I went, I saw, I told

Sergei Shargunov. "1993": Family portrait against the backdrop of a burning house. — M., AST, Edited by Elena Shubina, 2013

In any case, it was not supposed that Sergei Shargunov in the novel “1993. A family portrait against the backdrop of a burning house ”can immerse yourself in someone else's life so much. In general, it has not been very customary for us lately to deal with anyone other than ourselves and our reflections in crooked mirrors.

Even I - and Shargunov and I are friends and comrades - did not imagine that he could write so strongly and deeply even when there is no lyrical hero similar to the author in the text at all, but there are two dozen characters from an environment completely unexpected.

His best stories - "Hurrah!" and “A Book without Photos” - Shargunov made on personal material, “The Kid is Punished” and, as it were, detached (actually not very much) “What is my name?” grew out of the same. There was an attempt to write a satirical pamphlet - talking about the novel "Bird Flu", - in fact, it was a success, and the fact that the characters are somewhat stilted is a sign of the genre.

In any case, it was not supposed that Shargunov could immerse himself in someone else's life so much. In general, it has not been very customary for us lately to engage in anyone other than ourselves and our reflections in crooked mirrors. Everyone imagines himself to be Limonov and is sure that elementary biology can replace an extraordinary biography.

Hard workers have disappeared from among literary heroes, because peasants and workers are extremely rare among writers. I don't know any. No wonder everyone was so surprised a couple of years ago by Roman Senchin's Yeltyshevs. But this was a glaring exception.

Outcasts, managers, machos, and other assholes have burst into literature in droves. They brought friends and family with them. The average writer's story plus or minus our generation can be called "How I Fucked Her" - this is the main plot of modern literature. There is another story - "How she did not give me."

Shargunov, in fact, returned the genre of the Soviet urban, and even industrial novel. And there is nothing humiliating in these definitions.

From the Soviet production novel here is the severity of the composition and the eventful outline, the polyphony of the characters (and each is made convincingly, reliably in many details), the epoch-making - but not deliberate, not far-fetched, but formed organically. Shargunov, apparently, was a very observant child. He looked and recounted.

Family (electrician, telephone operator, their daughter) against the backdrop of the era.

There is even some, also unobtrusive, morality and even didacticism. In any case, no "flowers of evil."

There is (also from the Soviet industrial novel) bust with dialogues. Remember how in a Soviet novel, say, the chairman walks, and, for example, a milkmaid meets him - they stop and say half the chapter. Meaning in their conversation from the point of view of content - zero, pure rut and translation of the paper. I won’t say that Sergei has the same story, but in general it is noticeable that dialogues are easy for him. In order not to poke around in the psychology of the hero yourself, it is always easier to give this hero the floor, and let him reveal himself in the dialogues.

Another point that cannot be overlooked is that the language of the novel is extremely simple, even, correct constructions, metaphoricalness minimized, which, as we remember, had literally hit Shargunov over the edge before. Such a style is dictated primarily by an artistic task: realism is realism, but, I secretly think, not only by it. Shargunov often fell under criticism for his curly - coming primarily from Kataev's Movism - syllable. Here is just the case when the criticism was definitely not right, and the writer listened to it.

Sergey! In the case of "1993" everything turned out as it should, but in general - do not listen to the oafs, the bear stepped on their ear. You are a rare, amazing stylist, do not limit yourself - take any word and eat it with a crunch, as you can.

Moreover, now it turned out that Shargunov can do whatever he wants.

He wrote a novel that you believe: everything was so. The characters come out of the book and start living next to you. When you remember what you have read, you have a firm feeling that you have before your eyes a piece of life you yourself have lived.

Shargunov applied: I'll make you a big Russian novel.

And did.

Our congratulations!

... Here, probably, the question arises: for whom is the book, for the Reds or for the Whites?

The answer is simple: Shargunov is a humanist writer, as taught. Therefore, he is for the dead.

However, no sympathy was found for the organizers of the confrontation, Rutskoi and Khasbulatov (as well as for the opposite side). These people are generally present only as a background: they are not among the characters.

Although it might not hurt.