Nabokov read lectures on Russian literature. Audiobook Vladimir Nabokov - Lectures on Russian Literature Lectures on Russian Literature

WRITERS, CENSORSHIP AND READERS IN RUSSIA

The lecture was given at the Celebration of the Arts at Cornell University on April 10, 1958.

In the minds of foreigners, "Russian literature" as a concept, as a separate phenomenon, is usually reduced to the recognition that Russia gave the world half a dozen great prose writers in the middle of the past and at the beginning of our century. Russian readers treat it somewhat differently, including here some other untranslatable poets, but still, we, first of all, have in mind the brilliant constellation of authors of the 19th century. In other words, Russian literature has existed for a relatively short time. In addition, it is limited in time, so foreigners tend to view it as something complete, finished once and for all. This is mainly due to the impersonality of the typically provincial literature of the last four decades that emerged under the Soviet regime.

I once calculated that the best of everything that has been created in Russian prose and poetry since the beginning of the last century is 23,000 pages of the usual type. Obviously, neither French nor English literature it's impossible to squeeze like that. Both are stretched out in time and number several hundred great works. This brings me to the first conclusion. With the exception of one medieval masterpiece, Russian prose fits surprisingly well in a round amphora of the last century, and for the current one there is only a jug for skimmed cream. One 19th century it turned out to be enough that the country almost without any literary tradition created a literature that, in its artistic merit, in its world influence, in everything but volume, caught up with English and French, although these countries began to produce their masterpieces much earlier. The astonishing surge of aesthetic values ​​in such a young civilization would not have been possible if the whole spiritual growth Russia in the 19th century did not proceed with such incredible speed, reaching the level of old European culture. I am convinced that the literature of the last century has not yet entered the circle of Western ideas about Russian history. The question of the development of free pre-revolutionary thought was completely distorted by sophisticated communist propaganda in the 1920s and 1930s. our century. The Communists appropriated to themselves the honor of enlightening Russia. But it would be fair to say that in the days of Pushkin and Gogol most of of the Russian people remained in the cold behind a veil of slowly falling snow in front of the brightly lit windows of aristocratic culture. This tragic discrepancy stemmed from the fact that the most sophisticated European culture brought too hastily into a country infamous for the misfortunes and sufferings of her countless stepchildren. However, this is a completely different topic.

Although, who knows, maybe not the other. Outlining the history of Russian literature, or rather, defining the forces that fought for the soul of the artist, I may feel for that deep pathos inherent in any genuine art, which arises from the gap between its eternal values and the suffering of our confused world. This world can hardly be blamed for treating literature as a luxury or a trinket, since it cannot be used as a modern guide.

The artist has one consolation: in a free country he is not forced to compose guidebooks. Based on this rather limited view, Russia in the 19th century. was, oddly enough, a relatively free country: books could be banned, writers were sent into exile, scoundrels and idiots became censors, His Majesty in whiskers could himself become a censor and a ban, but still this amazing invention of the Soviet era - a method of coercion of the whole literary association write under the dictation of the state - was not in old Russia, although numerous reactionary officials clearly dreamed of him. A staunch determinist might object that, even in a democratic state, the journal resorts to financial pressure on its authors to force them to supply what the so-called reading public demands, and, consequently, the difference between it and the direct pressure of the police state, forcing the author to equip his novel with the corresponding political ideas, only to the extent of such pressure. But this is a lie, if only because in a free country there are many different periodicals And philosophical systems, and under a dictatorship - only one government. The difference is qualitative. Let me, an American writer, think of writing an unconventional novel, for example, about a happy atheist, an independent citizen of the city of Boston, who married a beautiful black woman, also an atheist, who bore him a bunch of kids, little smart agnostics, who lived a happy, virtuous life up to 106 years and expired in a blissful sleep, I may well be told that in spite of your incomparable talent, Mr. will be able to sell it. This is the opinion of the publisher - everyone is entitled to their opinion. No one will send me to the wild expanses of Alaska if the story of my prosperous atheist is printed by some dubious experimental publishing house; on the other side, American writers never receive government commissions to produce epics about the joys of free enterprise and morning prayer.

in Russia up to Soviet power There were, of course, restrictions, but no one commanded the artists. The painters, writers and composers of the last century were quite sure that they lived in a country where despotism and slavery reigned, but they had a huge advantage that can only be fully appreciated today, an advantage over their grandchildren living in modern Russia: they were not forced to say that there is no despotism and slavery. Two forces simultaneously fought for the soul of the artist, two critics judged his work, and the first was power. For a whole century, she was convinced that everything unusual, original in creativity sounds a sharp note and leads to a revolution. The vigilance of those in power was most clearly expressed by Nicholas I in the 30s and 40s. last century. The coldness of his nature permeated Russian life much more than the vulgarity of subsequent rulers, and his interest in literature would be touching if he proceeded from pure heart. With amazing tenacity, this man strove to become absolutely everything for Russian literature: native and godfather, a nanny and a wet nurse, a prison guard and literary critic. Whatever qualities he displayed in his royal profession, it must be admitted that in dealing with the Russian Muse he behaved like a hired killer or, at best, a jester. The censorship he established remained in force until the 1960s, weakened after the great reforms, tightened again at the end of the last century, was briefly abolished at the beginning of this century, and then miraculously and most terribly resurrected under the Soviets.

In "Lectures on Russian Literature", first published in 1981, Vladimir Nabokov, the greatest Russian-American writer of the 20th century, appeared before the reading public, who knew him mainly as a brilliant novelist, in other, sometimes unexpected guises. Lecture courses "Masters of European Prose" and "Russian Literature in Translation", prepared for students of Wellesley College and Cornell University, where the writer taught in the 1940s and 1950s, revealed in Nabokov a thoughtful reader, insightful, meticulous and at the same time a very biased researcher , a temperamental and demanding teacher - and at the same time confirmed his reputation as a virtuoso artist of the word. In the pages of this volume, Nabokov the lecturer gives his audience an excellent lesson in "close reading" of the works of Gogol, Turgenev, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Chekhov, and Gorky, a reading whose method is exhaustively described by the author himself: "Literature, real literature, should not be swallowed in one gulp, as a drug useful for the heart or mind, this "stomach" of the soul. Literature must be taken in small doses, crushed, crumbled, ground - then you will feel its sweet fragrance in the depths of your palms; you need to gnaw it, rolling your tongue with pleasure in your mouth - then , and only then will you appreciate its rare aroma and the crushed, crushed particles will again unite in your mind and acquire the beauty of the whole, to which you have mixed a little of your own blood.

The work belongs to the genre Philological sciences. It was published in 2014 by the Azbuka publishing house. The book is part of the "Books of Vladimir Nabokov" series. On our site you can download the book "Lectures on Russian Literature" for free in epub, fb2 format or read online. The rating of the book is 4.33 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also refer to the reviews of readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In the online store of our partner you can buy and read the book in paper form.

Buy a book Comments

titlinow

Hermant wrote:

I'm certainly not a genius, so primitive. but I don’t like Dostoevsky, Chekhov read avidly at the age of 30 and re-read at 35. And that Dostoevsky will start his bagpipes to kill not to kill. Tolbko Netochka uninvited. his novel is different from all his works. What are his words worth

Atonh

Hermant wrote:

60032311Nabokov, of course, is a genius, but he JUST DOES NOT KNOW ANY BELMES in Dostoevsky's work. If I were him, I would be ashamed to stick out my misunderstanding ...

It's amazing.

titlinow

Atonh wrote:

Hermant wrote:

60032311Nabokov, of course, is a genius, but he JUST DOES NOT KNOW ANY BELMES in Dostoevsky's work. If I were him, I would be ashamed to stick out my misunderstanding ...

It's amazing.
How Hermant hovers high above all this, which assigned Nabokov the place of an unthinking genius, in contrast to Hermant herself, who certainly understands and seated everyone with her deep meaning to the appropriate places. Oh how! "I would be ashamed to stick out my misunderstanding ..". And now the same recipe for itself, huh? Has the feeling of shame appeared or is it selective and applicable only to Nabokov?
The smartest, deepest, most conscientious person with a broad outlook, independent and original thinking - Nabokov V.V. Everything he says about Russian literature is both clever and quite original. This, of course, does not negate the right of anyone to have own opinion about individual writers, which does not coincide with the opinion of Nabokov. People are all different and, above all, different in birth, level of understanding of life and its meaning, common culture and education. Even about morality, well, there are such different ideas, although even Confucze defined everything crystal clear in it, but no, there are still disagreements ... Different opinions are natural with such a huge difference in the scale of perceiving individuals. "What is available to Jupiter is not available to the bull"))).

I just don't understand what you didn't like about the statement. I, too, do not have a positive attitude towards Dostoevsky, although Ivan Aleksandrovich Ilyin spoke very well of him. And once I really appreciated him as a person responsible for his words and very morally strong and intelligent. BUT!

Dammy1981

took2much wrote:

61749674 Dear Hermant, each of us, of course, has his own views on literature in general, and Dostoevsky in particular. But of our company, only Nabokov, oddly enough, has freehold to express it...

Explain, please, what do you mean?
Is that why it is? ( nearly choked with surprise)

natakoni Somehow, in my mature age, I read Dostoevsky's Pr and N, some kind of crap, I think it wasn’t like that, it couldn’t be like that. And it's hard to write. Then I read "Gorky. Leo Tolstoy":

Quote:

He talked about Dostoevsky reluctantly, forcedly, avoiding something, overcoming something.
- He was suspicious, proud, heavy and unhappy. It's strange that so many people read it, I don't understand why! After all, it’s hard and useless, because all these Idiots, Teenagers, Raskolnikovs and everything - it wasn’t like that, everything is simpler, more understandable. But they don’t read Leskov in vain, a real writer - have you read him?

So let's add our Lev Nikolaevich to Nabokov. Yes, and Professor Savelyev of the Research Institute of Human Morphology says that Dostoevsky is a famous writer, of course, but he is sick in the head and his works are just as schizophrenic.

Le Balafre

Quote:

Tolstoy is right. Nabokov is smart.

Of course, Tolstoy is right! When he said - "what else can be written after Dostoevsky?"
And Lev Nikolayevich left for last way with a volume of Besov as Stepan Trofimovich.
By the way, it was Tolstoy who avoided meeting with Fyodor Mikhailovich. And he did not come to the celebration in honor of the opening of the monument to Pushkin in the Noble Assembly where Dostoevsky delivered the historic Pushkin speech.
The real, unlike Nabokov, American writer Kurt Vonnegut said:
- Everything you need to know about life is written in the book "The Brothers Karamazov" by the writer Dostoevsky.
His marriage to Vera Slonim played a tragic role in shaping Nabokov's worldview. "Branding" Dostoevsky was a mandatory part of his marital duty.
Grossman so directly placed the portrait of Dostoevsky in Hitler's office in the most prominent place. See his meaningless "life and destiny".
At Harvard University, Nabokov was pelted with rotten tomatoes for criticizing Dostoevsky. Therefore, Nabokov did not last long there. He was only allowed to collect butterflies. But do not engage in literature.
Since in America Dostoevsky is the most revered writer. Burroughs, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg - all these are "nursery Dostoyevskys". As they themselves admitted.
Salinger rewrote Dostoevsky's "The Teenager" in a primitive American manner (The Catcher...) - could not stand the shame of accusations of plagiarism and jumped out of the window. Before for a long time hiding from human eyes.
In the years cold war statements were heard everywhere in America - "We will not fight with the country - the Motherland of Dostoevsky"

WRITERS, CENSORSHIP AND READERS IN RUSSIA

The lecture was given at the Celebration of the Arts at Cornell University on April 10, 1958.

In the minds of foreigners, "Russian literature" as a concept, as a separate phenomenon, is usually reduced to the recognition that Russia gave the world half a dozen great prose writers in the middle of the past and at the beginning of our century. Russian readers treat it somewhat differently, including here some other untranslatable poets, but still, we, first of all, have in mind the brilliant constellation of authors of the 19th century. In other words, Russian literature has existed for a relatively short time. In addition, it is limited in time, so foreigners tend to view it as something complete, finished once and for all. This is mainly due to the impersonality of the typically provincial literature of the last four decades that emerged under the Soviet regime.

I once calculated that the best of everything that has been created in Russian prose and poetry since the beginning of the last century is 23,000 pages of the usual type. It is obvious that neither French nor English literature can be so compressed. Both are stretched out in time and number several hundred great works. This brings me to the first conclusion. With the exception of one medieval masterpiece, Russian prose fits surprisingly well in a round amphora of the last century, and for the current one there is only a jug for skimmed cream. One 19th century it was enough for a country almost without any literary tradition to create a literature that, in its artistic merit, in its world influence, in everything but volume, equaled that of English and French, although these countries began to produce their masterpieces much earlier. The astounding surge of aesthetic values ​​in such a young civilization would have been impossible if the entire spiritual growth of Russia in the 19th century. did not proceed with such incredible speed, reaching the level of old European culture. I am convinced that the literature of the last century has not yet entered the circle of Western ideas about Russian history. The question of the development of free pre-revolutionary thought was completely distorted by sophisticated communist propaganda in the 1920s and 1930s. our century. The Communists appropriated to themselves the honor of enlightening Russia. But it is fair to say that in the days of Pushkin and Gogol, most of the Russian people remained in the cold behind a curtain of slowly falling snow in front of the brightly lit windows of aristocratic culture. This tragic discrepancy arose from the fact that the most refined European culture was too hastily introduced into a country infamous for the disasters and sufferings of its countless stepchildren. However, this is a completely different topic.

Although, who knows, maybe not the other. Outlining the history of Russian literature, or rather, defining the forces that fought for the soul of the artist, I may feel for that deep pathos inherent in any genuine art, which arises from the gap between its eternal values ​​​​and the suffering of our confused world. This world can hardly be blamed for treating literature as a luxury or a trinket, since it cannot be used as a modern guide.

The artist has one consolation: in a free country he is not forced to compose guidebooks. Based on this rather limited view, Russia in the 19th century. was, oddly enough, a relatively free country: books could be banned, writers were sent into exile, scoundrels and idiots became censors, His Majesty in whiskers could himself become a censor and a ban, but still this amazing invention of the Soviet era - a method of coercion of an entire literary associations to write under the dictation of the state did not exist in old Russia, although numerous reactionary officials clearly dreamed of it. A staunch determinist might object that, even in a democratic state, the journal resorts to financial pressure on its authors to force them to supply what the so-called reading public demands, and, consequently, the difference between it and the direct pressure of the police state, forcing the author to equip his novel with the corresponding political ideas, only to the extent of such pressure. But this is a lie, if only because in a free country there are many different periodicals and philosophical systems, and in a dictatorship there is only one government. The difference is qualitative. Let me, an American writer, think of writing an unconventional novel, for example, about a happy atheist, an independent citizen of the city of Boston, who married a beautiful black woman, also an atheist, who bore him a bunch of kids, little smart agnostics, who lived a happy, virtuous life up to 106 years and expired in a blissful sleep, I may well be told that in spite of your incomparable talent, Mr. will be able to sell it. This is the opinion of the publisher - everyone is entitled to their opinion. No one will send me to the wild expanses of Alaska if the story of my prosperous atheist is printed by some dubious experimental publishing house; on the other hand, American writers never receive government commissions to produce epics about the joys of free enterprise and morning prayer.

In Russia, before the Soviet regime, there were, of course, restrictions, but no one commanded the artists. The painters, writers and composers of the last century were quite sure that they lived in a country where despotism and slavery reigned, but they had a huge advantage that can only be fully appreciated today, an advantage over their grandchildren living in modern Russia: they were not forced to speak that there is no despotism and slavery. Two forces simultaneously fought for the soul of the artist, two critics judged his work, and the first was power. For a whole century, she was convinced that everything unusual, original in creativity sounds a sharp note and leads to a revolution. The vigilance of those in power was most clearly expressed by Nicholas I in the 30s and 40s. last century. The coldness of his nature permeated Russian life much more than the vulgarity of subsequent rulers, and his interest in literature would have been touching if he had come from a pure heart. With amazing perseverance, this man strove to become absolutely everything for Russian literature: his own and godfather, nanny and breadwinner, prison guard and literary critic. Whatever qualities he displayed in his royal profession, it must be admitted that in dealing with the Russian Muse he behaved like a hired killer or, at best, a jester. The censorship he established remained in force until the 1960s, weakened after the great reforms, tightened again at the end of the last century, was briefly abolished at the beginning of this century, and then miraculously and most terribly resurrected under the Soviets.

In the first half of the last century, government officials, who love to stick their nose in everywhere, higher ranks The third branch, which enrolled Byron in the ranks of the Italian revolutionaries, complacent censors of venerable age, journalists of a certain kind on the payroll of the government, a quiet, but politically sensitive and prudent church - in a word, this whole mixture of monarchism, religious fanaticism and bureaucratic servility pretty embarrassed the artist, but he he could let in hairpins and ridicule the powers that be, while getting real pleasure from a lot of skillful, striking tricks on the spot, against which government stupidity was completely powerless. The Fool can be a dangerous type, but his vulnerability sometimes turns danger into a first-class sport. Whatever the shortcomings of the bureaucracy pre-revolutionary Russia, it must be admitted that she possessed one indisputable advantage - the lack of intelligence. IN in a certain sense the task of the censor was made more difficult by the fact that he had to decipher obscure political allusions, instead of simply attacking obvious obscenity. Under Nicholas I, the Russian poet was forced to be cautious, and Pushkin's attempts to imitate the daring French - Guys and Voltaire - were easily suppressed by censorship. But the prose was virtuous. In Russian literature, the Rabelaisian tradition of the Renaissance did not exist, as in other literatures, and the Russian novel as a whole to this day remains, perhaps, a model of chastity. Soviet literature is innocence itself. It is impossible to imagine a Russian writer who wrote, for example, Lady Chatterley's Lover.

So, the first force that opposed the artist was the government. Another force that constrained him was anti-government, public, utilitarian criticism, all these political, civic, radical thinkers. It should be noted that in terms of education, intelligence, aspirations and human dignity these people were immeasurably superior to those crooks who were fed by the state, or the old stupid reactionaries who trampled around the shaking throne. The leftist critic was exclusively concerned with the welfare of the people, and everything else: literature, science, philosophy - he considered only as a means to improve the social and economic situation of the disadvantaged and change the political structure of the country. An incorruptible hero, indifferent to the hardships of exile, but equally to everything refined in art - such was this type of people. The frantic Belinsky in the 40s, the inflexible Chernyshevsky and Dobrolyubov in the 50s and 60s, the respectable bore Mikhailovsky and dozens of other honest and stubborn people - all of them can be united under one sign: political radicalism, rooted in old French socialism and German materialism and foreshadowing revolutionary socialism and sluggish communism recent decades, which should not be confused with Russian liberalism in true meaning of this word, as well as with enlightened democracies in Western Europe and America. Leafing through the old newspapers of the 60s and 70s, one is shocked to discover what extreme views these people expressed under the autocracy. But for all their virtues, left-wing critics turned out to be just as ignorant in art as the authorities. The government and the revolutionaries, the tsar and the radicals were equally philistines in art. Left-wing critics fought against the existing despotism and in doing so planted another one of their own. The claims, the maxims, the theories they tried to impose had exactly the same relation to art as traditional politics authorities. The writer was required social ideas, and not some nonsense, a book, from their point of view, was good only if it could bring practical benefit people. Their fervor led to tragic consequences. Sincerely, boldly and boldly they defended freedom and equality, but they contradicted their own faith, wanting to subordinate art contemporary politics. If, in the opinion of the tsars, writers were charged with the duty to serve the state, then, in the opinion of leftist criticism, they had to serve the masses. These two schools of thought were destined to meet and unite their efforts, so that finally in our time the new regime, which is a synthesis of the Hegelian triad, would unite the idea of ​​the masses with the idea of ​​the state.

Nabokov is Pnin's colleague Vladimir Nabokov. Lectures on Russian literature. – M.: Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 1996

When you really like a writer, you envy those who are just about to have his books, and are grateful for the circumstances that allow you to read something written by this author for the first time. Now I am referring to Nabokov's lectures and articles on Russian literature.

The creative omnipotence of Vladimir Nabokov is amazing and almost frightening. There is something inhuman, unnatural in his omnipresent talent. As if Nabokov predicts the move reader's thought and anticipates probable questions and perplexities, thus each time eluding our exhaustive definition. The horizon of his artistic and personal possibilities is constantly receding, and only high artistry tells us that yes, we are within Nabokov's world.

A white bone and an Olympian, he dedicates to Chernyshevsky a sonnet of such beauty and generosity that all democratic glorifications pale before them. To possible accusations of metaphysical apathy, he responds with the story "Ultima Thule", revealing an interest that he has suffered through. In a series of heroes shocking with their immoralism, Pnin suddenly appears, humane and touching - like Pushkin's stationmaster. And so in everything. Let the reader, annoyed by the invulnerability and excess of Nabokov's prose, open his poetry. I was once surprised and delighted by this lyrics, almost Yesenin's awe, immediacy and even defenselessness.

Nabokov liked to liken writing activity work of a magician. I don’t know how fair this is in general, but Nabokov himself, of course, is an illusionist of the highest standard, to match the Englishman David Copperfield.

Prose, poetry, drama, now Nabokov's literary criticism. Draws attention almost lost contemporary art sense of proportion, appropriateness. Taste, as you know, is the morality of the artist; in this case, the mind of the artist is manifested primarily in the choice of genre and in meeting its requirements. We owe the current blurring of stylistic outlines Silver Age, but Nabokov, following Bunin and Khodasevich, is committed to traditional genre certainty.

That is why his lectures are really lectures, and not artistic “look and something”, leaving behind not information, but only an aftertaste. The tone of the lectures is not Nabokovian restrained and does not abound - which Pushkin warned against - inappropriate in scientific work “rhetorical figures". (However, it is possible that some of the author's intonations are muffled by the translation.) Sometimes academic restraint betrays Nabokov - and we recognize the lion by its claws: crossing his legs, he furtively glances at the color of his socks.

Nabokov the researcher manages to combine partiality with conscientiousness: his idol Gogol is at the same time humanly disgusting, and the insignificant, from Nabokov's point of view, writer Gorky arouses sympathy in the author with the ordeals of his youth (by the way, questioned by Bunin).

But the Nabokov admirer in this book is most interested, of course, in the writer himself, and not in the heroes of his lectures. Nabokov's likes and dislikes can make the author's personality clearer for us. Nabokov's well-known persistent dislike of Dostoevsky is intriguing, yielding in obsession only to his dislike of Freud. Having lost his vigilance from irritation, Nabokov notices that most of Dostoevsky's heroes are insane, diagnoses them using a psychiatry textbook. For that matter, many of Nabokov's own heroes also fail to serve as models. mental health. It seems that the point is not only in literary rejection, but also in jealousy of Dostoevsky, who, by all accounts, has the monopoly right to depict the mental underground. It seems that Nabokov's cult of his own mental and spiritual health, snobbery, gentlemanship were a painful, life-long attempt to hide from himself and from others a serious inner trouble, entire areas of which, turning into compositions, were rejected with the hope of deliverance. Then it becomes clear why the “Viennese charlatan” resented Nabokov with the clumsiness of his scientific interference.

Nabokov's work can be seen as a farewell parade of Russian literature XIX century, the essence of the classics, cultural vinegar; hence - and brilliance, and in some places deliberateness. To an unbiased and attentive reader literary technique the sudden transition from wakefulness to sleep, from reality to delirium, of which Nabokov was a master, will bring to mind just Dostoevsky. Indifference to an integral worldview, causing disregard for super-ideas, is reminiscent of Chekhov. And the view of the world from the point of view of the disease in The True Life of Sebastian Knight, the “gray landscape of pain”, the flash of an agonizing consciousness, in the light of which life and death suddenly turn out to be completely different from what was commonly believed, reveal an unconditional relationship with The Death of Ivan Ilyich".

Maybe there was a proud intention: classical period of Russian literature, which began with Pushkin's harmony, and ended with harmony, but already with his own. The bold undertaking succeeded. Almost. The park and the forest are similar in many ways, sometimes they are indistinguishable. But if in the forest we are impressed by elemental power, then in the park it is valued not in last turn the intention and will of the architect.

When reading these lectures, a difficult side feeling comes over: admiration? pity? guilt? So you see how our brilliant compatriot, a middle-aged lecturer, from year to year climbed to the pulpit and patiently English language explained to benevolent and inquisitive American underage all sorts of outlandish things - from an obsession with the truth to the device and purpose of skates.