********************* Dedication to the album **********************
Andrey BALABUCHA
REASONING AROUND “Y”, or FANTASTIC INVOLVEDLY
I
The most microscopic actions can, if
luck (or unlucky) can sometimes result in very
significant - this thesis can safely be classified as a truism
like the immortal saying of Mr. Finching's aunt: "By
there are mileposts all along the Dover road" - or our own:
"The Volga flows into the Caspian Sea." So it’s not in vain
after all, more than a hundred years ago Nietzsche lamented: “Humanity is neither
what has not suffered more than from forgetting banal truths! From-
the broken truth only becomes more enduring...
They talk about a Leningrad philologist - I can hear
happened several times, from different people, but the details are mostly
coincided - such a story. He was born in the glorious Uryupinsk (in
those days - not even a city yet), and when the time came for him to receive
his sickle and hammer-fisted, very competent lady in the registry office
With an unwavering hand she wrote in the appropriate column for him: “Yivrei.”
A trifle, you say? Agree. Well, perhaps the young lady turned out to be insightful -
livable and for a quarter of a century anticipated the main thesis of its supporters
radical reform of Russian spelling: how it is heard, so it is written
Yes, we’re not talking about the young lady. ANDthis strange word went for a walk
according to the documents, eventually getting from the passport to the Red Army -
what book when they called our hero, who had just graduated
university, to the front. Front, encirclement, captivity... "Communists and Jews
- step forward!" This is where the mistake became fateful. I was indignant
the instinct of self-preservation called upon innate adventurism to help,
jumped up zealously - and, pointing his finger at the clearly marked on the page,
Nichka "y", the philologist was indignant: "What is this! I don’t like you
some shaggy mason! I am a representative of the glorious Jewish
people living in the mountain valleys of Altai and keeping in their
nah the purity of the ancient Aryan race. Yes, under the pressure of Tamerlane
hordes we had to convert to Islam (“Ek, I got away with that!”),
but we preserved the culture and blood! " And what do you think - we believed it.
And they were given a position: to call on the radio for their Jewish compatriots.
tvennikov give up and join the ROA. Which is what he did in the purest
Hebrew language, the alphabet, grammar and phonetics of which itself
composed (by a philologist, not just anyone!). True, he deceived the crematorium -
zero, but logging - no. He received his ten in '45
years for treason, and pathetic arguments that, supposedly, there is no
there are no Jewish people, and they don’t have a language, so it’s just in vain
he polluted the airwaves with his appeals, which, in essence, were ideological
Russian anti-fascist sabotage did not help at all. ANDours is back
hero to his favorite philology only in fifty-six - ho-
well, at least he's alive...
In the fate of Mikhail Weller, whom we are talking about today, the role of that
the wife from the registry office was played by a Leningrad critic, an employee of the department
la prose magazine "Neva" Samuel Lurie. This was in 1977.
By that time, Weller had already retired a year and a half ago.
literary bread and quite professionally composed little by little,
ruthlessly and honestly compressing the novel's ideas to a few
prostrate, stories that, naturally, are the typical fate of our generation -
niya - no one printed. He sent out manuscripts to every conceivable and
to unimaginable editorial offices, from where they sooner or later returned,
read (or even not read) with a moderately polite refusal -
except for those cases when they did not return at all, dissolved
drowning in oblivion. It was then, after reading the next Weller works,
niya, Lurie and advised the author to go with his outlandish
our stories to the seminar of young science fiction writers, which leads in the Union of Pi-
satel Boris Strugatsky. "Everything you write is, of course, no
not science fiction,” Lurie noted and was deeply right, “but
You have nowhere else to go." And so it happened that in October seven-
On the tenth of seventh, an elegant, lean man appeared at the seminar meeting
a young man with amazingly polished stories that
we all read and listened with pleasure, and then discussed with excitementwaited, benefiting from these processes more for themselves than
giving Weller something that would be worth wrapping around symbolic
cue mustache. Little by little he began to be considered a noted science fiction writer, participated
in this capacity in all regional and all-Union seminars,
fortunately, the fantasy community has always been closer and
friendly than other workshops, although by no means in this circle
closed himself off and never declared his belonging to the genre
dug. They did it for him. However, he did not resist too much -
Xia.
In those years, it was difficult for a young writer to publish his stories.
more difficult than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, and therefore barely
didn’t all writer-reader relationships develop in this way?
own, internal, semi-closed circle. Here they were born
reputations, assessments were formed, opinions matured. And one of them is
silo: of course, in addition to science fiction, Weller also writes something - so
well, he has the right, a whim of a genius. And although in reality everything was as it was
On the contrary, the small letter “y”, carelessly dropped by Lurie,
for a long time determined the general attitude towards Mikhail Weller.
II
Despite all the inscrutability of the Lord’s ways, I will not take upon myself
courage to assert that Weller is a writer, as they say, from
God. Moreover - at the risk of being accused of blasphemy and sacrilege -
However, I dare to say that he, in my opinion, issated solely by his own grace; exemplary total of debt
rapid and persistent process of self-creation.
Who in childhood did not dream of “exploits, of glory”? However, the submission
For the vast majority, this spiritual measles passes without a trace, and only
in the rarest cases, complications make themselves felt throughout life. U
some - by the itch of unsatisfied vanity, compelling the brave
generals write unreadable novels, and porn stars run for office
to go to parliament; for others - a steady desire for times
goal, which sooner or later makes you realize
simple truth that it is oneself who has true value
process, while the original goal is only fluctuating
the far horizon of Fata Morgana consciousness. Weller - typical
(as far as this can be said about a person) representative
these last ones.
He was one of the children who read - which is typical of our generation,
who became acquainted with KVN (not Maslyakov’s show, but the first domestic
real serial TV - a tiny screen behind a pop-eyed
water lens) much later than with a book. However, his attitude towards
the printed word remained consumer-ready for up to twelve years,
when, by the will of fate, the first literary laurels fell on young Misha.
It happened in Leningrad, where a family settled for six months,
tossed around the country by the unpredictable movements of his father -
military doctor. Teacher asassigned essays for winter school
Nikula write a poem about winter. Write a poem -
Well, not a school, but the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum! Not in vain, no, not in vain with this
Nowadays Weller remembers with tenderness that “wonderful wordsmith” Nadezhda
Alexandrovna Kordobovskaya... I don’t know if all two hundred and forty-five
The students who received this task completed it. But from those who
coped, Misha was recognized as the best. And it began to sound and sing under the arches
skull trumpet voice: “I can!” However, “I can” does not mean
"I want."
And only a year later, not in St. Petersburg, but in the city of Borzya, the regional center
Chita region, located sixty kilometers from the junction of the
Ngolia and Chinese borders, now a proud sixth grader
Weller asked his mother a sacramental question: “How much do you earn?
Is he a writer? - “Well, it’s hard to say... who is what.” - “What about Sholokhov?” -
"I don't know, probably a lot." At that moment she loomed in the foggy
perspective Worthy Goal. “I can” connected with “I want.” And when
after school - finished in Mogilev and, of course, with a gold medal
medal - the turn came to decide where to go next, the answer was ready: to
Faculty of Philology of Leningrad University, Russian department: where is it?
You can still learn things related to writing and literature
swarm?
The university was, however, not only a professional path, but
and by leaving military service. The point here is not at all a matter of pacifism.
Weller's Christian beliefs (there are none, but to arms hefeeds obvious
weakness and tells with relish how weekly on Fridays
goes to the nearest shooting range in Tallinn, where he fires to his heart's content
new pistols), and also not for fear of physical difficulties -
he had to drink plenty of this goodness, and, as a rule,
at your own request. He just managed to survive the garrisons,
appreciate all the delights of military service and waste three years on it
I didn’t feel the slightest desire. Even though life seems
endless, he felt the need to hurry in order to settle down
sing to go all the way to the Worthy Goal.
And in general, formal education in the eyes of Weller is special
didn't matter; he did not experience the ineradicable reverence of the Soviet
who is an intellectual to the university "float". More recently
he admitted to me that living then in a normal, open country -
So I wouldn’t pass the exams, but would become a sailor on some
Trump, a rusty trough under a cheap flag - let the world see yourself
show. And everything else can be learned by self-education. In one of
moments of personality formation, apparently fell into the hands of Londoners -
Russian "Martin Eden" - and imprinting worked, deep in the subconscious
forming a stereotype of a Real Writer. No wonder it’s so often
This novel is mentioned in various Weller short stories...
Well, the country was closed, but it was great. And while peers-
fellow students studied in the SSS, wrote articles, and thenpassed the candidate
minimums and pored over dissertations, not striving for any academic
demic, or at all to any other than a literary career
Weller gnawed granites as necessary, and the rest of the time
in cold seasons he wrote stories, and in warm seasons he ran away "to freedom, to
pampas". The pampas were different. He hunted with hunters in
Dolgano-Nenets Autonomous Okrug in Taimyr, in the Pyasina basin,
three hundred kilometers north of Norilsk. Built a narrow gauge railway
in Komi (in the story "Narrow-Gauge Railway", despite all its fantastic
ness, everything is real - from the setting to the names of the characters). Worked for
construction of another railway - on Mangashlak, jumping over
thus from the southern shore of the Barents Sea to the eastern Kas-
Piysky; and after that he still felled forest on the Tersky coast (truly “bere-
good brother"!) of the White Sea. Driven cattle - from Mongolia, along the Uimon -
one thousand two hundred kilometers and three months in the mountains... This is not always the case
there was work - so, for six months he scourged in Central Asia, interrupting
doing odd jobs and mostly eating impressions. But how
As a rule, all these escapades pursued a twofold goal: firstly,
earn a living, because Weller initially made it a rule
do not engage in any literary day labor while obtaining daily bread -
powerful only through the labor of his hands and trading only in manuscripts, his own
born solely in a fit of inspiration, “when the divine
verb to heartouches someone sensitively"; secondly, look
the world, and not like a tourist, alien, but joining in as much as possible and
life into an unfamiliar life, plunging headlong into a new environment.
Moreover, although later much of what was seen and experienced then
formed into the texts of various stories (and you can easily distinguish this
with the naked eye, as they say), this was by no means a campaign for
plots, but the accumulation of experience. After all, whatever you say, anyone can write -
the body needs experience not only intellectual, emotional, spiritual -
eventful, but also purely eventful, from which to a large extent all
the rest. Jack London, Mstislavsky, Hemingway... At the beginning of the six-
1990s "Papa Ham" became and remained for a long time for most of
us a cult figure. His first two-volume book, thin "geographer-
Gizovsky" in a paper cover "Green Hills of Africa"... "Pisa-
a person has no right to write about something he has not experienced in his own
skin..." Hemingway was disingenuous, retreating far from
this path declared by him; but we found out about that later
whether, from Gribanov’s bibliography, from other books; and in co-
knowledge - whatever it is, in the subconscious - has been firmly deposited. And Weller
was by no means an exception to this rule. On the contrary, freely or
involuntarily, consciously or without, he asserted in every possible way - not in strangers,
rather, in your own eyes - this is your own writer’s image.
However, a quarter of a century is a milestone. From the first, buttangible. It's time
switch to a sedentary lifestyle and get down to business seriously.
And in the seventy-third year, twenty-five-year-old Weller began to fall
give. It was not easy, without Leningrad registration!
but, having walked a considerable distance along paths both direct and roundabout, he
finally found a true writer's abode - an eight-meter room
a string under the very roof (why not a Parisian attic?) of one
from houses on Zhelyabova Street. But St. Petersburg is not Paris. We also need to serve
to live - the example of Brodsky before my eyes: writing is not a social
really useful work, if you are not a member of the Writers' Union, but for
for everyone who does not engage in this kind of work, there is an article about parasitism. Yes and
you have to earn money... And Weller got a job as a junior researcher
nicknamed in the Museum of the History of Religion settled in the Kazan Cathedral and
atheism. I got a job as a junior researcher, even prepared the topic
was about to go on excursions... But he soon discovered that his duties
it was not this activity that included him; he had to become a jack of all trades
master - supply agent, first deputy carpenter and second
caretaker's assistant. And, after struggling like this for a year, he finally sold Weller
pen, having gone into circulation at the Skorokhod factory (journalism is still
not literature - birthright, which means he didn’t sell). The team is here
formed a nice one - all former philology stars, which, choked -
being the joy of burning, in life one should arrange oneself on time
didn't care.True, today they all - in their own way - are
Not only Weller achieved the logo, but now, and then...Then the newspaper
they did it with passion, avidly. Fate for domestic writers,
I note, it’s quite typical - well, at least remember Sergei Dovlatov,
for example. He worked in the LOMO magazine...
And yet the newspaper is not for the writer; for a while this
rhythm, this lifestyle can be sustained, but at some point you have to
decide - and quit. And Weller quit. Earned again
money from the cowboy trade - and grew up at the table. Wrote, reprinted -
shaft, sent out, received back... Closed cycle. Martin Weller. Yes
What is it Mr. Eden! Our domestic editions are modified by postal
take rum - no Jack London dreamed of... And even in seventy-
on the seventh, having come to Strugatsky’s seminar, where he and I first
met, Weller had not yet had a single publication. Only in the summer
the following year, his two-page story appeared in Leningradskaya Pravda.
personal miniature, entitled in the newspaper "The Tale", and in the original
called "Sisters by Earrings". So, at thirty years old,
The prose writer Mikhail Weller finally made his debut.
The narrator, I note, is not one of those that Weller later became
to brag; but also to be ashamed, I must admit, there was nothing here; so
nothing poisoned the joy of the debut. After all, Chekhov did not re-release
many stories by Antoshi Chekhonte... But Weller wrote it - and also
a series of similar ones, amongwhich, by the way, turned out to be those who later
included in his books: “Centaur”, “Shooting in Progress”, “Planned Happiness”
and “I want to be a janitor”, this is not Misha Vellerte - quite created
naturally, carrying out another act of writerly self-creation.
The creative impulse for this act was given by Weller and I.
friend, late St. Petersburg writer, literary critic, translator,
smart, kind, subtle and abundantly talented person Igor Babanov.
Once, in the winter of seventy-seven, he said: “Misha, you are doing
Now this is a terrible mistake. You write wonderful stories that
no one will publish with us. And on your forehead everything is clearer
a black stamp appears: “Writes, but does not print.” And this is the mountain-
much worse than if they didn’t know you at all. Need to dial urgently
publications. Even in newspapers, anywhere - but print several
only stories. Any, even those that you won’t remember later -
I want to. But everyone should know that you are a published author." Plot-
Weller had enough comrades for such a case - and quite worthy ones, just
not from the first row, maybe. And he, following Babanov’s advice,
quickly scribbled out a dozen stories, scattered them among the editors - and humorously
These sketches and miniatures sprouted surprisingly quickly on the pages.
The act ended with unanimous applause.
But, seriously speaking, I needed a book. For everything: for writing
career, for self-affirmation, so that, finally, the life of everyone
writer- these are, first of all, his books. Only they remain
whereas everything else - newspapers, magazines, almanacs - if not
dies, then falls into lethargy, wrapped in a shroud of the most tender
library dust. It’s not without reason that Vitalik Bugrov, of blessed memory, is one
from his bibliographies of fiction called “Buried in the period-
ke"...
However, Leningrad has always been a difficult city for the writer -
perhaps the most difficult in the country: there are several hundred writers, and
There are enough publishing houses to count the fingers on one hand. And therefore
Weller has virtually no chance of publishing a collection of his stories
was; some of us will have to wait for a happy coincidence of circumstances
it lasted for ten and twenty years. Some were waiting. Others -
were looking for workarounds. Mikhail couldn't wait - his self-creation
demanded to hurry; demanded, I would add, quite justifiably. And
he decided to leave.
I didn't want to. And they did not connect him with our Northern Palmyra
only six months of school, and then student and the following. Roots
go much deeper. Graduated from the Military Medical Academy here
father. And if only! Also his great-great-great-great-grandfather, whose last name is
Gordon was buried at the Preobrazhenskoye Cemetery. Recruit from
cantonists, he served all twenty-five years, after which, as
a disabled person, that is, in modern terminology, a veteran, received,
regardless of religion, right of residence in capitals and surrounding
new toSt. Petersburg. It is painful to tear off such roots. "This
my only city,” Weller confessed to me not so long ago, “and
according to my sacred conviction, it is the best city in the world. There is no other
Rogo - nowhere, and the more you see, the better you understand it. City,
where just walking and looking is happiness..." But - pi-
satelistic self-realization demanded. He tried on Petrozavodsk-
ku,conducted reconnaissance in Riga; but in the end - thanks to chance -
new acquaintance with the wonderful Estonian prose writer and playwright
Theat Callas (however, is it really so random? As I used to say
one of my friends, “it’s not a small world - the layer is thin”) - sorted-
went to Tallinn (then with one “n”). True, honey was provided there too
the moose was not smeared. I had to, either collaborating in the newspaper, or interrupting
in other ways, wait another four years for the coveted book. But here
it has finally come out - a collection of short stories "I want to be a janitor." When-
Yes, back in his school years, Weller thought: published enough
write a few brilliant stories and everyone will notice, and on the streets
they will begin to recognize, and the doors will open into the shining Garden of Eden - wow -
kind... And so, the stories were published, in the current, eighty-third
That year, even the book was published, but the road to heaven is still
immeasurable, and - strange thing! - it seems not a tragedy, but the norm -
the natural course of events; for that helicopter city has now become not blessed
already a goal, but gained self-sufficiency andself-worth process. Your-
Weller pretended to be a Real Writer - and this was a success for him -
moose
Then there were new books. "Heartbreaker", "Adventures"
Major Zvyagin", "Legends of Nevsky Prospekt" - I don’t name everything,
for ten years, the article is not a bibliographic reference. And
fame came - not as it seemed in childhood: “the next morning he
woke up famous" - but she came; if earlier, in Leningrad
years, it was, to use the aphorism of Boris Slutsky, “a wide
fame in narrow circles", now the writer Weller has acquired his own
official reader - and, I note, a considerable electorate. And he already went
give lectures on Russian prose to Italy and Denmark...But, you think, about
Is his process of self-creation over? Nothing happened. Can't
this happens with writers - or they are not writers. That’s just about the following
the next acts of this process - another time and in another book.
And now - not only about the author, but also about his prose.
III
How surprisingly similar in some ways they sometimes turn out to be, even very
different people! I remember two years ago, when I wrote the preface to
the book is either a Kievite from Moldavanka or an Odessa resident from Khreshchatyk,
charming and cheerful science fiction writer Boris Stern, he asked me
make some reservation. And now Weller, as soon as the topic of
ie, repeated almost word for word: “Only, please, And-
Ray, please mention that, strictly speaking, this is notfantasy and, moreover,
not science fiction. This is the most ordinary prose with elements of fan
taziiy, hacking reality, which is inherent in artistic literature from time immemorial.
ratio. In Crime and Punishment, there is, of course, an element of cri-
novel, but no one would call him a detective..."
That's what I mentioned. And now - let's figure it out, because here
so, of its own accord, it arose again with marvelous clarity - in large
typeface, bold italics - the same letter "Y".
First of all, about science fiction. In fact, it was born
in the last century, with the industrial revolution, and since then from mustard-
a new seed of the Jules Verne "novel in a completely new kind,
scientific novel" has grown into a huge tree, which has not only
lush crown, but also - like a banyan - many additional
trunks supporting it. It's not surprising at all, this stormy
growth, because it corresponds to an equally avalanche-like scientific and technological
cultural progress, which has ceased to be the lot of the hermits of Ber-
Toldov Shvartsev and tragic loners Denis Papenov, directly or
indirectly entering every house. And since a new force appeared in the world -
Judge there as you wish, good or evil, it doesn’t matter, -
literature could not ignore it. Her and the consequences of her intervention
influences in our lives.
Of course, SF is a field of fiction, and therefore
in his best works (there is no talk about others) interestI was always not concerned with bare problems, but as a person living in the world,
filled with these problems. However, the relationship between NF and STR is undeniable.
Nenna. It’s from her, from this connection, considering it for the moment,
and Weller, Stern and many like them renounce, because they
in their creativity they focus exclusively on eternal problems.
the validity of such a renunciation is doubtful - and the most
There are eternal problems that can be investigated on any material. But on
Everyone has the right to their position. And it is impossible not to respect this will.
Now let's remember that the awkward phrase
"science fiction" - tracing paper from English science fiction,
coined by the "father of American SF" Hugo Gernsback,
author of the immortal "Ralph 124 C 41 +"). And is described by this
the term is only part of the vast fantasy literature. Yes and in-
in general, it little by little goes out of use, being replaced by the definition
“hard science fiction.” And next to it there are other areas that
Some do not yet have established names; everyone is practicing here
in their own way - some talk about “magical realism”, some talk about “tour-
borealism", some about fantasy, some about "fantastic realism"...
And all from the desire to renounce the Gernsback inheritance. So it's
they don’t force it on anyone! But is it a sad story about how
The willful Nose has escaped from the face of Major Kovalev - isn’t it fantastic?
And isn’t Gogol’s fantasy"Portrait"? Or "Portrait of Dory"
Ana Gray" by Oscar Wilde? Of course, no crazy passport -
a literature tist will not even try to give these works
their authors receive permanent residence in the city of NF. No one will come to
head to separate them from the main stream, “great literature”. But a hundred
Do they become any less fantastic because of this?
I am sinful, these proclamations of manifestos, statements of genre
definitions, pouring out at times (pouring out - the word is not so
figurative, no matter how terminologically precise, since they flow here into
considerable quantities of a wide variety of liquids - from ink to
slop) into literary battles, seem like children's games
adults. Fortunately, Weller was not one of the warriors.
live He simply makes a distinction: “Here everything is determined
the ratio of elements in the text and the load that these elements
cops carry. In science fiction, the element is scientific or scientific
co-shaped - the essence of necessary or fundamental, that core,
on which the entire narrative is strung. So in the Welsh "Ma-
bus of Time" the apparatus itself is the essence of the entire literary const.
handouts of the novel. And when the fantastic element is some kind of
gate of defamiliarization in the view of reality, which allows
let’s look at it from an unconventional, non-stencil side,
to depict life in a certain refraction, as life is not quite in forms
familiarlife - then this is no longer science fiction, but about
one hundred literature with such a fantastic twist."
I suspect that “literature with a fantastic twist” is also not
may not belong to the general field of fantasy, as well as
NF. And from this point of view, Weller still bears that stigma of
in the form of the letter “y”, which Samuel Lurie once saw on his forehead.
Yes, his fiction is by no means scientific. So what? I'll allow myself
to doubt that the fantastic principle appears in him only
in the role of some kind of twist. Don't turn the major's nose into a pretty one
frankly speaking, a nasty gentleman, and Weller's wallet - in
equally unpleasant personality, and what will remain of both products
deniya? Ashes...So here too there is a fantastic premise - a core,
only carved from a different material. But this is just a design
the torus determines where which axis is needed. It is important for you and me that -
axis
However, enough about definitions.
Something else is much more important. The way Weller's prose is made. I
I deliberately use this particular verb, because Weller, in my opinion,
is completely devoid of any sacred attitude to what he writes. This is work,
which he taught himself to perfection; skill, the secrets of which
comprehended. Of course, the process of comprehension and learning itself is open, put
he (and himself) have no limits here. But we can talk about ste-
stumps, and Mishina is undoubtedly tall.
Hemingway to me in our presentthe conversation had already ended
nat. Let me do this again. "I am writing while standing on one
leg,” he once gave one of the interviewers another aphorism
“Papa Ham,” and I cross it out while sitting in a chair.” Maxima also reduced
revolted in Weller's subconscious. However, here we can remember
and another one - Rodin’s: “I just take a block of stone and cut-
I blame everything unnecessary." In literature, you only have to first create yourself
cut a block, and then ruthlessly cut off the excess from it. And before-
I must admit, among our brother there are few authors who can
capable of such ruthlessness towards their text as Weller. Name-
but that is why his prose has such a large specific weight: each
every word has been verified many times, and not a single word is superfluous. Even there,
where at first glance they seem superfluous, where it appears for a moment
the feeling that it was said somehow strangely and clumsily, it’s worth looking closely
Take a closer look - but no! It's impossible otherwise. Because it will be broken
there is a feeling of living speech at once - this is especially felt in “Legends”
Nevsky Prospekt "... For the same reason, Weller cannot
move from short stories to larger forms - stories, novels.
After all, even his "Major Zvyagin", even though it is called a novel - by the publisher,
- but in fact it is a novelistic cycle, something
like Jack London's Smoke Belew.
Let me make a tiny digression. Although the adventures of the brave
major from military fieldsurgery is not presented in this collection.
Lena, since they really don’t belong to science fiction, I can’t help but
to say about this character - he is very indicative of Weller.
I don’t know whether the author himself counts Mr. Zvyagin among his favorites
- or maybe hates it like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle the Great
Baker Street Detective; I kept meaning to ask, but somehow I didn’t get it...
began... But the fact is that for the Weller mentality, comrade
the major is a very significant figure, I don’t doubt it for a minute, because
it is the key to Weller himself. Just as he creates and re-creates
Zvyagin creates his “clients”, the author who gave birth to him appears
the same demiurge, and not only in relation to his own
composition, but also to himself. With wondrous androgyny, he is his own Zvyagin
and a patient himself...
Let us return, however, to Weller’s texts. Like any normal
great writer, the epic space of a large form cannot
not to attract. But... The desire to squeeze maximum meaning into minimum volume-
It builds such a Maginot line on Weller’s path that there is no way
the fortifiers never dreamed of it. And the losses during its assault reach a
very significant identity. Here is just one example. The idea, first
originally intended for a story, suddenly began to grow in
Weller - and in the end, a fair amount of time later, he turned around two
twelve-page (that is, two hundred and seventy pages, if cited)
move on to normal typing)novel. I don't know if I tapped him
Misha, standing on one leg, but when he sat down in a chair and began to...
to scribble... “And out of twelve sheets I have three left,”
he said. “And in my opinion, the whole essence, everything contains-
nie, all the episodes, details, details, reflections and so on - everything
left. So I left in the subtitle “literary emigrant”
what a novel", because in my opinion it is - if there is no volume
counting is a full-fledged novel." There’s no arguing about fullness
I will - otherwise “Seryozha Dovlatov’s Knife” wouldn’t have made it (and we’re talking about
German) to the nomination shortlist for the Russian Booker Prize
1995; they will give him a bonus, or they won’t - the very fact of such an award
vision speaks volumes. And these are still flowers. Another - and
much earlier - the plot for the novel eventually resulted in a story
“Freedom will not be given”, published in Weller’s first
collection "I want to be a janitor"; so the story is just pages
by two or three. But the whole ideologeme of the novel is present there. "Who cares?"
she can decode," he remarked when we were talking about this
topic, Weller. Such mercilessness towards one’s own creation, in my opinion
look gives off some kind of monstrous writerly masochism, but in
at the same time cannot but command respect. And yet - she is the one who
Weller barks Weller. Although deep down I still hope that
someday he will become a sadist - and hit the readerfull-length
a short novel. God forbid!
IV
And now, finally, let's return for a moment to the fact that
the beginning - to the letter "s".
It must be said that it generally plays a disproportionately large role in
domestic art. Just remember the one that had fun for a good two
generation "Operation Y" coupled with other adventures of Shurik;
or - the naked boar Y from “It’s Hard to Be a God” by the Strugatskys... I remember
Svyatoslav Loginov, planning his “Multi-Armed God Dalain”,
complained that he couldn’t find a Chukchi-Russian dictionary anywhere:
“A wonderful language, there are a lot of “y”s in it, but I love her reverently and tenderly...”
As a result, to create the linguistic atmosphere of the novel, it was necessary to use
still be called Mongolian, where “yo” abounds and not “y”, but the call-
that was... And even in the foreign and mysterious Welsh language the sound has-
called "dark and", and which no one except the Welsh, supposedly and pro-
I can’t bear to say it, it turns out that our native Russians
"s". Thus, what played a fatal role in the life of the Leningrad
the philologist I talked about at the beginning.
After all, he inevitably turned out to be a representative of a proud, albeit ma-
numbered people, carrying in their genes the heritage of the ancient Aryans.
Thanks, of course, to the lady from the registry office, but I was guiding her with my hand
Fate.
So Mikhail Weller became a science fiction writer involuntarily, carelessly
following the advice of the visionary (one cannot help but admit) Lurie. And there it isoff and on by itself: the proud tribe accepted him into their ranks
science fiction and science fiction lovers, fell in love, caressed - and no longer
will let you go forever. This is also Fate. From which, as is known, there is no
you'll leave.
Yes and is it necessary?
Share your thoughts about the article