Dead can dance how fortunate
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HOW FORTUNATE THE MAN WITH NONE - Dead Can DanceHOW FORTUNATE THE MAN WITH NONE - Dead Can Dance - LETRAS.COM
Home Gothic Dead Can Dance How Fortunate The Man With None
You saw sagacious Solomon
You know what came of him,
To him complexities seemed plain.
He cursed the hour that gave birth to him
And saw that everything was vain.
How great and wise was Solomon.
The world however did not wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's wisdom that had brought him to this state.
How fortunate the man with none.
You saw courageous Caesar next
You know what he became.
They deified him in his life
Then had him murdered just the same.
And as they raised the fatal knife
How loud he cried: you too my son!
The world however did not wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's courage that had brought him to that state.
How fortunate the man with none.
You heard of honest Socrates
The man who never lied:
They weren't so grateful as you'd think
Instead the rulers fixed to have him tried
And handed him the poisoned drink.
How honest was the people's noble son.
The world however did not wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's honesty that brought him to that state.
How fortunate the man with none.
Here you can see respectable folk
Keeping to God's own laws.
So far he hasn't taken heed.
You who sit safe and warm indoors
Help to relieve our bitter need.
How virtuosly we had begun.
The world however didn't wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's fear of god that brought us to that state.
How fortunate the man with none.
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- The Wind That Shakes The Barley
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All Only me
Ilya Stogov - The Dead Can Dance: A Guide to the End of the World read online in the text, the author visited personally.
All the artifacts mentioned in the text, including manuscripts, tombstones and religious or antique items, the author saw with his own eyes.
Where the streets have no name
Staraya Ladoga, former capital of Rus'
Employers hate guys like me. To live and ride around the world, I need money. Therefore, there is no job that I would refuse. There is even such a pearl in my career as working as a sandwich in a hypermarket: for a month and a half in a row I walked among the counters dressed as a red Nokia mobile phone.
It doesn't matter. I guess I can see that all this is not for long. I come to ask for a job, I hand the documents to the employer, and he understands: living life side by side with me will not work. Soon I will take these documents back, shove the salary into my pockets and dump.
Once I counted how many professions I had changed by the age of thirty. The number is horrendous. Especially against the background of my father, who retired last year, and before that for several decades in a row he had never quit at all, but only (even under Gorbachev) was somehow transferred from department to department.
I have never worked anywhere for more than nine months. The last (twenty-seventh) entry in my work book is dated 1996. After that, I worked mainly under a contract, and kept the book as a souvenir. I have never paid taxes in my life and have never contributed anything to my pension fund. I'll get settled, I'll save money, I'll leave. I'll come back, borrow a lot of money, sooner or later get a job again, pay off my debts and leave again. Why do employers love me? They don't go anywhere.
Last year I received a salary from a fairly large PR office. There was not much money in this work, and there was no point in it at all. I needed PR money: I was not hired for any other job. But the work itself drove me to hysterics.
The New Year was the most difficult. On December 31, 2004, the office was still working, everyone had a working day, and on January 3, employees were ordered to return to work. A week before the holiday, I counted free days and cash. It turned out that I could go somewhere for a day and a half. I couldn’t escape for more than a day and a half, but on the other hand, if I hadn’t gone anywhere at all, I would have simply gone crazy.
There was no time left to conjure with visas. I started calling travel agencies. It was hopeless. Tickets were sold out in November. I said what the hell with them, with warm edges, and asked them to send me at least to Finland. I was told that on New Year's Eve the vouchers to Finland (Santa's homeland) ran out first and I had to think earlier.
As a result, on January 2, instead of warm climes and instead of Finland, I went on a bus tour to the village of Staraya Ladoga, Leningrad Region.
The weather was such that everyone upstairs got drunk again, scandalized, knocked over the ashtray and the world below turned gray.
No smell. No flowers. Hollowed out world. Any shades of gray, but other colors, sorry, brother, we don’t have it here. It was impossible to believe in the existence of California, where the sun and thirst are always quenched simply by picking tangerines from the trees - it was impossible to believe in it, as in a dangerous heresy.
The tour bus left Moskovsky Prospekt at an unbearable early hour. Until half past seven in the morning, I was freezing on the street all alone and knocking the toes of ice stuck to the drainpipe with my toes. Sad bald female mannequins stood in the windows.
Then other sightseers began to follow. They had swollen faces. Early in the morning, all of us, people, are not the same as in the rest of the time. At ten minutes past seven, the driver showed up. He muttered an apology for being late, warmed up the engine and nodded to the passengers to get into the cabin to warm up.
The guide was the last to arrive. He flopped into the seat, tucking his head into the collar of his unfashionable overcoat. A minute later our bus left the city, and an hour later we were approaching Lake Ladoga. The road was white with snow and polished, and the ground on the sides of the road, on the contrary, was black.
Faded paint. Frozen soil. Snow for seven months of the year. Even in summer, children wear warm jackets and overalls. Gray needles. Black peat bogs. Gnarled trunks of old trees. Why do you look so unimportant, my northern homeland?
I have never cared about other people. I lived my life on my own. And even more so, I never cared about the country in which I live. And then I turned thirty, and then even more than thirty, and the country became important to me, when suddenly the wife who left for another becomes important, with whom before I was too lazy to even kiss before sex.
By noon we stopped by for a bite to eat. Lunch was served in a neat rustic dining room. Passengers managed to sleep off and now even tried to smile. I got a seat at a table next to the tour guide. For dessert, the waitress offered us all ice cream. In this weather, it was strange. The young guide said that he loves not ice cream, but just beer. He ordered himself a glass of beer.
In the 1960s, Soviet travel agencies launched two high-profile routes: the Golden Ring around Moscow and the Silver Ring around St. Petersburg. True, there was enough money to promote only the first, “golden” one: the Trinity-Sergius Lavra, Rostov, Suzdal, Yaroslavl ... Kokoshniks, pancakes and mock-ups of ancient Russian churches built from concrete blocks.
The "Silver" route remained uncircumcised. Although there are enough ancient ruins in the Leningrad region. Five fortresses, two large monasteries, Vyborg Castle and Novgorod and Pskov were supposed to be included in the route.
Gray fir trees, granite sticking out of the ground, lead water. I lived to be thirty years old, and all these ruins, gnawed by time, suddenly became very important to me. I wanted to come here. To look at these stones... to touch them... to learn something from the stones... I don't know what.
My country has lived its life. I lived mine. I don’t know about the country, but I was going to live my life in a completely different way.
Before entering Ladoga itself, the bus stopped near the grave of Prophetic Oleg. The priests predicted Oleg's death from a horse, and he ordered to graze his four-legged friend somewhere here, on the Ladoga flood meadows. Then a poisonous snake settled in the horse's skull, which did not like anyone to walk on the skull chosen by it. In 912, the Prophetic Oleg died of a snakebite, and his friends poured a hefty mound over his body.
12 3 4 5 6 7 ...37
Sergey KUZNETSOV. Alive and adults
Sergey KUZNETSOV. Alive and adults. - M .: Livebook, 2019 (in fact - 2018).
The space in Sergey Yu. Kuznetsov's trilogy is divided into two opposing parts: the world of the living and the world of the dead, which coexist not in a metaphysical, but in the most ordinary - geographical sense. The bright and optimistic world of the living is most similar to the world of idealized late Soviet childhood; the world of the dead is the world of the pure, profit and temptations from Soviet propaganda, and death - the transition from one world to another - is semantically identical to emigration here. Dying (even as a result of an accident), a person actually makes his choice: now for the living he is a stranger, an enemy, a renegade, and members of his family are under suspicion. In principle, any plot could be placed inside this space - from horror to spy thriller, but Sergey Yu. Kuznetsov opts for teenage fantasy. As a result, Alive and Adults is at the same time a novel of upbringing, an exquisite metaphor for overcoming death, an original rethinking of the Soviet experience, and, last but not least, an ingenuously gripping story about friendship and growing up.
Sergey Kuznetsov. Alive and adults. - M .: Livebook, 2019 (in fact - 2018).
Nominated Galina Yuzefovich.
Dmitry Bavilsky :
Surprisingly, Sergei Kuznetsov's fantasy trilogy, read immediately after Licinius Quintus, Mikhail Korolyuk's trilogy about falling into the socialist past, looks like its negative.
More precisely, in a positive way, since it was written not from imperial, but from humanistic, “universal” positions, gradually teaching readers the “right position in life”.
These two books are large in volume (the book edition of Living and Adults contains 974 pages versus 1062 for Korolyuk), they have three parts, correlating as “thesis”, “antithesis” and “synthesis” (Korolyuk, however, inconclusive) who study the Soviet past from the point of view of the "adult" present, rising above what was a mountain of "new experience".
Kuznetsov also has a storyline of a mathematical prodigy who is able to calculate the location of parallel and border worlds, grouped near the Border of the transition between the world of the dead and the world of the living, in which four brave schoolchildren (Marina, Nika, Gosh and Lyova) live, busy destroying this very Borders.
It is not clear why they are doing this, it seems to be to free humanity from the unnecessary division into friends and foes that interferes with absolute freedom, however, the further into the text of "Alive and Adults" the more the division of the world into antagonistic halves looks logical and even reasonable.
Judge for yourself.
Schoolchildren live in a country reminiscent of the late Soviet period - Sergey Kuznetsov was clearly inspired by the experience of his own childhood and youth: his trilogy is another way to “close the gestalt” of his own “experience of lack of freedom”, to which everyone who lived in the USSR was sentenced, or, on the contrary, to try once again to relive the period when the trees were large, all people seemed to be brothers and sisters, and there was nothing more important than love, friendship, freedom, equality, brotherhood.
The country in which Marina, Nika, Gosha and Lyova live desperately resembles the Soviet Union, but for the "safety" of narrative operations, as well as for the sake of creative freedom, Kuznetsov shifts the description of reality towards light historical generalizations - he takes not so much from the USSR the specifics of everyday life (which he reconstructs, however, very carefully), as much as the logic of the development of territories surrounded by enemies, saturated with detective work and state suspicion, which easily turn into a lack of elementary freedoms and a total dictate of ideological control.
Historical reality shifts towards the plot scheme, and proper names are played with puns - the names of Soviet and Western films, books, firms, cities, countries turn into easily recognizable neologisms.
This is how the books “Friday Ends on Monday” and “Toward a Thunderstorm”, “Mathematicians Laugh” and “Glass Dirk”, the rock group “The Living Can Dance”, the cities of Paris and View York come into being.
Thus, the author, on the one hand, pays tribute to the predecessors and sources of his inspiration, on the other hand, he shows the features of the method, punning at all meaningful levels, from shoveling reality to meaningful metamorphoses that turn the meaning we are used to inside out.
However, Kuznetsov is silent about the main prototypes, voluntary or involuntary, or perhaps he simply forgets about them - like a Soviet person who grew up in late Soviet culture, for which other names and titles became a natural habitat, dissolving in it to the fullest. indistinction.
Of course, Anatoly Rybakov's trilogy ("Dirk", "Bronze Bird", "The Last Summer of Childhood"), constantly mentioned by Leva in the first volume, is an important example of adventurous adventures within everyday life, when a young man is able to open abysses at every turn, however , much more important for understanding the origin of "Alive and Adults" is seen, well, for example, the work of Vladislav Krapivin.
A principled abstract humanist of the last Brezhnev decades (who lives, by the way, still), Krapivin for decades wrote eternal stories about the “tears of a child”, childish resentment faced with the injustice of an indifferent world and the enduring “thirst for freedom” of children, connected primarily , with an indefatigable "flight of fancy".
A subtle psychologist, able to bring the reader to tears by the clash of "truth" and "fiction", Krapivin defiantly lived on top of the scoop, although he enjoyed all the privileges available to him.
Here are Kuznetsov's schoolchildren, who are trying to destroy the Boundary between the worlds (there is no need to look for metaphysics in the fact that the "living" are opposed by the "dead" - it's just a division into "us" and "them"), first they come into conflict with their own special services , then with foreign servicemen, and when they are convinced that our Office and their Office work together, they begin to cooperate with them.
And Marina, the most important and honest girl of this friendly special detachment, who does not burn in fire and does not sink in water, managing to roam between worlds without any accompaniment, even enters the Academy - the main service university of the living, dizzying career to the most powerful top.
Marina tells her friends that she will be an intruder of the "forces of good" who have infiltrated the system through her.
And friends, of course, believe her, even when in the most dangerous and hopeless situations "helicopters" of adults appear "out of the machine" - our valiant scouts, pulling pioneer heroes, for example, from the wild jungle, where on domestic children bloodthirsty natives hunt.
You can't go anywhere without adults, but for our guys, everything is built on trust, and also on a sense of their own exclusivity, which the sacrifices they constantly make cannot shake.
Usually people die in the "Alive and Adults" who treat our guys well and try to help the fellows in every possible way.
In the first volume (“Living and Adults. The Beginning”), a young teacher, Zinochka, dies; in the second (“Alive and adults. On the other side”) - Sandro, a resident of View York, who let the guys in to stay when they had nowhere to spend the night.
Helping to free Gosha from prison, he dies, but the pioneers, as if nothing had happened, return in the third volume ("Alive and adults: The world as we see it") to his mother, Senera Fernandez, since the dead, It seems like there is no time and memory.
However, closer to the end, Soviet schoolchildren, together with domestic servicemen, finally achieve the loosening of the boundaries and changes in the physical characteristics of both worlds, because of which the dead begin to change and grow old - their eternity is exhausted.
And here it is no longer clear who rocked the boat more - four friends or cunning servicemen, who realized in time that the more people cross the Borders, the more mobile they become.
Having turned the Frontier into a commercial venture, the Office is starting an international festival where hundreds of the dead are to arrive in the capital of the living world.
Then the Border will become completely conditional and the country, which previously defended itself from all other states, will be covered with an even layer of commercial stalls with fashionable dead goods.
The thing is that if the “living” are the people of the Soviet country, then the “dead” are Western capitalists, they have the best clothes and the most interesting films, chewing gum, rock bands and the absolute restlessness of the total consumer society.
The living, it seems, were lucky to be born in the most calm, bright and spacious country, however, in a strange way, the truth of existence is in a completely different place - and there is no greater reward for a living person than, for example, a business trip to the dead, where you can stock up on mass fashion rags and glossy magazines.
The world is ambiguous, Kuznetsov teaches, moving from a “romance of growing up” and a “romance of education” to a thriller similar to a computer game with shooters, and then to a thriller with the participation of infernal forces (including zombies) summoned from the very the depths of a dead universe: it seems that the main author's interest and the main fuel of the trilogy is the constant change of genres that flow into each other without having time to take shape into something solid.
When plots are put on stream in modern culture, the play of genres and discourses turns out to be the most lively of the author's possibilities.
It is she who, by regularly changing the rules of perception, makes the narration somewhat unpredictable.
Sorokin taught us this method of total renewal of the "memory of the genre", but most of all Western cinema plays this way - for example, Tarantino with Rodriguez, although the most successful example of a mix of "old form" and new content is "Brokeback Mountain".
In it, director Ang Lee mixes a pair of enduring national myths that have never crossed before: the legend of the courageous cowboys, which is superimposed on the logic of a tearful gay drama.
It is significant that two incompatible stories are put into one scheme by an émigré director who is able to look at the American unconscious from the outside: Lee plays with differently directed storylines like a postmodernist juggling with ready-made "information blocks".
In the long list, Alexander Pelevin acts in a similar way, “Four” of which, however, clearly follow the “rules of genres” (moreover, three at once), and do not “open the reception”, as Sergei Kuznetsov, a French emigrant in the first generation, intended .
In his trilogy, he takes the forms of world thriller and horror in order to graft them onto the Russian wild “youth novel” and fantasy about hitmen who are gradually realizing that everything is ambiguous in this world and there is no one-size-fits-all truth in the world.
The fact that everyone has their own truth and feel sorry for everyone is already a feature of noir, which flickers somewhere in the backyard of the genre of "Alive and Adults": the dead Abroad, written off from conditional America, is sustained precisely in such tones of a black-and-white, fast-moving film .
Horror, consisting of foreign elements, is filled with native content: most of all, this hit in View York reminds Nikolay Nosov's "Dunno's Journey to the Moon" - because it is not far from View York to San Komarik, not to mention Los -Svinos, Los Cabanos and Los Poganos.
And not only linguistically.
Mom Gosha, who disappeared in one of the buffer zones on the White Sea, but surfaced on the other side of the Border, spent almost half a year among the dead, after which she began working for the Office with a vengeance (she used to be a dissident and hated servicemen).
« They covered the windows of our houses with their dead advertising posters. Even worse, they demolished our old houses, they built new, dead ones in their place. They were built for us to work in. For the work they pay us dead money - and in order to have something to spend on, they built their shops on our squares and there they sell us their dead things for their dead money.
Instead of five living skyscrapers, they erected dozens of dead buildings, huge to the sky. Living people cannot live in such houses. These are houses for the dead.
Our city is the city of the dead.
Where there were living cozy yards, there are dead buildings.
Where there were spacious squares, there are dead shops.
Where there were wide, free avenues - there is a camp of dead cars, motionless, night and day.
Where there were bushes and trees, there was only gas and burning.
We are afraid to walk on our streets.
We are afraid to enter our entrances.
We are afraid to let our children leave the house.
If you lived alone in the Open World, I wouldn't even let you go to school alone.
Because the dead are walking around the city - people like Orlok.
They are looking for a living, they are looking for a victim, they are thirsty for blood, living flesh.
I wouldn't let you go outside, son.
I would say: stay at home, read books.
But they took our books from us too. Instead, they gave us millions of dead books.
Instead of our films, live films about courage and love, they gave us dead films, thousands of dead films about ghosts, zombies and vampires… »
which begins to seem that she describes the capital of the living, but no - an inhuman caricature of the "welfare society", as if taken from the Alligator magazine, a description of the very View York that any of the living dreams of visiting.
It seems that Gosha's mother is completely confused, and I am confused along with her: after all, the dead in this book look like the living - they can be afraid, do heroic deeds, contrary to their mean nature, transform from bad to good and vice versa (with the exception of perhaps the most notorious maniac villains), while living pioneer heroes are doomed to serve numerous plot moves, which is why their range is narrower, and they themselves are more schematic.
Constant genre mutations are a test not only for the characters, but also for the author, who leads them through the thorns of constant change.
And the plasticity of the prose here turns out to be more important than the overall construction, which looks logical inside the fantasy trilogy, but does not stand up to the outside view.
The living are arguing with the dead in a variety of genre states of aggregation and it is no longer possible to make out which side the truth is on.
Moreover, the closer to the end, the more and more holes there are in Kuznetsov's structure, just like in that same Border between the Open World of the Undead and the world of the living, locked inside forced socialism.
In the third volume, the author focuses on the canons of completely commercial Western genres, worn out from constant use, in which winning by any means is more important than saving friends and, moreover, one's own face.
So it turns out that the dispute between the living and the dead in this trilogy is a duel between two traditions of mass fiction, Russian and world.
Kuznetsov connects them approximately like "living water" and "dead water": where he includes "Rybakov" or "Krapivin" it is interesting, but where noir and shooters begin - not very much.
Apparently, I'm just not the age category that the author expects.
On the other hand, who, apart from Sergei's peers, remembers ice cream in a waffle cone for 19 kopecks and soda in a vending machine for three?
However, if we perceive the main content of The Alive and Adults precisely as a literary meta-dispute between two traditions, all the conceptual contradictions of the trilogy are instantly removed.
True, which of the two approaches won here, I did not understand.
Are you for the Moon or for the Sun?
Most likely, friendship won.
Vladimir Berezin :
God only knows how Kuznetsov's text got on this list. If he was on the short list of "Kniguru", I would not be surprised, because this text, in general, is about teenagers and talks about teenagers.
But for me this book (horrible in size, 60 author's sheets, a thousand pages) turned out to be more interesting to many than the books I read this summer. And it’s not at all because I like the novel “Alive and Adults” so much.
The main feature of the book (both the strength and the weakness of this text) is that it is a novel not just about teenagers, but about teenagers from the late USSR. This is a well-known way of creating literature - it is written “by myself”, while I understand this “by myself” very well, because I grew up at the same time, in the same city. Whatever the author writes "by himself", the Second School and the novel "Crystal Coffin" come out. No matter how he kills the film critic in himself, he will name the subspecies of the dead "fulci" and "romeros". As soon as he begins to describe torture and dismemberment with feeling, you remember that the author wrote about the maniac "The Skin of a Butterfly".
In Kuznetsov's "world of the living" there are four muskets... (crossed out), four friends of Harry Poe... (crossed out), four Soviet schoolchildren, only the author dealt with the Soviet world with the help of contextual substitution: — .
That is, in a semi-memoir story about seventh-eighth graders (who later grow into third-year students), the words "West" and "capitalist countries" are replaced by the words "World of the Dead." And in this world of the dead is full of beautiful things, from jeans to televisions, but in the socialist world of the living there is a real stagnation, gloomy school discipline, the struggle with earrings among schoolgirls and the cult of the great war with the dead. Here, however, a terrible punning machine begins to work, turning "polyethylene" into "polyethylene", and the monument to Gogol into a monument to Mogol. Something is always wrong with these puns, although you can imagine how the author tried and came up with this Pelevinism, how he laughed with his family and friends, and the bilious reader strives to compare all this not even with Pelevin, but with Voinovich. By the way, there is something else with the editing, because the “bird key” seems to have settled into the text instead of the supposed “bird's beak”, well, and all sorts of other case inconsistencies. But what a volume! You don't follow.
Another thing is important: there are two layers in the book - Soviet childhood, which includes a nostalgic mechanism in adults just like a chopped onion causes tears, and a layer of adventures of schoolchildren of the “living world” with pistols firing silver bullets, ritual knives waving and so on. . From time to time, the heroes stop in the middle of the chase and begin to talk about the fractal structure of the world. These layers are connected like water and oil - that is, in no way. The nostalgic part touches some strings in me, but the part built on adventures just reminds me of the old and current writer Lukyanenko.
Here we need to make a digression: the experience of the Kuznetsov generation (and it is my generation) is unique. People were born and formed in one world, and then found themselves in another. But those who are now thirteen, they were born and live in this new world of things. As a school teacher, I peer at the students with great interest, and over and over again I find that the children's problems of the late USSR do not interest teenagers at all. And even teenage love is different now. And betrayal then was arranged in a completely different way than now. However, what am I saying: the author himself created a summer school, quite similar to Hogwarts (only paid) and goes there as Dumbledore. So he knows about teenage problems as much as I do.
A separate question, which thanks to this novel, I began to think about, is the question of length (And here the topic itself provokes the author - let's talk about Soviet cinema in terms of "The Living and the Dead", but without Simonov, but let's put all our memories there - from video cassettes and bands, but let's rename them so that the reader has a funny recognition click. So it turns out a very long novel - under that very thousand pages. And I began to think about how the author should adjust to his target audience. On the one hand , in "War and Peace" there is also quite a lot of text, but on the other hand, go ahead, say at least in front of a mirror: "My book will be required to be read in the same way as Tolstoy. "No, if the writer honestly considers himself a conductor of meanings from the divine world to human, then he does not care about the audience, the target audience and everything in general, not to mention the fee.But the worst thing is when he starts to rush between these two worlds, as between the world of the dead and the living, however this is not about the author, but so, by the way.
The problem is that Kuznetsov is a very smart person. I, for one, really like how he tries to reconcile logic and corporate obligations. He is well-read, active and therefore pronounces different meanings more than is necessary in prose. Therefore, there are some difficulties with the target audience of this text. This complexity is exhaustively described by one hero of Dumas: "For Athos, this is too much, but for the Comte de la Fer, this is too little." For a teenager it is too difficult, and for an adult it is too much about teenagers.
In a word, this novel is wonderful. And of course, it symbolizes the new horizons of fantasy literature, addressed to the "teenage theme" (that's a nasty phrase, yes). And perhaps the ideal audience for this text is parents reflecting on the fate of their children who have ceased to be children, remaining, so to speak, immature.
Andrey Vasilevsky :
Good prose by a good prose writer (read like Kuznetsov's other books, with pleasure) and yet... alas, alas. Everyone notes that the “world of the living” created by the author partly corresponds to the late Soviet time familiar to us, conditionally - the 70s. The author introduces fantastic assumptions into this recognizable “reality” (fiction writers often work this way, but the prose writer Sergei Kuznetsov does not seem to have such previous experience). Introduces, "without noticing" that these assumptions affect the ontological (someone would prefer the term "metaphysical" in this case) foundations of the universe. Let me suggest that under such ontological/metaphysical prerequisites, the human society (“the world of the living”) could hardly develop/evolve/exist as it happened in real human history and in the forms familiar to us; The "world of the living" would then not be "something" different, but different in everything. Simply put: there could not have been any conditional “Soviet Union of the 70s” there. Yes, and the conditional "West" too. What would happen? I can't imagine it. I don't think Sergey Kuznetsov can either.
The writer either doesn't realize this problem or thinks no one will notice. He was not mistaken: almost no one noticed.
Shamil Idiatullin :
A familiar world with eternal division into two camps, ours and not ours. Our highly spiritual, against the war and with an armored train on the siding, not ours - with jeans, soulless movies and music, unemployment and aggressive military. The border between the worlds, built in battles, is, of course, locked, and only merchants and scouts have the key. There is only one difference: ours are alive, not ours are dead. Our deceased becomes an enemy, his relatives become the relatives of the enemy. But how to relate to a normal, like a kid, whose mother did not die, but voluntarily went to the dead? And how can such a kid live on? Very simple: you need to find friends, take a silver knife, and then a couple of pistols with the appropriate bullets, and go ahead through the boundaries, walls, rules, the living, the dead and the foundations of this filthy universe.
This is the beginning of the first book by Sergei Kuznetsov, published eight years ago and obviously playing with the cliches of a children's spy novel of the 50s in the style of problematic youthful prose of the same and subsequent years, moreover, the most boring version (Oseeva, Mukhina-Ketlinskaya, Dostyan, etc.). d.). Even the inlays of mystical horror and zombie-post-pop did not knock the narrative off this tone.
A thick trilogy published at the end of last year (under a thousand pages) was nominated for the award. Her second book is a frank, direct quote homage to King, Krapivin, and, suddenly, Lovecraft and Wes Craven. The third focuses on Anglo-American spy thrillers (I did not catch the target bows to Fleming, Le Carre and Child-Preston, but, perhaps, only because of my own little erudition). At the same time, the text is maintained in the same rather dry style, syllable and present o-very long time, which personally puzzled me as a reader no less than the number of typos and clumsiness, surprising for a book published by a respected publishing house (“ Geogriy ”, “ Marina, in her worn jeans, trying to get lost in the crowd ”, “ There was a dining room in the large hall, vacationers came here four times a day—breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner ”).
Sergey Kuznetsov is known as a skillful pro, deftly using a huge arsenal of tools and techniques. Unfortunately, in The Living and the Dead, he not only limited his choice to a couple of chisels, but also surprisingly accurately selected chisels that were uninteresting and unsympathetic to me personally. In a very short retelling, the trilogy seems like a dream book - at least for a starving teenager with a lack of unprecedented adventures, who crawls in my head and makes me still read and write. This dream has been realized as an endless construct of the second order, which is trying to reveal the dichotomy "alive-dead" in the maximum number of foundations and details of the reality known to us, from the sacralization of a long-standing war to the Tatu ensemble and the exchange of oil for chewing gum - and persists in this intention through one hundred, three hundred and five hundred pages after the most stupid reader in my face understood this, accepted and reconciled. Deliberately infantile characters do not save, dashing with bust plot - all the more so: it is difficult to sympathize with half-cardboard boy-girls who are guaranteed to get out of any hell and who at the same time do not really reflect, even sacrificing a random old man.
I read Living and Adults for a long time, painfully, with long breaks, finishing off purely on moral and strong-willed. They were mainly used to curb irritation about the cornerstone (for some reason) for the text of the crooked winks of our reality (Malbrook cigarettes, green Croca-Cola soda - “ is something like our Buikal, only tastier than ” , gireliers from Banama and an Italian duo singing about " happiness is when we are together and I hold your hand "). I finished reading, impressed by the amount of work done by the author. They are grandiose and in some places obscure the horizons, which, unfortunately, are not easy to call new.
Konstantin Frumkin :
Sergei Kuznetsov set himself an extremely ambitious literary task: to write a novel in the style and in the spirit of Soviet children's and youth novels about "the adventures of young friends." “Alive and Adults” is largely written under Anatoly Aleksin, under Anatoly Rybakov, under “Two Captains”. And most importantly, Sergei Kuznetsov succeeded. First love, children's characters, and of course a strong, strong friendship, a fantastic friendship, purely literary, which even in the text of "Alive and Adults" refers to a literary model - to the musketeers. Note that the literary samples in the spirit of which Kuznetsov writes created a completely false, implausible world - however, the world is ideal for building adventures with likeable characters, and Sergey Kuznetsov took full advantage of these advantages of the chosen style.
True, the adventures are all scary, so it turned out like Tatyana Koroleva: "Timur and his team and vampires."
Another interesting algorithm used in writing Living and Adults: Kuznetsov takes numerous and well-known circumstances and plots concerning the relationship of the USSR to the capitalist encirclement, and the Soviet population to the bourgeois abroad, and turns them into relations between the world of the living and the world the dead. The whole Soviet history is rewritten from this angle: the revolution took place for the sake of drawing the border between the worlds of the living and the dead, the Great Patriotic War was against the dead, including zombies and vampires, etc. As a device for a small humorous story, this would be extremely witty, but since Kuznetsov describes his Universe within the framework of a huge trilogy and with all the details, too many questions arise. First of all, you note that Kuznetsov made the work of the creator of the universe easier for himself: he doesn’t have to invent anything, he needs to take all the well-known details of Soviet life and simply insert here and there instead of “foreign” - “dead”. Dead goods, dead jeans, dead music.
Too many logical inconsistencies occur. First of all, Kuznetsov requires the reader to forget everything he knew about the reasons why the USSR was bad with goods, and what was the reason for lagging behind Western technology - the explanations given in the novel are completely ridiculous. You begin to wonder where, in fact, the whole foreign country has gone from the world of the living, why all foreign countries are in the world of the dead, and in the world of the living only the USSR, and even Siberia and Yakutistan.
If indeed the world of the dead were before our eyes and all people more or less accurately knew their posthumous fate, then the main consequence of this would be that the preparation for death and ensuring their posthumous well-being became the main industry in the world of the living. Moreover, the living do not live long, and the dead are almost immortal, which means that life becomes only a short preparation for a long afterlife. World religions, even without reliable facts about the afterlife, often subordinated the whole life of society to the care of eternity, and if these facts were, then all other tasks would fade into the background.
Finally, Sergei Kuznetsov fails to endure the attitude to the dead as to the dead. After all, if we have dangerous adventures, then we need to kill someone. But how to kill if the dead here they are - quite alive and well? And Kuznetsov is forced to invent the ability to kill the dead, and invents deep worlds where the dead go after the second death. That is, the dead are not actually dead, so why fence the garden?
Without expressing any claims, I would also like to note that “Alive and Adults” are under the rule of a stereotype that generally gravitates over our (and not only our) fantasy, that the most interesting thing worth writing about is the activities of special services and special forces. Every time you rejoice when a Russian science fiction writer does not fall into this well-trodden rut, but not this time.
Still “Alive and Adults” undoubtedly touch upon the theme of understanding the changes that have taken place in the USSR, the theme of the collapse of the USSR, painful and important, our literature has yet to develop a lot of reflections on this topic. However, if you start looking at perestroika and its consequences from the universe of Dirk and Two Captains, then the optics will be somewhat distorted.