I spoke to a friend recently. An old friend with whom they became close with a love of literature. And we talked for a very long time – we usually talk for a long time. About the meaning of life, about darkness in the soul, about suffering. A friend complains that he wakes up in the morning in a terrible mood. The day was even more gloomy, and the evening usually put a heavy burden on my heart. I repeat that I have experienced a similar situation. And what – is there a god? Where is he and why is there so much evil and injustice in the world? Our conversations are often meaningless, as I’ve come to realize lately. In general, any talk about meaning is meaningless. Normal people, as usual, do not engage in such conversations.
A friend remembers a story. I can’t remember her name, something like their literature teacher Agrippina Ardoleonovna once tormented a classmate for half an hour asking questions about Raskolnikov’s motives. He tormented me so much that the man from school, from whose appearance it was clear that neither literature nor the Russian language would ever be useful to him under any circumstances, said, “Why do I need this? I didn’t kill my grandmother. Ask Raskolnikov!
I remember rushing with this Raskolnikov as with the Holy Grail. He wrote essays, attended some extracurricular classes. They gathered and discussed what the author wanted to say there. And when I woke up at 36, I realized that those who did not participate in these literary projects lived absolutely wonderful. They have families, children, do not think about ontological issues, look at the world soberly and, in general, seem much smarter than any of us who, from memory, can count the portraits of all the authors in the book. literature class of our high school.
Unhappy people – yes, we are passionate about literature, about literature, about literature in one way or another connected with it.
And we came to a consensus. The desire for success, social comfort, and a love of literature are mutually exclusive. Natasha Rostova was absent. Tolstoy invented it. Nastasya Filippovna – this, as I understand now, the clumsy character also never existed. God, there’s even a Wikipedia article about him! All the rank – image, biography, actresses who played the role … Nastasya Filippovna did not walk with her feet, did not move her hands, and in general did not do anything to argue frantically why she threw several hours of her life money into the flame.
Many, many of these completely empty hours, where we are taught not to be well versed in economics, psychology, politics, but talk about the empty, temporary, non-existent. It seems that we have been taught from childhood to suffer.
Why do they say you killed the old woman? Yes, a person needed booty! Imagine what nonsense it leaves in people’s heads. I don’t know of a single person who would be a literature enthusiast at school and be successful in adulthood. No one can argue with me that a love of literature and a healthy mind are opposites. I do not know of a single person immersed in the literary process who would be truly and unconditionally happy. No matter what they object to me on this matter, such people do not exist in nature. Of course, I do not mean those who consider literature to be a pleasant pastime, or those who like to read novels on vacation. In precisely this I mean those of us who find bleak consolation.
Literature has instilled in us an incomprehensible desire for love and suffering. On a chronic level, we reject everything bright, cheerful and sunny. Suffering, just reading and suffering – that’s the truth.
Is it possible to abolish literature in schools? Someone will say: “No, you can not cancel literature, it develops something in the head and empathy, creative thinking, etc. will appear.” I will not argue. All this, of course, is good. But why not make this subject an elective course? Believe me, there will be very few people who want to take this course. There are many interesting creative disciplines that, among other things, have an applied character, and literature alone will certainly not be useful to anyone in any way and nowhere in life. Perhaps, if it were not for this love for him and the immersion in the absent, then our society would be more cheerful and sober. Come on, St. go to St. Petersburg. Everyone there loves literature and everyone drinks.
Now, of course, the howl will rise. Not because everyone in St. Petersburg drinks. For example, I drink too, and I would not drink without Dostoevsky, Andreev and Bely. And a howl will rise, for we were once told that literature is something infallible and important, like a god. And insulting literature is the same as insulting the believer’s feelings. Now any more or less educated person, given leisure and access to Wikipedia, will write you War and Peace, Crime and Punishment, and The Overcoat.
I remember our literature teacher. He once taught us several lessons in a row. Taras Bulba. He ran around the office crying, grimacing, imitating the sounds and completely baffling us with this. I just want to come up to him with flowers, hug him and say, “There was no Taras Bulba.” All this is fiction. You were so nervous for nothing back then and you made us fall in love with literature for nothing. He didn’t do us any good.”
The author expresses his personal opinion, which may not coincide with the editors’ position.
Source: Gazeta
