Magic well and other nonsense
About Irina Mitrofanova’s book “Awkward Souls”
No, no, there is no magic well in this book. What do you. Although... Of course, yes - there is. Pool. Through the looking glass rabbit hole, pond, lake, failure, whatever... Transparent doors of perception into which you dive and gradually become immersed while reading this book. However... again - not that. Not this way. Everything becomes softer, gentler, even more ghostly, magically happening. And before reading, you need to plunge into silence. Into that same silence of contemplation that Grigory Pomerantz spoke about, and before him many Eastern and Western philosophers and thinkers. Turn off Facebook, TV screens, all these everyday worries and dissatisfaction. own life, run away somewhere, into virgin silence, don’t worry, don’t worry, and better bury it in river sand your mobile phone.
Listen. Listen. Do you hear? How slowly, eternally, wonderfully, unhurriedly our globe rotates, and we, all of us, quietly move and rustle on it. We're sailing somewhere. This is it, rustling, reminiscent of the sound of the sea, the deep sound of life.
Well, now open the book “Awkward Souls.” And when you start reading, you will feel that the umbilical cord that once connected you to your foremother’s womb, which you (or you yourself) for some reason cut, has reappeared.
Hm.. easy to say, right? Immerse yourself in silence... It’s impossible. But life is precisely an impossible thing. Just a line on a gravestone between two dates - but how many kilometers of the Mariana Trench are there? Didn't dive? Yes, yes, this is how it should be, not only read, but in general do all the most important things in life - in a blissful detachment from superficial nonsense. And then:
“The circle of light on the grass, with gray spots and streaks, looks like the moon, maybe it’s the one that fell. I stand in this circle, my feet are warm. And I can’t see anything around, it’s black, I put my hands beyond the border of the light, they drown in the darkness, as if they are melting. But no, the fingers move, where the hands are, only they are not hot there, not cold, not warm, not cool, in any way. And then I understand that there is nothing outside my circle, it hangs in emptiness. I look at my feet, the light begins to fade and is no longer warm, and when it goes out, I will fall, and I will fall for a long, long time, no, I will always fall. But I’m not afraid, I want it... I want it... I woke up before the circle melted.”
And I wanted to, and I woke up before the circle melted - when the book ended. And to be honest: I didn’t want to wake up at all. Although, maybe this is not a dream? What about the present, the true world, in which all people need to live? So that there is no anger, squabbles, arrogance, contempt, wars, pride, so that there is no comparison of who is better and who is worse. Everything is better! Only when I got on a long-travelling train, on the top bunk of a compartment, alone - that is, shrouded in that same silence - only then did I really become engrossed in Awkward Souls. I read it, easily stopped mid-sentence, and surprisingly: I didn’t itch at all to find out what would happen next. Then, when it began to gradually lull me to sleep again, and fields and invisible cities were again running outside the window, I again plunged into this magical well, the walls of which were moving apart, and floated towards, from below, the constantly expanding world of childhood, growing up, love-lack of love, “longing- not melancholy” (remember how in the film “Underground”, at the end, when the hero dived and swam?), and the little mermaid sang from the pool, drawing her further and further, but I was not afraid, I swam and swam and swam into the deepest depths. Even to the point of death, he swam.
No, don’t be scared (I wasn’t scared) - it’s not about the bad, about the afterlife. Everyone there smiles, with a very kind smile, the kind that children and good, thoughtful adults have. A smile like that of real wise old men and women.
“Well, we’ll live as long as God gives, of course,” Baba Vera smiled, “but we can’t forget about death, death is a serious matter.”
It’s a strange feeling: the collection begins with stories about childhood - “The Elimonian and Other Nonsense”, “Cat’s Love”, “Pashkino Cemetery”, “The Mooing Sea” - and suddenly some kind of tragic adulthood appears in these stories. And then, when the short stories about adult life came out - “Katya the Doll”, “Women”, “Hydra”, “Name for Two”, “ Random person", "Monologue of someone who has fallen out of love" - an atmosphere of timid, stubborn childhood arises. And at the same time - no slobbering girlish sentimentality! On the contrary, in places it is even harsh, merciless, just as it happens with children and adults who understand everything (although they can do little). And yet - this is not the kind of love that is being described here, not generally accepted, or something, not satisfying, not bright, without passions. Not the kind of love that once, a flash - and forever, until the deathbed - with screams, quarrels, showdowns, departures, returns. She's somehow...clean...
"And I wanted you early childhood to give when life mixes with a fairy tale... I wanted to take you by the hand and take you on an excursion into my past, I would show you everything that is most precious, the most secret, and then we would go to yours. However, it doesn’t matter whose country you go to first. Everything living with you seems to have woken up and washed itself clean cold water. And the eyes sparkled, and everything was so bright and clear all around. It suddenly appeared as if there was no more dust and no glass, so clean. Maybe you remember how photographs used to be taken at home. The paper gets wet, the light is pinkish, and then the outlines are timid, and then more and more confident, and suddenly the picture, the main thing is not to overexpose it. Birth small world. I would like to appear with you like this, to appear in the photograph...”
Yes Yes. Everything appears as in the photograph. The one you create alone, in the dark. Magical, magical action. Everything seems to be make-believe - but suddenly the outlines of people, faces, things, cute nonsense with which grandfather’s room is hung and which we so need as adults appear, because without these nonsense there is a cold emptiness.
The dolls in “Awkward Souls” grow old and gray like people, and the heroes do not live in just one country, they live in their own countries-worlds, which are often more alive, more real, more wonderful and honest than our dull reality. Everything is not “childish” and not like an adult, but eternal. As, in fact, it should be. What? Have you forgotten that there is also such a special age - eternal? That's what Awkward Souls is about. About the human milky way - without age, status, old age, death - about the eternal path.
“And here we fly: a black and white feather on a clear night. Silently we spin to the beat, we glide through the silver, no, purple, smoky reflections; everything is alive, changing, spinning, spinning... I wish I could dissolve in the darkness, splash across the Milky Way, there - into beating crystal, disappear completely into star dust..."
VALERY BYLINSKY
Born in 1977 in Moscow. Journalist, prose writer. Graduate of the Literary Institute named after. Gorky (seminar by M.P. Lobanov). Member of the international creative association “Artbukhta”. Worked research fellow V educational institution, correspondent news agency, journalist, editor of educational websites. She has been published in the newspapers “Education News”, “Weekly News Podmoskovye”, “Slovo”, “Literary News”, a number of municipal publications, literary almanacs “Artbukhta”, “LITIS”, “Istoki”. In 2014, Irina Mitrofanova’s debut collection of stories, Awkward Souls, was published. Participant in the criticism seminar of the Meeting of Young Writers at the JPM in 2014.
BRUTAL ROCKER ABOUT THE RUSSIAN VILLAGE: LYRICS IN A JACKET SUIT
About Ingvar Korotkov’s novel “My Country Rock: A Novel in Episodes” (M.: Vremya, 2014)
Ingvar Korotkov’s book “My Country Rock” began to surprise me from the very first pages. This does not look like a continuation of the tradition of village prose, there is something clearly different, new, but why this is so remains a mystery. Having read to the end, I think I understood why. Our village writers were born and raised in the village, for them the village is small Motherland, whatever it may be, with all its pros and cons, it is in their blood and flesh, and they are both painful and happy for it, it is too dear to them. Yes and modern writers, in whose prose a village appears in one form or another (Roman Senchin, for example) were either born and raised in the village, or they came to visit their grandparents during the holidays during their golden childhood. And now they are either nostalgic or suffering: where is my village, where are my grandparents, everything has disappeared to hell, it has degraded to the extreme, and so on... Well, or it hasn’t disappeared yet - it doesn’t matter, then my youth, wild or not, has faded wild, but somehow connected to the village.
Korotkov is completely different. The narrator in the book is a battered by life, no longer a very young rocker, whose youth has nothing to do with the village. And he was thrown into the village by chance, or rather, by some kind of internal anarchy - it doesn’t matter where, even to Mars; the eternal tramp flew into this quiet “Gribovka”, like an alien who was fed up with his fellow tribesmen. And this “alien” begins to fall in love drop by drop with this “planet” and its inhabitants. Among the rural writers, love for the village was, as they say, absorbed with mother’s milk, and, of course, the component of this love did not include its first stage, that is, falling in love, which may or may not develop into love. And falling in love is, first of all, surprise and wonder. It is precisely these surprises and wonders that make Korotkov’s “village creativity” different from those who continue the tradition of village prose.
Throughout the entire narrative, the hero-narrator almost does not participate in the unfolding events; he observes from the side, as if he were watching very interesting film, cut into several series-episodes, and you watch along with it, and cannot tear yourself away, the characters are so colorful and bright.
The temperamental Baba Dusya, in her fights with the neighbor's birds and cattle that encroached on her garden, resembles an aged Valkyrie; quarrels - love games between grandfather Vasily and woman Nyura will give odds to any of the well-known modern scenarios of sexual games, you are amazed at how different variations on the well-known theme can be: “Darlings scold - only have fun”; in the relationship between Tonchikha and her goose there is such an intensity of passions, as if this is a confrontation between very different mothers and daughters who poorly understand, but ultimately love each other.
Among the curious, amusing incidents told by the author, there is a place for sad and even tragic stories. Such as “Kolya the Werewolf”, “Mikha - Broken Hopes”, “Faded Othello and Chicken Desdemona”. But in each of the episodes of this unique pastoral, the music of life does not stop: now having fun and playing around, now hooliganly dodging in the most unexpected arrangement, now crying with tears of grief or enlightened joy. And even in the last village drunkard, such as Yurik the plowman, we, together with the author, feel God’s spark, living soul. That is why, after reading the novel in its entirety, you are left with a feeling of some kind of fullness: joy, sadness and life, which is impossible without love. That same love for the distant, which suddenly becomes truly close, the love for life, which was alien and has become so dear. And I want to end with the words of the author:
“And I stood on the balcony, digging my white fingers into the railing, and looked into the bottomless sky in which my soul soared, and waited, and knew that it was ALIVE... Like the souls of my dear Gribovo residents... They are always there, just like LOVE, settled in me, warmed me, revived me, without which it is simply impossible to live.”
A STORY OF INCREDIBLE LOVE AND A QUIET FEAT
About Galina Marcus’s novel “A Tale with a Happy Beginning” (St. Petersburg. - “Written with a pen,” 2014)
Galina Marcus's novel is multifaceted, everyone will find something of their own in it. For some, it will be a bright love story with unexpected and exciting plot twists. Some may find the topic of childhood loneliness, moral development, and the influence that relatives have on each other, and not only adults on children, but also children on adults, more relatable. And someone, by comparing the stories of Sonya and Mara, will try to find the answer to one of the most difficult questions - the question of forgiveness.
The author writes about what he knows. In the main character's colleagues, representatives local authorities, doctor, rude modern youth, kids from kindergarten the reader may well recognize himself, his acquaintances, friends, children or parents. Well, what would a fairy tale be without magic... Along with human heroes, the novel features... a toy, a fox from puppet theater, who retired to raise first little and then adult Sonya. Whether he was really alive, let each reader decide for himself.
I have identified three main ideas on which the novel rests.
The first is a real idea, given by God and consecrated in the church conjugal love, making the couple one. The author does not talk about this directly, but the very outline of the work is constructed in such a way that closer to the denouement you understand: it is impossible to separate these people, because a miracle has happened, and a miracle is indivisible. And in reality there is no choice; to refuse this love would mean going against human nature - in the form in which it was originally intended by the Creator.
The second is the idea of natural life ordinary person with "internal moral law". The way Sonya treats her children, her sister, and people in general testifies to the integrity of her character, quiet courage, and loyalty—first of all, to herself. After all, “there is no sadder betrayal in the world than betrayal of yourself.”
The third is the very idea of forgiveness, and even, perhaps, the meaning of life. It is worth noting that the author, of course, does not give a categorical answer to this question. And who can give it? All her life, Mara lived for the sake of others: daughters - her own and adopted ones, a spineless, unprincipled husband, an unfaithful girlfriend... Mara could forgive everything, even insults and physical betrayal. The only thing I haven’t forgiven is betrayal - in spiritual sense words. But what does it mean that you haven’t forgiven? Looks like I kicked out my hubby, but then he got him too new family she helped because that was the essence of her character - to help those who are unable to help themselves. Ashamed of her own nobility, Mara, while doing active good, was terrified of looking like a “heroine” in the eyes of others, or maybe even “abnormal”?.. This is a complex character, and his fate hurts and leads to some confusion. Sometimes I want to shout to her: they say, no one has canceled self-love either! - and suddenly you catch yourself thinking: what if this is the only way it should be? And then you realize that you personally cannot do this.
Mara's daughter Sonya is not so unrequited, and in certain situations she can express resentment specifically and passionately. But most importantly, in all her actions she acts as a deeply decent and merciful person, who cannot feel the feeling of mortal hatred for her enemies, when, as they say, if it were my will, I would kill myself. She really feels sorry for them, she is very hurt and annoyed, but she doesn’t hate them. Perhaps this quality makes main character truly special, such as there are few of them, a bright representative of the good forces, which, of course, will win, only the price of this victory of the spirit will be very high.
In the preface included in the book, the writer Ekaterina Zlobina called Galina’s work a sentimental novel, explaining to the reader how a sentimental novel differs from a cheap melodrama. By and large, this is probably true. But if you start to deeply analyze, in “A Tale with a Happy Beginning” you can find some elements of a family saga, an adventure (adventure) novel, and even a fairy tale. Therefore, I will conclude my review with the famous words of Voltaire: “Any genres are good, except the boring ones.” Whether you think about everything that I wrote here, or think about something of your own, or don’t think about it at all, the bright twists and turns of the plot will definitely not let you get bored, and you won’t be able to fall asleep over this “fairy tale.”
Guys, I have always been afraid of one thing: “Artbukhta” is becoming a kind of gangster “for our own people”. If someone intervenes with his caring opinion, which goes against him, they will attribute envy and hatred to him, and they will declare him a zombie... Let's think about what is happening now...
A discussion of writer's ethics, which, it turns out, does not exist and cannot exist, is still not a “discussion of gossip.” And where else can we honestly discuss such issues if not here? In my humble opinion, the closer people are, the stricter they should be towards each other. Well, let’s praise the “wonderful diva” in unison, leaving behind the “blooming stumps” (I don’t remember such images either from L.N. or from Ingvar Korotkov). Let's all merge in a kind of ecstasy (“why, without fear of sin,” etc.), what will we get? "Frog Concert"? (by the way, I really love this thing from Ira).
We here seem to be claiming to be considered cultured people. Then let's translate it into Russian catchphrase Sasha Petrova, with whom he pops up in all places on the Internet, if only someone gives a hint about what is good and what is bad.
“There can only be one writer’s ethics - don’t give a damn about any ethics” (S. Petrov). In Russian this means that a writer is a person who should have neither shame nor conscience. And as soon as someone dares to encroach on this caste privilege and appeal to one of these ancient concepts (well, so that at least a person thinks), he will immediately be shown his place. Like, the author doesn’t say or deny anything, and the writing is lively, and in general, “you’re a flowering stump,” go plant zucchini in your garden, since you don’t understand anything about literature, but translate everything into life...
And further. For “ethics” to become “writerly”, one must also become a writer. Publishing a book at your own expense and classifying yourself as a member of a caste that can do anything is a curiosity, nothing more.
No, and I’ll add a little more))
Editors and publishers are people who, stepping on the throat of their own song, so to speak, are engaged in the promotion of authors - future writers. As a rule, these are the most talented writers who do not write or hardly write only because all their time is spent reading and promoting other people's texts. I will give examples of people who are like mothers and fathers for their authors, students, chicks, etc. This is Gennady Krasnikov, one of the outstanding modern poets, which in last years does not engage in his creativity, because wants to have time to gather under his wing all the best that there is in poetry and give him a start in life. This is German Arzumanov, a prose writer who has been publishing the magazine “Lamp and Chimney” for several years at his own expense. This, after all, is Ekaterina Zlobina, most talented writer, who has not yet published her book. Why? Because when there were funds, she and we invested them in almanacs - for everyone! When it was time to bring the book to fruition, she dealt with the authors again, their publications on the website, in the almanac, conversations with them, editing them... And now - read this phrase again, everyone who, willingly or unwillingly, agreed with her at the beginning of the dialogue:
"There can only be one writer's ethics - don't care about any ethics."
Aren't you ashamed? Are these people ruining their lives and their talent for the sake of such writers?
Rina Mikheeva and her "Secret of the Stone"
My friends and authors of wonderful fantasy stories, Magic world which are just a magnificent decoration for expressing thoughts, ideas, beliefs. However, these principles do not stick out from the text, and the narrative is exciting and dynamic. I never tire of being amazed at the author’s imagination, which filled his fairy worlds amazing heroes. I give here only examples of the works of these authors, but believe me, others are no less interesting.
My longtime friend and co-author Denis Vasiliev (also known as Rybin-Oksky, Autumn Romantic - for a number of reasons he is published on Internet resources under pseudonyms), author of two poetry collections "Comments on Life" (2006) and "Confession of a Craftsman" (2013) . We worked together on the novel "Managers" (the novel is currently being edited again). Denis writes in the genre of historical fiction, prose miniatures, and haiku-like works.
I cannot help but say here words of gratitude to Vita and Denis for their constant long-term support and help in any of my endeavors, and often for new ideas and inspiration.
Irina Mitrofanova is a graduate of the Gorky Literary Institute, my friend from the wonderful magazine "Artbukhta", the author of wonderful stories and short stories in the most various genres. Children's memories and everyday vicissitudes live in them, and frank events from their own biography are intertwined with fantastic reality. But all this is united by the author’s amazing style, bewitching speech, such that once you open the first page of Irina’s book “Awkward Souls”, it will be impossible to tear yourself away.
Sorry if I forgot someone or didn’t have time to add. The section will be constantly updated.
There is a gift for writing captivatingly about the ordinary. More precisely, to show that nothing “ordinary” exists. Can not be " ordinary stories": every person is unique, every situation is unique, life gives birth to the most interesting stories.
The collection "Awkward Souls" begins with a story about children who use their imagination to create fairy-tale worlds. It seems like a common theme for a sweet story about how good it is to be a carefree child. But Mitrofanova’s little heroes, Ira and Yegor, come up with a game - to hang the princes who woo Ira. Grandma, seeing this, cackles in fear - although why can’t this happen often in fairy tales: they hang princes and cut off their heads... Grandfather decides to play along with the children: “Well, who hangs him like that? That’s how it should be!” As they say, there is a break in the pattern for both the grandmother and the reader.
Almost every story in the collection is a small break in the pattern. A man starts an affair with someone else's wife - this is common. The deceived husband, as it turns out, knows about everything and does not mind at all - this is already strange. (Story “A Name for Two.”) An old man fell in love with a young woman - it happens. To win her over, he invited her to write a book together - this is something not from this century. (" Literary novel".) Or this situation: a girl dreams of a beautiful romantic love, because of this, she is unable to build relationships with those men who only need sex. Are there any other men? It turns out that there is, but marriage with such a man does not guarantee the notorious “happiness in your personal life.” (“Apollo.”)
Mitrofanova writes about the eternal. About human relationships. About clashes of characters. About children to whom “everything around seemed marvelous.” Even about animals: the two-page sketch “Cat's Love” is perhaps the most touching work in the collection. Mitrofanova's heroes exist outside of time. The story that happened to the weak-willed Vitaly (“Hydra,” “One Name for Two”), who was subjugated by the imperious Lyudmila, who was several years older than him, could have happened in any century. The change of eras occurs somewhere in the background and reminds of itself only through plot details like the old ship bought by Vitaly and Lyudmila to open their own business and survive in difficult times.
“Awkward Souls” is not just a collection, but a kind of integral work, a mosaic novel. Sometimes the author tells several stories about the same characters, sometimes he does minor character one story is the main character of another, sometimes returns to those characters about whom she wrote at the beginning of the book. The collection is organized in a very clever way: it all starts with small, plotless, yet elegant sketches about childhood, which the reader swallows instantly and wants more. The further you go, the more mature the characters become, the larger the works become, the more the plot core stands out. Some stories could even become the basis for an entire novel... but why? They say that realism is not held in high esteem now. A realist writer has a better chance of reaching the reader with small forms.
Irina Mitrofanova knows how to get through. Her prose is cozy (there is no other way to say it), poetic and unobtrusive: Mitrofanova does not press for pity, does not overdo it with humor, does not overuse flowery descriptions, but the stories in the collection “Awkward Souls” evoke both sadness and a smile, they are bright and sincere. Unfortunately, publishers do not favor such prose: the collection was published in a circulation of only 300 copies. Fortunately, we now have one copy in our library.