What do you think?
Rate this book
Envy
One of the delights of Russian literature, a tour de force that has been compared to the best of Nabokov and Bulgakov, Yuri Olesha's novella brings together cutting social satire, slapstick humor, and a wild visionary streak. Andrei is a model Soviet citizen, a swaggeringly self-satisfied mogul of the food industry who intends to revolutionize modern life with mass-produced sausage. Nikolai is a loser. Finding him drunk in the gutter, Andrei gives him a bed for the night and a job as a gofer. Nikolai takes what he can, but that doesn't mean he's grateful. Griping, sulking, grovelingly abject, he despises everything Andrei believes in, even if he envies him his every breath.
Producer and sponger, insider and outcast, master and man fight back and forth in the pages of Olesha's anarchic comedy. It is a contest of wills in which nothing is sure except the incorrigible human heart.
Marian Schwartz's new English translation of Envy brilliantly captures the energy of Olesha's masterpiece.
A NEW YORK REVIEW BOOKS ORIGINAL
Producer and sponger, insider and outcast, master and man fight back and forth in the pages of Olesha's anarchic comedy. It is a contest of wills in which nothing is sure except the incorrigible human heart.
Marian Schwartz's new English translation of Envy brilliantly captures the energy of Olesha's masterpiece.
A NEW YORK REVIEW BOOKS ORIGINAL
152 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1927
122 people are currently reading
7,570 people want to read
About the author
Yury Olesha
50?books63?followersYury Karlovich Olesha (Russian/Ukraine: §À§â§Ú§Û §°§Ý§Ö§ê§Ñ or §À§â§Ú§Û §¬§Ñ§â§Ý§à§Ó§Ú§é §°§Ý§Ö§ê§Ñ), Soviet author of fiction, plays and satires best known for his 1927 novel Envy (Russian: §©§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î). He is considered one of the greatest Russian novelists of the 20th century, one of the few to have succeeded in writing works of lasting artistic value despite the stifling censorship of the era. His works are delicate balancing-acts that superficially send pro-Communist messages but reveal far greater subtlety and richness upon a deeper reading. Sometimes, he is grouped with his friends Ilf and Petrov, Isaac Babel, and Sigismund Krzhizhanovsky into the Odessa School of Writers.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 268 reviews
February 17, 2022
La novela tiene dos partes bien diferentes. La primera es un mon¨®logo interior de un personaje amargado y pat¨¦tico, construido con la misma arcilla con la que se cre¨® al protagonista de Memorias del Subsuelo y que, al igual que este, anhela, desde una personalidad sobresaliente que s¨®lo ¨¦l vislumbra, un mundo que no existe y que es incapaz de acogerle en su seno en la forma y medida que ¨¦l desesperadamente necesita y reclama. Me ha parecido soberbia.
La segunda parte es una narraci¨®n en tercera persona que va de m¨¢s a menos hasta dejar de interesarme por completo.
Una pena.
March 3, 2025
???? ? ????? ???? ?? ???? ????? ? ??????? ??? . ?????? ????? ? ?????? ?? ?? ???????? ????? ?????? ????? ????? ???? ? ????? ? ?????? ????? ?? ????? ??????? .
?????? ??? ???? ?? ????? ???? ? ??????? ?????????? ???????? ????? ? ??????? ? ????? ?????? ???? ???? ? ?????? ?? ????? ?? ????????? ?????? ?? ???? ???? ??? ??????? . ?????? ?????? ????? ?? ?? ????? ? ??? ??? ? ??? ??? ????? ?? ??? .
????? ???? ?????? ?? ???? ????? ????????? ?? ?????? ? ??? ???? ?? ?????? ?? ????? . ??? ????? ?? ?? ?? ??? ?????? ???? ??? ??????. ?? ??? ????? ?????? ????? ????? ??? ???? ???? ?? ?? ???? ???? ????? ???? ??? ? ?? ???????? ????? ???? ????? ??? .
????? ?????? ???? ?? ?? ?????? ? ??? ????? ??? ?? ?????? ??????? ?? ?? ????? ????????? ??????? ?? ??????? ?????? ?? ???????? ?? ??? ???? ??? ??????? .
?????? ??? ???? ?? ????? ???? ? ??????? ?????????? ???????? ????? ? ??????? ? ????? ?????? ???? ???? ? ?????? ?? ????? ?? ????????? ?????? ?? ???? ???? ??? ??????? . ?????? ?????? ????? ?? ?? ????? ? ??? ??? ? ??? ??? ????? ?? ??? .
????? ???? ?????? ?? ???? ????? ????????? ?? ?????? ? ??? ???? ?? ?????? ?? ????? . ??? ????? ?? ?? ?? ??? ?????? ???? ??? ??????. ?? ??? ????? ?????? ????? ????? ??? ???? ???? ?? ?? ???? ???? ????? ???? ??? ? ?? ???????? ????? ???? ????? ??? .
????? ?????? ???? ?? ?? ?????? ? ??? ????? ??? ?? ?????? ??????? ?? ?? ????? ????????? ??????? ?? ??????? ?????? ?? ???????? ?? ??? ???? ??? ??????? .
September 30, 2008
Ever stopped to look at a dried-up turd in a field? I mean, really looked at the thing, hunkering down to admire the dessicated swirl of it, treasuring up the perception as one more radiant gift in life's lavish plenitude? Um, no, me either, actually. But Yuri Olesha apparently has. There's an amazing passage in Envy where a character is crossing a vacant lot and listing all the detritus he sees, in a mock-epic catalogue that takes in, among other things, a bottle, a shoe and a shred of bandage, before ending on an ecstatic note with 'the Babylonian turrets of fossilized human defecation.' Like, wow. A majestic metaphor if there ever was one, and it's typical of Olesha that he'd bestow it on, literally, a piece of shit.
Envy displays on almost every page a zest for the squalid, a zest which is alternately Nabokovian in its finicky precision and Swiftian in its principled disgust. Sometimes the two get all mixed up in a delightfully revolting way:
The widow Prokopovich is old, fat and flabby. You can squeeze her out like a tube of liver paste. In the morning I would stumble upon her as she stood at the sink in the corridor. As a rule, she wasn't dressed and she smiled at me with a womanly smile. By her door, on a stool, stood a basin, with some loose hairs floating on the water.
Nice. Very nice. That liver paste. That womanly smile. Those loose hairs. Enough to put you off sex for weeks. (This widow Prokopovich, btw, plays a secondary role in the novel, but even so deserves an honourable mention as one of the great Elemental Females in literature).
All in all, Envy is very much what grumpy old critics call a young man's novel: it's smart-alecky, hopped-up and occassionally bored with its own plot devices and schematic characters. Still, not one young man in a million could write anything nearly so good.
Envy displays on almost every page a zest for the squalid, a zest which is alternately Nabokovian in its finicky precision and Swiftian in its principled disgust. Sometimes the two get all mixed up in a delightfully revolting way:
The widow Prokopovich is old, fat and flabby. You can squeeze her out like a tube of liver paste. In the morning I would stumble upon her as she stood at the sink in the corridor. As a rule, she wasn't dressed and she smiled at me with a womanly smile. By her door, on a stool, stood a basin, with some loose hairs floating on the water.
Nice. Very nice. That liver paste. That womanly smile. Those loose hairs. Enough to put you off sex for weeks. (This widow Prokopovich, btw, plays a secondary role in the novel, but even so deserves an honourable mention as one of the great Elemental Females in literature).
All in all, Envy is very much what grumpy old critics call a young man's novel: it's smart-alecky, hopped-up and occassionally bored with its own plot devices and schematic characters. Still, not one young man in a million could write anything nearly so good.
May 9, 2019
Soviet writer Yury Olesha really pulled something off with Envy (1927): he published a scathing satire of the pomposity and limited intellectual vision of a typical Soviet official, a satire which was favorably¡ªand enthusiastically¡ªreviewed by Pravda. How did he accomplish such a feat? By satirizing even more viciously the reactionary opponents of that official, demonstrating how a romantic self-conception may distort a person¡¯s vision of achievement, until he is filled with nothing but a poisonous, corrosive envy.
The plot is simple. The layabout, drunken Kavalerov is befriended by Andrei Babichev, the manager of a meat factory who, because of this kindness, earns Kavalerov¡¯s endying loathing. Bibichev¡¯s goal is to open an affordable restaurant, the centerpiece of which will be his holy grail: a substantial, high quality, inexpensive sausage. Kavalerov soon joins forces with Andrei¡¯s envious brother Ivan, and together they set out to smash Andrei Babichev¡¯s dream.
Although the book bored me and puzzled me at times, I get the feeling some of this due to the translation, and some of it to my own inadequate knowledge of the culture of the early days of the Stalin's Soviet Union. Still, the novel has much to recommend it: biting satire, raucous humor, odd surrealist details, unsettling narrative shifts, and¡ªabove all¡ªunusual metaphors and colorful language.
To give you an idea of the metaphors and language, I offer this passage this description the closing of the town market (heralded by its own metaphorical a sunset):
The afternoon was rolling up its stalls. A gypsy in a dark blue vest with painted cheeks and a beard hoisted a clean coper bowl on his shoulder. The bowl¡¯s disk was bright and blind. The gypsy was walking slowly, the bowl was rocking gently, and the afternoon was spinning in its disk.
The fellow travelers watched it go.
And the disk set, like the sun. The day was done.
November 27, 2023
"§©§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î", §ß§Ñ§á§Ú§ã§Ñ§ß§ß§Ñ§ñ §Ó 1927 §Ô§à§Õ§å, §ã§é§Ú§ä§Ñ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ó§Ö§â§ê§Ú§ß§à§Û §ä§Ó§à§â§é§Ö§ã§ä§Ó§Ñ §À§â§Ú§ñ §°§Ý§Ö§ê§Ú.
§¹§Ú§ä§Ñ§ñ §ï§ä§à§ä §ã§Ñ§ä§Ú§â§Ú§é§Ö§ã§Ü§Ú§Û §â§à§Þ§Ñ§ß, §å §£§Ñ§ã §ß§Ö§à§Õ§ß§à§Ü§â§Ñ§ä§ß§à §Ó§à§Ù§ß§Ú§Ü§ß§Ö§ä §à§ë§å§ë§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö, §é§ä§à §Ñ§Ó§ä§à§â §Õ§Ó§à§Û§ã§ä§Ó§Ö§ß§ß§à §à§ä§ß§à§ã§Ú§ä§ã§ñ §Ü §ã§Ó§à§Ú§Þ §Ô§Ö§â§à§ñ§Þ, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§í§ç §ã§à §Ó§ã§Ö§Û §à§é§Ö§Ó§Ú§Õ§ß§à§ã§ä§î§ð §Ó§í§ã§Þ§Ö§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä - §Ú§ß§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §å §ß§Ö§Ô§à §á§â§à§ã§Ü§Ñ§Ý§î§Ù§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §ä§à §ß§à§ä§Ü§Ñ §ã§à§é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§Ú§ñ, §ä§à §Ý§×§Ô§Ü§à§Ö §à§Õ§à§Ò§â§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à§Ö §Ü§Ñ§ã§Ñ§ß§Ú§Ö. §ª §£§Ñ§ã, §é§Ú§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ, §ä§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§ñ §Ù§í§Ò§Ü§Ñ§ñ, §Ö§Ý§Ö §Ù§Ñ§Þ§Ö§ä§ß§Ñ§ñ §ß§Ö§à§á§â§Ö§Õ§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§à§ã§ä§î §á§à§Ù§Ú§è§Ú§Ú §Ñ§Ó§ä§à§â§Ñ §ß§Ñ§ã§ä§à§â§Ñ§Ø§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä, §ã§à§Ù§Õ§Ñ§×§ä §ß§Ö§å§Ó§Ö§â§Ö§ß§ß§à§ã§ä§î, §Ó§ã§Ö §Ý§Ú §£§í §á§â§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Ý§î§ß§à §á§à§ß§Ú§Þ§Ñ§Ö§ä§Ö - §Ó§Ö§Õ§î §á§à§Ý§à§Ø§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§í§ç §Ô§Ö§â§à§Ö§Ó §Ù§Õ§Ö§ã§î §ß§Ö§ä!
§®§ß§Ö §Ò§í§Ý§à §Ò§í §Ú§ß§ä§Ö§â§Ö§ã§ß§à §å§Ù§ß§Ñ§ä§î, §Ü§Ñ§Ü §°§Ý§Ö§ê§Ñ §à§ä§ß§à§ã§Ú§Ý§ã§ñ §Ü §ã§Ó§à§Ö§Þ§å §ä§Ó§à§â§Ö§ß§Ú§ð §Ó §Ò§à§Ý§Ö§Ö §á§à§Ù§Õ§ß§Ú§Ö §Ô§à§Õ§í - §Ñ §à§ß §Õ§à§Ø§Ú§Ý §Õ§à 1960 §Ô§à§Õ§Ñ. §¿§ä§à§ä §â§à§Þ§Ñ§ß §Ó§í§ã§Þ§Ö§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §à§Ò§í§Ó§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ §ï§á§à§ç§Ú §¯§¿§±§Ñ, §Ü§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §Ò§Ý§Ñ§Ô§à§Õ§Ñ§â§ñ §â§í§ß§à§é§ß§í§Þ §à§ä§ß§à§ê§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ§Þ, §Ò§í§Ý§Ñ §Ò§à§Ý§Ö§Ö-§Þ§Ö§ß§Ö§Ö §ã§í§ä§Ñ§ñ §Ø§Ú§Ù§ß§î, §Ú §á§â§Ö§ã§Ý§à§Ó§å§ä§Ñ§ñ §Ü§à§Ý§Ò§Ñ§ã§Ñ, §ï§ä§à§ä §ã§Ú§Þ§Ó§à§Ý §ã§à§Ó§Ö§ä§ã§Ü§à§Ô§à §Ò§Ý§Ñ§Ô§à§á§à§Ý§å§é§Ú§ñ, §ß§Ö §Ò§í§Ý §Õ§Ö§æ§Ú§è§Ú§ä§à§Þ. §±§â§Ñ§Ó§Õ§Ñ, §Þ§Ú§Ý§Ý§Ú§à§ß§í §Ý§ð§Õ§Ö§Û §Ø§Ú§Ý§Ú §Ó §ß§Ú§ë§Ö§ä§Ö, §é§ä§à§Ò§í §á§à§Ù§Ó§à§Ý§Ú§ä§î §ã§Ö§Ò§Ö §é§ä§à-§ä§à §Ý§Ú§ê§ß§Ö§Ö. §°§Ý§Ö§ê§Ñ §Ó§í§ã§Þ§Ö§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ó 1927 §Ô§à§Õ§å §¡§ß§Õ§â§Ö§ñ §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó§Ñ, §â§å§Ü§à§Ó§à§Õ§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ §ä§â§Ö§ã§ä§Ñ, §ã§Ñ§ß§à§Ó§ß§à§Ô§à §Þ§Ö§ë§Ñ§ß§Ú§ß§Ñ, §Ù§Ñ §ä§à, §é§ä§à §ä§à§ä §ç§à§é§Ö§ä §á§â§à§Ú§Ù§Ó§à§Õ§Ú§ä§î §Ü§à§Ý§Ò§Ñ§ã§å §ã 70% §ä§Ö§Ý§ñ§ä§Ú§ß§í §Ù§Ñ 35 §Ü§à§á§Ö§Ö§Ü. §¯§à §Ó §á§à§ã§Ý§Ö§Õ§å§ð§ë§Ú§Ö §Ô§à§Õ§í §Ù§Ñ §ä§Ñ§Ü§Ú§Ö §Õ§à§ã§ä§Ú§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ §Õ§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ú §¤§Ö§â§à§ñ §³§à§è§ä§â§å§Õ§Ñ, §Ú §ä§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§ñ §Ü§à§Ý§Ò§Ñ§ã§Ñ §à§ã§ä§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ñ§ã§î §ß§Ö§Õ§à§ã§ä§Ú§Ø§Ú§Þ§à§Û §á§à §Ü§Ñ§é§Ö§ã§ä§Ó§å, §Ú, §Ó§à§Ù§Þ§à§Ø§ß§à, §á§à §è§Ö§ß§Ö - - §è§Ö§Ý§î§ð §Õ§Ý§ñ §Ó§ã§Ö§ç §Ô§Ö§ß§ã§Ö§Ü§à§Ó(§ß§Ö §á§à§Þ§ß§ð, §ã§Ü§à§Ý§î§Ü§à §ã§ä§à§Ú§Ý§Ñ §Ü§à§Ý§Ò§Ñ§ã§Ñ §Ó §³§³§³§²). §¥§Ñ, §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó §ä§à§Ý§ã§ä, §à§Ò§Ø§à§â§Ú§ã§ä, §Ö§Ô§à §Ò§à§Õ§â§à§Ö §ä§Ñ-§â§Ñ-§â§Ñ §Ó §Ü§Ý§à§Ù§Ö§ä§Ö §ã§Ú§Þ§Ó§à§Ý§Ú§Ù§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä §Ø§Ú§Ó§à§ä§ß§å§ð §â§Ñ§Õ§à§ã§ä§î §Ø§Ú§Ù§ß§Ú, §Ö§Ô§à §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó §ß§Ñ§Ù§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä "§à§Ò§â§Ñ§Ù§è§à§Ó§à§Û §Þ§å§Ø§ã§Ü§à§Û §à§ã§à§Ò§î§ð", §à§ß §à§Ô§â§Ñ§ß§Ú§é§Ö§ß, §ß§à §Ö§Ô§à §Þ§à§Ù§Ô §Ó§í§ç§Ó§Ñ§ä§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ü§Ñ§Ü§Ú§Ö-§ä§à §à§Ò§â§í§Ó§Ü§Ú §â§Ñ§Ù§Ô§à§Ó§à§â§à§Ó, §Ñ§æ§Ú§ê, §Ô§Ñ§Ù§Ö§ä§ß§í§ç §ã§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Û, §é§ä§à §à§ß §Ó §è§Ö§Ý§à§Þ §Ó §Ü§å§â§ã§Ö, §ß§à §ä§à§Ý§Ü§à§Þ §ß§Ú§é§Ö§Ô§à §ß§Ö §Ù§ß§Ñ§Ö§ä, §ß§à §à§ß §Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß, §à§ß §ß§Ö §ã§Ú§Õ§Ú§ä §Ó §Ü§Ñ§Ò§Ú§ß§Ö§ä§Ö §ß§Ñ §ã§à§Ó§Ö§ë§Ñ§ß§Ú§ñ§ç, §ß§Ö §Ú§Þ§Ú§ä§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä §Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à§ã§ä§î, §à§ß "§¤§Ñ§â§å§ß §Ñ§Ý§î-§²§Ñ§ê§Ú§Õ§à§Þ" §á§à§ã§Ö§ë§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ü§å§ç§ß§Ú §Ó §Ü§à§Þ§Þ§å§ß§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ñ§ç, §ä§â§Ö§Ò§å§Ö§ä, §é§ä§à§Ò§í §Ó §ã§ä§à§Ý§à§Ó§í§ç §ß§Ñ§â§Ö§Ù§Ñ§Ý§Ú §Þ§ñ§ã§à, §Ü§Ñ§Ü §å §é§Ñ§ã§ä§ß§Ú§Ü§Ñ, §à§ß §Õ§Ö§Ý§Ñ§Ö§ä §Õ§Ö§Ý§à - §ã§ä§à§Ý§à§Ó§å§ð "§¹§Ö§ä§Ó§Ö§â§ä§Ñ§Ü", §à§ß §Ò§à§â§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ù§Ñ §à§ã§Ó§à§Ò§à§Ø§Õ§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ø§Ö§ß§ë§Ú§ß§í §à§ä §Ü§å§ç§ß§Ú, §ã§Ö§Û§é§Ñ§ã §Ò§í §Ó§ã§Ö §ï§ä§à §ï§ä§à §ß§Ñ§Ù§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ú §ã§ä§Ñ§â§ä§Ñ§á§à§Þ - §â§Ñ§Ù§Ó§Ö §ï§ä§à §á§Ý§à§ç§à? §¥§Ñ §Ú §Ó§à§à§Ò§ë§Ö, §Þ§ß§à§Ô§à §Ý§Ú §Ý§ð§Õ§Ö§Û, §à§ã§à§Ò§Ö§ß§ß§à §Ó§í§ã§à§Ü§à§á§à§ã§ä§Ñ§Ó§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§í§ç, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§í§Ö §Þ§à§Ô§å§ä §Ú§Ù §Ø§Ñ§Ý§à§ã§ä§Ú §Õ§Ñ§ä§î §ß§à§é§Ý§Ö§Ô §Ó§Ñ§Ý§ñ§ð§ë§Ö§Þ§å§ã§ñ §á§î§ñ§ß§à§Þ§å §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§å §Ó§à§Ù§Ý§Ö §á§Ú§Ó§ß§à§Û? §®§ß§à§Ô§à §Ý§Ú §á§à§Þ§à§Ô§å§ä §Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à, §Õ§Ñ§Ó §â§Ñ§Ò§à§ä§å, §á§å§ã§ä§î §ï§ä§à §Ó§ã§Ö§Ô§à §Ý§Ú§ê§î §Ü§à§â§â§Ö§Ü§ä§å§â§Ñ?
§¥§Ó§à§Û§ã§ä§Ó§Ö§ß§ß§à§Ö §à§ä§ß§à§ê§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ñ§Ó§ä§à§â§Ñ §é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§å§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ú §Ó §à§ä§ß§à§ê§Ö§ß§Ú§Ú §¯§Ú§Ü§à§Ý§Ñ§ñ §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ, §é§î§ñ §æ§Ñ§Þ§Ú§Ý§Ú§ñ "§Ó§í§ã§à§Ü§à§á§Ñ§â§ß§Ñ §Ú §ß§Ú§Ù§Ü§à§á§â§à§Ò§ß§Ñ". §°§ß §ã§Ú§Þ§Ó§à§Ý§Ú§Ù§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä "§Ô§ß§Ú§Ý§å§ð §Ú§ß§ä§Ö§Ý§Ý§Ú§Ô§Ö§ß§è§Ú§ð", §à§ß §à§Ò§â§Ñ§Ù§à§Ó§Ñ§ß, §Ù§ß§Ñ§Ö§ä, §Ü§ä§à §ä§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§ñ §ª§à§Ü§Ñ§ã§ä§Ñ.
"§´§Ö§á§Ö§â§î §ñ §á§Ú§ê§å §â§Ö§á§Ö§â§ä§å§Ñ§â §Õ§Ý§ñ §ï§ã§ä§â§Ñ§Õ§ß§Ú§Ü§à§Ó: §Þ§à§ß§à§Ý§à§Ô§Ú §Ú §Ü§å§á§Ý§Ö§ä§í §à §æ§Ú§ß§Ú§ß§ã§á§Ö§Ü§ä§à§â§Ö, §ã§à§Ó§Ò§Ñ§â§í§ê§ß§ñ§ç, §ß§ï§á§Þ§Ñ§ß§Ñ§ç §Ú §Ñ§Ý§Ú§Þ§Ö§ß§ä§Ñ§ç", - §Ô§à§Ó§à§â§Ú§ä §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó §à §ã§Ö§Ò§Ö. §²§Ö§á§Ö§â§ä§å§Ñ§â §ß§Ñ§á§à§Þ§Ú§ß§Ñ§Ö§ä §®§Ñ§ñ§Ü§à§Ó§ã§Ü§à§Ô§à, §Ú §Þ§ß§Ö §ï§ä§à §ß§Ö §á§à§ß§â§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Ý§à§ã§î.
§²§à§Þ§Ñ§ß §ß§Ö §Ý§Ú§ê§×§ß §à§ã§ä§â§à§å§Þ§Ú§ñ, §Þ§ß§à§Ô§à §Þ§à§Þ§Ö§ß§ä§à§Ó, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§í§Ö §Ù§Ñ§ã§ä§Ñ§Ó§ñ§ä §£§Ñ§ã §å§Ý§í§Ò§ß§å§ä§î§ã§ñ, §à§Õ§Ú§ß §ã§à§ß §á§â§à §Ò§Ú§ä§Ó§å §á§â§Ú §¶§Ñ§â§ã§Ñ§Ý§Ö §é§Ö§Ô§à §ã§ä§à§Ú§ä.
§¦§ë§× §à§Õ§Ú§ß §Ô§Ö§â§à§Û, §Ü §Ü§à§ä§à§â§à§Þ§å §Õ§Ó§à§Û§ã§ä§Ó§Ö§ß§ß§í§Ö §é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§Ñ §Ú §å §Ñ§Ó§ä§à§â§Ñ, §Ú §å §é§Ú§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ - §ª§Ó§Ñ§ß, §Ò§â§Ñ§ä §¡§ß§Õ§â§Ö§ñ §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó§Ñ. §²§à§ã §à§ß §ã §ñ§â§Ü§à §Ó§í§â§Ñ§Ø§Ö§ß§ß§í§Þ§Ú §é§Ö§â§ä§Ñ§Þ§Ú §Ò§å§Õ§å§ë§Ö§Ô§à §Ú§Ù§à§Ò§â§Ö§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ, §Ô§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ. §°§ß §Ò§í§Ý §Þ§Ö§é§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§Þ, §ß§à §Þ§Ö§é§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§Þ §Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§í§Þ. §¯§à §Ö§Ô§à §à§ä§Ö§è-§ã§Ñ§Þ§à§Õ§å§â §á§à§â§Ö§ä §Ù§Ñ §ä§à, §é§ä§à §Ö§Þ§å §ß§Ö §á§â§Ú§ã§ß§Ú§Ý§Ñ§ã§î §Ò§Ú§ä§Ó§Ñ §á§â§Ú §¶§Ñ§â§ã§Ñ§Ý§Ö. §®§Ñ§Ý§à §ä§à§Ô§à, §é§ä§à §ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§ã§ß§í§Ö §ß§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§Ù§Ñ§ß§Ú§ñ, §ä§Ñ§Ü §Ö§ë§× §Ú §ß§Ú §Ù§Ñ §é§ä§à. §¬§à§ß§Ö§é§ß§à, §ä§Ñ§Ü§à§Ö §á§à§Õ§Ñ§Ó§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ý§Ú§é§ß§à§ã§ä§Ú, §å§ã§ä§â§Ö§Þ§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú§Û §Þ§Ñ§Ý§Ö§ß§î§Ü§à§Ô§à §â§Ö§Ò§Ö§ß§Ü§Ñ §ß§Ñ§ê§Ý§à §à§ä§â§Ñ§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ó §Ö§Ô§à §ç§Ñ§â§Ñ§Ü§ä§Ö§â§Ö §Ú §à§ß §Ó§Þ§Ö§ã§ä§à §Ú§Ù§à§Ò§â§Ö§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ, §Ú§ß§Ø§Ö§ß§Ö§â§Ñ §Ú§Ý§Ú §á§Ú§ã§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ-§æ§Ñ§ß§ä§Ñ§ã§ä§Ñ §ã§ä§Ñ§Ý §æ§à§Ü§å§ã§ß§Ú§Ü§à§Þ, §ß§Ö§á§Ý§à§ç§Ñ§ñ §á§â§à§æ§Ö§ã§ã§Ú§ñ, §ß§à §Ó §ß§Ö§Û §à§ß §ß§Ö §á§â§Ö§å§ã§á§Ö§Ý.
§Á§Ù§í§Ü, §á§Ú§ã§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ã§Ü§Ú§Û §ä§Ñ§Ý§Ñ§ß§ä - §Ó§ã§Ö §Ó§à§ã§ç§Ú§ä§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à. §¯§à §Þ§ß§Ö §ß§Ö §Ó§ã§Ö §á§à§ß§â§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Ý§à§ã§î.
§¢§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î, §Ü§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Õ§å§Ö§ä §á§â§Ú §â§Ñ§Ó§ß§í§ç §å§ã§Ý§à§Ó§Ú§ñ§ç, §ß§à §ß§Ö§â§Ñ§Ó§ß§à§Þ §â§Ñ§ã§á§â§Ö§Õ§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú§Ú. §´§à §Ö§ã§ä§î §Ý§ð§Õ§Ú §à§Õ§Ú§ß§Ñ§Ü§à§Ó§à §ä§â§å§Õ§ñ§ä§ã§ñ, §ß§à §á§à§Ý§å§é§Ñ§ð§ä §â§Ñ§Ù§ß§à§Ö §Ó§à§Ù§ß§Ñ§Ô§â§Ñ§Ø§Õ§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö - §å §à§Ò§Õ§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§à§Ô§à §á§à§ñ§Ó§Ý§ñ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î §Ü §Ò§à§Ý§Ö§Ö §å§Õ§Ñ§é§Ý§Ú§Ó§à§Þ§å. §©§Õ§Ö§ã§î §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î §Õ§â§å§Ô§à§Ô§à §â§à§Õ§Ñ: §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó - §á§î§ñ§ß§Ú§è§Ñ, §à§ß §Ò§Ö§Ù§Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß, §Õ§Ñ, §à§ß §Ø§Ú§Ó§×§ä §Ó §ß§Ú§ë§Ö§ä§Ö, §ß§à §é§ä§à §à§ß §Õ§Ö§Ý§Ñ§Ö§ä, §é§ä§à§Ò§í §Ú§Ù§Þ§Ö§ß§Ú§ä§î §á§à§Ý§à§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ó§Ö§ë§Ö§Û? §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ §â§Ñ§Ù§Õ§â§Ñ§Ø§Ñ§Ö§ä, §é§ä§à §à§ß §ß§Ñ §á§à§Ý§à§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§Ú §ê§å§ä§Ñ. §¯§à §Ü§ä§à §Þ§Ö§ê§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ö§Þ§å §å§Û§ä§Ú §á§à§ã§Ý§Ö §á§â§à§ä§â§Ö§Ù§Ó§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ? §¿§ä§à §Ü§Ñ§Ü§à§Û-§ä§à §à§ã§à§Ò§Ö§ß§ß§í§Û §ä§Ú§á §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§Ú. §±§à§Ü§Ñ§Ù§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à, §é§ä§à §á§â§Ö§Õ§Þ§Ö§ä§à§Þ §ã§à§è§Ú§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§à§Û §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§Ú §Þ§à§Ø§Ö§ä §Ò§í§ä§î §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß, §é§Ú§ã§ä§à§Ö §á§à§ã§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à§Ö §Ò§Ö§Ý§î§Ö. §¿§ä§à §ã§Ó§Ú§Õ§Ö§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ã§ä§Ó§å§Ö§ä §à §Ü§â§Ñ§Û§ß§Ö§Û §ß§Ú§ë§Ö§ä§Ö. §±§à§Ü§Ñ §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó §à§ä§ã§å§ä§ã§ä§Ó§à§Ó§Ñ§Ý, §Ü§à§Þ§ß§Ñ§ä§å §Ó §Ü§à§Þ§Þ§å§ß§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ö §à§ä§Õ§Ñ§Ý§Ú §Ü§à§Þ§å-§ä§à §Ö§ë§×. §¿§ä§à §á§à§Ý§ß§à§Ö §ß§Ñ§â§å§ê§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §á§â§Ñ§Ó, §ß§à §Ü§à§Ô§à §à§ß§à §Ú§ß§ä§Ö§â§Ö§ã§à§Ó§Ñ§Ý§à §Ó §³§à§Ó§Ö§ä§ã§Ü§à§Û §ã§ä§â§Ñ§ß§Ö? §©§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ §Ñ§Ô§â§Ö§ã§ã§Ú§Ó§ß§Ñ, §à§ß §ß§Ö §á§â§ñ§é§Ö§ä §Ú §ß§Ö §á§à§Õ§Ñ§Ó§Ý§ñ§Ö§ä §ã§Ó§à§Ú §é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§Ñ, §à§ß §Ó§í§Ý§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ú§ç §ß§Ñ §Ò§å§Þ§Ñ§Ô§å. §¯§à §Ö§Ô§à §å§Ò§Ö§Ø§Õ§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ §ß§Ö §ä§Ó§Ö§â§Õ§í, §à§ß §Ü§à§Ý§Ö§Ò§Ý§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ú, §Ö§ã§Ý§Ú §Ò§í §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó §á§à§Þ§Ñ§ß§Ú§Ý §Ö§Ô§à, §à§ß §Ü§Ú§ß§å§Ý§ã§ñ §Ò§í §ß§Ñ §Ü§à§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú §á§â§à§ã§Ú§ä§î §á§â§à§ë§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ. §£§ä§Ñ§Û§ß§Ö §à§ß §Þ§Ö§é§ä§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ù§Ñ§ß§ñ§ä§î §Þ§Ö§ã§ä§à §£§à§Ý§à§Õ§Ú §®§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§â§à§Ó§Ñ. §´§Ñ§Ü §é§ä§à §ï§ä§à §Õ§Ñ§Ø§Ö §ß§Ö §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î, §Ñ §â§Ñ§Ù§Õ§Ú§â§Ñ§Ö§Þ§à§Ö §á§â§à§ä§Ú§Ó§à§â§Ö§é§Ú§ñ§Þ§Ú §Ø§Ö§Ý§Ñ§ß§Ú§Ö §å§ã§ä§â§à§Ú§ä§î §ã§Ó§à§ð §Ø§Ú§Ù§ß§î.
§§à§Ô§Ú§Ü§Ñ §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ §á§Ñ§â§Ñ§Õ§à§Ü§ã§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§Ñ: "§©§Ñ§é§Ö§Þ §á§â§Ú§Ó§Ö§Ù? §¨§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ú§Û §å §Ó§Ñ§ã §Ò§í§Ý §Ó§Ú§Õ. §¯§Ö§Ý§î§Ù§ñ §Ò§í§Ý§à §ß§Ö §â§Ñ§ã§ä§â§à§Ô§Ñ§ä§î§ã§ñ. §£§í §â§í§Õ§Ñ§Ý§Ú. §³§ä§â§Ñ§ê§ß§à §ã§ä§Ñ§Ý§à §Ó§Ñ§ã §Ø§Ñ§Ý§î.
- §¡ §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß?
- §¹§ä§à §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß?
- §¡ §Ü§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §Ó§Ö§â§ß§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ó§Ñ§ê §ð§ß§à§ê§Ñ¡
§°§ß, §ß§Ú§ã§Ü§à§Ý§î§Ü§à §ß§Ö §Ù§Ñ§Õ§å§Þ§í§Ó§Ñ§ñ§ã§î, §á§â§à§ã§ä§à §Ú §Ó§Ö§ã§Ö§Ý§à §à§ä§Ó§Ö§é§Ñ§Ý:
- §´§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §Ó§Ñ§Þ §á§â??§Õ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß §à§ã§Ó§à§Ò§à§Õ§Ú§ä§î¡
§®§ß§Ö §ß§Ñ§Õ§à §Ó§ã§ä§Ñ§ä§î §Ú §á§à§Ò§Ú§ä§î §Ö§Þ§å §Þ§à§â§Õ§å. §°§ß, §Ó§Ú§Õ§Ú§ä§Ö §Ý§Ú, §ã§Ø§Ñ§Ý§Ú§Ý§ã§ñ, §à§ß, §á§â§à§ã§Ý§Ñ§Ó§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§Ñ§ñ §Ý§Ú§é§ß§à§ã§ä§î, §á§à§Ø§Ñ§Ý§Ö§Ý §ß§Ö§ã§é§Ñ§ã§ä§ß§à§Ô§à, §ã§Ò§Ú§Ó§ê§Ö§Ô§à§ã§ñ §ã §á§å§ä§Ú §Þ§à§Ý§à§Õ§à§Ô§à §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§Ñ. §¯§à §Ó§â§Ö§Þ§Ö§ß§ß§à. §±§à§Ü§Ñ §Ó§Ö§â§ß§Ö§ä§ã?? §Ô§Ý§Ñ§Ó§ß§í§Û. §¦§Þ§å §á§â§à§ã§ä§à §ã§Ü§å§é§ß§à §á§à §Ó§Ö§é§Ö§â§Ñ§Þ. §¡ §á§à§ä§à§Þ §à§ß §Þ§Ö§ß§ñ §Ó§í§Ô§à§ß§Ú§ä. §³ §è§Ú§ß§Ú§Ù§Þ§à§Þ §à§ß §Ô§à§Ó§à§â§Ú§ä §à§Ò §ï§ä§à§Þ."
§£§Õ§à§Ó§Ñ §±§â§à§Ü§à§á§à§Ó§Ú§é, §â§í§ç§Ý§Ñ§ñ, §á§â§Ú§â§Ñ§Ò§Ñ§ä§í§Ó§Ñ§ð§ë§Ñ§ñ §ä§Ö§Þ, §é§ä§à §Ô§à§ä§à§Ó§Ú§ä §Ú§Ù §á§à§ä§â§à§ç§à§Ó §Õ§Ý§ñ §Ñ§â§ä§Ö§Ý§Ú §á§Ñ§â§Ú§Ü§Þ§Ñ§ç§Ö§â§à§Ó, §Ú §Ü§à§â§Þ§ñ§ë§Ñ§ñ §à§ã§ä§Ñ§ä§Ü§Ñ§Þ§Ú §Ü§à§ê§Ö§Ü - §ã§Ú§Þ§Ó§à§Ý "§Þ§å§Ø§ã§Ü§à§Û §å§ß§Ú§Ø§Ö§ß§ß§à§ã§ä§Ú" §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ.
§¯§à §Ú §Ö§Ö §Ö§Þ§å §á§â§Ú§Õ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Õ§Ö§Ý§Ú§ä§î §ã §ª§Ó§Ñ§ß§à§Þ §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó§í§Þ.
§£§à§Ý§à§Õ§ñ §®§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§â§à§Ó §Ó§ß§Ö§ê§ß§Ö §á§à§Ý§à§Ø§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§í§Û §Ô§Ö§â§à§Û - §Ù§ß§Ñ§Þ§Ö§ß§Ú§ä§í§Û §ã§á§à§â§ä§ã§Þ§Ö§ß, §é§Ö§ä§Ü§à §ã§ä§Ñ§Ó§ñ§ë§Ú§Û §á§Ö§â§Ö§Õ §ã§à§Ò§à§Û §è§Ö§Ý§Ú, §ß§à §Ú §à§ß §Ó §ã§Ó§à§Ö§Þ §á§Ú§ã§î§Þ§Ö §Ò§à§Ú§ä§ã§ñ §á§à§ä§Ö§â§ñ§ä§î §ã§Ó§à§Û §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß §Ó §Ü§Ó§Ñ§â§ä§Ú§â§Ö §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó§Ñ. §°§ß §ä§Ñ§Ü§à§Û §Ø§Ö §Þ§Ö§Ý§Ü§Ú§Û §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§é§Ú§ê§Ü§à, §é§ä§à §Ú §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó.
§¹§Ú§ä§Ñ§ñ §ï§ä§à§ä §ã§Ñ§ä§Ú§â§Ú§é§Ö§ã§Ü§Ú§Û §â§à§Þ§Ñ§ß, §å §£§Ñ§ã §ß§Ö§à§Õ§ß§à§Ü§â§Ñ§ä§ß§à §Ó§à§Ù§ß§Ú§Ü§ß§Ö§ä §à§ë§å§ë§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö, §é§ä§à §Ñ§Ó§ä§à§â §Õ§Ó§à§Û§ã§ä§Ó§Ö§ß§ß§à §à§ä§ß§à§ã§Ú§ä§ã§ñ §Ü §ã§Ó§à§Ú§Þ §Ô§Ö§â§à§ñ§Þ, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§í§ç §ã§à §Ó§ã§Ö§Û §à§é§Ö§Ó§Ú§Õ§ß§à§ã§ä§î§ð §Ó§í§ã§Þ§Ö§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä - §Ú§ß§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §å §ß§Ö§Ô§à §á§â§à§ã§Ü§Ñ§Ý§î§Ù§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §ä§à §ß§à§ä§Ü§Ñ §ã§à§é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§Ú§ñ, §ä§à §Ý§×§Ô§Ü§à§Ö §à§Õ§à§Ò§â§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à§Ö §Ü§Ñ§ã§Ñ§ß§Ú§Ö. §ª §£§Ñ§ã, §é§Ú§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ, §ä§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§ñ §Ù§í§Ò§Ü§Ñ§ñ, §Ö§Ý§Ö §Ù§Ñ§Þ§Ö§ä§ß§Ñ§ñ §ß§Ö§à§á§â§Ö§Õ§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§à§ã§ä§î §á§à§Ù§Ú§è§Ú§Ú §Ñ§Ó§ä§à§â§Ñ §ß§Ñ§ã§ä§à§â§Ñ§Ø§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä, §ã§à§Ù§Õ§Ñ§×§ä §ß§Ö§å§Ó§Ö§â§Ö§ß§ß§à§ã§ä§î, §Ó§ã§Ö §Ý§Ú §£§í §á§â§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Ý§î§ß§à §á§à§ß§Ú§Þ§Ñ§Ö§ä§Ö - §Ó§Ö§Õ§î §á§à§Ý§à§Ø§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§í§ç §Ô§Ö§â§à§Ö§Ó §Ù§Õ§Ö§ã§î §ß§Ö§ä!
§®§ß§Ö §Ò§í§Ý§à §Ò§í §Ú§ß§ä§Ö§â§Ö§ã§ß§à §å§Ù§ß§Ñ§ä§î, §Ü§Ñ§Ü §°§Ý§Ö§ê§Ñ §à§ä§ß§à§ã§Ú§Ý§ã§ñ §Ü §ã§Ó§à§Ö§Þ§å §ä§Ó§à§â§Ö§ß§Ú§ð §Ó §Ò§à§Ý§Ö§Ö §á§à§Ù§Õ§ß§Ú§Ö §Ô§à§Õ§í - §Ñ §à§ß §Õ§à§Ø§Ú§Ý §Õ§à 1960 §Ô§à§Õ§Ñ. §¿§ä§à§ä §â§à§Þ§Ñ§ß §Ó§í§ã§Þ§Ö§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §à§Ò§í§Ó§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ §ï§á§à§ç§Ú §¯§¿§±§Ñ, §Ü§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §Ò§Ý§Ñ§Ô§à§Õ§Ñ§â§ñ §â§í§ß§à§é§ß§í§Þ §à§ä§ß§à§ê§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ§Þ, §Ò§í§Ý§Ñ §Ò§à§Ý§Ö§Ö-§Þ§Ö§ß§Ö§Ö §ã§í§ä§Ñ§ñ §Ø§Ú§Ù§ß§î, §Ú §á§â§Ö§ã§Ý§à§Ó§å§ä§Ñ§ñ §Ü§à§Ý§Ò§Ñ§ã§Ñ, §ï§ä§à§ä §ã§Ú§Þ§Ó§à§Ý §ã§à§Ó§Ö§ä§ã§Ü§à§Ô§à §Ò§Ý§Ñ§Ô§à§á§à§Ý§å§é§Ú§ñ, §ß§Ö §Ò§í§Ý §Õ§Ö§æ§Ú§è§Ú§ä§à§Þ. §±§â§Ñ§Ó§Õ§Ñ, §Þ§Ú§Ý§Ý§Ú§à§ß§í §Ý§ð§Õ§Ö§Û §Ø§Ú§Ý§Ú §Ó §ß§Ú§ë§Ö§ä§Ö, §é§ä§à§Ò§í §á§à§Ù§Ó§à§Ý§Ú§ä§î §ã§Ö§Ò§Ö §é§ä§à-§ä§à §Ý§Ú§ê§ß§Ö§Ö. §°§Ý§Ö§ê§Ñ §Ó§í§ã§Þ§Ö§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ó 1927 §Ô§à§Õ§å §¡§ß§Õ§â§Ö§ñ §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó§Ñ, §â§å§Ü§à§Ó§à§Õ§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ §ä§â§Ö§ã§ä§Ñ, §ã§Ñ§ß§à§Ó§ß§à§Ô§à §Þ§Ö§ë§Ñ§ß§Ú§ß§Ñ, §Ù§Ñ §ä§à, §é§ä§à §ä§à§ä §ç§à§é§Ö§ä §á§â§à§Ú§Ù§Ó§à§Õ§Ú§ä§î §Ü§à§Ý§Ò§Ñ§ã§å §ã 70% §ä§Ö§Ý§ñ§ä§Ú§ß§í §Ù§Ñ 35 §Ü§à§á§Ö§Ö§Ü. §¯§à §Ó §á§à§ã§Ý§Ö§Õ§å§ð§ë§Ú§Ö §Ô§à§Õ§í §Ù§Ñ §ä§Ñ§Ü§Ú§Ö §Õ§à§ã§ä§Ú§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ §Õ§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ú §¤§Ö§â§à§ñ §³§à§è§ä§â§å§Õ§Ñ, §Ú §ä§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§ñ §Ü§à§Ý§Ò§Ñ§ã§Ñ §à§ã§ä§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ñ§ã§î §ß§Ö§Õ§à§ã§ä§Ú§Ø§Ú§Þ§à§Û §á§à §Ü§Ñ§é§Ö§ã§ä§Ó§å, §Ú, §Ó§à§Ù§Þ§à§Ø§ß§à, §á§à §è§Ö§ß§Ö - - §è§Ö§Ý§î§ð §Õ§Ý§ñ §Ó§ã§Ö§ç §Ô§Ö§ß§ã§Ö§Ü§à§Ó(§ß§Ö §á§à§Þ§ß§ð, §ã§Ü§à§Ý§î§Ü§à §ã§ä§à§Ú§Ý§Ñ §Ü§à§Ý§Ò§Ñ§ã§Ñ §Ó §³§³§³§²). §¥§Ñ, §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó §ä§à§Ý§ã§ä, §à§Ò§Ø§à§â§Ú§ã§ä, §Ö§Ô§à §Ò§à§Õ§â§à§Ö §ä§Ñ-§â§Ñ-§â§Ñ §Ó §Ü§Ý§à§Ù§Ö§ä§Ö §ã§Ú§Þ§Ó§à§Ý§Ú§Ù§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä §Ø§Ú§Ó§à§ä§ß§å§ð §â§Ñ§Õ§à§ã§ä§î §Ø§Ú§Ù§ß§Ú, §Ö§Ô§à §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó §ß§Ñ§Ù§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä "§à§Ò§â§Ñ§Ù§è§à§Ó§à§Û §Þ§å§Ø§ã§Ü§à§Û §à§ã§à§Ò§î§ð", §à§ß §à§Ô§â§Ñ§ß§Ú§é§Ö§ß, §ß§à §Ö§Ô§à §Þ§à§Ù§Ô §Ó§í§ç§Ó§Ñ§ä§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ü§Ñ§Ü§Ú§Ö-§ä§à §à§Ò§â§í§Ó§Ü§Ú §â§Ñ§Ù§Ô§à§Ó§à§â§à§Ó, §Ñ§æ§Ú§ê, §Ô§Ñ§Ù§Ö§ä§ß§í§ç §ã§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Û, §é§ä§à §à§ß §Ó §è§Ö§Ý§à§Þ §Ó §Ü§å§â§ã§Ö, §ß§à §ä§à§Ý§Ü§à§Þ §ß§Ú§é§Ö§Ô§à §ß§Ö §Ù§ß§Ñ§Ö§ä, §ß§à §à§ß §Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß, §à§ß §ß§Ö §ã§Ú§Õ§Ú§ä §Ó §Ü§Ñ§Ò§Ú§ß§Ö§ä§Ö §ß§Ñ §ã§à§Ó§Ö§ë§Ñ§ß§Ú§ñ§ç, §ß§Ö §Ú§Þ§Ú§ä§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä §Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à§ã§ä§î, §à§ß "§¤§Ñ§â§å§ß §Ñ§Ý§î-§²§Ñ§ê§Ú§Õ§à§Þ" §á§à§ã§Ö§ë§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ü§å§ç§ß§Ú §Ó §Ü§à§Þ§Þ§å§ß§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ñ§ç, §ä§â§Ö§Ò§å§Ö§ä, §é§ä§à§Ò§í §Ó §ã§ä§à§Ý§à§Ó§í§ç §ß§Ñ§â§Ö§Ù§Ñ§Ý§Ú §Þ§ñ§ã§à, §Ü§Ñ§Ü §å §é§Ñ§ã§ä§ß§Ú§Ü§Ñ, §à§ß §Õ§Ö§Ý§Ñ§Ö§ä §Õ§Ö§Ý§à - §ã§ä§à§Ý§à§Ó§å§ð "§¹§Ö§ä§Ó§Ö§â§ä§Ñ§Ü", §à§ß §Ò§à§â§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ù§Ñ §à§ã§Ó§à§Ò§à§Ø§Õ§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ø§Ö§ß§ë§Ú§ß§í §à§ä §Ü§å§ç§ß§Ú, §ã§Ö§Û§é§Ñ§ã §Ò§í §Ó§ã§Ö §ï§ä§à §ï§ä§à §ß§Ñ§Ù§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ú §ã§ä§Ñ§â§ä§Ñ§á§à§Þ - §â§Ñ§Ù§Ó§Ö §ï§ä§à §á§Ý§à§ç§à? §¥§Ñ §Ú §Ó§à§à§Ò§ë§Ö, §Þ§ß§à§Ô§à §Ý§Ú §Ý§ð§Õ§Ö§Û, §à§ã§à§Ò§Ö§ß§ß§à §Ó§í§ã§à§Ü§à§á§à§ã§ä§Ñ§Ó§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§í§ç, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§í§Ö §Þ§à§Ô§å§ä §Ú§Ù §Ø§Ñ§Ý§à§ã§ä§Ú §Õ§Ñ§ä§î §ß§à§é§Ý§Ö§Ô §Ó§Ñ§Ý§ñ§ð§ë§Ö§Þ§å§ã§ñ §á§î§ñ§ß§à§Þ§å §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§å §Ó§à§Ù§Ý§Ö §á§Ú§Ó§ß§à§Û? §®§ß§à§Ô§à §Ý§Ú §á§à§Þ§à§Ô§å§ä §Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à, §Õ§Ñ§Ó §â§Ñ§Ò§à§ä§å, §á§å§ã§ä§î §ï§ä§à §Ó§ã§Ö§Ô§à §Ý§Ú§ê§î §Ü§à§â§â§Ö§Ü§ä§å§â§Ñ?
§¥§Ó§à§Û§ã§ä§Ó§Ö§ß§ß§à§Ö §à§ä§ß§à§ê§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ñ§Ó§ä§à§â§Ñ §é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§å§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ú §Ó §à§ä§ß§à§ê§Ö§ß§Ú§Ú §¯§Ú§Ü§à§Ý§Ñ§ñ §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ, §é§î§ñ §æ§Ñ§Þ§Ú§Ý§Ú§ñ "§Ó§í§ã§à§Ü§à§á§Ñ§â§ß§Ñ §Ú §ß§Ú§Ù§Ü§à§á§â§à§Ò§ß§Ñ". §°§ß §ã§Ú§Þ§Ó§à§Ý§Ú§Ù§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä "§Ô§ß§Ú§Ý§å§ð §Ú§ß§ä§Ö§Ý§Ý§Ú§Ô§Ö§ß§è§Ú§ð", §à§ß §à§Ò§â§Ñ§Ù§à§Ó§Ñ§ß, §Ù§ß§Ñ§Ö§ä, §Ü§ä§à §ä§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§ñ §ª§à§Ü§Ñ§ã§ä§Ñ.
"§´§Ö§á§Ö§â§î §ñ §á§Ú§ê§å §â§Ö§á§Ö§â§ä§å§Ñ§â §Õ§Ý§ñ §ï§ã§ä§â§Ñ§Õ§ß§Ú§Ü§à§Ó: §Þ§à§ß§à§Ý§à§Ô§Ú §Ú §Ü§å§á§Ý§Ö§ä§í §à §æ§Ú§ß§Ú§ß§ã§á§Ö§Ü§ä§à§â§Ö, §ã§à§Ó§Ò§Ñ§â§í§ê§ß§ñ§ç, §ß§ï§á§Þ§Ñ§ß§Ñ§ç §Ú §Ñ§Ý§Ú§Þ§Ö§ß§ä§Ñ§ç", - §Ô§à§Ó§à§â§Ú§ä §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó §à §ã§Ö§Ò§Ö. §²§Ö§á§Ö§â§ä§å§Ñ§â §ß§Ñ§á§à§Þ§Ú§ß§Ñ§Ö§ä §®§Ñ§ñ§Ü§à§Ó§ã§Ü§à§Ô§à, §Ú §Þ§ß§Ö §ï§ä§à §ß§Ö §á§à§ß§â§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Ý§à§ã§î.
§²§à§Þ§Ñ§ß §ß§Ö §Ý§Ú§ê§×§ß §à§ã§ä§â§à§å§Þ§Ú§ñ, §Þ§ß§à§Ô§à §Þ§à§Þ§Ö§ß§ä§à§Ó, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§í§Ö §Ù§Ñ§ã§ä§Ñ§Ó§ñ§ä §£§Ñ§ã §å§Ý§í§Ò§ß§å§ä§î§ã§ñ, §à§Õ§Ú§ß §ã§à§ß §á§â§à §Ò§Ú§ä§Ó§å §á§â§Ú §¶§Ñ§â§ã§Ñ§Ý§Ö §é§Ö§Ô§à §ã§ä§à§Ú§ä.
§¦§ë§× §à§Õ§Ú§ß §Ô§Ö§â§à§Û, §Ü §Ü§à§ä§à§â§à§Þ§å §Õ§Ó§à§Û§ã§ä§Ó§Ö§ß§ß§í§Ö §é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§Ñ §Ú §å §Ñ§Ó§ä§à§â§Ñ, §Ú §å §é§Ú§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ - §ª§Ó§Ñ§ß, §Ò§â§Ñ§ä §¡§ß§Õ§â§Ö§ñ §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó§Ñ. §²§à§ã §à§ß §ã §ñ§â§Ü§à §Ó§í§â§Ñ§Ø§Ö§ß§ß§í§Þ§Ú §é§Ö§â§ä§Ñ§Þ§Ú §Ò§å§Õ§å§ë§Ö§Ô§à §Ú§Ù§à§Ò§â§Ö§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ, §Ô§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ. §°§ß §Ò§í§Ý §Þ§Ö§é§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§Þ, §ß§à §Þ§Ö§é§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§Þ §Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§í§Þ. §¯§à §Ö§Ô§à §à§ä§Ö§è-§ã§Ñ§Þ§à§Õ§å§â §á§à§â§Ö§ä §Ù§Ñ §ä§à, §é§ä§à §Ö§Þ§å §ß§Ö §á§â§Ú§ã§ß§Ú§Ý§Ñ§ã§î §Ò§Ú§ä§Ó§Ñ §á§â§Ú §¶§Ñ§â§ã§Ñ§Ý§Ö. §®§Ñ§Ý§à §ä§à§Ô§à, §é§ä§à §ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§ã§ß§í§Ö §ß§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§Ù§Ñ§ß§Ú§ñ, §ä§Ñ§Ü §Ö§ë§× §Ú §ß§Ú §Ù§Ñ §é§ä§à. §¬§à§ß§Ö§é§ß§à, §ä§Ñ§Ü§à§Ö §á§à§Õ§Ñ§Ó§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ý§Ú§é§ß§à§ã§ä§Ú, §å§ã§ä§â§Ö§Þ§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú§Û §Þ§Ñ§Ý§Ö§ß§î§Ü§à§Ô§à §â§Ö§Ò§Ö§ß§Ü§Ñ §ß§Ñ§ê§Ý§à §à§ä§â§Ñ§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ó §Ö§Ô§à §ç§Ñ§â§Ñ§Ü§ä§Ö§â§Ö §Ú §à§ß §Ó§Þ§Ö§ã§ä§à §Ú§Ù§à§Ò§â§Ö§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ, §Ú§ß§Ø§Ö§ß§Ö§â§Ñ §Ú§Ý§Ú §á§Ú§ã§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ-§æ§Ñ§ß§ä§Ñ§ã§ä§Ñ §ã§ä§Ñ§Ý §æ§à§Ü§å§ã§ß§Ú§Ü§à§Þ, §ß§Ö§á§Ý§à§ç§Ñ§ñ §á§â§à§æ§Ö§ã§ã§Ú§ñ, §ß§à §Ó §ß§Ö§Û §à§ß §ß§Ö §á§â§Ö§å§ã§á§Ö§Ý.
§Á§Ù§í§Ü, §á§Ú§ã§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ã§Ü§Ú§Û §ä§Ñ§Ý§Ñ§ß§ä - §Ó§ã§Ö §Ó§à§ã§ç§Ú§ä§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à. §¯§à §Þ§ß§Ö §ß§Ö §Ó§ã§Ö §á§à§ß§â§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Ý§à§ã§î.
§¢§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î, §Ü§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Õ§å§Ö§ä §á§â§Ú §â§Ñ§Ó§ß§í§ç §å§ã§Ý§à§Ó§Ú§ñ§ç, §ß§à §ß§Ö§â§Ñ§Ó§ß§à§Þ §â§Ñ§ã§á§â§Ö§Õ§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú§Ú. §´§à §Ö§ã§ä§î §Ý§ð§Õ§Ú §à§Õ§Ú§ß§Ñ§Ü§à§Ó§à §ä§â§å§Õ§ñ§ä§ã§ñ, §ß§à §á§à§Ý§å§é§Ñ§ð§ä §â§Ñ§Ù§ß§à§Ö §Ó§à§Ù§ß§Ñ§Ô§â§Ñ§Ø§Õ§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö - §å §à§Ò§Õ§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§à§Ô§à §á§à§ñ§Ó§Ý§ñ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î §Ü §Ò§à§Ý§Ö§Ö §å§Õ§Ñ§é§Ý§Ú§Ó§à§Þ§å. §©§Õ§Ö§ã§î §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î §Õ§â§å§Ô§à§Ô§à §â§à§Õ§Ñ: §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó - §á§î§ñ§ß§Ú§è§Ñ, §à§ß §Ò§Ö§Ù§Õ§Ö§ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß, §Õ§Ñ, §à§ß §Ø§Ú§Ó§×§ä §Ó §ß§Ú§ë§Ö§ä§Ö, §ß§à §é§ä§à §à§ß §Õ§Ö§Ý§Ñ§Ö§ä, §é§ä§à§Ò§í §Ú§Ù§Þ§Ö§ß§Ú§ä§î §á§à§Ý§à§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ó§Ö§ë§Ö§Û? §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ §â§Ñ§Ù§Õ§â§Ñ§Ø§Ñ§Ö§ä, §é§ä§à §à§ß §ß§Ñ §á§à§Ý§à§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§Ú §ê§å§ä§Ñ. §¯§à §Ü§ä§à §Þ§Ö§ê§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ö§Þ§å §å§Û§ä§Ú §á§à§ã§Ý§Ö §á§â§à§ä§â§Ö§Ù§Ó§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ? §¿§ä§à §Ü§Ñ§Ü§à§Û-§ä§à §à§ã§à§Ò§Ö§ß§ß§í§Û §ä§Ú§á §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§Ú. §±§à§Ü§Ñ§Ù§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à, §é§ä§à §á§â§Ö§Õ§Þ§Ö§ä§à§Þ §ã§à§è§Ú§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§à§Û §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§Ú §Þ§à§Ø§Ö§ä §Ò§í§ä§î §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß, §é§Ú§ã§ä§à§Ö §á§à§ã§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§à§Ö §Ò§Ö§Ý§î§Ö. §¿§ä§à §ã§Ó§Ú§Õ§Ö§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ã§ä§Ó§å§Ö§ä §à §Ü§â§Ñ§Û§ß§Ö§Û §ß§Ú§ë§Ö§ä§Ö. §±§à§Ü§Ñ §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó §à§ä§ã§å§ä§ã§ä§Ó§à§Ó§Ñ§Ý, §Ü§à§Þ§ß§Ñ§ä§å §Ó §Ü§à§Þ§Þ§å§ß§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ö §à§ä§Õ§Ñ§Ý§Ú §Ü§à§Þ§å-§ä§à §Ö§ë§×. §¿§ä§à §á§à§Ý§ß§à§Ö §ß§Ñ§â§å§ê§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §á§â§Ñ§Ó, §ß§à §Ü§à§Ô§à §à§ß§à §Ú§ß§ä§Ö§â§Ö§ã§à§Ó§Ñ§Ý§à §Ó §³§à§Ó§Ö§ä§ã§Ü§à§Û §ã§ä§â§Ñ§ß§Ö? §©§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ §Ñ§Ô§â§Ö§ã§ã§Ú§Ó§ß§Ñ, §à§ß §ß§Ö §á§â§ñ§é§Ö§ä §Ú §ß§Ö §á§à§Õ§Ñ§Ó§Ý§ñ§Ö§ä §ã§Ó§à§Ú §é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§Ñ, §à§ß §Ó§í§Ý§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ú§ç §ß§Ñ §Ò§å§Þ§Ñ§Ô§å. §¯§à §Ö§Ô§à §å§Ò§Ö§Ø§Õ§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ §ß§Ö §ä§Ó§Ö§â§Õ§í, §à§ß §Ü§à§Ý§Ö§Ò§Ý§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ú, §Ö§ã§Ý§Ú §Ò§í §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó §á§à§Þ§Ñ§ß§Ú§Ý §Ö§Ô§à, §à§ß §Ü§Ú§ß§å§Ý§ã§ñ §Ò§í §ß§Ñ §Ü§à§Ý§Ö§ß§Ú §á§â§à§ã§Ú§ä§î §á§â§à§ë§Ö§ß§Ú§ñ. §£§ä§Ñ§Û§ß§Ö §à§ß §Þ§Ö§é§ä§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ù§Ñ§ß§ñ§ä§î §Þ§Ö§ã§ä§à §£§à§Ý§à§Õ§Ú §®§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§â§à§Ó§Ñ. §´§Ñ§Ü §é§ä§à §ï§ä§à §Õ§Ñ§Ø§Ö §ß§Ö §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î, §Ñ §â§Ñ§Ù§Õ§Ú§â§Ñ§Ö§Þ§à§Ö §á§â§à§ä§Ú§Ó§à§â§Ö§é§Ú§ñ§Þ§Ú §Ø§Ö§Ý§Ñ§ß§Ú§Ö §å§ã§ä§â§à§Ú§ä§î §ã§Ó§à§ð §Ø§Ú§Ù§ß§î.
§§à§Ô§Ú§Ü§Ñ §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ §á§Ñ§â§Ñ§Õ§à§Ü§ã§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§Ñ: "§©§Ñ§é§Ö§Þ §á§â§Ú§Ó§Ö§Ù? §¨§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ú§Û §å §Ó§Ñ§ã §Ò§í§Ý §Ó§Ú§Õ. §¯§Ö§Ý§î§Ù§ñ §Ò§í§Ý§à §ß§Ö §â§Ñ§ã§ä§â§à§Ô§Ñ§ä§î§ã§ñ. §£§í §â§í§Õ§Ñ§Ý§Ú. §³§ä§â§Ñ§ê§ß§à §ã§ä§Ñ§Ý§à §Ó§Ñ§ã §Ø§Ñ§Ý§î.
- §¡ §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß?
- §¹§ä§à §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß?
- §¡ §Ü§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §Ó§Ö§â§ß§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Ó§Ñ§ê §ð§ß§à§ê§Ñ¡
§°§ß, §ß§Ú§ã§Ü§à§Ý§î§Ü§à §ß§Ö §Ù§Ñ§Õ§å§Þ§í§Ó§Ñ§ñ§ã§î, §á§â§à§ã§ä§à §Ú §Ó§Ö§ã§Ö§Ý§à §à§ä§Ó§Ö§é§Ñ§Ý:
- §´§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ §Ó§Ñ§Þ §á§â??§Õ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß §à§ã§Ó§à§Ò§à§Õ§Ú§ä§î¡
§®§ß§Ö §ß§Ñ§Õ§à §Ó§ã§ä§Ñ§ä§î §Ú §á§à§Ò§Ú§ä§î §Ö§Þ§å §Þ§à§â§Õ§å. §°§ß, §Ó§Ú§Õ§Ú§ä§Ö §Ý§Ú, §ã§Ø§Ñ§Ý§Ú§Ý§ã§ñ, §à§ß, §á§â§à§ã§Ý§Ñ§Ó§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§Ñ§ñ §Ý§Ú§é§ß§à§ã§ä§î, §á§à§Ø§Ñ§Ý§Ö§Ý §ß§Ö§ã§é§Ñ§ã§ä§ß§à§Ô§à, §ã§Ò§Ú§Ó§ê§Ö§Ô§à§ã§ñ §ã §á§å§ä§Ú §Þ§à§Ý§à§Õ§à§Ô§à §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§Ñ. §¯§à §Ó§â§Ö§Þ§Ö§ß§ß§à. §±§à§Ü§Ñ §Ó§Ö§â§ß§Ö§ä§ã?? §Ô§Ý§Ñ§Ó§ß§í§Û. §¦§Þ§å §á§â§à§ã§ä§à §ã§Ü§å§é§ß§à §á§à §Ó§Ö§é§Ö§â§Ñ§Þ. §¡ §á§à§ä§à§Þ §à§ß §Þ§Ö§ß§ñ §Ó§í§Ô§à§ß§Ú§ä. §³ §è§Ú§ß§Ú§Ù§Þ§à§Þ §à§ß §Ô§à§Ó§à§â§Ú§ä §à§Ò §ï§ä§à§Þ."
§£§Õ§à§Ó§Ñ §±§â§à§Ü§à§á§à§Ó§Ú§é, §â§í§ç§Ý§Ñ§ñ, §á§â§Ú§â§Ñ§Ò§Ñ§ä§í§Ó§Ñ§ð§ë§Ñ§ñ §ä§Ö§Þ, §é§ä§à §Ô§à§ä§à§Ó§Ú§ä §Ú§Ù §á§à§ä§â§à§ç§à§Ó §Õ§Ý§ñ §Ñ§â§ä§Ö§Ý§Ú §á§Ñ§â§Ú§Ü§Þ§Ñ§ç§Ö§â§à§Ó, §Ú §Ü§à§â§Þ§ñ§ë§Ñ§ñ §à§ã§ä§Ñ§ä§Ü§Ñ§Þ§Ú §Ü§à§ê§Ö§Ü - §ã§Ú§Þ§Ó§à§Ý "§Þ§å§Ø§ã§Ü§à§Û §å§ß§Ú§Ø§Ö§ß§ß§à§ã§ä§Ú" §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó§Ñ.
§¯§à §Ú §Ö§Ö §Ö§Þ§å §á§â§Ú§Õ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §Õ§Ö§Ý§Ú§ä§î §ã §ª§Ó§Ñ§ß§à§Þ §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó§í§Þ.
§£§à§Ý§à§Õ§ñ §®§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§â§à§Ó §Ó§ß§Ö§ê§ß§Ö §á§à§Ý§à§Ø§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ß§í§Û §Ô§Ö§â§à§Û - §Ù§ß§Ñ§Þ§Ö§ß§Ú§ä§í§Û §ã§á§à§â§ä§ã§Þ§Ö§ß, §é§Ö§ä§Ü§à §ã§ä§Ñ§Ó§ñ§ë§Ú§Û §á§Ö§â§Ö§Õ §ã§à§Ò§à§Û §è§Ö§Ý§Ú, §ß§à §Ú §à§ß §Ó §ã§Ó§à§Ö§Þ §á§Ú§ã§î§Þ§Ö §Ò§à§Ú§ä§ã§ñ §á§à§ä§Ö§â§ñ§ä§î §ã§Ó§à§Û §Õ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§ß §Ó §Ü§Ó§Ñ§â§ä§Ú§â§Ö §¢§Ñ§Ò§Ú§é§Ö§Ó§Ñ. §°§ß §ä§Ñ§Ü§à§Û §Ø§Ö §Þ§Ö§Ý§Ü§Ú§Û §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§é§Ú§ê§Ü§à, §é§ä§à §Ú §¬§Ñ§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ö§â§à§Ó.
April 11, 2008
This book made me realize the way that satire, if taken to a linguistic (if not necessarily logical) extreme, can actually turn inside out and become a form of praise. Olesha's narrator keeps talking about how much he hates, but his language is so lively that eventually you come to see him as a creature posessed, not by anger, but by a strange and uncontrollable joy. He's a Mozart of hate: so excellent at it that the simple practice of his gift makes him smile despite himself. The record of his facility is a pungent, reeking monologue whose images have nonetheless been cleaned by their vitriol to a metallic shine. Also, on the short list of books that are actually funny.
(Another way to look at this book is to think of what Nathaniel West might have been like if he hadn't been Puritanically terrified of his own comedy. West's loathing remains, for me at least, loathing, untransmuted. But Olesha's book is practically a fairy tale.)
(Another way to look at this book is to think of what Nathaniel West might have been like if he hadn't been Puritanically terrified of his own comedy. West's loathing remains, for me at least, loathing, untransmuted. But Olesha's book is practically a fairy tale.)
January 1, 2017
This starts off well: Mornings he sings on the toilet.
It¡¯s an observation made by Nikolai Kavalerov, our narrator, of Andrei Babichev. Andrei has managed to play the Soviet game and has done quite well for himself, well enough anyhow to sing on the toilet in the morning. It was Nikolai whom Andrei found drunk in the gutter one day and rescued, sort of, taking him into his household and giving him a gopher kind of job. But Nikolai will turn ingrate, as anti-heroes often do. He¡¯s spends his time lamenting his existence: Soup served to me never cools.
And so, Nikolai looks at Andrei, a great sausage and pastry man, and one of the state¡¯s most remarkable men. And Nikolai, just Andrei¡¯s jester, feels . . . . Envy?
This is a satirical novel about 1927 Stalinist Russia, cryptic enough apparently not to get Olesha thrown in jail or worse, but pointed enough that he got the message to stop writing.
While this is political enough to warm the hearts of those feeling nostalgic for the Cold War,* it left me, well, cold. I get that that was then and this is now and I¡¯m hardly politically correct, but when Olesha, to continue his theme of Envy, has Andrei¡¯s brother observing a little girl - a very typical girl, twelve years old, dainty feet, short dress, all pink, satin, and ruffles . . . she looked like the flower known as a snapdragon - and then grabbed her by the nape and rammed her forehead into a column a few times, well it was then that I hurried to the end. Not fast enough, though, to escape another woman being beaten.
______________________________
*Wait, they did what??? And we . . .? Oh, no.
It¡¯s an observation made by Nikolai Kavalerov, our narrator, of Andrei Babichev. Andrei has managed to play the Soviet game and has done quite well for himself, well enough anyhow to sing on the toilet in the morning. It was Nikolai whom Andrei found drunk in the gutter one day and rescued, sort of, taking him into his household and giving him a gopher kind of job. But Nikolai will turn ingrate, as anti-heroes often do. He¡¯s spends his time lamenting his existence: Soup served to me never cools.
And so, Nikolai looks at Andrei, a great sausage and pastry man, and one of the state¡¯s most remarkable men. And Nikolai, just Andrei¡¯s jester, feels . . . . Envy?
This is a satirical novel about 1927 Stalinist Russia, cryptic enough apparently not to get Olesha thrown in jail or worse, but pointed enough that he got the message to stop writing.
While this is political enough to warm the hearts of those feeling nostalgic for the Cold War,* it left me, well, cold. I get that that was then and this is now and I¡¯m hardly politically correct, but when Olesha, to continue his theme of Envy, has Andrei¡¯s brother observing a little girl - a very typical girl, twelve years old, dainty feet, short dress, all pink, satin, and ruffles . . . she looked like the flower known as a snapdragon - and then grabbed her by the nape and rammed her forehead into a column a few times, well it was then that I hurried to the end. Not fast enough, though, to escape another woman being beaten.
______________________________
*Wait, they did what??? And we . . .? Oh, no.
June 27, 2017
"Envy" is a social satire, published in 1927, during the early years of the Soviet New Economic Policy, a confusing time when the Communist society adopted some Capitalistic policies. The book shows the strengths and flaws of both the new era and the old era. The destitute Nikolai Kavalerov is taken in by the successful businessman Andrei Babichev. Kavalerov envies the success and respect that Babichev receives, but also feels contempt for him. Kavalerov has a poetic soul and wants to have a more meaningful existence in a less mechanized world. There are six main characters with three representing the new Communist era, and the other three holding on to the old era. It's a psychological study as well as a political book. As the story progresses, it becomes rather bizarre with scenes of fantasy. The second half of the book is not as strong as the beginning. The reader should keep in mind that Olesha was writing at a time when many books were being censored, and the feelings of the author are ambiguous. This was a strange, but interesting, book to read in 2017, one hundred years after the Russian Revolution. 2.5-3 stars.
March 9, 2024
"Afgunst" geldt als een van de hoogtepunten in de Russische literatuur van de jaren '20, maar ik had er nog nooit van gehoord. Het werd echter door Dubravka Ugresic in "Europa in sepia" onlangs zo aanstekelijk bejubeld dat ik het meteen kocht (tweedehands, want het is niet meer in de handel). Welnu, Ugresic heeft volgens mij helemaal gelijk: "Afgunst" is inderdaad een geweldige en heerlijk ongrijpbare roman, een even burleske als po?tische satire die helemaal doordrenkt is van een ongelofelijk originele po?tische verbeeldingskracht en van een even barokke als ongeremde fantasie.
De grillige plot van het verhaal hangt van droomachtige wendingen en maffe associaties aan elkaar, en is nauwelijks na te vertellen. Maar het gaat ook minder om de plot dan om de aanstekelijk bizarre erupties, fantasie?n en gedachten van de twee hoofdpersonen, de charmante oplichter en fantast Iwan Babitjsew, en de kroeglopende schrijver Nikolaj Kawalerow. Twee figuren die zich vol uiterst eloquente hoon afwenden van de maatschappelijke orde, en bitter de spot drijven met alle vooruitgangsgeloof en utopische dromen in Rusland tien jaar na de Russische revolutie. Iwan Babitsjew fantaseert over een laatste parade van verouderde gevoelens die volgens hem georganiseerd zou moeten worden, een carnavalesk vuurwerk van emoties en hogere waarden die in 'de nieuwe wereld' ten onder zullen gaan en dan in dat vuurwerk nog een laatste keer kunnen glanzen voordat ze groots exploderen. En Babitsjew explodeert dan mee, zo is de bedoeling. Ook heeft hij de machine der machines bedacht, uiteraard alleen in zijn fantasievolle dromen, een machine die alles zou kunnen maar die tegelijk ook geperverteerd en disfunctioneel is zodat hij de nieuwe tijd totaal parodieert en bespot. De naam van die machine is dan, bizar genoeg, Ophelia: dat lijkt een verwijzing naar het personage in "Hamlet", dus naar de voor Hamlet uiteindelijk zo onbereikbare geliefde, die bovendien van liefde en wanhoop haar verstand verloor en haar leven. Dat Iwan Babitsjew nou net haar naam voor zijn machine der machines gebruikt symboliseert wellicht hoezeer hij naar het onmogelijke verlangt en hoezeer die machine het product is van verlokkende maar onrealiseerbare dromen. "Ophelia" is trouwens lang niet de enige fantastische en onmogelijke machine die Iwan Babitsjew verzint: de man hangt van fantasma's en verlokkende verzinsels aan elkaar, en fabuleert er voortdurend op onnavolgbare wijze op los. Wat ongetwijfeld een verzet is tegen de tijdgeest: in het toenmalige Rusland werd niet de fantasie omarmd maar 'de nieuwe mens' als machine en als onderdeel van een oppermachtige technocratie. Daartegen verzet Iwan Babitsjew zich dus met zijn fantasievolle gefabuleer en zijn bizarre verzinsels. Bovendien, dingen verzinnen is voor hem ook een innerlijke noodzaak, een primaire levensbehoefte. Niet voor niets wordt op een gegeven moment gezegd: "Maar laat het een verzinsel zijn geweest. Fantasie is immers de verliefde rede".
Ook de kroeglopende schrijver Nikolaj Kawalerow is een fantast, en iemand die de "verliefde rede" omarmt. De fantasie is bij hem echter niet zozeer een verzinsel, maar vooral een soort nieuw en ander perspectief op de werkelijkheid, waardoor hij dingen ziet die niemand anders zo ziet. "Ik amuseer me ermee de dingen gade te slaan. Hebt u ooit opgemerkt, hoe het zout van de punt van een mes valt zonder er een spoor achter te laten, - het mes glimt alsof het nooit was aangeraakt; dat een pince-nez als een fiets over de rug van een neus rijdt; dat de mensen omringd worden door talloze kleine opschriften, een krioelende mierenhoop van minuscule inscripties; op de vorken, lepels, borden, op het montuur van de pince-nez, op knopen en potloden? Niemand let op die dingen. Zij vechten voor hun bestaan. Zij nemen velerlei gestalte aan, tot aan de reusachtige letters der uithangborden toe! Zij komen in opstand en voeren een klassenstrijd: de letters van de straatnaambordjes vechten met de letters van de reclameaffiches". Dat is de volstrekt onalledaagse optiek van Kawalerow, dat is zijn van barokke fantasie - dus van waanzinnig verliefde rede- doordrenkte blik op de wereld.
Die blik van Kawalerow (mogelijk een alter ego van Oljesja zelf) is op elke pagina voelbaar. Een hijskraan lijkt voor hem op, jawel, een kever. Als hij een gewone knoop ziet, dat ziet hij in die knoop meteen een heel panorama: "de lichtblauwe en roze wereld draait rond in het objectief van de parelmoeren knoop". Hij ziet niet, als anderen, gewoon een muur van gewoon een huis, want in die muur ziet hij een hele nieuwe wereld. Een stem klinkt voor hem als "een lege klisteerspuit", brillenglazen zien er voor hem uit als "twee grote, blinde schotels". Een gezicht oogt voor hem als "een hangslot", een hand als "een fluit", een langsvarend schip als een "doorgesneden amandel". Een etalage "kijkt hem spotlachend aan", en een keer wordt er in zijn beleving "door een geverniste kamerhoek letterlijk naar hem gebeten". Hij is lyrisch over een houten ledikant, op een wel heel onverwachte manier: "Onder gefluit van de straatjongens werd het meubel op een handkar weggesleept. De blauwe lucht weerkaatste zich in de voortrollende spiegelbogen en het leek, of de oogleden van twee prachtige ogen zich langzaam openden en weer sloten". En in een boze dialoog met iemand die- anders dan Kawalerow, anders dan Iwan Babitsjew- de grofstoffelijke en al te 'realistische' tijdgeest vertegenwoordigt, verdedigt hij als volgt ZIJN afwijkende blik op een 'gewoon' meisje dat voor de verliefde Kawalerow echter buitengewoon is: "Goed dan, ze stond voor me... ja, laat ik beginnen het in mijn eigen woorden te zeggen: zij was lichter dan een schaduw, de allerlichtste schaduw van neerdwarrelende sneeuw zou haar nog kunnen benijden; jawel, eerst in mijn eigen woorden: zij heeft niet naar me geluisterd met haar oor, maar met haar slaap, toen zij haar hoofd zacht naar mij toeboog; ja, haar gezichtje lijkt op een noot, het heeft dezelfde zonverbrande kleur en wat de vorm aangaat, die is ter hoogte van de jukbeenderen rond en loopt spits toe naar de kin". Hier verdedigt Kawalerow uit alle macht zijn barokke fantasie, die bovendien wel heel nadrukkelijk een voorbeeld van "verliefde rede" is: een manier van kijken die zijn verliefdheid op een meisje nog verdiept, omdat hij haar geliefde gezicht op andere manieren beziet en beleeft dan wie ter wereld ook. En die manier van kijken, van hem en van Iwan Babitsjew, doordesemt het hele boek, dat daardoor een onnavolgbaar grillig leesfeest wordt.
Door de voortdurende grilligheid van deze stijl is deze roman voortdurend intrigerend raadselachtig van bedoeling. Vertaler Charles B. Timmer zegt m.i. terecht dat dit een boek is "van een schrijver, die 'in beweging' schrijft, en die in die beweging zijn lezer meesleept, die aandacht vraagt voor zijn rondtasten in een raadsel en niet voor een boodschap die hij achter de hand houdt". In alle citaten hiervoor is dat duidelijk te zien: het zijn proeven van grillige fantasie die de wereld anders en vreemd laat zien, en die dus de oude vertrouwde betekenissen tussen aanhalingstekens zet en geen nieuwe betekenissen aanreikt. Daarbij komt nog dat het hele verhaal tussen droom en realiteit in hangt, net als bij Gogolj, ons door zijn voortdurende mafheid en meerduidigheid steeds op het verkeerde been zet, net als bij Platonov, en een plot heeft zonder logische voortgang of eindpunt. Bovendien is de roman als geheel een dubbelzinnig raadsel zonder duidelijke boodschap. Iwan Babitsjew en Nikolaj Kawalerow zijn bovendien onmaatschappelijke personages, wereldvreemde Chaplinfiguren, nietsnutten, bedriegers, outcasts die deels tegen hun zin zijn uitgesloten en deels ervoor kiezen om uitgesloten te zijn. Dat geeft hen dezelfde intrigerende dubbelzinnigheid als andere "overtollige mensen" uit de Russische literatuur, zoals Oblomov of Dostojewsky's man uit het ondergrondse. Het zijn helden en antihelden tegelijk, asocialen en moreel hoogstaande figuren ineen. Geen dragers van een eenduidige boodschap of levensles, maar dragers van grillige fantasma's en meerduidigheid. In deze roman staan ze dan tegenover Andrej Babitsjew (de broer van Iwan) en Wolodja Makarow, twee personages die juist wel de tijdgeest omarmen van Rusland anno 1920. Maar ja, ook die personages zijn behoorlijk meerduidig, en hebben soms verrassende overeenkomsten met hun nietsnuttige tegenstrevers. Het omgekeerde geldt trouwens ook. De confrontaties tussen enerzijds Andrej en Wolodja en anderzijds Iwan en Nikolaj zijn dus geen simpele confrontaties tussen 'pro' en 'contra' de tijdgeest. Bovendien is het ook volmaakt onbeslisbaar wie nou als overwinnaar uit deze confrontaties komt, en of er wel zo'n winnaar is.
Misschien is dus de enige boodschap van deze roman het ONTBREKEN van een boodschap. Of, anders gezegd, dat er geen absolute en vaste waarheden bestaan, en dat we moeten rondtasten in het raadsel. Misschien was dat ook wel een protest tegen de dogmatische tijdgeest van het communistische Rusland, waarin immers meerduidigheid zoveel mogelijk werd gesmoord. Maar zelf waardeer ik het vooral als een feest van de "verliefde rede" van de fantasie, die hele werelden vol van rijke en grillige vreemdheid voor ons kan openen.
De grillige plot van het verhaal hangt van droomachtige wendingen en maffe associaties aan elkaar, en is nauwelijks na te vertellen. Maar het gaat ook minder om de plot dan om de aanstekelijk bizarre erupties, fantasie?n en gedachten van de twee hoofdpersonen, de charmante oplichter en fantast Iwan Babitjsew, en de kroeglopende schrijver Nikolaj Kawalerow. Twee figuren die zich vol uiterst eloquente hoon afwenden van de maatschappelijke orde, en bitter de spot drijven met alle vooruitgangsgeloof en utopische dromen in Rusland tien jaar na de Russische revolutie. Iwan Babitsjew fantaseert over een laatste parade van verouderde gevoelens die volgens hem georganiseerd zou moeten worden, een carnavalesk vuurwerk van emoties en hogere waarden die in 'de nieuwe wereld' ten onder zullen gaan en dan in dat vuurwerk nog een laatste keer kunnen glanzen voordat ze groots exploderen. En Babitsjew explodeert dan mee, zo is de bedoeling. Ook heeft hij de machine der machines bedacht, uiteraard alleen in zijn fantasievolle dromen, een machine die alles zou kunnen maar die tegelijk ook geperverteerd en disfunctioneel is zodat hij de nieuwe tijd totaal parodieert en bespot. De naam van die machine is dan, bizar genoeg, Ophelia: dat lijkt een verwijzing naar het personage in "Hamlet", dus naar de voor Hamlet uiteindelijk zo onbereikbare geliefde, die bovendien van liefde en wanhoop haar verstand verloor en haar leven. Dat Iwan Babitsjew nou net haar naam voor zijn machine der machines gebruikt symboliseert wellicht hoezeer hij naar het onmogelijke verlangt en hoezeer die machine het product is van verlokkende maar onrealiseerbare dromen. "Ophelia" is trouwens lang niet de enige fantastische en onmogelijke machine die Iwan Babitsjew verzint: de man hangt van fantasma's en verlokkende verzinsels aan elkaar, en fabuleert er voortdurend op onnavolgbare wijze op los. Wat ongetwijfeld een verzet is tegen de tijdgeest: in het toenmalige Rusland werd niet de fantasie omarmd maar 'de nieuwe mens' als machine en als onderdeel van een oppermachtige technocratie. Daartegen verzet Iwan Babitsjew zich dus met zijn fantasievolle gefabuleer en zijn bizarre verzinsels. Bovendien, dingen verzinnen is voor hem ook een innerlijke noodzaak, een primaire levensbehoefte. Niet voor niets wordt op een gegeven moment gezegd: "Maar laat het een verzinsel zijn geweest. Fantasie is immers de verliefde rede".
Ook de kroeglopende schrijver Nikolaj Kawalerow is een fantast, en iemand die de "verliefde rede" omarmt. De fantasie is bij hem echter niet zozeer een verzinsel, maar vooral een soort nieuw en ander perspectief op de werkelijkheid, waardoor hij dingen ziet die niemand anders zo ziet. "Ik amuseer me ermee de dingen gade te slaan. Hebt u ooit opgemerkt, hoe het zout van de punt van een mes valt zonder er een spoor achter te laten, - het mes glimt alsof het nooit was aangeraakt; dat een pince-nez als een fiets over de rug van een neus rijdt; dat de mensen omringd worden door talloze kleine opschriften, een krioelende mierenhoop van minuscule inscripties; op de vorken, lepels, borden, op het montuur van de pince-nez, op knopen en potloden? Niemand let op die dingen. Zij vechten voor hun bestaan. Zij nemen velerlei gestalte aan, tot aan de reusachtige letters der uithangborden toe! Zij komen in opstand en voeren een klassenstrijd: de letters van de straatnaambordjes vechten met de letters van de reclameaffiches". Dat is de volstrekt onalledaagse optiek van Kawalerow, dat is zijn van barokke fantasie - dus van waanzinnig verliefde rede- doordrenkte blik op de wereld.
Die blik van Kawalerow (mogelijk een alter ego van Oljesja zelf) is op elke pagina voelbaar. Een hijskraan lijkt voor hem op, jawel, een kever. Als hij een gewone knoop ziet, dat ziet hij in die knoop meteen een heel panorama: "de lichtblauwe en roze wereld draait rond in het objectief van de parelmoeren knoop". Hij ziet niet, als anderen, gewoon een muur van gewoon een huis, want in die muur ziet hij een hele nieuwe wereld. Een stem klinkt voor hem als "een lege klisteerspuit", brillenglazen zien er voor hem uit als "twee grote, blinde schotels". Een gezicht oogt voor hem als "een hangslot", een hand als "een fluit", een langsvarend schip als een "doorgesneden amandel". Een etalage "kijkt hem spotlachend aan", en een keer wordt er in zijn beleving "door een geverniste kamerhoek letterlijk naar hem gebeten". Hij is lyrisch over een houten ledikant, op een wel heel onverwachte manier: "Onder gefluit van de straatjongens werd het meubel op een handkar weggesleept. De blauwe lucht weerkaatste zich in de voortrollende spiegelbogen en het leek, of de oogleden van twee prachtige ogen zich langzaam openden en weer sloten". En in een boze dialoog met iemand die- anders dan Kawalerow, anders dan Iwan Babitsjew- de grofstoffelijke en al te 'realistische' tijdgeest vertegenwoordigt, verdedigt hij als volgt ZIJN afwijkende blik op een 'gewoon' meisje dat voor de verliefde Kawalerow echter buitengewoon is: "Goed dan, ze stond voor me... ja, laat ik beginnen het in mijn eigen woorden te zeggen: zij was lichter dan een schaduw, de allerlichtste schaduw van neerdwarrelende sneeuw zou haar nog kunnen benijden; jawel, eerst in mijn eigen woorden: zij heeft niet naar me geluisterd met haar oor, maar met haar slaap, toen zij haar hoofd zacht naar mij toeboog; ja, haar gezichtje lijkt op een noot, het heeft dezelfde zonverbrande kleur en wat de vorm aangaat, die is ter hoogte van de jukbeenderen rond en loopt spits toe naar de kin". Hier verdedigt Kawalerow uit alle macht zijn barokke fantasie, die bovendien wel heel nadrukkelijk een voorbeeld van "verliefde rede" is: een manier van kijken die zijn verliefdheid op een meisje nog verdiept, omdat hij haar geliefde gezicht op andere manieren beziet en beleeft dan wie ter wereld ook. En die manier van kijken, van hem en van Iwan Babitsjew, doordesemt het hele boek, dat daardoor een onnavolgbaar grillig leesfeest wordt.
Door de voortdurende grilligheid van deze stijl is deze roman voortdurend intrigerend raadselachtig van bedoeling. Vertaler Charles B. Timmer zegt m.i. terecht dat dit een boek is "van een schrijver, die 'in beweging' schrijft, en die in die beweging zijn lezer meesleept, die aandacht vraagt voor zijn rondtasten in een raadsel en niet voor een boodschap die hij achter de hand houdt". In alle citaten hiervoor is dat duidelijk te zien: het zijn proeven van grillige fantasie die de wereld anders en vreemd laat zien, en die dus de oude vertrouwde betekenissen tussen aanhalingstekens zet en geen nieuwe betekenissen aanreikt. Daarbij komt nog dat het hele verhaal tussen droom en realiteit in hangt, net als bij Gogolj, ons door zijn voortdurende mafheid en meerduidigheid steeds op het verkeerde been zet, net als bij Platonov, en een plot heeft zonder logische voortgang of eindpunt. Bovendien is de roman als geheel een dubbelzinnig raadsel zonder duidelijke boodschap. Iwan Babitsjew en Nikolaj Kawalerow zijn bovendien onmaatschappelijke personages, wereldvreemde Chaplinfiguren, nietsnutten, bedriegers, outcasts die deels tegen hun zin zijn uitgesloten en deels ervoor kiezen om uitgesloten te zijn. Dat geeft hen dezelfde intrigerende dubbelzinnigheid als andere "overtollige mensen" uit de Russische literatuur, zoals Oblomov of Dostojewsky's man uit het ondergrondse. Het zijn helden en antihelden tegelijk, asocialen en moreel hoogstaande figuren ineen. Geen dragers van een eenduidige boodschap of levensles, maar dragers van grillige fantasma's en meerduidigheid. In deze roman staan ze dan tegenover Andrej Babitsjew (de broer van Iwan) en Wolodja Makarow, twee personages die juist wel de tijdgeest omarmen van Rusland anno 1920. Maar ja, ook die personages zijn behoorlijk meerduidig, en hebben soms verrassende overeenkomsten met hun nietsnuttige tegenstrevers. Het omgekeerde geldt trouwens ook. De confrontaties tussen enerzijds Andrej en Wolodja en anderzijds Iwan en Nikolaj zijn dus geen simpele confrontaties tussen 'pro' en 'contra' de tijdgeest. Bovendien is het ook volmaakt onbeslisbaar wie nou als overwinnaar uit deze confrontaties komt, en of er wel zo'n winnaar is.
Misschien is dus de enige boodschap van deze roman het ONTBREKEN van een boodschap. Of, anders gezegd, dat er geen absolute en vaste waarheden bestaan, en dat we moeten rondtasten in het raadsel. Misschien was dat ook wel een protest tegen de dogmatische tijdgeest van het communistische Rusland, waarin immers meerduidigheid zoveel mogelijk werd gesmoord. Maar zelf waardeer ik het vooral als een feest van de "verliefde rede" van de fantasie, die hele werelden vol van rijke en grillige vreemdheid voor ons kan openen.
April 1, 2016
A tale of two books (interestingly, with the same structure as Master and Margarita), with an absolutely fantastic 5 star first half that gets sucked into a jumble in Part Two. The sections have little in common besides character (first person vs third; modest surreality vs complete absurdity; recognizable characters vs dreams), and the allegory at play in the latter part of the book is frustratingly opaque. That's not Olesha's fault, of course, given the situation in the 20's, but it's undeniably frustrating to lose the humor and humanity in the novel's simple set-up. The prime antagonist is a wonderful character and things perk up a bit during a soccer match toward the book's end, but it wasn't enough to right the ship.
May 22, 2013
If it were not for the first 50% of this more or less being a normal book (and an interesting one, too!), I would have given this 1 star. The first 50% - 4 stars, the last - 0 to 1. Perhaps I just don't get Russian literature. What's wrong with having an actual narrative? What's with this need to make everything absurd to get whatever obscure point you're interested in across? (I didn't get the point, AT ALL.) There's an obnoxious drunk (again Russia, what's with the unlikeable main characters?), a fat and loved man of activity, an idealized New Man, an uninteresting girl that gets as much substance as the New Man (she's just something all the men seem to want to possess because she's young and pretty, almost a child in her pink dress, blablabla), an old widow who actually gets some (plus the obligatory beating), etc, and the machine and the stolovaja or whatever it is. Chaos.
In order to have any clue what this was all about (except for the envy, that's pretty self-explanatory), I'd probably need a week of daily classes picking the story apart. Not so sure I'd be interested though.
In order to have any clue what this was all about (except for the envy, that's pretty self-explanatory), I'd probably need a week of daily classes picking the story apart. Not so sure I'd be interested though.
October 31, 2019
Books that linger long out of their relevance are hard to judge. Envy is very much a novel of its time, that weird post-Revolutionary decade when the Soviet shit really started to hit the fan. The novel's antagonism between the sad-sack would-be avant-gardist and the New Man of Soviet Russia (here an overweight sausage manufacturer) resonates far less now than it did then. But their simmering, slow-motion conflict, exacerbated by the sausage maker's eccentric brother who sides with sad-sack, is often funny and not rarely poetical.
The eccentric brother is actually the centerpiece, with his weird notions of collecting emotions before the New Men do away with them and his cantakerous, dangerous machine named 'Ophelia' which is fueled by these emotions. Those bits are enough on their own, but there is enough fun and funny elsewhere to make it still worth reading.
The eccentric brother is actually the centerpiece, with his weird notions of collecting emotions before the New Men do away with them and his cantakerous, dangerous machine named 'Ophelia' which is fueled by these emotions. Those bits are enough on their own, but there is enough fun and funny elsewhere to make it still worth reading.
April 13, 2022
.
.
?? ??? ????? ????? ?? ??? ??? ????? ??? ???? ??? ????? ????? ??????? ???? ??????? ?????? ?? ????? ??? ???? ??????? ???? ?????? ????? ??? ????? ???????.
???? ??? ??????? ?
?????? ??? ?????? ????? ?? ???? ?????.
#??????_??? ??
?#candleflame23bookreviews
#?????_????? #????_?????? #???_????
#???_???????
#??????_????
.
?? ??? ????? ????? ?? ??? ??? ????? ??? ???? ??? ????? ????? ??????? ???? ??????? ?????? ?? ????? ??? ???? ??????? ???? ?????? ????? ??? ????? ???????.
???? ??? ??????? ?
?????? ??? ?????? ????? ?? ???? ?????.
#??????_??? ??
?#candleflame23bookreviews
#?????_????? #????_?????? #???_????
#???_???????
#??????_????
September 5, 2021
1927 y?l?nda yaz?lan K?skan?l?k¡¯ta, d?nemin Sovyet d¨¹zeninin metaforu yarat?lm??, Sovyet Rusya¡¯n?n ilk y?llar?ndaki ?arp??an de?erlerinin ileriye d?n¨¹k bir portresi ?izilmi?.
Toplumsal ta?lamalar ve yo?un ironi ile bezeli anlat?m ?ok da??n?k geldi bana. Pek keyif alamad???m bir okuma oldu ki Rus edebiyat? benim g?zdemdir asl?nda ???¡â?
Toplumsal ta?lamalar ve yo?un ironi ile bezeli anlat?m ?ok da??n?k geldi bana. Pek keyif alamad???m bir okuma oldu ki Rus edebiyat? benim g?zdemdir asl?nda ???¡â?
April 29, 2016
Envy captures the single greatest hallmark of Russian literature: ambiguity. It is the same sense of confusion that leaves true lovers of Flannery O¡¯Conner saying to themselves ¡°I know this was important¡ but why?¡± Olesha¡¯s novel concerns itself with one of the most important ideas in the newly formed USSR, the ¡°New Soviet Man.¡± Rejecting the alcoholic, bored, womanizing, unorganized model of a true man that used to be famous, Lenin wanted to glorify the youth, virility, equality, and mechanic devotion of Russians to the motherland. Envy shows a number of men, and a few women, who attempt to become this ¡°New Soviet Man.¡±
As is to be expected, failure abounds. Olesha does a magnificent job of describing the intricate contradictions between the numerous characters and their varying beliefs. The pull and tug between the old and the new, the rich and poor, large and small, known and unknown, hatred and love, all of these make up the conflict Russia faced, moving into the glory that might have been the USSR. The audience is left wondering who can be trusted, who is just putting on a fa?ade, who is a true man, and what in the world Ophelia is. Even the most devoted reader will leave the novel with no answers; immensely happy, but with no answers.
Envy is an incredible portrait of Russia at a difficult and confusing time, especially for its inhabitants. The writing itself is much like the story: full of dreams, lies, deception, and, of course, envy. Who is jealous of whom, what is real and what is a dream, and what are the true motives of the characters, these are all questions the reader is forced to answer with little help. The writing mirrors the labyrinth of lies, leaving the half-informed reader in the same shock of confusion and suspicion as the characters. Any writer who can make his audience feel that has accomplished something special.
Although short, Envy is not a novel for someone unaccustomed to ambiguity. You must have a open mind, or the story will simple stop itself. It is no wonder that the Russian government was equally confused by the novel, as both sides found themselves alternatively glorified and mocked. Easily readable in a long afternoon, Envy is a work that gets inside your head. As we all know, there is no higher praise.
As is to be expected, failure abounds. Olesha does a magnificent job of describing the intricate contradictions between the numerous characters and their varying beliefs. The pull and tug between the old and the new, the rich and poor, large and small, known and unknown, hatred and love, all of these make up the conflict Russia faced, moving into the glory that might have been the USSR. The audience is left wondering who can be trusted, who is just putting on a fa?ade, who is a true man, and what in the world Ophelia is. Even the most devoted reader will leave the novel with no answers; immensely happy, but with no answers.
Envy is an incredible portrait of Russia at a difficult and confusing time, especially for its inhabitants. The writing itself is much like the story: full of dreams, lies, deception, and, of course, envy. Who is jealous of whom, what is real and what is a dream, and what are the true motives of the characters, these are all questions the reader is forced to answer with little help. The writing mirrors the labyrinth of lies, leaving the half-informed reader in the same shock of confusion and suspicion as the characters. Any writer who can make his audience feel that has accomplished something special.
Although short, Envy is not a novel for someone unaccustomed to ambiguity. You must have a open mind, or the story will simple stop itself. It is no wonder that the Russian government was equally confused by the novel, as both sides found themselves alternatively glorified and mocked. Easily readable in a long afternoon, Envy is a work that gets inside your head. As we all know, there is no higher praise.
June 20, 2011
Lately, I have found myself on a bit of a reading jag with the Russian literary novelists who were effectively repressed and, thus, went sadly unread during their lifetimes. There is a strange kind of bitter sweetness to the writing as well as power, wit, satire and illumination with a markedly Soviet flare. Because Soviet censorship and cultural repression were ultimately death knells to Russian writers, you have to admire their persistance amid the hopelessness of their culture for their publication. They wrote neither for money nor fame, like American commercial novelists: these Russians wrote because they were driven within their souls to write. These Russians are writers' writers: they never sold out to their cultures and, in fact, suffered immensely because of their opposition to it. The eponymous theme of this novel places at odds an inventor and a bevy of commonplace individuals -- the classic bourgeois versus the proletariat of the Russian class system: serfs versus masters. The inventor is what Nietzsche would call a "Higher Man" and the peasants suffer from "resentiment" as Nietzsche described the envy of the lower classes in "The Will to Power." If you were a higher man, this emotion was expected to be displayed against you by the less powerful who would seek to bring you down to their level. Marx, Lenin and Stalin were all classic Nietzschean higher men. I had a bit of a hard time becoming transported or immersed or even connecting with the characters of this tale and don't really understand the very high marks others seem to give Olesha, who doesn't really compare as well to Lermontov, Bulgakov, Pushkin, Platanov or Zamyatin, for example. Without giving away the ending, let me just say that I was indifferent to it. But in a way the denouement represents a kind of superior Russian realism of the sort Olesha may have wanted to project in Envy. The novel left me flat in the same way that Disgrace and Atonement did: maybe it's just the vapid theme that went wanting in this novel for me. By all means read the Russians but I would seek out the others first and perhaps circle back to Olesha.
October 22, 2008
Again, another random find while running my finger along bookspines in the public library, I suppose the cover¡¯s design made itself familiar to me: NYRB.
It was a short novel and it had a Russian author, I decided to give it a try.
It begins with a blast, as though you have woken up to see the character in question. By the end of the first chapter you are introduced to the players: Kavalerov, the narrator and Andrei Babichev, the object of disdain.
The blurbs put this book in the same category as Nabokov, perhaps because of the narrator¡¯s spurious point of view; Kavalerov is one you cannot trust, yet you will only get the story from him. He is a drunk, saved by Babichev, yet he cannot bring himself to find the enthusiasm for Babichev¡¯s plans: Two Bits (the greatest cafeteria, the greatest kitchen), nor can he appreciate Babichev¡¯s model communism. Kavalerov is too entrenched in his sardonic envy. Enter Ivan, Andrei¡¯s brother and antithesis.
Ivan, in his bowler hat, the insane prophet, is the attempted savior of old-fashion emotions: ¡°¡the new man is teaching himself to despise the old-fashion emotions glorified by poets and the muse of history herself. There you have it. And I want to organize a final parade of these emotions.¡±
Envy is a pretty short novel working through some ideas regarding the individual in a communist society, and questioning where emotions fit in when everything has a place. How does Envy work when everyone is suppose to have what they need and everyone has a job to fulfill? Well worth reading.
It was a short novel and it had a Russian author, I decided to give it a try.
It begins with a blast, as though you have woken up to see the character in question. By the end of the first chapter you are introduced to the players: Kavalerov, the narrator and Andrei Babichev, the object of disdain.
The blurbs put this book in the same category as Nabokov, perhaps because of the narrator¡¯s spurious point of view; Kavalerov is one you cannot trust, yet you will only get the story from him. He is a drunk, saved by Babichev, yet he cannot bring himself to find the enthusiasm for Babichev¡¯s plans: Two Bits (the greatest cafeteria, the greatest kitchen), nor can he appreciate Babichev¡¯s model communism. Kavalerov is too entrenched in his sardonic envy. Enter Ivan, Andrei¡¯s brother and antithesis.
Ivan, in his bowler hat, the insane prophet, is the attempted savior of old-fashion emotions: ¡°¡the new man is teaching himself to despise the old-fashion emotions glorified by poets and the muse of history herself. There you have it. And I want to organize a final parade of these emotions.¡±
Envy is a pretty short novel working through some ideas regarding the individual in a communist society, and questioning where emotions fit in when everything has a place. How does Envy work when everyone is suppose to have what they need and everyone has a job to fulfill? Well worth reading.
May 16, 2012
wow. the first couple of pages just blow me away. every single sentence is like a gem. is it possible that Olesha has sustained this blend of imaginative language, wit and absurdism, and just all round fabulous story telling, throughout the course of the book? is that even possible? if he has this book is a treasure!
now, on page 40, i can read no more ... at least for now. i think all readers have those books they couldn't put down and all things -even sleep- must wait and we dwell within the realms of that story until the very last page. these books -for me at least- while a joy to read, are seldom a wonder. the books i call a wonder to read have -like Envy- a density that sates me after a few pages .... as though i have eaten a great meal and i cannot possibly consume more until i have digested what i have already taken in.
there are sentences in Envy that stop me in my tracks. sentences that i marvel at and that leave me in a state of wonder. like this sentence about Andrei Babichev who we know is a large robust and dominating figure; a figure that strikes awe in others: 'His shadow is cast perpendicularly across the street and almost produces a storm in the foliage of the garden on the other side.'
and then, a few pages later there is a marvelous contrast between Babichev's shadow and a beautiful young girl, one perceived to be pure: 'She was lighter than a shadow, the very lightest of shadows - the shadow of falling snow would envy her.'
Olesha has created a myth. a fable. a cautionary tale of Nikolai Kavelerov, the lumpenproletarian, and Andrei Babichev, the functionary. and what a time they live in. from Kavelerov's perspective it is a time of change and Babichev is the kind of man who excels in it and is glorified. but as Kavlerov says he doesn't understand this kind of glory and asks, "does it mean that the nature of glory has changed? Everywhere? Or only here, in the world being built?'
now i have gotten to know Volodya - the new man; the soviet man - the man who envies machines whose every action is purposeful and productive. machines whose work is so focused there is not even a single unnecessary squiggle.
and now what???? what is this? part two. i am dismayed. i resist. i don't want this -what i have in my hands- to end.
it takes me a few pages to get into part two but when i do i laugh at my resistance. it is so appropriate. in part two we meet Ivan and -after a few pages- i am loving this character who sees the end of an era, the end of the emotional side of humanity because the new man despises the 'ancient feelings glorified by the poets'. he mourns it's loss but is resolved to see it go out 'with a bang'. as he puts it: "I want arrange the last parade of these feelings."
the second half has a haphazard feel to it, and i don't quite 'get it' but then it occurs to me that -just as my resistance to the emergence of part two was appropriate- so is my reaction to this series of scenes and fever-induced dreams stitched together like a patchwork quilt. this is not the world of Andrei - an orderly and purposeful (if boastful) world - it is the world of the fool, the drunkard, the dreamer. this is the world of Ivan.
this is a story of contrasts: man against man. man against machine. the 1st person of part one vs the third person of part two. the individual vs the masses vs the state. the old era vs the new. the apathetic Kaveleroy vs Babichev the industrialist vs Babichev the hedonist. oh and there was a third Babichev .... the terrorist who was executed for his actions against the state.
what a book. i repeat. WHAT. A. BOOK!
i don't think i have ever read anything quite like it.
now, on page 40, i can read no more ... at least for now. i think all readers have those books they couldn't put down and all things -even sleep- must wait and we dwell within the realms of that story until the very last page. these books -for me at least- while a joy to read, are seldom a wonder. the books i call a wonder to read have -like Envy- a density that sates me after a few pages .... as though i have eaten a great meal and i cannot possibly consume more until i have digested what i have already taken in.
there are sentences in Envy that stop me in my tracks. sentences that i marvel at and that leave me in a state of wonder. like this sentence about Andrei Babichev who we know is a large robust and dominating figure; a figure that strikes awe in others: 'His shadow is cast perpendicularly across the street and almost produces a storm in the foliage of the garden on the other side.'
and then, a few pages later there is a marvelous contrast between Babichev's shadow and a beautiful young girl, one perceived to be pure: 'She was lighter than a shadow, the very lightest of shadows - the shadow of falling snow would envy her.'
Olesha has created a myth. a fable. a cautionary tale of Nikolai Kavelerov, the lumpenproletarian, and Andrei Babichev, the functionary. and what a time they live in. from Kavelerov's perspective it is a time of change and Babichev is the kind of man who excels in it and is glorified. but as Kavlerov says he doesn't understand this kind of glory and asks, "does it mean that the nature of glory has changed? Everywhere? Or only here, in the world being built?'
now i have gotten to know Volodya - the new man; the soviet man - the man who envies machines whose every action is purposeful and productive. machines whose work is so focused there is not even a single unnecessary squiggle.
and now what???? what is this? part two. i am dismayed. i resist. i don't want this -what i have in my hands- to end.
it takes me a few pages to get into part two but when i do i laugh at my resistance. it is so appropriate. in part two we meet Ivan and -after a few pages- i am loving this character who sees the end of an era, the end of the emotional side of humanity because the new man despises the 'ancient feelings glorified by the poets'. he mourns it's loss but is resolved to see it go out 'with a bang'. as he puts it: "I want arrange the last parade of these feelings."
the second half has a haphazard feel to it, and i don't quite 'get it' but then it occurs to me that -just as my resistance to the emergence of part two was appropriate- so is my reaction to this series of scenes and fever-induced dreams stitched together like a patchwork quilt. this is not the world of Andrei - an orderly and purposeful (if boastful) world - it is the world of the fool, the drunkard, the dreamer. this is the world of Ivan.
this is a story of contrasts: man against man. man against machine. the 1st person of part one vs the third person of part two. the individual vs the masses vs the state. the old era vs the new. the apathetic Kaveleroy vs Babichev the industrialist vs Babichev the hedonist. oh and there was a third Babichev .... the terrorist who was executed for his actions against the state.
what a book. i repeat. WHAT. A. BOOK!
i don't think i have ever read anything quite like it.
September 8, 2024
¡°Envidia¡± (1927) es una s¨¢tira muy extra?a, ?lo que la hace especial? A mi parecer, el elevado sentido po¨¦tico y el estilo incre¨ªblemente original del autor, Yuri Olesha.
¡°En una ocasi¨®n, levant¨® la mano para ense?ar a sus amigos la palma, donde las venas trazaban la forma de un ¨¢rbol, y se lanz¨® a la siguiente improvisaci¨®n:
¡ª He aqu¨ª el ¨¢rbol de la vida ¡ªdijo solemne¡ª. Este ¨¢rbol me habla m¨¢s de la vida y la muerte que los ¨¢rboles del parque que florecen y despu¨¦s se marchitan. No recuerdo exactamente cu¨¢ndo descubr¨ª que me crec¨ªa un ¨¢rbol en la palma de la mano... Pero debi¨® de ser en aquella ¨¦poca maravillosa cuando el florecimiento y marchitamiento de los ¨¢rboles no me hablaban a¨²n de la vida y la muerte, sino del final y el principio del curso escolar. Entonces era azulado, ese ¨¢rbol, azulado, bien perfilado, y la sangre (que por entonces yo cre¨ªa que era luz y no un l¨ªquido) sub¨ªa por ¨¦l como el amanecer y confer¨ªa al paisaje metacarpiano el aspecto de una acuarela japonesa... [¡]
? Recuerdo un tiempo espl¨¦ndido en que el ¨¢rbol se hizo m¨¢s frondoso. Experimentaba minutos de aut¨¦ntica satisfacci¨®n al constatar su florecimiento irrefrenable. Se volvi¨® nudoso y pardo, iy en eso resid¨ªa su fuerza! Habr¨ªa podido llamarlo el poderoso aparejo de mi mano. ?Pero ahora, amigos m¨ªos, qu¨¦ decr¨¦pita, qu¨¦ carcomida est¨¢!
? Me da la impresi¨®n de que las ramas se rompen, de que el tronco se llena de agujeros... ?Esclerosis, amigos m¨ªos! Y el hecho de que la piel se vuelva vidriosa y el tejido subcut¨¢neo acuoso, ?acaso no es la niebla que cae sobre el ¨¢rbol de mi vida, la misma niebla que pronto me envolver¨¢ por completo?¡± (pg 97-98)
Brillante, ?verdad? En cierta manera me recuerda a Bulg¨¢kov, con la clara diferencia de que, en Olesha, la forma es indudablemente la estrella. No hay un prop¨®sito cr¨ªtico o moralizante ¡ªpor lo menos, no uno evidente¡ª, sino que retrata la realidad del momento mediante lo absurdo y lo fant¨¢stico. Por ejemplo, a trav¨¦s del relato de la mortadela y la descripci¨®n del partido de f¨²tbol. No obstante, no podr¨ªa decirse que, utilizando la novela de referencia, Olesha se opon¨ªa al sistema del mismo modo en el que Bulg¨¢kov manifiesta su aversi¨®n por ¨¦l en ¡°Maestro y Margarita¡±. El narrador de ¡°Envidia¡± se muestra contradictorio, sus ideas son incoherentes y, en consecuencia, no es posible determinar la postura ideol¨®gica del autor. No dir¨ªa que se trata propiamente una novela polif¨®nica ¡ªsimilar a Dostoievski en cuanto a su ambig¨¹edad¡ª, pero s¨ª de la perorata confusa de un individuo ?perturbado? que ¡°no deja pollo sin cabeza¡±, dice: ¡°En nuestro pa¨ªs los caminos a la gloria est¨¢n cerrados... Una persona dotada de talento debe consumirse, o bien decidirse a levantar las barreras a riesgo de provocar un esc¨¢ndalo. Yo, por ejemplo, tengo ganas de discutir. Quiero demostrar la fuerza de mi personalidad. Tengo sed de mi propia gloria. Aqu¨ª tenemos miedo de prestar atenci¨®n a alguien. Yo deseo m¨¢s atenci¨®n. Me habr¨ªa gustado nacer en una peque?a ciudad francesa, crecer entre sue?os, marcarme un objetivo elevado cualquiera y, un buen d¨ªa, dejar mi peque?a ciudad e ir a pie hasta la capital, y all¨ª, trabajando como un fan¨¢tico, lograr mi objetivo. Pero yo no nac¨ª en Occidente. Y ahora me dicen: ?Ya no solo tu personalidad sino ni siquiera la m¨¢s admirable de las personalidades vale algo?. Y poco a poco comienzo a acostumbrarme a esta verdad, pero no por ello deja de ser irrebatible.¡± Y m¨¢s adelante, a?ade: ¡°Hoy estaba radiante. S¨ª, la huella de la gloria estaba impresa en su cara. ?Por qu¨¦ no siento amor, entusiasmo, veneraci¨®n a la vista de dicha gloria? La rabia me corroe. ?l, el dirigente, el comunista, est¨¢ creando un mundo nuevo. Y en ese mundo nuevo la gloria resplandece porque ha salido de las manos de un salchichero una flamante especie de mortadela. No comprendo esa gloria: ?qu¨¦ significa? La historia, los monumentos, las biograf¨ªas nunca me han hablado de ese tipo de gloria. ?Significa eso que ha cambiado la naturaleza de la gloria? ?En todas partes, o solo aqu¨ª, donde se construye un nuevo mundo? Siento, por supuesto, que este mundo nuevo que se est¨¢ levantando es el mundo principal, el mundo triunfante... No soy ciego, tengo la cabeza sobre los hombros. No es necesario que nadie me instruya ni me d¨¦ explicaciones... S¨¦ leer y escribir. ?Es en este mundo, precisamente, en el que quiero la gloria! Quiero resplandecer igual que hoy B¨¢bichev. Pero ninguna variedad de embutido tendr¨¢ el poder de hacerme resplandecer.¡±
Nikol¨¢i Kaval¨¦rov abraza la ¡°raz¨®n enamorada¡±. Sin embargo, en su caso la fantas¨ªa no consiste en una invenci¨®n, sino en una perspectiva diferente de la realidad: se refiere a fen¨®menos y objetos cotidianos mediante abstracciones; capta los detalles y los utiliza para crear distintas asociaciones. Por ejemplo, un barco le recuerda a ¡°una almendra cortada", una cara con arrugas, a ¡°un arn¨¦s con riendas¡±, la luz del sol, a ¡°un conejo sobre el quicio de la puerta a las dos de la tarde¡± y los vagabundos que duermen sobre los bancos, a ¡°chinos atados y decapitados¡±. Todo ello contribuye a considerar que la historia se sit¨²a entre el sue?o y la realidad; el narrador, al igual que sucede en las obras de G¨®gol, desorienta al lector y presenta una trama sin progreso l¨®gico o desenlace. En su conjunto, la novela es un enigma que no ofrece soluci¨®n al conflicto generacional que se representa. Con saltos temporales, gran cantidad de met¨¢foras, elementos surrealistas y un humor punzante, la narraci¨®n fluye pr¨¢cticamente sola. Iv¨¢n B¨¢bichev y Nikol¨¢i Kaval¨¦rov son dos personajes antisociales, una especie de figuras chaplinescas que vagabundean por San Petersburgo automargin¨¢ndose. Ambos son h¨¦roes y antih¨¦roes al mismo tiempo, dos individuos que se consideran moralmente superiores y desprecian o, mejor dicho, envidian a la nueva era. Iv¨¢n B¨¢bichev representa al charlat¨¢n que fantasea con llevar a cabo ¡°la revoluci¨®n pac¨ªfica de los sentimientos¡±, es decir, que busca reunir a hombres y mujeres en cuyas almas domina alguna de las ¡°viejas pasiones humanas¡± y dirigir el ¨²ltimo desfile de aquellos sentimientos (el amor, la ambici¨®n, etc.) que ¡°el nuevo mundo¡± considera insignificantes y rid¨ªculos.
¡°A veces una bombilla deja de funcionar repentinamente. Se ha fundido, dir¨¢ usted. Pero si agitamos la bombilla fundida, se encender¨¢ de nuevo y funcionar¨¢ un rato m¨¢s. Se produce un desastre en el interior de la bombilla. Los filamentos de tungsteno se rompen y, cuando los fragmentos entran en contacto, la bombilla vuelve a la vida. Una vida corta, antinatural, condenada irremediablemente: una fiebre, una incandescencia demasiado brillante, un resplandor. Luego se har¨¢ la oscuridad, la vida no volver¨¢, y en la penumbra solo se oir¨¢ el tintineo de los hilos muertos, quemados. ?Me entiende? Pero ?ese brillo ef¨ªmero es espl¨¦ndido!¡± (pg 121-122)
Asimismo, Iv¨¢n B¨¢bichev ¡°construye¡± una m¨¢quina capaz de hacer cualquiera cosa: Ofelia, ¡°el genio de la mec¨¢nica¡±. Con ella, Iv¨¢n tiene la oportunidad de vengarse del ¡°nuevo hombre¡± y dice: ¡°?A esta suprema creaci¨®n de la t¨¦cnica la dot¨¦ de los sentimientos humanos m¨¢s banales! Deshonr¨¦ a mi m¨¢quina. Vengu¨¦ mi siglo, el que me dio este cerebro que se aloja en mi cr¨¢neo, el cerebro que concibi¨® esta m¨¢quina sorprendente... ?A qui¨¦n deber¨ªa legarla? ?Al nuevo mundo? Nos est¨¢n devorando como comida; engullen el siglo diecinueve como una boa constrictora engulle un conejo...Nos mastican y nos digieren. Lo que encuentran ¨²til, lo absorben, y lo que es da?ino, lo rechazan. ?Nuestros sentimientos, los rechazan; nuestra t¨¦cnica, la absorben! Me vengar¨¦ en nombre de nuestros sentimientos.¡± Al final, se intuye que Ofelia no es m¨¢s que un producto de la imaginaci¨®n de Iv¨¢n, motivado por la envidia y el deseo de venganza. Kaval¨¦rov sue?a con ella porque comparte la misma motivaci¨®n que Iv¨¢n. De hecho, su sue?o revela que Ofelia ser¨ªa capaz de destruir a su creador, el hombre, en caso de existir y que, por esta raz¨®n, no debe bajo ning¨²n concepto hacerlo; que la venganza es irrealizable y hay que resignarse, substituir la envidia por la indiferencia.
Reconozco que ¡°Envidia¡± no es una libro para cualquiera, pero s¨ª es uno de aquellos a las que estoy segura que volver¨¦, una novela en la que no importa lo que el narrador nos cuenta ¡ªporque, en realidad, ?qu¨¦ es lo que ocurre en ella?¡ª, sino en la que el valor, al menos el que yo le atribuyo personalmente, reside en la experiencia del lector durante su delirante lectura.
¡°En una ocasi¨®n, levant¨® la mano para ense?ar a sus amigos la palma, donde las venas trazaban la forma de un ¨¢rbol, y se lanz¨® a la siguiente improvisaci¨®n:
¡ª He aqu¨ª el ¨¢rbol de la vida ¡ªdijo solemne¡ª. Este ¨¢rbol me habla m¨¢s de la vida y la muerte que los ¨¢rboles del parque que florecen y despu¨¦s se marchitan. No recuerdo exactamente cu¨¢ndo descubr¨ª que me crec¨ªa un ¨¢rbol en la palma de la mano... Pero debi¨® de ser en aquella ¨¦poca maravillosa cuando el florecimiento y marchitamiento de los ¨¢rboles no me hablaban a¨²n de la vida y la muerte, sino del final y el principio del curso escolar. Entonces era azulado, ese ¨¢rbol, azulado, bien perfilado, y la sangre (que por entonces yo cre¨ªa que era luz y no un l¨ªquido) sub¨ªa por ¨¦l como el amanecer y confer¨ªa al paisaje metacarpiano el aspecto de una acuarela japonesa... [¡]
? Recuerdo un tiempo espl¨¦ndido en que el ¨¢rbol se hizo m¨¢s frondoso. Experimentaba minutos de aut¨¦ntica satisfacci¨®n al constatar su florecimiento irrefrenable. Se volvi¨® nudoso y pardo, iy en eso resid¨ªa su fuerza! Habr¨ªa podido llamarlo el poderoso aparejo de mi mano. ?Pero ahora, amigos m¨ªos, qu¨¦ decr¨¦pita, qu¨¦ carcomida est¨¢!
? Me da la impresi¨®n de que las ramas se rompen, de que el tronco se llena de agujeros... ?Esclerosis, amigos m¨ªos! Y el hecho de que la piel se vuelva vidriosa y el tejido subcut¨¢neo acuoso, ?acaso no es la niebla que cae sobre el ¨¢rbol de mi vida, la misma niebla que pronto me envolver¨¢ por completo?¡± (pg 97-98)
Brillante, ?verdad? En cierta manera me recuerda a Bulg¨¢kov, con la clara diferencia de que, en Olesha, la forma es indudablemente la estrella. No hay un prop¨®sito cr¨ªtico o moralizante ¡ªpor lo menos, no uno evidente¡ª, sino que retrata la realidad del momento mediante lo absurdo y lo fant¨¢stico. Por ejemplo, a trav¨¦s del relato de la mortadela y la descripci¨®n del partido de f¨²tbol. No obstante, no podr¨ªa decirse que, utilizando la novela de referencia, Olesha se opon¨ªa al sistema del mismo modo en el que Bulg¨¢kov manifiesta su aversi¨®n por ¨¦l en ¡°Maestro y Margarita¡±. El narrador de ¡°Envidia¡± se muestra contradictorio, sus ideas son incoherentes y, en consecuencia, no es posible determinar la postura ideol¨®gica del autor. No dir¨ªa que se trata propiamente una novela polif¨®nica ¡ªsimilar a Dostoievski en cuanto a su ambig¨¹edad¡ª, pero s¨ª de la perorata confusa de un individuo ?perturbado? que ¡°no deja pollo sin cabeza¡±, dice: ¡°En nuestro pa¨ªs los caminos a la gloria est¨¢n cerrados... Una persona dotada de talento debe consumirse, o bien decidirse a levantar las barreras a riesgo de provocar un esc¨¢ndalo. Yo, por ejemplo, tengo ganas de discutir. Quiero demostrar la fuerza de mi personalidad. Tengo sed de mi propia gloria. Aqu¨ª tenemos miedo de prestar atenci¨®n a alguien. Yo deseo m¨¢s atenci¨®n. Me habr¨ªa gustado nacer en una peque?a ciudad francesa, crecer entre sue?os, marcarme un objetivo elevado cualquiera y, un buen d¨ªa, dejar mi peque?a ciudad e ir a pie hasta la capital, y all¨ª, trabajando como un fan¨¢tico, lograr mi objetivo. Pero yo no nac¨ª en Occidente. Y ahora me dicen: ?Ya no solo tu personalidad sino ni siquiera la m¨¢s admirable de las personalidades vale algo?. Y poco a poco comienzo a acostumbrarme a esta verdad, pero no por ello deja de ser irrebatible.¡± Y m¨¢s adelante, a?ade: ¡°Hoy estaba radiante. S¨ª, la huella de la gloria estaba impresa en su cara. ?Por qu¨¦ no siento amor, entusiasmo, veneraci¨®n a la vista de dicha gloria? La rabia me corroe. ?l, el dirigente, el comunista, est¨¢ creando un mundo nuevo. Y en ese mundo nuevo la gloria resplandece porque ha salido de las manos de un salchichero una flamante especie de mortadela. No comprendo esa gloria: ?qu¨¦ significa? La historia, los monumentos, las biograf¨ªas nunca me han hablado de ese tipo de gloria. ?Significa eso que ha cambiado la naturaleza de la gloria? ?En todas partes, o solo aqu¨ª, donde se construye un nuevo mundo? Siento, por supuesto, que este mundo nuevo que se est¨¢ levantando es el mundo principal, el mundo triunfante... No soy ciego, tengo la cabeza sobre los hombros. No es necesario que nadie me instruya ni me d¨¦ explicaciones... S¨¦ leer y escribir. ?Es en este mundo, precisamente, en el que quiero la gloria! Quiero resplandecer igual que hoy B¨¢bichev. Pero ninguna variedad de embutido tendr¨¢ el poder de hacerme resplandecer.¡±
Nikol¨¢i Kaval¨¦rov abraza la ¡°raz¨®n enamorada¡±. Sin embargo, en su caso la fantas¨ªa no consiste en una invenci¨®n, sino en una perspectiva diferente de la realidad: se refiere a fen¨®menos y objetos cotidianos mediante abstracciones; capta los detalles y los utiliza para crear distintas asociaciones. Por ejemplo, un barco le recuerda a ¡°una almendra cortada", una cara con arrugas, a ¡°un arn¨¦s con riendas¡±, la luz del sol, a ¡°un conejo sobre el quicio de la puerta a las dos de la tarde¡± y los vagabundos que duermen sobre los bancos, a ¡°chinos atados y decapitados¡±. Todo ello contribuye a considerar que la historia se sit¨²a entre el sue?o y la realidad; el narrador, al igual que sucede en las obras de G¨®gol, desorienta al lector y presenta una trama sin progreso l¨®gico o desenlace. En su conjunto, la novela es un enigma que no ofrece soluci¨®n al conflicto generacional que se representa. Con saltos temporales, gran cantidad de met¨¢foras, elementos surrealistas y un humor punzante, la narraci¨®n fluye pr¨¢cticamente sola. Iv¨¢n B¨¢bichev y Nikol¨¢i Kaval¨¦rov son dos personajes antisociales, una especie de figuras chaplinescas que vagabundean por San Petersburgo automargin¨¢ndose. Ambos son h¨¦roes y antih¨¦roes al mismo tiempo, dos individuos que se consideran moralmente superiores y desprecian o, mejor dicho, envidian a la nueva era. Iv¨¢n B¨¢bichev representa al charlat¨¢n que fantasea con llevar a cabo ¡°la revoluci¨®n pac¨ªfica de los sentimientos¡±, es decir, que busca reunir a hombres y mujeres en cuyas almas domina alguna de las ¡°viejas pasiones humanas¡± y dirigir el ¨²ltimo desfile de aquellos sentimientos (el amor, la ambici¨®n, etc.) que ¡°el nuevo mundo¡± considera insignificantes y rid¨ªculos.
¡°A veces una bombilla deja de funcionar repentinamente. Se ha fundido, dir¨¢ usted. Pero si agitamos la bombilla fundida, se encender¨¢ de nuevo y funcionar¨¢ un rato m¨¢s. Se produce un desastre en el interior de la bombilla. Los filamentos de tungsteno se rompen y, cuando los fragmentos entran en contacto, la bombilla vuelve a la vida. Una vida corta, antinatural, condenada irremediablemente: una fiebre, una incandescencia demasiado brillante, un resplandor. Luego se har¨¢ la oscuridad, la vida no volver¨¢, y en la penumbra solo se oir¨¢ el tintineo de los hilos muertos, quemados. ?Me entiende? Pero ?ese brillo ef¨ªmero es espl¨¦ndido!¡± (pg 121-122)
Asimismo, Iv¨¢n B¨¢bichev ¡°construye¡± una m¨¢quina capaz de hacer cualquiera cosa: Ofelia, ¡°el genio de la mec¨¢nica¡±. Con ella, Iv¨¢n tiene la oportunidad de vengarse del ¡°nuevo hombre¡± y dice: ¡°?A esta suprema creaci¨®n de la t¨¦cnica la dot¨¦ de los sentimientos humanos m¨¢s banales! Deshonr¨¦ a mi m¨¢quina. Vengu¨¦ mi siglo, el que me dio este cerebro que se aloja en mi cr¨¢neo, el cerebro que concibi¨® esta m¨¢quina sorprendente... ?A qui¨¦n deber¨ªa legarla? ?Al nuevo mundo? Nos est¨¢n devorando como comida; engullen el siglo diecinueve como una boa constrictora engulle un conejo...Nos mastican y nos digieren. Lo que encuentran ¨²til, lo absorben, y lo que es da?ino, lo rechazan. ?Nuestros sentimientos, los rechazan; nuestra t¨¦cnica, la absorben! Me vengar¨¦ en nombre de nuestros sentimientos.¡± Al final, se intuye que Ofelia no es m¨¢s que un producto de la imaginaci¨®n de Iv¨¢n, motivado por la envidia y el deseo de venganza. Kaval¨¦rov sue?a con ella porque comparte la misma motivaci¨®n que Iv¨¢n. De hecho, su sue?o revela que Ofelia ser¨ªa capaz de destruir a su creador, el hombre, en caso de existir y que, por esta raz¨®n, no debe bajo ning¨²n concepto hacerlo; que la venganza es irrealizable y hay que resignarse, substituir la envidia por la indiferencia.
Reconozco que ¡°Envidia¡± no es una libro para cualquiera, pero s¨ª es uno de aquellos a las que estoy segura que volver¨¦, una novela en la que no importa lo que el narrador nos cuenta ¡ªporque, en realidad, ?qu¨¦ es lo que ocurre en ella?¡ª, sino en la que el valor, al menos el que yo le atribuyo personalmente, reside en la experiencia del lector durante su delirante lectura.
July 27, 2022
??????? ????? ?? ???? ???? ?????? ????????? ?????? ?????? ?????? ??????? ???????? ?????????. ?? ??? ??? ??????? ?????? ?? ?????? ??????? ???? ??????? ??????? ??????? ?????? ??????? ????? ?????? ???????? ??? ?????? ???? ?????? ?????? ?????? ?????? ??????????.
.
????? ????? ?? ????? ???? ?? ??????, ?? ???? ????? ??????? ????? ??????? ???????? ????????? ???????? ???????: ?????? ????? ????? ?? ??????? ????? ??? ?????? ?????? ???????? ???????? ????????? ???????? ?????. ??? ???????? ?? ???? ???? ??????? ???????? ?????? ?? ??? ??????? ???????? ????? ????????? ?? ????? ????? ??????? ?????? ??????.
.
?????? ??????? ????? ?? ??? ??????? ???? ?????? ??? ?????? ?? ????? ????? ????????? ???? ???? ??????? ???????? ??????. ??? ????? ??????? ????????? ?????? ?????? ?????? ?? ??????? ???????? ??? ?????: ????? ????????? ???? ?????? ?? ????? ??????? ???????? ?????? ???? ?????? ????? ???????? ??????????.
.
.
????? ????? ?? ????? ???? ?? ??????, ?? ???? ????? ??????? ????? ??????? ???????? ????????? ???????? ???????: ?????? ????? ????? ?? ??????? ????? ??? ?????? ?????? ???????? ???????? ????????? ???????? ?????. ??? ???????? ?? ???? ???? ??????? ???????? ?????? ?? ??? ??????? ???????? ????? ????????? ?? ????? ????? ??????? ?????? ??????.
.
?????? ??????? ????? ?? ??? ??????? ???? ?????? ??? ?????? ?? ????? ????? ????????? ???? ???? ??????? ???????? ??????. ??? ????? ??????? ????????? ?????? ?????? ?????? ?? ??????? ???????? ??? ?????: ????? ????????? ???? ?????? ?? ????? ??????? ???????? ?????? ???? ?????? ????? ???????? ??????????.
.
September 29, 2009
This little book is growing on me, opening up. It started out as an orgy of self-humiliation, painfully Gogolesque, painfully Doestoyevskian, that kind of humor--but it's developing layers of ideas and richness--it's only 125 pages! Just finished a passage where a very appealing second character extols the virtues of strong feeling and their vanishing with the modern era--and it's not just Communism, it's the loss of humanity and eccentricity and passion. Broad strokes and lots of ranting, but to great purpose.
***
Despair. How could it end....
***
Despair. How could it end....
March 24, 2010
I love when a book is compared to the writing of Bulgakov and Nabokov. I know I'm in for a treat when I see that. And talk about unreliable narrators!
The description on the back of the book says it best: "Nikolai is a loser." He's not a very good Communist and seriously, he's a real louse. He's taken in by Andrei who is the complete opposite of Nikolai - he's successful, a proper Soviet citizen, upstanding. Nikolai is consumed by envy of Andrei; he does not believe that which Andrei believes, but he can't seem to restrain himself from being just obsessed with him.
This bizarre relationship epitomizes the Soviet state in the Twenties - the distrust, the confusion, the fascination with greener pastures, political upheaval, on and on and on. And it's all written so beautifully. For example, the story begins:
Hello - discussion of toilet use written by a Soviet in the Twenties? Pretty fantastic. I wouldn't say the descriptions get any more palatable after this. There's description of a woman that makes one sort of want to cringe and look away, but it's this sort of in-your-face writing that makes it so fabulous.
The description on the back of the book says it best: "Nikolai is a loser." He's not a very good Communist and seriously, he's a real louse. He's taken in by Andrei who is the complete opposite of Nikolai - he's successful, a proper Soviet citizen, upstanding. Nikolai is consumed by envy of Andrei; he does not believe that which Andrei believes, but he can't seem to restrain himself from being just obsessed with him.
This bizarre relationship epitomizes the Soviet state in the Twenties - the distrust, the confusion, the fascination with greener pastures, political upheaval, on and on and on. And it's all written so beautifully. For example, the story begins:
Mornings he sings on the toilet. You can imagine the joie de vivre, the health this man enjoys. The urge to sing bubbles up like a reflex.
Hello - discussion of toilet use written by a Soviet in the Twenties? Pretty fantastic. I wouldn't say the descriptions get any more palatable after this. There's description of a woman that makes one sort of want to cringe and look away, but it's this sort of in-your-face writing that makes it so fabulous.
August 10, 2018
§¬ §ã§Ó§à§Ö§Þ§å §ã§ä§í§Õ§å, §ä§à§Ý§î§Ü§à §ã§Ö§Û§é§Ñ§ã §à§ä§Ü§â§í§Ý §Õ§Ý§ñ §ã§Ö§Ò§ñ §á§Ú§ã§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ §°§Ý§Ö§ê§å ¡ª §Ñ §à§ß, §à§Ü§Ñ§Ù§í§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ, §Ò§í§Ý §ß§Ö§Ù§Ñ§å§â§ñ§Õ§ß§à §ä§Ñ§Ý§Ñ§ß§ä§Ý§Ú§Ó§í§Û.
§¶§à§â§Þ§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§à "§©§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î" §à§é§Ö§ß§î §á§â§à§ã§ä§Ñ§ñ §á§à§Ó§Ö§ã§ä§å§ê§Ü§Ñ, §á§â§Ú§Þ§Ú§ä§Ú§Ó§ß§Ñ§ñ, §Ü§à§â§à§ä§Ö§ß§î§Ü§Ñ§ñ §Ú§ã§ä§à§â§Ú§ñ §Ú§Ù §Ø§Ú§Ù§ß§Ú §ã§à§Ó§Ö§â§ê§Ö§ß§ß§à §á§å§ã§ä§à§Ô§à, §ß§Ú§Ü§é§Ö§Þ§ß§à§Ô§à §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§Ñ §Ò§Ö§Ù §à§á§â§Ö§Õ§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§í§ç §Ù§Ñ§ß§ñ§ä§Ú§Û, §ã§Ö§ß§ä§Ú§Þ§Ö§ß§ä§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§à§Ô§à §Þ§Ö§é§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ, §Ó§â§Ñ§Ý§ñ §Ú §á§î§ñ§ß§Ú§è§í, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§í§Û §á§à §ã§Ý§å§é§Ñ§Û§ß§à§ã§ä§Ú §ã§ä§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §ã (§é§å§ä§à§Ü §Ú§Õ§Ö§Ñ§Ý§Ú§Ù§Ú§â§à§Ó§Ñ§ß§ß§í§Þ) §³§à§Ó§Ö§ä§ã§Ü§Ú§Þ §¹§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§à§Þ §¯§à§Ó§à§Û §¶§à§â§Þ§Ñ§è§Ú§Ú, §Ú §ß§Ñ§é§Ú§ß§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ö§Þ§å §ã§Þ§Ö§â§ä§ß§à §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Õ§à§Ó§Ñ§ä§î §Ú §á§í§ä§Ñ§ä§î§ã§ñ §Õ§Ö§Ý§Ñ§ä§î §Ó§ã§ñ§Ü§Ú§Ö §Þ§Ö§Ý§Ü§Ú§Ö §Ô§Ñ§Õ§à§ã§ä§Ú.
§¹§ä§à §à§ã§à§Ò§Ö§ß§ß§à §à§Ò§Ú§Õ§ß§à, §¯§à§Ó§í§Û §¹§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü §Ö§Ô§à §á§â§Ñ§Ü§ä§Ú§é§Ö§ã§Ü§Ú §ß§Ö §Ù§Ñ§Þ§Ö§é§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ú §ß§Ñ §Ó§í§á§Ñ§Õ§í §ß§Ö §â§Ö§Ñ§Ô§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä, §¯§à§Ó§à§Þ§å §¹§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§å §ß§Ö §Õ§à §ä§à§Ô§à, §à§ß §Ù§Ñ§ß§ñ§ä §Õ§Ö§Ý§à§Þ, §à§ß §á§â§à§Ö§Ü§ä§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä §æ§Ñ§Ò§â§Ú§Ü§å-§Ü§å§ç§ß§ð. §¤§Ö§â§à§Û §à§ä §ä§Ñ§Ü§à§Ô§à §Ú§Ô§ß§à§â§Ñ §Ò§Ö§ã§Ú§ä§ã§ñ, §å§ã§ä§â§Ñ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ú§ã§ä§Ö§â§Ú§Ü§Ú, §å§Ô§â§à§Ø§Ñ§Ö§ä §å§Ò§Ú§ä§î, §ß§à, §â§Ñ§Ù§å§Þ§Ö§Ö§ä§ã§ñ, §ß§Ú§é§Ö§Ô§à, §Ü§â§à§Þ§Ö §à§é§Ö§â§Ö§Õ§ß§à§Ô§à §Ù§Ñ§á§à§ñ, §å §ß§Ö§Ô§à §ß§Ö §Ó§í§ç§à§Õ§Ú§ä. §´§å§ä §Ú §ã§Ü§Ñ§Ù§à§é§Ü§Ö §Ü§à§ß§Ö§è. §±§å§ã§ä§ñ§é§ß§Ñ§ñ §Ó§Ö§ë§Ú§è§Ñ, §á§à §Ò§à§Ý§î§ê§à§Þ§å §ã§é§Ö§ä§å, §ç§à§ä§î §Ú §á§à§Ý§ß§Ñ§ñ §Õ§å§ç§Ñ §Ô§à§Ý§à§Õ§ß§í§ç §à§á§ä§Ú§Þ§Ú§ã§ä§Ú§é§ß§í§ç §Õ§Ó§Ñ§Õ§è§Ñ§ä§í§ç.
§¯§à §é§à§â§ä §Ó§à§Ù§î§Þ§Ú, §Ü§Ñ§Ü §Ø§Ö §Ó§à§Ý§ê§Ö§Ò§ß§à §ß§Ñ§á§Ú§ã§Ñ§ß§Ñ §Ü§Ñ§Ø§Õ§Ñ§ñ §ã§ä§â§à§Ü§Ñ, §Ñ.
" §¥§Ö§ß§î §ã§Ó§à§â§Ñ§é§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ý §Ý§Ñ§Ó§à§é§Ü§å. §¸§í§Ô§Ñ§ß, §Ó §ã§Ú§ß§Ö§Þ §Ø§Ú§Ý§Ö§ä§Ö, §ã §Ü§â§Ñ§ê§Ö§ß§í§Þ§Ú §ë§Ö§Ü§Ñ§Þ§Ú §Ú §Ò§à§â§à§Õ§à§Û, §ß§Ö§ã, §á§à§Õ§ß§ñ§Ó §ß§Ñ §á§Ý§Ö§é§à, §é§Ú§ã§ä§í§Û §Þ§Ö§Õ??§í§Û §ä§Ñ§Ù. §¥§Ö§ß§î §å§Õ§Ñ§Ý§ñ§Ý§ã§ñ §ß§Ñ §á§Ý§Ö§é§Ö §è§í§Ô§Ñ§ß§Ñ. §¥§Ú§ã§Ü §ä§Ñ§Ù§Ñ §Ò§í§Ý §ã§Ó§Ö§ä§Ö§Ý §Ú §ã§Ý§Ö§á. §¸§í§Ô§Ñ§ß §ê§Ö§Ý §Þ§Ö§Õ§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§à, §ä§Ñ§Ù §Ý§Ö§Ô§Ü§à §á§à§Ü§Ñ§é§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ý§ã§ñ, §Ú §Õ§Ö§ß§î §á§à§Ó§à§â§Ñ§é§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ý§ã§ñ §Ó §Õ§Ú§ã§Ü§Ö.
§±§å§ä§ß§Ú§Ü§Ú §ã§Þ§à§ä§â§Ö§Ý§Ú §Ó§ã§Ý§Ö§Õ. "
§±§â§à§ã§ä§à §ã§Ú§Ý §ß§Ö§ä, §Õ§à §é§Ö§Ô§à §Ó§à§Ý§ê§Ö§Ò§ß§à.
§¶§à§â§Þ§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§à "§©§Ñ§Ó§Ú§ã§ä§î" §à§é§Ö§ß§î §á§â§à§ã§ä§Ñ§ñ §á§à§Ó§Ö§ã§ä§å§ê§Ü§Ñ, §á§â§Ú§Þ§Ú§ä§Ú§Ó§ß§Ñ§ñ, §Ü§à§â§à§ä§Ö§ß§î§Ü§Ñ§ñ §Ú§ã§ä§à§â§Ú§ñ §Ú§Ù §Ø§Ú§Ù§ß§Ú §ã§à§Ó§Ö§â§ê§Ö§ß§ß§à §á§å§ã§ä§à§Ô§à, §ß§Ú§Ü§é§Ö§Þ§ß§à§Ô§à §é§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§Ñ §Ò§Ö§Ù §à§á§â§Ö§Õ§Ö§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§í§ç §Ù§Ñ§ß§ñ§ä§Ú§Û, §ã§Ö§ß§ä§Ú§Þ§Ö§ß§ä§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§à§Ô§à §Þ§Ö§é§ä§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§ñ, §Ó§â§Ñ§Ý§ñ §Ú §á§î§ñ§ß§Ú§è§í, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§í§Û §á§à §ã§Ý§å§é§Ñ§Û§ß§à§ã§ä§Ú §ã§ä§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä§ã§ñ §ã (§é§å§ä§à§Ü §Ú§Õ§Ö§Ñ§Ý§Ú§Ù§Ú§â§à§Ó§Ñ§ß§ß§í§Þ) §³§à§Ó§Ö§ä§ã§Ü§Ú§Þ §¹§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§à§Þ §¯§à§Ó§à§Û §¶§à§â§Þ§Ñ§è§Ú§Ú, §Ú §ß§Ñ§é§Ú§ß§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ö§Þ§å §ã§Þ§Ö§â§ä§ß§à §Ù§Ñ§Ó§Ú§Õ§à§Ó§Ñ§ä§î §Ú §á§í§ä§Ñ§ä§î§ã§ñ §Õ§Ö§Ý§Ñ§ä§î §Ó§ã§ñ§Ü§Ú§Ö §Þ§Ö§Ý§Ü§Ú§Ö §Ô§Ñ§Õ§à§ã§ä§Ú.
§¹§ä§à §à§ã§à§Ò§Ö§ß§ß§à §à§Ò§Ú§Õ§ß§à, §¯§à§Ó§í§Û §¹§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü §Ö§Ô§à §á§â§Ñ§Ü§ä§Ú§é§Ö§ã§Ü§Ú §ß§Ö §Ù§Ñ§Þ§Ö§é§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ú §ß§Ñ §Ó§í§á§Ñ§Õ§í §ß§Ö §â§Ö§Ñ§Ô§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä, §¯§à§Ó§à§Þ§å §¹§Ö§Ý§à§Ó§Ö§Ü§å §ß§Ö §Õ§à §ä§à§Ô§à, §à§ß §Ù§Ñ§ß§ñ§ä §Õ§Ö§Ý§à§Þ, §à§ß §á§â§à§Ö§Ü§ä§Ú§â§å§Ö§ä §æ§Ñ§Ò§â§Ú§Ü§å-§Ü§å§ç§ß§ð. §¤§Ö§â§à§Û §à§ä §ä§Ñ§Ü§à§Ô§à §Ú§Ô§ß§à§â§Ñ §Ò§Ö§ã§Ú§ä§ã§ñ, §å§ã§ä§â§Ñ§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ö§ä §Ú§ã§ä§Ö§â§Ú§Ü§Ú, §å§Ô§â§à§Ø§Ñ§Ö§ä §å§Ò§Ú§ä§î, §ß§à, §â§Ñ§Ù§å§Þ§Ö§Ö§ä§ã§ñ, §ß§Ú§é§Ö§Ô§à, §Ü§â§à§Þ§Ö §à§é§Ö§â§Ö§Õ§ß§à§Ô§à §Ù§Ñ§á§à§ñ, §å §ß§Ö§Ô§à §ß§Ö §Ó§í§ç§à§Õ§Ú§ä. §´§å§ä §Ú §ã§Ü§Ñ§Ù§à§é§Ü§Ö §Ü§à§ß§Ö§è. §±§å§ã§ä§ñ§é§ß§Ñ§ñ §Ó§Ö§ë§Ú§è§Ñ, §á§à §Ò§à§Ý§î§ê§à§Þ§å §ã§é§Ö§ä§å, §ç§à§ä§î §Ú §á§à§Ý§ß§Ñ§ñ §Õ§å§ç§Ñ §Ô§à§Ý§à§Õ§ß§í§ç §à§á§ä§Ú§Þ§Ú§ã§ä§Ú§é§ß§í§ç §Õ§Ó§Ñ§Õ§è§Ñ§ä§í§ç.
§¯§à §é§à§â§ä §Ó§à§Ù§î§Þ§Ú, §Ü§Ñ§Ü §Ø§Ö §Ó§à§Ý§ê§Ö§Ò§ß§à §ß§Ñ§á§Ú§ã§Ñ§ß§Ñ §Ü§Ñ§Ø§Õ§Ñ§ñ §ã§ä§â§à§Ü§Ñ, §Ñ.
" §¥§Ö§ß§î §ã§Ó§à§â§Ñ§é§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ý §Ý§Ñ§Ó§à§é§Ü§å. §¸§í§Ô§Ñ§ß, §Ó §ã§Ú§ß§Ö§Þ §Ø§Ú§Ý§Ö§ä§Ö, §ã §Ü§â§Ñ§ê§Ö§ß§í§Þ§Ú §ë§Ö§Ü§Ñ§Þ§Ú §Ú §Ò§à§â§à§Õ§à§Û, §ß§Ö§ã, §á§à§Õ§ß§ñ§Ó §ß§Ñ §á§Ý§Ö§é§à, §é§Ú§ã§ä§í§Û §Þ§Ö§Õ??§í§Û §ä§Ñ§Ù. §¥§Ö§ß§î §å§Õ§Ñ§Ý§ñ§Ý§ã§ñ §ß§Ñ §á§Ý§Ö§é§Ö §è§í§Ô§Ñ§ß§Ñ. §¥§Ú§ã§Ü §ä§Ñ§Ù§Ñ §Ò§í§Ý §ã§Ó§Ö§ä§Ö§Ý §Ú §ã§Ý§Ö§á. §¸§í§Ô§Ñ§ß §ê§Ö§Ý §Þ§Ö§Õ§Ý§Ö§ß§ß§à, §ä§Ñ§Ù §Ý§Ö§Ô§Ü§à §á§à§Ü§Ñ§é§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ý§ã§ñ, §Ú §Õ§Ö§ß§î §á§à§Ó§à§â§Ñ§é§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ý§ã§ñ §Ó §Õ§Ú§ã§Ü§Ö.
§±§å§ä§ß§Ú§Ü§Ú §ã§Þ§à§ä§â§Ö§Ý§Ú §Ó§ã§Ý§Ö§Õ. "
§±§â§à§ã§ä§à §ã§Ú§Ý §ß§Ö§ä, §Õ§à §é§Ö§Ô§à §Ó§à§Ý§ê§Ö§Ò§ß§à.
August 28, 2010
For me, this novel really works in tandem with The Three Fat Men. Anyone who knows a little about the author will recognize him in Nikolai Kavalerov, the protagonist of the Envy story. Just as Yury Olesha himself, Kavalerov feels capable of great deeds and, at the same time, unable to find his place or accomplish anything in the new Soviet Russia. These are the "sausage makers" like Andrey Babichev that the country needs, not poets and philosophers.
I've read Envy right after finishing The Three Fat Men. Divided by only three years (TTFM was written in 1924, Envy in 1927), they demonstrate a big change in the society and in the author's view of the Soviet Russia. There is a bitter irony in the fact that a writer who was one of the prophets of the 1917 revolution didn't manage to become a "new Soviet person". There are many other examples of people who found themselves unnecessary after the initial post-revolutionary period: futurist poets (especially Mayakovsky), constructivist artists (El Lisitsky, Malevitch), but I think Olesha's example is one of the most vivid.
I've read Envy right after finishing The Three Fat Men. Divided by only three years (TTFM was written in 1924, Envy in 1927), they demonstrate a big change in the society and in the author's view of the Soviet Russia. There is a bitter irony in the fact that a writer who was one of the prophets of the 1917 revolution didn't manage to become a "new Soviet person". There are many other examples of people who found themselves unnecessary after the initial post-revolutionary period: futurist poets (especially Mayakovsky), constructivist artists (El Lisitsky, Malevitch), but I think Olesha's example is one of the most vivid.
July 1, 2012
Clever, disgusting, and very avant garde. I wasn't quite in the mood for its avant-ness at this precise moment in time. There is a description of a mole that is possibly unrivalled.
Tags: satire, soccer, Soviets, sausage, communal living, unreliable narration, acrobat legs, magnificent groins
He's carrying around six poods. Recently, walking down the stairs somewhere, he noticed his breasts bouncing in time to his steps. So he decided to add a new set of calisthenics.
He's stripped to the waist, wearing knit drawers fastened by a single button in the middle of his belly....When he lies down on the mat on his back and starts lifting his legs in alteration, the button can't take it. His groin is exposed. His groin is magnificent. A tender scorch mark. A forbidden nook. The groin of a Producer. I saw a groin of the exact same sueded matteness on a bitch antelope.
Tags: satire, soccer, Soviets, sausage, communal living, unreliable narration, acrobat legs, magnificent groins
He's carrying around six poods. Recently, walking down the stairs somewhere, he noticed his breasts bouncing in time to his steps. So he decided to add a new set of calisthenics.
He's stripped to the waist, wearing knit drawers fastened by a single button in the middle of his belly....When he lies down on the mat on his back and starts lifting his legs in alteration, the button can't take it. His groin is exposed. His groin is magnificent. A tender scorch mark. A forbidden nook. The groin of a Producer. I saw a groin of the exact same sueded matteness on a bitch antelope.
May 1, 2015
I feared for a second that this would end up being another liberal's wet-dream of Soviet satire, in which the Great Evil is pilloried by the upstanding individual etc etc... But no! It's much, much more, and everyone comes out looking like a jackass. Nikolai is very much in the tradition of Dostoevsky's underground man, whom you might identify as a romantic hero rebelling against the evils of his society etc., but who is actually, at best, a symptom of that society and, at worst, more or less a prick. But that's much clearer in 'Envy,' particularly the second half.
Also: funny.
Also: funny.
April 7, 2021
??? ????? ???? ?????? ??? ???????? ??? ??? ?? ???? ????? ???????? ????? ???? ?????? "???? ??????" (???? ???? ??? ????? ???? ????)
????? ???? ???? ????? ?? ??? ???? ?????? ?????? ?????? ??? ???? ????? ???? ????? ?????? ???? ???
??? ??? ?? ????? ????? ????? ?????? ???? ????? ???? ???? ????? ????? ???? ?? ???? ??? ???? ??? ????? ????
????? ???? ???? ????? ?? ??? ???? ?????? ?????? ?????? ??? ???? ????? ???? ????? ?????? ???? ???
??? ??? ?? ????? ????? ????? ?????? ???? ????? ???? ???? ????? ????? ???? ?? ???? ??? ???? ??? ????? ????
April 1, 2025
there¡¯s like 30 pages of this that are a normal book and the rest of it is a trio of evil schizophrenic men screaming at each other about cucks and suicide
June 3, 2023
Satire on modernity/industry and romanticism/art. Suggests (i) the former resembles the latter in its dreams & feelings; (ii) the latter has become envy of the former.
February 25, 2022
" ??? ?? ???? ??? ?????? ????? ???? ???? ??? ??? ?? ????? ???? ?????? ??? ????? ??????? ????????? ????? ???????. ????? ??? ?? ????? ????? ?????? ????? ?? ????? ?? ?? ???? ?? ??? ????? ?? ?????? ???? ??????? ?????"
???? ????? ???? ????? ?????? ? ???????? ??? ????? ??? ????? ??? ??? ???? ?????? ?? ??????? ???????? ???? ??? ???? ?????? ?????? ?? ?????? ??? ?????? ????! ? ?????? ???????? ???? ????? ??????? ????????? ??? ?? ???? ???? ????????? ????????? ???? ??????? ????? ??? ??????? ?? ???? ??? ????? ???? ??????? ????????? ??? ?? ??? ?? ??? ?????? ?????? ?? ?????? ????? ?????? ???? ?????? ???? ??? ?????? ????? ????? ?? ????????? ?????? ?????? ????? ????? ?????? ?? ??????? ????????? ????? ????? ????? ??? ???? ???? ????? ???? ????? ??????? ???? ???????? ??? ???? ????? ?????? ???????? ??????? ?? ??????? ????????.
"??????? ????? ?????? ??? ?????? ??? ????? ?????? ??????? ???????? ??? ???????? ??? ????? ??? ???????? ???? ?????? ???????? ??? ?? ????? ???? ?? ????????? ????????! ??? ????? ???????. ?? ?????? ???? ???? ????? ???????? ??? ??? ?????? ???."
?? ????? ?????? ??? ????? ????????? ??????? ? ???????? ???? ????? ???????? ????? ?????? ??????? ?????? ??????? ????? ??????? ??? ?????? ???? ??? ????? ?????? ?? ????? ???????? ???? ???? ??????? ????????? ? ??????? ???????? ???? ??????? ??????? ??? ??? ???? ?? ??? ?????? ????????? ?? ????? ??? ??? ???? ????.
"?????? ?? ???? ????? ??????? ?????? ???? ?????? ??? ?????? ????. ??? ????? ????? ???? ?? ???? ??? ???. ??? ??? ???? ??? ??? ????? ???? ?? ???? ????. ??? ?? ??? ??? ??? ?? ???? ??? ???????"!
???? ????? ?? ?????? ??????? ? ??????? ???????? ? ???????? ??????? ?????? ?? ??? ? ?????? ? ??????? ?? ??? ??????? ????????? ?? ???? ?????? ???? ?? ???????!? ? ?????? ?? ????? ???? ?????? ??????? ??????? ??? ??? ??????? ????????? ??? ????? ?? ????? ??? ??????? ?????? ?? ??????? ??????? ?????? ????? ?????? ??? ????? ??????? ????? ????? ?????? ? ???? ??????? ??? ?????? ????? ?????? ???? ??????? ???? ??? ??? ????? ???? ????? ?? ???? ?????? ?????? ????????.
"???? ??? ?? ???? ?????? ??? ???? ???? ??? ?? ???????. ?????? ???? ??????! ?? ?? ??????? ?? ?????? ?? ???????. ?? ?????? ??? ?????"
?? ??????? ?????? ????? ??? ?? ??????? ????????? ? ????? ???????? ???? ????????? ???? ?????? ????????? ????? ??? ?? ??????? ??? ????? ????? ??????? ?????? ??? ???? ??? ???? ???? ?????? ???? ?? ????? ??? ??????? ?????? ??? ?? ??? ????? ??????? ??????? ?????? ???? ?? ?? ?????? ???? ??????? ????????? " ???? ?????? ???? ????? ????? ?????? ????????. ?????? ?? ????? ?? ???? ??????.. ?????? ???? ????? ??? ???? ?????? ????????? ?????? ?? ????? ?? ???? ?????? ????????. ????? ???????? ???? ??? ????? ??????. ???? ?? ???? ?? ?? ?????. ????? ?? ?????????? ???? ?? ???? ?????? ??? ???? ????? (...) ???? ?? ?????? ???? ??? ????? ????? ??? ????? ??? ???? ??? ??? ??????. ?? ??? ???? - ??? ?????? ?????? ?????? - ?????? ??????? ????? ????. " ??? ???? ????? ??????? ????? ??? ?????? ??? ???????? ???? ???? ??? ???????.
"??? ???? ????? ?????? ??? ?????? ??????? ??? ????. ???? ????? ?????? ???? ?????? ????. ??? ??? ???? ??????? ?? ?? ?? ??? ?????? ???? ?? ?????? ????? ???? ?? ???."
?????? ??? ??????? ?????? ????? ???? ???? ??? ????? ????? ???? ??? ?????? ??????.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 268 reviews
Can't find what you're looking for?
Get help and learn more about the design.