The first book literally had blinded him. Something very little when he heard of the Latin American writer Gabriel Garcia Маркесе. But he did not expect that one could write. It was blinding startling brightness talent. "One hundred years of solitude" have absorbed really century, an age, as some miracle уместившуюсая in quite small, elegant body of the novel.
It seemed to him that he is amazingly small and capacious, this epic novel, and that he himself write never succeed. Such diversity, such an incredible amount of images, arising out of, pouring one into another, sparkling unimaginable number of faces, what a change of forms! Dima he seemed like a good ограненый gem, the diamond out of the hand of the master dazzling diamond. To create something like that he was not under force.
He did not envy Marques. This byloby too shabby. His blindness was not blindness envy. He just saw, how can you do really, and after calm, humble yourselves even in the depths of the soul, where reconcile it was the hardest, and his novel compared with Marquez — pathetic окололитературная fuss, not worthy of any attention, except that of sympathy and regret about needlessly wasted time.
Second, for that he came from a little оправивишись from the first, Былл Knut Hamsun. His novel "the Hunger", but especially the "Mysteries" were the complete opposite of the novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Only slightly smaller, they осещали fate of only one, the main character, which выхватывала from the surrounding timelessness God forgotten маленькихнорвежских cities of the beginning of the twentieth century and высвечивала random personality and images, with whom she had to deal with, and for which she held on. Narrative вязлов endless reflections hero, sometimes being lost in them, like water in the desert sand, but then suddenly was alive with, stood out again and перекатывалось until the next viscous place. These novels difficult to read. However, deep dive into the thoughts of the hero forced to identify with him sometimes to such an extent that it seemed as if he were not, and the Gladyshev Dmitry thinks so. Sometimes this feeling managed to get away, and then had the status of backstage follower, which are allowed a lot, almost all except one: he can't guess where to go in the next moment, the next moment the thoughts of the hero and the reckless, but sometimes very familiar things that came to mind.
Heroes of Hamsun Dima felt a close kinship. This arose quite unexpectedly, and sometimes in spite of the fact that he was not agree with him. So, for example, happened when Nagel, the main person of the novel "Mystery" of a sudden bad said about Tolstoy and the Leo Tolstoy, who created "War and Peace". Itwas amazing, and angered him in the same way that shocked the surrounding Nagel listeners. He was so indignant, so taken aback that even wanted to Wake her. However, at the last moment he changed his mind, deciding that, firstly, Nagel not so far from the truth in his words was a truth, the truth of the freedom of conviction, independence and the failure of the authorities зиждящихся on the throne of his own fame), and secondly, Veronica understands nothing спросоня and only get angry for what she was, Yes there was a good cause off the Desk lamp, the object of her vituperation обнаружившихся since Dima was interested in reading at night.
The third novel in a small, was written by Czech writer, which Dima couldn't hear at all, a kind of Milan Kundera. Opening the book somewhere in the middle, as he always did when he wanted to determine whether it can be read, or better to refuse — Gladyshev immediately ran to the place where рассуждалось about the son of Stalin, Jacob, and about the shit, because of which he had to die. It was so unusual and frankly, unusually moreover, that a Czech wanted to talk about the ruler of his country, even if it is already dead, and not any of his Czech leader, Yes uncle and his son, who had lost their lives because of their own shit and private impropriety that Dima read a few pages to a number of one ддыхании, покамысль the author did not stop. And the thought of this was far from the son of Stalin and his shit плавноперетекала to God and the creation of the world and man. She was so deep and so wonderful encapsulated in the three-dimensional spatial form, that involuntarily charmed to attention.
Closing the "Unbearable lightness of being", namely, this novel was the last of the three, after reading the above passage, he decided that it should be read, and the next night I had to read it from cover to cover.
"In the morning he sobbed. He whined, trying to do it as quietly as to not Wake the sleeping next to Veronica. Tears in two streams rolled down his cheeks, laid opinion, and all swam before his eyes.
So he hadn't cried for a long time. So he never weep but one of the only times when even in my childhood I read "White BIM Black ear" Троепольского. Unbearable, yet light, weightless longing novel pierced his heart was like a swift Frostbolt, leaving thick and pleasantly aching wound.
It was an absolutely amazing book. He could not understand how the lives of two people, men and women, described in the novel got to me, so was moving stuff that made to suffer. Even the author himself warned his characters are fictitious, that they arose from nothing, from just пшика. He could not understand why he was crying, reaching последнгей lines of the novel. But pierced ice arrow unbearable and easy longing heart изрыгало of himself sobbing, and he couldn't stop them.
"What piercingly sad story!" thought Dima. Neither Gabriel Garcia Marquez, nor Knut Hamsun, no matter how great and no matter how delicious they were each in their skills, could not засттавить weep. Milan Kundera, too, did not force him to do it, he pressed on a tear and just broke off his novel at some average episode of life Teresa and Tomas, without describing in conclusion scene ктастрофы, in which they both died, and only before the end of the narrative mentioning that this happened because of faulty brakes.
That was in the fictional lives of these two, by the will of the writer came down, not from the Olympus, no, just the ordinary, normal and at the same time every day painful for them обоихжизни on the bottom, where they are destined to find peace, love and, perhaps, a little happiness, hand in hand running with piercing bitterness of loss, where is all this newfound for however short a time, immediately somehow it ended? They do not боялисьсмерти. They have not thought about it. They lived as if in passing over her, even when buried their beloved dog, wonderful and strange, and therefore, beloved, when bury the creature that connected them among themselves. It was so painfully bitter, so sweetly bitterly and painfully.
Dima finally realized why he bellowed, having read the novel. Its internal, broken down, pinching her sobs began when he read about the last days of the life of a poor Терезиной bitch named Karenin. The atmosphere of anxiety and dying creeping in each subsequent proposal, each image. She's definitely a sponge filled a Димину soul.
It was a special anxiety. This was a concern for those people who are doomed, because it has been told that they will die, but who do not yet know about this, for those people who, burying his beloved dog, suddenly turn into adult children, and apparently did not understand at his naivete, that they are losing, and at the same time aware of more. He wanted to save them, to save the whole world, their dying and increasingly shrinking world, save that they themselves, although they tried, but were unable to. They've saved touching and naive as children. They've saved it, without being aware that attempt and cannot defend against increasingly doom themselves. And they were alone in their own little world, and Dima, who was allowed to look at them a little and doomed life, unable to help them in everything and nothing. He was unable to and amend nothing in their lives, обрывающейся the end of the novel on the most ordinary, but a piercing, сквозяще sad to tears unbearable note, which remained unknown for him, but the time appointed for them.
The novel was completed, exactly window, a tiny little window in the camera doomed захлопывалось ordinary and heartlessly before his face, and in the chamber, even счстливые through the sadness the recent loss, but suddenly found each other are really first and last time in a tiny room неприютной village hotel the night before the calamity, forever, until his death happy blessed in this happiness, remained Tomas and Tereza.
The ease with which stopped novel on everyday, but not unusually shrill this cubicles with придвинутым one to another beds, was unbearable. Dima wanted to end together with this novel, drop, as this note, and no longer be. He did not want to kill yourself, but suddenly it was unbearable. He didn't want to leave the room and left there to Tomas and Tereza. He wanted to stay with them, and log in to both of them, and be имиобоими until the very end. He loved them, but not to understand that crying because of that. He loved them especiallyin the piercing second sound everyday notes of the last words of the novel, and this love broke, just stretched to the limit string soul. He could not understand what he loved them each individually almost from the very beginning of the novel, and now, when the ice arrow piercing his heart, he loved them both together. He was a critic, which parses images, trying to show that the author depicts people of unusual fate. He just loved them. And Karenina loved.
Com sobs подкатывался to his throat, he could neither swallow it nor let out. It caused a strange, juicy pain. It was the suffering that went out from it a little bit, together with weak unrestrained сипением and groan, together with two streams unrestrained tears pouring as if from a horn of plenty, from his eyes.
Com sobs prevented him to breathe. Tears filled his eyes, and he was not afraid of dying, choking back to the tight pain in the throat of the moans of the soul, rising from somewhere in the depths of his heart and lungs трахеям and esophagus and adherent to the who, разбухающему in his larynx more and more, already gained their physical visibility and density and became размероом with a tennis ball, somehow caught in his throat.
Despite the fact that he tried not to Wake her up her crying, Veronica still woke up and rose above him on the elbow.
-What are you ревешь, fool?! — she asked, wiping his eyes. — Crazy crazy, or what?
Dima thought to herself that she did not call him now "Гладышевым"and just inserted a "fool". However, he couldn't answer her, but she woke up, a few woke him up. However, a lump in my throat is not lost. I had to cry before again have the opportunity to speak. But he dared not weep stronger, continuing to moan quietly. He was sorry that Veronica found him in a moment of weakness, and therefore he could not even move. It was embarrassing.
-Just crazy! Veronica pulled to his Golden watch. Five o'clock in the morning, and he tears washed! No, absolutely crazy! Gladyshev, are you crazy?!!
He didn't respond, and she gets angry, and pushed him out of bed. However, and after that he said nothing to her, still lying on the floor by the bed without moving.
-Hurt-Oh-Oh!!! — held out Veronica, holding his head and lifting his eyes to the ceiling. — No, absolutely sick!!! Gladyshev. You're not even a fool and don't freak out! You're crazy, Gladyshev!!! No, it's not even the word! The word is what you call-you could! Idiot! !!! Exactly. Idiot!!!
She still long распиналась in his address, but he did not listen, and thought about the little Czech Republic, аккупированной and подстраивающейся under аккупантов, under the country in the capital where he is now lying on the floor and crying about Томаше and Therese, invented by the Czech unknown writer Milan Кундерой, about the Czech cemeteries that are so fond of Sabina, poor bitch Каренине, gave birth to a bee, and two of a croissant. "Here lies Karenin, — remembered him. — He begat bee and two roll". This naive, childish and pointless tomb inscription, not taken from life, and as if from a children's game in death, гворила him about love, about love Teresa to Karenin, and about his love for his Teresa and Tomas, to their poor dog, to all their lost somewhere in the middle of the novel, and not knowing that he will die at the end of his world. This phrase had to break through his sobs even stronger, a lump in my throat started to melt faster, it exploded, and pain, stuck in his throat, began to diminish.
Through a veil of his experiences, similar simultaneously on waking dream and delirium of a diseased imagination, he heard swearing Veronica coming as if from another world and therefore irrelevant, even otherworldly, not having the strength and value and exists only as the background of his piercing, unbearably sweet sorrow, sorrow, love.
In this bustle, and the mess he saw himself as the Tomas meeting on the threshold of Teresa with a crippled, dying sheep on his hands, with повязанной on the head with a red kerchief, Teresa, dealing with surprise your beautiful body covered with droplets of water in the mirror in the bath and ненавидящей it for what it failed to become Tomas only, he had them both in the garden, where they buried the deceased Karenina and laid in his grave they loved, but never eaten chocolate, and Teresa, who put piercingly sad, childish naive plate "...he begat bee and two roll", as if хоронящей it for fun, невсамделишно, and yet aware of with all the piercing that all this was happening, and Karenin, who was dying of cancer, but out of gratitude was the last walk from the owners, remembering how fun it was the mouth of unruly cows, and Tomas, making him out of compassion lethal injection and Teresa, нарядившейся specifically for Tomasz after the death of the dog, and both included in such uncomfortable, but soaked last happiness, happiness last walk with Karenin tiny room rustic hotel with two придвинутыми each other beds.
He would not close the door to this room, but it was closed, even promising to open up to him ever again. He did not want to leave them, but they left themselves, уносимые over time, as fallen leaves, together with the last lines of the novel. It was a poignant longing hopelessness of love.
"They have done something недозволительное, they loved each other for real, and because the next day they died", — thought Dima through утихающие sobs. He knew that they killed two: the Chairman of the cooperative, and with him the country boy. They were just a pity, but he didn't like them. Ice arrow piercing his heart of intolerance love to Tomas and Teresa, and he wept for him, because he loved them and knew them not to return: to continue.
