Neo-village noir for a million

A new story by the author of taiga westerns - winner of the 2016 Yasnaya Polyana Prize

Alexander Grigorenko invented a new northern epic. His “taiga” duology, “Mabet (the story of a man of the taiga)” and “Ilget. Three Names of Destiny,” was called either a Western or Marquez, praised and scolded for its rich ethnic flavor, nominated for all major Russian awards, but the novels of the author from Divnogorsk have still not made it past the shortlist. And on November 2, the Yasnaya Polyana literary prize announced its laureates. One of the winners in the “XXI Century” category was Grigorenko’s story “The Blind Dudu Lost” (the prize is one million rubles).

“I lost the blind pipe” - at first glance, an unexpected turn. Instead of action-packed Nenets adventures, where, under the howling of a blizzard, the Nietzschean idea of ​​a superman was transformed into the Christian happiness of humility, there is the story of a failing village and a deaf-mute boy with a sad fate. However, when the story was published under the same cover as Grigorenko’s autobiographical texts, a lot became clear: love for the village, nostalgia for the friendly but still collapsed Union, and admiration for the main writer of the Krasnoyarsk region (and Divnogorsk is located there) Viktor Astafiev.

The good news is that with such initial data, Grigorenko cannot be classified as a “new villager,” at least in the form in which we have become accustomed to them in recent years. Unlike books by Roman Senchin like “The Yeltyshevs” and “The Flood Zone,” Grigorenko’s new story is not just a village noir, where nothing good can happen in principle, but a reflective social drama, which is not without glimmers of hope.

The plot centers on Shurik, who was born with an iconic face and almost complete absence of hearing. The whole village loves Shurik, and especially “Bushka” Valentina and his uncle, a former sailor. As a child, Shurik knows that “the whole world is for him,” plays with the most beautiful girl, helps his grandfather slaughter bulls, and then studies at a boarding school, returning to a village house every weekend, works at a factory and even gets married. Meanwhile, the Soviet country ceases to exist, the village men become drunkards and die, and Shurik ceases to have any luck in life. Baushka is getting old, everyone has no time to bother with their difficult younger relative, much less delve into his problems. Every annoying mistake that Shurik makes seems like a pattern to those around him. As he himself talks about his fatal abandonment, the trouble is that “all good people are just busy and sick.”

For Grigorenko, Shurik probably simultaneously symbolizes the loneliness of every post-Soviet person and stands before this person as a silent reproach, a mirror that reflects fussiness, inattentive efficiency and murderous self-obsession. True, this idea is given so directly that it forces the reader to either resist it or join in solidarity, but in any case, react more literally than one would like. And when in the finale there is a transparent hint of the events of 1861, it becomes completely uneasy. But another good news is that this pathos is comfortably wrapped in Grigorenko’s original, accurate, moderately - just moderately - folk and poetic speech.

Those who effortlessly spat out the Nenets onomastics of the author’s previous books should appreciate the new creative twist. It is obvious that the current Yasnaya Polyana jury also belongs to this camp. The “XXI Century” nomination, according to the regulations of the prize, is intended to “celebrate the works of modern authors who carry the ideals of humanity and morality, defining the range of trends of the present time.” Grigorenko always had everything in order with his love of humanity and morality, but one can hardly consider the “taiga Marquez” an exponent of the latest trends. It’s a bit of a pity to lose an original writer who could offer the public something completely new, but now this audience will definitely grow in size.