How often do you think about the Nobel Prize?
Probably once in a while.
How often does the Nobel Prize think of you? Trap question. But imagine: you received the Nobel Prize in Literature – the ceremony is tomorrow, and you and your friends decided to celebrate this matter correctly (it is much easier to imagine such a thing on Friday). And then the morning came. How are you feeling? 90 years ago, less than 24 hours before he was to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature “for his meticulous skill in developing the traditions of Russian classical prose,” Ivan Bunin was feeling terrible. He even recorded this in his memoirs as follows:
“I went to bed again at three o’clock yesterday morning and now when I get dressed I feel very unsteady. But the coffee is hot and strong, the day is clear and icy, and the thought of the extraordinary ceremony that awaits me this evening excites me…”
That day excited not only Bunin, but also the whole of young Soviet Russia: the first Russian writer to receive a Nobel Prize! Immigrant! Russian in Paris! Unheard! Years pass, nothing changes – the sensitive community on the Internet reacted in much the same way to the numerous statuettes for the movie “Parasite” at the 2020 Oscars. They were talking about another country. And there was less shame. A fact almost from the school curriculum: an incident arose with Bunin, which the pedantic organizers quickly tried to resolve. The question was: Exactly whose flag should be raised at the ceremony? The Russian Empire no longer exists; Raising the flag of the USSR means signing your own death sentence; France is also not suitable, Bunin is not its citizen. We managed to recover from this; We managed in Swedish. But there are very interesting historical parallels.
Flags are still raised even today; for example, in schools on Mondays (imagine a nice movie montage here). But somehow they don’t really remember Nobel. Try asking passersby (or even your friends) which 20th-century writer won the prize. They remember one or two. Maybe Bunin. Probably Marquez. At worst – Solzhenitsyn. And if we talk about the 21st century – attention, a deadly figure! – then only the most recent award winner will be remembered. And even then the news feed aggressively reminds us of this. Yun Fosse is no longer a household name either.
Attention, question: So what does the Nobel Prize give to the writer other than status (maybe imaginary, this is an area of debate) and a few nice words in literature textbooks (if you are lucky enough to get there)? Creativity isn’t a reality that will last (does the name Octavia Paz mean anything to you?), it won’t add much money to your bank account. The same Bunin did not swim in a pool full of gold coins and did not drink champagne with naked French beauties until his last breath, like Disney’s old Scrooge. At the end of his life, the prize money ran out. I had to live in near poverty.
But the Nobel Prize did not save 2020 nominee Louise Gluck from cancer; He died in October 2023. Yes, publishing houses managed to disseminate his translated texts in the media; Yes, they caught and even published something new in Russian. So will we remember his name in twenty years? A bad voice in your ear tells you: very unlikely. Maybe Bunin himself whispers this. He knows that’s not what the Nobel Prize is about. This is not money, not fame, and not even a guarantee of quality (it is too early to throw tomatoes – remember how many talented writers are not given).
Nobel Prize – recognition.
Not the love of audiences, critics, or a committee of ghostly experts. A confession with the following phrases: “You, Mr. author, were ahead of your time” or even: “You, Mr. author, were born in the wrong time.” More precisely, no, it is like this: “You, Mr. author, said something important before, you allowed me to look at the world – any part of it, the country – from the outside. We’ll understand, but later.” At least that was the case for that former Nobel Prize winner. Getting into a new debate is like discussing Eurovision, the Oscars, the Olympic Games of the 21st century. Just fuss in vain.
What about Bunin? How was he ahead of his time? Who did you let look in from the outside?
It was a surprise.
It’s not all about beautiful, long, poetic sentences: lush exotic images of the “south”, the early period of creativity, or frighteningly insightful pictures of the past that inevitably come from the “north”, the late period. We can talk endlessly about the gloomy romance of “Dark Streets”, the mystical prophetic chords of “Mr. from San Francisco” or the nostalgic scent of the past of “Antonov Apples”. Yes, Bunin is a master of language, symbols, plot and allusion. It’s stupid to argue. But in other respects it was ahead of its time.
It shows the West the new Russia too early.
Russia has once again crossed the fatal threshold of history. An old Russia tied to the classical tradition (cultural, literary) and a new Russia ready to break, disintegrate and try. Russia, with some kind of personality disorder – does not understand where to pull the chariot of history, who to trust – a swan, a crayfish or a pike. Bunin is gradually opening Russia to the West. First of all, and not surprisingly, the French are still their favorite Russian writer. Then – to everyone.
Modern German researchers (e.g. Holger Gembe) call this “A reliable guide to the treasure trove of Russian culture” — both for myself and many other Europeans. The next member of this series of Nobel “discoveries” will be Pasternak, the fearless Marco Polos, who will show, at the forefront of events, the metaphysical side of Russia, its subconscious, if you like: its heroes will struggle with ideas and epochs and tear themselves apart piece by piece, like Nabokov’s heroes, “Invitation to the Execution” “They will take off the hips, take off the legs, take off the arms and throw them away,” as stated in ”. Bunin – Russia, which is on the verge of experiments, Pasternak – Russia, which has begun experiments on itself. Solzhenitsyn completes this trio – he will reopen Russia to the West. It is already completely different: a country of hidden fears and rigid Soviet morality; underneath, as if under a centuries-old layer of rust, mercy, Orthodoxy and the inalienable Russian “maybe” still shine, which often disrupts plans.
The Greeks often depicted the goddess Hecate as three-faced. Bunin, Pasternak and Solzhenitsyn take their places like gloves. The old goddess will not mind, even if you add Brodsky and Sholokhov to her. And Nabokov, who fits into this order perfectly, was nominated seven times, but never received the award.
Wait, it’s too early to accuse us of narrow-mindedness! There is no need to focus on Russia. Any Nobel Prize winner in literature has revealed the soul of his country, its little world: he has made it accessible to everyone and a little ahead of his time. Marquez turned Latin America inside out, Golding – England of the 20th century, Orhan Pamuk – modern Turkey, Ishiguro – modern chimera of East and West and Abdulrazak Gurna – Africa of the past and present. There is only one question; what’s next?
Or rather, who’s next?
The author expresses his personal opinion, which may not coincide with the position of the editors.