kononov and Ryasov, which, not without mutual interest in each other's work, leads to interesting conclusions and confessions.

Ryasov: “Returning to (Neo) modernism: in the twentieth century, a similar“ search for connections ”between different arts was very in demand, and today the topic even seems banal. But, it seems, here, too, we can talk more about the desire to present the problem solved than about the answers found. For me, all these issues are still impregnable. What is color to think? What is the color of the color? How much is this space available to literature? How much is it mastered by writers? "

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Kononov: “As for your question about what the color in literature is, so this question must be answered constantly, with increasing stress, both philosophical and metaphorical. After all, literature, unlike painting, can state the charm of the visible, without resorting to coloring pigments, with no less power of seduction. ”

The same “private correspondent” represented by Konstantin Lvov makes a review of the sixty -sixth issue of the “Mitin magazine”, in which texts of the highest sample are collected as a selection. First of all, we are talking about the publication of Arkady Dragomoshchenko (1946-2012), written in the first half of the seventies, Pavel Ulitin's Shadow (1918-1986). Also in the archive heading (but this is not covered by dust, no) publications - Olga Komarova’s story (whose “Georgia” book “Georgia” is worthy of the widest attention in the series) “Violetta”. Of the "new" materials, it presents the delightful prose of Julia Kisina and the extraction from the diaries of Alexander Markin.

It is also impossible not to mention the Essay Viktor Ivani, published in the magazine Volga, dedicated to the recently published book by Sergey Sokolovsky “Hipnoglyph” (however, this is not the only opinion on this matter: here Anna Golubkova writes about the same book).

"Guideon"? No, I did not hear

When my review was already completed, I was asked why there are no materials from Gvideon magazine. To which I replied that I had not heard anything about this publication-and while its authors are pouring mud of respected colleagues, I can hardly hear anything about him.