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| Biography of E and Nosov, brief summary. Nosov E.I. Literary Awards |
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(January 15, 1925, Tolmachevo village, Kursk province, RSFSR, USSR now Kursk region - June 13, 2002, Kursk, Russian Federation)
Biography Biography Evgeny Ivanovich Nosov (January 15, 1925, Tolmachovo village, Kursk region - June 13, 2002, Kursk) - Russian writer, prose writer, author of novels and short stories, Hero of Socialist Labor, State Prize laureate, honorary citizen of Kursk. Evgeny Nosov was born into the family of a hereditary craftsman and blacksmith. As a sixteen-year-old boy, he survived the fascist occupation. He graduated from eighth grade and after the Battle of Kursk (July 5 - August 23, 1943) he went to the front, joining the artillery troops, becoming a gunner. Participated in Operation Bagration, in the battles on the Rogachev bridgehead beyond the Dnieper. Fought in Poland. In the battles near Koenigsberg on February 8, 1945, he was seriously wounded and on May 9, 1945 he was met in a hospital in Serpukhov, about which he later wrote the story “Red Wine of Victory.” After leaving the hospital, he received disability benefits. After the war I finished high school. Left for Kazakhstan Central Asia, worked as an artist, graphic designer, and literary collaborator. I started writing prose. Creation In 1957 - the first publication: the story “Rainbow” was published in the Kursk almanac. In 1958, his first book of short stories and stories, “On the Fishing Path,” was published. In 1961 he returned to Kursk, became professional writer. In 1962 he studied at the Higher Literary Courses in Moscow. The story “Usvyat Helmet Bearers” (1980) was a great success; in 1986, his collection of stories and short stories was published under this title; in the same year - a book of essays “I’ll get off at a distant station”; in 1989 - a book of stories for primary schoolchildren “Where the Sun Wakes Up”; in 1990 - novels and short stories “In the Open Field”; in 1992 - a book of stories for senior schoolchildren, “Red Wine of Victory.” Essays On the Fishing Trail (1958) Movies Based on the story “The Usvyat Helmet Bearers” the film “Spring” was made (directed by A. Sirenko) Titles and awards Notes Materials about the writer: Ageev B. Man leaves...: (Motif of the End of the World in the story “Usvyat Helmet Bearers” by Evgeny Nosov) / B. Ageev // OUR CONTEMPORARY.-2002.-No. 5.-P.224-234. A. Solzhenitsyn. Address at the presentation of the prize to Konstantin Vorobyov and Evgeniy Nosov (The original is in the magazine " New world"(No. 5, 2001). 04/26/2006) Through the lives and literary works of Konstantin Vorobyov and Evgeny Nosov, natives of the Kursk land and not far from each other, the Great War lay in indelible, multi-consequence stripes. Nosov in “Usvyatsky Helmet Bearers” has an epic insight: the first call and continuous departure of the peasant people to war - with the humility and courage with which they left and went century after century for so many wars and wars. This undeniable step and its epic meaning are palpable. This impression is strengthened by the fact that although the features of collective farm life are formally given in the story, they are somehow vague, but the eternity of the peasant on earth, in his native land, and the threat of pre-war separation from families and children emerges: how many will return? The topic turns to Konstantin Vorobyov - the November battles of 1941 near Moscow itself, of which he was a participant, a high moment of menace for the entire country, when its collapse almost loomed. Just to write about those days, the author had to endure many years of endurance: it was there, near Moscow, that he was captured by the Germans. This new, striking, unimaginable existence, which essentially threatened anyone at war that year, an existence whose mortal cruelty could not even be imagined by the then Soviet youth, brought up in the promises of victory, crashed into the chest of the young lieutenant, essentially as the theme of his entire life . It was not only the doomed body of the newbie prisoner that captured him, but in the very first weeks his thoughts as well: no one here can imagine this! I will definitely tell you about this if I survive. The camp near Rzhev: in the middle of a snow field it is a dark rectangular spot, dark because the lips of crawling prisoners of war “eaten the cold fluff of the December snow with the crumbs of the earth” - to quench their thirst: after all, they are not brought water. Then the captive fate of Vorobyov, who had gone through other camps, developed dramatically: when they were taken to Lithuania, while the train was moving, he climbed out of the window of the freight car, hung on a tied footcloth, and jumped off. The comrade hurt himself to death, and Vorobyov injured his leg. Having buried his comrade, he wandered through the Lithuanian forests for several days, but his lost mobility doomed him to a new, repeated captivity. Now he recognizes the terrible prisons in Panevezys and Siauliai - the death row prisoners in the cell “were sitting in their underwear, pressed closely against each other. Each person’s eyes seemed tarry black: the grains of the pupils were implausibly large, bursting with mortal, meaningful horror”; and the ill-famous Salaspils camp near Riga, where, in a patch of pine forest, all the pine trees as far as a human hand can reach were gnawed of bark by prisoners of war - and above that the bark remained on the trunks. - Our author finds the courage and ability to escape from this camp and spent over a year, before the arrival of Soviet troops, in the forest partisans, made up of escaped prisoners of war and supported from Moscow. During this time, Vorobyov took refuge in a safe city apartment for a month - and in his nervousness of not being able to keep up and under the daily danger of capture, what is called “reporting with a noose around his neck” - freed his soul from an unshared burden, wrote the story “This is us, Lord! » - the first and last in Soviet literature, about German captivity - if only our people knew, knew about this fate of a very insignificant little - five million Soviet soldiers! And what was written was buried in the ground. However Soviet liberation brought new mistrust and interrogations to former Soviet prisoners. “With what midnight attention of lizards the Smershevites looked at us when they asked questions about why we remained alive.” The Smershevites had no faith in heroic resistance. And Vorobyov, perhaps, would not have been able to escape the camp, now Soviet, if his investigation had not proceeded in direct proximity to partisan places and, therefore, dozens of witnesses. But now, at least at the end of the war, could he finally tell his compatriots what German captivity was, which no one in the Union had any idea about? He sent his story to the New World. But she was, of course, sidelined: the power of the winners did not want to know who won the Victory and at what time. The story was discarded - and with this “stab in the back with a knife,” as Vorobyov called it, he was wounded for a long time, for a long time - he no longer tried to print it until the end of his life - out of complete hopelessness. Only two of his short stories related to captivity were published much later - “A German in Felt Boots” and the novelistically polished “Ear Without Salt” - both shone with humanity. Yes, the topic remained inexhaustible: who will ever tell about the brutal struggle between prisoners for survival on the brink of death, and how much evil and baseness was revealed in this? or about exhausted processions under escort - how prisoners are driven behind a cart with corpses to bury their dead? - “This is us, Lord!” published - only 40 years later, already during “perestroika”. But it is impossible for a person who thirsts for truth to wade in the river of lies. Vorobyov read and read what was published in the press about the front, about the war, and became enraged by the talk and the name-calling. Even honest publications were distorted by concealments and half-truths. And at the beginning of public revival, in the 60s, Vorobyov wrote two straightforward stories about the battles near Moscow - “Scream” and “Killed near Moscow.” In them we will find, with all the accumulation of accidents and confusion of any battle, our complete confusion of the year 41; and this German lightness, how, with sleeves dashingly rolled up to the elbows, they flogged Red Army soldiers with excellent machine guns from the stomach; and the stupidity of unprepared commanders; and the cowardice of those political instructors who were in a hurry to unscrew the sleepers from their buttonholes and tear up their documents; and ambushes behind our backs by well-fed barrier detachments - even then, to hit our retreating ones; and yet, not everything has fit here yet - and whole generations will not know the truth about this either?? - The story “Killed near Moscow” was unsuccessfully passed through several magazines and was published at the beginning of 1963 in Novy Mir by Tvardovsky’s personal decision. And the concentration of such a truth that has been hidden for 20 years caused a frenzied attack of Soviet official criticism - as we knew how, for destruction. Vorobyov’s name was trampled underfoot for another 12 years, before his death. He lived these years with a “second knife in his back”, in a state of hopelessness. Is it the fate of Vorobyov alone? How many talented and unknown writers we lost both in the battles of that war (we only knew about losses in prominent journalistic positions) - and in the unclean, degrading environment of Soviet publishing houses. And Evgeny Nosov, six years younger, from the age of 19 was taken to anti-tank guns, always at the forefront of the infantry, under tank fire, four or five men handled a two-hundred-kilogram ton gun. And in those weeks of winter in 1945, when investigators in Lithuania were still tormenting Vorobyov, Nosov, not so far away, in East Prussia, was seriously wounded. I celebrated both the Victory months and Victory Day itself in the hospital. And he ended the four years of war with the story “Red Wine of Victory” - about hospital life, with the painful decay there of the wounded and disarmed, in the vague uncertainty of recovery or death. And then Nosov’s whole life for half a century flowed in perestroika with the quiet flow of the post-war - and never again rose to strength - Russian village. These are his usual blurry, “inaudible”, intimate stories. I discussed some of them in more detail in the “New World” last year, and I will only repeat a few here. In each of Nosov’s stories, the plot is permeated with an overwhelming mood, warm love for people, their detailed life and unabated affection for nature. The feeling is often comparable to the feeling from Chekhov’s stories: like an insignificant episode, it is affectionately highlighted, radiating from the impregnation with warmth. There are also a lot of lyrics that all ages can relate to: here is the hidden expectation of a young peasant woman; and the first love turmoil of a rural high school girl; and the loneliness of an old loser; and the excitement of a child's soul from the spring flood. Here are good-natured stories about nature - with reverence for its multiple forces and secrets, accessible only to an attentive eye, ear, smell, and touch. In Nosov's stories, peasant life is so natural, as if it had not passed through the writer's pen. Peasant meaningful understanding of every move in life, and the poetry of craft, uninvented simple folk, the very type of folk perception. And for decades Nosov held out, not allowing himself to be bent into custom-made Soviet bureaucracy. - He brought village pictures to a terrible post-Soviet state: complete collapse of the collective farm; villages overgrown with weeds are a sign of final death; even the bridges are stolen for firewood, and apple trees are burned; helpless deaths, out of reach of a doctor; The man lay down to rest in the meadow - the careless guy crushed him with a mastodon tractor, and his blind old woman, drowned in the unclimbed road mud, was almost shot by visiting townspeople-hunters and mistaken for a wild boar (“Dark Water”). Vorobyov also addressed the rural theme more than once in the 60s. His youth, lived in the countryside, gave him much to revive, and he is free and natural in rural material. About everything growing, living and popular everyday life - his words are natural and sound relaxed colloquial. A notable achievement here is the truth about the devastation of the Russian village, the story “My Friend Momich,” in which the author was able to show the early Soviet commune from the inside (all the deadness of its ritual and way of thinking - very fresh); and the closure of the church (the priest was forced to renounce his faith in front of the peasants, the destruction of the iconostasis); and - a horse thief by the chairman of the village council - the beginning of dispossession, the first convoy drives, first snatched out in pairs - with the general freezing of the village. The story is written with Vorobyov’s characteristic clarity of episodes, language, phrases and a great deal of understatement. It contains a dozen bright, very unique figures. The heroic man Maxim Evgrafovich, nicknamed Momich, is firm, economical, courageous and at the same time good-natured and sympathetic to the weak - one of the best peasant images in our literature. Once a horse thief he caught and released - now, in Budenovka, with the police, he comes to rake out all his property, acquired with his own tireless hands. Momich, however, leaves the stage, acquires a gun and hides in the forest, in the dugout - an invincible guy. And during the war, he is also among the partisans. Vorobyov was prompted to write this story by the unbearable falsehood of “Virgin Soil Upturned,” with its Shchukar farce. And he took the manuscript to the “New World”, this was already in 1965, it seems, a liberated time? No, in the most benevolent edition he heard: the story has an untenable claim to say a new word about collectivization, this is a limited view. Then it was accepted at the Moscow publishing house - but the set was ordered to be scattered. This was the third blow to the author, from which he never recovered until his difficult death. “I can’t imagine my future fate as a writer.” The story was published only in 1988. With the advent of glasnost, Nosov’s voice grew stronger. Now, but without any political heat, unusual for him, he also testified about the maddened Soviet retreat of 1941, about the arsonists of hay in stacks and unmilked bread in heaps, dousing warehouse wheat with kerosene - dooming their abandoned population to hunger. And what was unsaid before: stacks of dead Red Army soldiers in the hospital yard and dumping hundreds of them in collective farm potato pits. And, conveying the same military theme 40 years later, with bitter bitterness Nosov stirs up what still hurts today, what went to the no longer needed front-line veterans, the wounded, the sick and the poor, when ignorant youth ridicule their military orders, neglect them patient modesty, alien to their memories and dates. With this unrequited grief, Nosov closes the half-century frame of the Great War and everything that is not told about it today. Biography Bibliography Evgeny Nosov can be considered a representative of “village prose” and no less significant in the literature of the 20th century, “trench truth”. Its most important themes are military and rural. He published a lot in the magazines “Our Contemporary” and “New World”, where his best stories and novellas were published, taking their rightful place in Russian literature. On the Fishing Trail (1958) Titles, awards and bonuses Hero of Socialist Labor (1990) Film adaptations 1988. Red wine of victory. USSR Biography (V. A. Kalashnikov. Great Soviet Encyclopedia. - M.: Soviet Encyclopedia. 1969-1978.) Nosov Evgeniy Ivanovich (b. January 15, 1925, Kursk), Russian Soviet writer. Participant of the Great Patriotic War 1941–45. Published since 1947. Graduated from the Higher Literary Courses of the USSR Writers' Union (1962). In lyrical stories and novellas (collections “On the Fishing Path,” 1958; “Thirty Grains,” 1961; “Where the Sun Wakes Up,” 1965; “Rakita Tea,” 1968; “Bridge,” 1974, etc.) N. reveals the spiritual world of the modern rural worker, paints poetic pictures of Central Russian nature. A number of works reflected the impressions of the war years (the collection “Red Wine of Victory”, 1971). N.'s style is characterized by soft intonation, a subtle sense of language, and the art of expressive detail. Awarded 3 orders and medals. Works: Stories, Kursk, 1959; Shores, [Intro. Art. V. Astafieva], M., 1971; The meadow fescue is noisy. Tales and stories, M., 1973. Lit.: Rostovtseva I., The Innermost in Man, Voronezh, 1968; Chalmaev V., Temple of Aphrodite. The creative path and skill of Evgeny Nosov, M., 1972. Biography Nosov Evgeniy Ivanovich - outstanding Soviet Russian writer, prose writer, author of novels and short stories, member of the Union of Writers of the USSR. Born on January 15, 1925 in the village of Tolmachevo, Kursk district, Kursk region, in the family of a hereditary craftsman and blacksmith. The village of Tolmachevo, perched on the bank of one of the channels of the Seim, with a bell tower and a park of linden trees, is still clearly visible from Kursk from the low bank of Tuskari. There, in his grandfather’s house, in a large peasant family, Evgeniy Nosov spent his childhood. At one time, his father worked in Artemovsk on the construction of a bakery, but mainly as a mechanic at the Kursk Mechanical Plant. The future writer also remembers well the path that, as a child, he and his mother walked to the city and back. “The bread stood level with my head, with every gust of wind the ears tickled my neck and ear,” writes Evgeniy Nosov in one of his stories. In 1933, Evgeniy entered secondary school in the city of Kursk and managed to complete 8 classes before the war. As soon as the Germans occupied the city, he moved with his mother and younger sister to his grandmother in Tolmachevo. In October 1943 he was drafted into the Red Army. For a year and a half he was in forward positions in an artillery battery of tank destroyers. His military path ran through Bryansk, Mogilev, Bobruisk, Minsk, Bialystok, and Warsaw. On this path, Private Nosov knocked out a lot of enemy military equipment, was awarded the Order of the Red Star and the Order of the Patriotic War, II degree, and the medals “For Courage” and “For Victory over Germany.” In February 1945, in the battle of Koenigsberg (East Prussia), Evgeny Nosov was seriously wounded. I celebrated Victory Day in a hospital bed in the city of Serpukhov, and only in June 1945 was demobilized due to disability. The joy of meeting with family was quickly extinguished by hungry post-war life. My father, who also partially lost his ability to work due to being wounded at the front, had a hard time obtaining funds to support his family. Not knowing how to alleviate the plight of his family, Evgeny Nosov hastily passed his high school exams in one year. Soon after his future wife Valya Ulyanova, who graduated from the Soviet Trade College and was sent to work in Kazakhstan, he moved to the city of Taldy-Kurgan. There, luck smiled on him. The regional newspaper "Semirechenskaya Pravda" needed a graphic designer, and he, being able to draw well, decided on this position. A year later he got married. When obvious literary inclinations were revealed in him, the editors assigned him other responsibilities. At first, as a special correspondent, he traveled to cities and villages, then he was entrusted with leading the department of industry, transport and trade. In 1951, Evgeny Nosov returned to Kursk and began working in the editorial office of the newspaper "Young Guard", where he successively headed the departments of working youth, rural youth and Komsomol life. In 1957, he became seriously involved in literary work. To gain time for creativity, I again took up the position of graphic designer. He contributed short stories to periodicals. By the beginning of 1958, he compiled the collection “On the Fishing Path”, and the Kursk Literary Association sent it to the All-Russian Seminar in Leningrad. The leaders of the group, led by Vsevolod Rozhdestvensky, highly appreciated the experiences of the young prose writer, and after the book was published, they recommended him to the Union of Writers of the USSR. After graduating from the Higher Literary Courses (1961-1963), Evgeny Nosov switched to professional writing. At the time of creative maturity, his books “Where the Sun Wakes Up” (1965), “In an Open Field Beyond a Country Road” (1967), “Banks” (1971), “The Meadow Fescue Is Noisy” (1973), “Bridge” (1974) were published. , “And the Steamboats Sail Away” (1975), “Red Wine of Victory” (1979), “Usvyatsky Helmet Bearers” (1980), “My Chomolungma” (1982), “Selected Works” in 2 volumes (1983). Literary criticism ranked Evgeny Nosov among the countryside writers. However, in his best works, readers find not only a narrow peasant understanding of natural and everyday processes in their native land, but also a large-scale philosophical understanding of the existence of people and the Fatherland. The skill, breadth of interests and realistic experience of Evgeniy Nosov are natural, natural, rich and varied; he easily, freely and artistically paints pictures of the working village and the life of the city, factory, the army retreating in the terrible summer of 1941, the people rising to the sacred struggle. In Evgeniy Nosov's story "The Usvyat Helmet Bearers" the unexpectedness of the coming war, the heartless weight of misfortune from the fascist invasion that fell on men and women, old people and children, is vividly and powerfully described. The name “Kasyan” suddenly reveals a certain historical prophecy, a long-standing readiness and habit. This name, in a fundamental sense, seems strangely incompatible to the hero with how he understands himself. The supposed fatality contained in the name is rejected by the healthy peasant consciousness as a hidden catch. Evgeny Nosov shows that no amount of patriotic rhetoric can weaken the force of this blow. Reflecting on why the nation remembers the war for so long, he unobtrusively leads to the conclusion that the cunning and mercilessness of the enemy not only affects the mass consciousness, but shakes the human spirit to the core. All the more striking and undeniable is the epic panorama that opens at the end of the story: clouds float over the country roads, and columns of mobilized people are moving towards the assembly point: the Usvyatskys are marching, “the Nikolskys ran and the farmsteads”, the Sitnyansky men are walking, the Stavskys, and it seems there is no end to them - they have risen all of Russia, Russian people are ready to protect themselves and their loved ones. Evgeny Nosov invariably combined his literary and creative work with extensive and fruitful social activities, being a member of the board of the Union of Writers of the USSR, secretary of the board of the Union of Writers of Russia, and a member of the editorial boards of the magazines “Our Contemporary”, “Rise” and “Roman Newspapers”. For the book “The Meadow Fescue Is Noisy” he was awarded the State Prize of the RSFSR named after M. Gorky (1975). For his stories of the 90s, he was awarded the International Literary Prize named after M.A. Sholokhov (1996), and in 2001 he was awarded the A. Solzhenitsyn Prize. For outstanding achievements in development Soviet literature and fruitful social activities, Evgeny Nosov was awarded the title of Hero of Socialist Labor (1990), he was awarded two Orders of Lenin (1984, 1990), the Order of the Red Banner of Labor (1975) and the “Badge of Honor” (1971). In life, Evgeniy Ivanovich, according to the testimony of numerous admirers of his talent, is different. He can be taciturn and gloomy, looking at everyone from under his brows, when old front-line wounds make themselves felt, he can be full of affection and humor, and then all of him, a large, stocky man, glowing with kindness and a cunning mind, fills the hearts and minds of his family and friends, He can be an amazing oral storyteller, enchanting or plunging friends and listeners into laughter. He was awarded two Orders of Lenin (1984, 1990), two Orders of the Patriotic War, two Orders of the Red Banner of Labor, the Order of the Red Star, the Order of the Badge of Honor, and medals. Honorary citizen of Kursk (1982). Biography (I. Baskevich.) The outstanding Russian writer Evgeny Ivanovich Nosov was born on January 15, 1925 in the village of Tolmachevo near Kursk. His parents, workers, lived in the city where Evgeniy studied at school No. 9. He spent his holidays with his grandfather in Tolmachevo, growing up “simultaneously in two environments - the workers’ and the peasants’.” By the beginning of the war, he managed to finish the eighth grade. Barely Soviet army liberated Kursk, hurried to the military registration and enlistment office. He fought in anti-tank artillery, in the crew of a seventy-six-millimeter gun, “the most combative and dangerous in the last war” (V. Astafiev). E. Nosov participated in the crossing of the Dnieper, took Minsk, and liberated Poland. He was seriously wounded near Koenigsberg. Having not completed his treatment in the evacuation hospital (in the city of Serpukhov near Moscow), he returned to Kursk. Having stepped through the class, I graduated from the tenth grade. Then in distant Taldy-Kurgan (Kazakhstan) he worked for the newspaper “Semirecheiskaya Pravda”. It was interesting. And yet I was drawn to my homeland. Since 1951, Evgeny Nosov has been an employee of the Kursk Young Guard. His work as a journalist brought him together with a great many different people, broadened my horizons, instilled a sense of responsibility for my word. “I succeeded as a writer thanks to Ovechkin,” E. Nosov repeatedly said. Of course, this does not mean that he wrote in Ovechkin’s manner. Already from the first stories collected in the book “On the Fishing Path” (Kursk, 1959), Evgeny Nosov appeared as a deeply original artist, a magnificent stylist, and a singer of nature native land, and the center of his attention is always a person at various stages of development of the Motherland. Critics favorably greeted the young writer's books. But he felt gaps in his education, and only after completing the Higher Literary Courses of the USSR Writers' Union was he able to devote himself entirely to creative work. It was a difficult time. The administrative-command style of leadership resulted in an infringement of socialist democracy and put the ordinary Soviet person in the position of a silent “cog”. A.E. From a truly popular standpoint, Nosov glorified precisely the “ordinary” Russian people who, at the cost of their lives, destroyed the fascist invasion (“Red Wine of Victory”, “Usvyatsky Helmet Bearers”...), raised the country from ruins and ashes (“Temple of Aphrodite”, “Varka” ", "The meadow fescue is noisy", "The fifth day of the autumn exhibition"). And it hurts him that the selfless feat of the people was not properly appreciated (“And the ships sail away, and the shores remain,” “Fur Coat,” “At Dawn”). The writer exposed the bureaucratic bourgeoisie, indifferent to everything except their own well-being and career, who everywhere spread the germs of self-interest, dishonesty, and heartlessness (“Don’t have ten rubles...”, “Potrava,” “Home to take your mother”). He spoke with bitterness about the ruin and depopulation of our nurse - the village. And when it became completely unbearable, he turned to journalism (“I’ll get off at a distant station”, “With gray hair at my temples”, later - “What are we rebuilding”, “Hills, hills ...”), which evoked warm responses from readers. Despite the obstacles and obstacles of censorship, E. Nosov always wrote the truth, one truth. This is the unfading power of his stories and stories. For the book “The Meadow Fescue Is Noisy” (1975) Evgeny Nosov was awarded the State Prize of the RSFSR named after. M. Gorky. The works of the Kursk writer were published in the languages of the peoples of the USSR, in all the major and many little-known languages of the world. Films and performances have been staged based on his novels and stories. E. Nosov is the Secretary of the Board of the Union of Writers of the RSFSR, a member of the editorial boards of the magazines “Our Contemporary”, “Rise”, “Roman Newspapers”, a member of the Committee for Awarding State Prizes of the RSFSR, he is an Honorary Citizen of the city of Kursk. Evgeniy Ivanovich Nosov was awarded military awards: the Order of the Patriotic War (twice), the Order of the Red Star, medals, and for literary activity- Order of Lenin, Order of the Red Banner of Labor (twice), Order of the Badge of Honor. In March 1990, E.I. Nosov was awarded the title of Hero of Socialist Labor. LITERATURE: * CHAPCHAKHOV F. The extraordinary in the ordinary: Notes on the work of Evgeny Nosov // Literature and modernity. -1975-1976.- M., 1977.- P.294-310. In memory of Evgeny Nosov. (Boris Ageev. http://www.voskres.ru/literature/critics/ageev.htm) Russian writer Evgeny Nosov has left. It happened during the era of the World Cup, such a universal game with states exploding with delight, whose teams won the next match, only to be sadly eliminated. The attention of television football fanatics was riveted to the balls flying at rocket speeds, and all vectors of attention were directed there, to the Asian end of the mainland, where the championship took place. And here in Kursk, such a quiet event happened, unnoticed by our central media monsters, as if it was a delayed penalty. I remember a windy and sunny June day, when from the Kursk House of Officers, where the sad civil procedure of farewell to his body took place, they carried him out into the air for the last time, into the sun - under the sky, under which he had to live a difficult and not so short life. The farewell was precisely to the body, for his spirit hovered invisibly and continues to hover over the city of Kursk and over all of us who remember him, who re-read his works. The military brass band played sad music, the people who came to the funeral service said correct and sincere words, but he, he was already indifferent to them, forever detached from the hardships and conventions of the world. Then his heavy lion's head floated in a cramped and, as it seemed, short coffin for him, along Kursk Street to Red Square, and then to the city churchyard. He was indifferent to what orders and medals he would be shown to others for the last time, how strangers would see him, people who did not know him during his lifetime, who came to see him off. last way. His ill-wishers - and every great talent always has an abundance of such - probably secretly rejoiced at his departure, while admirers and connoisseurs of his gift - and I am sure the majority of them - experienced pain and grief from the departure of this excessive gift. this century person. Excessive in the power of talent and in the persistent ability that persists into old age to embody the manifestation of this talent into a “product”, into a literary work weighed in all dimensions. Nowadays, no matter what the daring destroyer literary tradition, the more intolerable is his attempt, which liberates human instincts, to set his own moral self-will as the norm. Evgeny Nosov had something else: a tough and irresistible desire to say what was and what is - with all achievable directness and utmost sincerity. And there was no place for double-mindedness, the desire to hide the truth as it was revealed to him in all its most unpredictable and unpleasant manifestations. And this is available to few artists. Kursk said goodbye to its honorary citizen with dignity: the attention of the authorities was delicate, the bureaucratic zeal was unobtrusive - everyone knew that a man of no small-town talent, an extraordinary personality, had left. But Moscow didn’t notice anything. And then I thought: what kind of indifference or hatred for Russian culture, what kind of contempt for the Russian word and spirit one must have in order not to notice - or pointedly refuse natural attention - to the death of such an artist as Evgeniy Nosov... Of course: he shunned political parties, did not publish manifestos, did not declare party affiliations anywhere, and did not ostentatiously burn his membership card - he never existed. Out of instinct, he avoided all sorts of vanity that did not affect the fundamentals of existence, that did not directly concern the life and destiny of a person. There was a time when I wrote journalism and with a warm heart asked about the impending changes: why are you, what will you bring to people, what will come after this? Like many, he was probably deceived in his expectations, but re-read his journalism now - filled with the heat of the soul and genuine anxiety, it has not yet cooled down. He was quiet and unnoticeable in political life as it should be true artist and, instinctively shunning vanity, did not allow himself to be sacrificed to the ambitions of politicians or to be raised as a banner on the barricades. Perhaps they responded to him for this with posthumous silence and vindictive indifference. It's difficult to write about him. First you need to overcome common apprehension and drown out latent arrogance and imagine: Evgeny Ivanovich would look with a keen eye at your writings, chuckle and drawl in disappointment: “Well...” However, I think, on the anniversary of his death, as if setting the countdown his new, posthumous life in literature, which also indicates the scale of our common loss, by the way, will be said as given - sincerely, without a second thought. It is also necessary to outline the tradition of apprenticeship: just as a tree bud in the spring absorbs the light of the sun and warmth, so a person writing should spend your whole life learning to take from others, and Evgeniy Nosov’s prose is capable of giving endlessly - you just need to read it. The writer of these lines did not happen to be surrounded by Evgeniy Nosov, nor was he among his, as they said then, “nukers”: he returned to his homeland after a twenty-year absence and much in Kursk was alien to him, or even a wonder. A personality of this magnitude always creates a kind of force field around himself, in which admirers and comrades, hidden envious people and simply onlookers circulate, like electrons around an atomic nucleus. And Evgeniy Ivanovich wanted to probe everyone to see what was in a person’s soul, what he breathed, and many moved away from him over time and the circle became increasingly narrower. It was felt that he was looking at me too, and gently did not let me approach him: whether age was already affecting caution or whether he felt the sufficiency of his inner circle - I don’t know. And from long-standing experience, I was convinced that one should not come closer than people allow... This distance also had a small advantage in literary respect: you could write whatever you wanted, trusting your own instincts and not falling under the draconian-exacting “censorship”, which - whether you like it or not - also produces a certain caution. But all the more freely can we now speak about a man whose legacy, accumulated over forty years of literary activity, is now mostly included in the classical composition of Russian literature. Many readers have probably noted one fact from the history of translations of Evgeniy Nosov’s works into foreign languages: among the languages that are exotic for us, Ahmara and Swahili are also listed Japanese translation. How was it that the world created by the creative imagination of a writer from the heartland of Russia, born and raised on a semi-steppe plain, far from the seas touched by the Japanese shores, was close to the Japanese? And in this regard, I remembered a novel I recently read by the modern Japanese science fiction writer Sakyo Komatsu. Based on this novel, the film “The Death of Japan” was made, which once roared through cinemas around the world. The novel was about how, as a result of a seismic disaster, the islands of the Japanese archipelago began to sink into the sea, and in the end Japan drowned. The surviving Japanese were evacuated to countries that agreed to accept the burden of the “excess” millions, and in the future the Japanese ceased to represent a single people united by a common “soil”. The myth of the drowned Atlantis has found a fantastic Japanese embodiment, and the reader is drawn to an important thought about the meaning of human civilization: why did people appear on earth, what is the essence of the endless, seemingly meaningless change of generations, what remains at the end of earthly life? The Japanese science fiction writer answers this question with his novel this way: the Japanese remains. What remains is the culture that he carries within himself, like the contents of a vessel: the vessel can be moved from place to place and even taken to the other side of the world, but its contents remain unchanged. Culture as a “system” of connection – with its Japanese “peculiarity” – of the material and spiritual worlds, as a memory of shrines, as a deeply religious sense of the world and life. Like a “matrix”, like a mark at the beginning of a gene spiral: here is something special, Japanese – from the tea ceremony and rock garden, to the habit of cooperative work based on mutual assistance. This will disappear only with the end of the life of the last Japanese, even if he is torn from his land, as from a warm mother’s breast. And in him, the Japanese, lies the meaning accumulated over the millennia of the existence of Japanese civilization. As, indeed, it is contained in a representative of any other civilization. This is what most likely attracted the attention of Japanese translators in Evgeniy Nosov’s books: what is Russian like? And re-reading the stories and tales of Evgeniy Nosov, you only become convinced that no matter what he wrote about, he was thinking about the “structure” of the soul of a Russian person. To varying degrees, this may also apply to the characters of his works - also Kasyan from “Usvyatsky Helmet Bearers”, to Kolsha from the story “The Aluminum Sun” - and to the creator of these characters himself. After all, who can confidently say that the useless pedometer with which Kolsha shocked the village children is precisely his invention, and not the idea of the author who Kolshiny depicts eccentricities with a sly smile? And where would we be without a pedometer: life is unbearably boring without it. Without it, it’s boring to walk on earth; without such a pedometer, “built in” in the imagination, it’s boring to write. Without it, will you have the audacity to put the life of a man and the life of an ant on different scales to see which one wins? Evgeny Nosov alone contains a whole world - with a Russian “specialty”, with its colors and smells, with its charm. I often heard bitter words about the sunken Russian Atlantis, about the civilization that disappeared as a result of the catastrophic “seismic event” of our history. The flat center of Russia was so deeply plowed up by the invisible faults of past eras that Russian people were reborn and acquired the features of some other, hostile to the former spirit "mentality". But through the pages of Evgeny Nosov’s prose, a different thought is read. Yes, the old life is gone, the Russian bast civilization has disappeared in its original form, but all the best of the spiritual wealth of the Russian person, everything that was chosen in the hearts of people from generations that burned out, melted in the haze of time, has not disappeared anywhere and continues to exist in the air around us and lives in us, whether we notice it or don’t pay attention to it. Perhaps this occurs due to dissociation, the physical process of penetration of a substance through foreign barriers, as happens with the smell of freshly cut lilacs, heard throughout the entire entrance - I don’t know. The current tempting rigmarole does not have any particular influence on this: outwardly, a person seems to be frozen over with a crust of ice, but his essence is alive and tries to melt from the inside into the world, which then must be ready to accept it again. The cultural “stuff” accumulated by man in Russian existence, in its breadth and vagueness, which was so often condemned, is now sufficient to serve a different, non-existent purpose. For some reason, one believes in this. Even if something fades in a Russian person and suddenly this alien “wow!” appears in him, and under the external gloss of a businessman, something pitifully borrowed, inflated by the winds and trained from all corners of the world, distorts even the accustomed appearance– its core is still healthy. He can put on a European top hat or pull down the corners of his eyes in front of the mirror to make him look more Asian, he can forget the village and his native stove, near which he once warmed himself on long winter nights, he can hide in anthill cities, but will remain Russian. And this is now forever... This idea will not be easy to accept for patriots who have privatized apocalyptic discussions about the paths of the Slavs and the fate of the Russian people. We are not directly aware of a certain historical task developed by generations that have passed into oblivion: to be Russian is a great responsibility. Not at every period of time the responsibility corresponded to the call of history. But when it corresponded, the Russians grew stronger spiritually and began to expand their field of activity. Russians are already an old nation, no matter what they say, but in comparison with even older European nations, which have faded away from daring and have mothballed their own cozy little world - Europe - Russians can and still want to dare. Perhaps, in the years of the current timelessness, God's care, which is better than man's, is providentially extending over us, but it seems that the current rulers have simply stopped recklessly harming themselves. And we must admit: the “matrix” is something that is quietly but persistently proclaimed every day from the altars of our churches as a prayer for the Fatherland - “printed” from above, and only deviations dictated by our own passions and delusions can be discussed. ...He explained the “principle” of his work something like this: just write a simple story about a simple thing. That is, Evgeny Nosov asked himself each time the task not to impose himself on the reader with a literary “brew,” but to let life tell itself about itself. But in this case we mean the simplicity of the cell, which, as is known, divides endlessly and, thus, multiplies living matter. And this simplicity is deceptive. It is also the potential basis of life; in it, the gaze of the observer does not notice something simple, but reveals a wisdom that is inaccessible to him in its entirety. Most likely, Evgeniy Ivanovich, without realizing it to himself, meant that unseductive dovelike simplicity that touched the early Christians. He determined the quality of literature not by “what”, but by “how”. And when reading the prose of Evgeniy Nosov, you first try to notice this “how”, return to the places you read earlier, look closely and “calculate” - how it was done, in a tiny way you pinch off either from the description of nature or from the outline of character. But then you catch yourself feeling that you have already given yourself over to the flow of his measured, “elegant” prose and, as if from the side of a boat on a quiet stream of a wide river, slowly, you begin to look at the coastal hummocks, bushes and clumps of trees, then your gaze penetrates into the gaps between the trees to the blue hills in the distance, and there, already in the deep sky, imbued with freshness, the gaze loses its support and goes into unspoken infinity. And with the apparent simplicity of the “presentation” of the pictures depicted in words, the internal plot begins to deepen, the images of the characters are gradually “revealed” in both social, everyday and personal dimensions, and in the end it is discovered that a person and his life are unobtrusively, but accurately explored by the author , as phenomena. No, no: such “simplicity” is not a “principle”, it is something more! Nosov is spoken of as a stylist of gold standard. But style is only a sign of a different, more capacious quality of language. We are talking about some secrets acquired over a long literary activity that young writers can no longer unravel. “The old people” – if that’s what you can call a galaxy of word artists who began writing in the middle of the century – worked on a huge “excess” of language, feeding on the river of folk speech, which preserved dozens of shades of one concept, which accumulated in its core-deep flow broad imagery and artistic comprehension the world - all the air of life. Young writers write already in conditions of hypoxia, lack of air, lack of language, its impoverishment and oblivion. But a language is a people; it cannot be “invented” again. And earlier it was clear what was meant by the expression: “Language is the people.” With the only language given only to this people, the people spoke with God. Then the scope of its application began to apparently expand, but in fact narrow: the language became secularized, branched into everyday, colloquial, special, abusive (and even criminal), literary dialects, and its first, main purpose - communication with God - was pushed into the realm church life. But the memory of him remains only with the great artists of the word, under whose pen, perhaps, and regardless of their desire, low, sinful meanings are revealed, and what the reader unmistakably feels as sacred is revealed. This is noticeable in the language, in the structure of the phrase, in the vocabulary used, even in the phonetic coloring of words. And you feel where this comes from... After all, in the prayer “Our Father”, for example, there are only two rolling, “sharp” letters “p”, the rest of the letters are connected for the sake of a prayerful whisper, for tenderness and babble. This is the ratio of “touched” and “ sharp" letters can also be found in the prose of Evgeny Nosov. And although the nature of creativity is spontaneous, pagan in nature, great importance for the “ideology” of the artist is his spiritual orientation, commitment to the cultural paternal tradition. The language, of course, is simplified and “averaged”, goes into the stage of mummification. In France or Belgium there are so few poets because everyone - from ministers to farmers - speaks the correct literary language, from which imagery has disappeared. It will become clear in which direction it is ossifying language, if you remember the weekly Kiselyov-Svanidze grease: with such a dead language you can still communicate on TV, but for prayer you need a different “style”. Having noted the measured nature of the prayerful nature of Nosov’s prose, one cannot help but mention one of its fundamental features, which can be defined as the accumulation of details. Things are described to such an exhaustion of meaning that it seems impossible to add even one word. The plot is gradually spoken out, then you notice that such speaking serves the purpose of forming a layer of existence in its unity. In fact, through the accumulation of details, the gathering of the whole occurs, what can be called the co-creation of reality by means of spiritual origin - Word and Image. Following the writer, the sequence of constructing an artistically depicted life, you feel, nevertheless, that its “components” are no less tangible than real objects: it seems that you can touch them with your hands. So you imagine Evgeny Ivanovich in the place of the mason who before how to lay a brick in place in the masonry, first he himself will feel it like a craftsman, then, holding it by the corner, he will lightly tap it with the handle of the tool so that it does not break off due to hidden overburning or underburning, carefully dip it in a bucket of water, so that the solution then he reliably wrapped the surface and filled the cracks and pores of the material, leveled the cement on the lower brick with five or six oblique movements, tightly and accurately placed the brick in place and picked up the blots of mortar squeezed out of the grooves with the corner of a trowel. And then, admiring it and wondering if it fit comfortably in a row and if it has not come within a hair's breadth of the vertical determined for it, he will trace the brick laid in the masonry with a special nozzle along the seam so that the seam is smooth, convex and pleasing to the eye. This is probably how the old masters assembled the plinths of church walls: each brick first had its individuality determined, according to this individuality a place was found for it, and this place was linked to its neighbors. However, such a “masonry” can be built on craft and skill, which, as you know, distinguishes most of the writing people. But a seam, a seam? And most importantly - cement, a mortar that adheres surfaces into a monolith, but the contact of words that are all as if they “know each other”, support, support, and together form a cast stem of the plot? Evgeny Nosov has his own special cement: if not mixed with eggs and deep clay, then with a secret that few people know about... If we consider the best that he painted, we can compare it with a painting in which the foreground, middle and distant plans are painted, the brushstroke here is thick, in full color. And there is also a frame, a work of art in itself - three-dimensional, with a shaped recess and molded edging, with trimmed corners, distinguished by its original color, tone, texture... There are many paradoxical, aphoristic writers who skillfully organize a plot, an internal, psychological plot - their works are literally snapped up for quotes. But in literature the main, “shock” technique has always been and remains the picture, artistic image human conflicts and characters. A thing well-tailored according to the plot requires a certain skill and even just craftsmanship, but picturesquely unscripted episodes become passable, impoverish, or even fail the thing. A great artist knows that it is impossible to paint a complete picture of existence if something is kept silent - everything needs to be explained to the end. But it is impossible, and will never be possible, to say about some objects: there is an unspoken prohibition on this in order to avoid mockery of the saint. And what the laughers and scoffers who have filled the void in the current spiritual space do not want to notice is that for them there are no prohibitions and they probably do not know anything sacred. In every thing he wrote, Evgeny Nosov was unique. The ability not to repeat itself seems to indicate the inexhaustibility of the artist, who is fueled by invisible and continuous radiations from somewhere out there, from outer space. Otherwise, it is impossible to explain the writer’s interest in life, his passion for the twists and turns of existence, his tirelessly intent gaze into the destinies and characters of people. It is generally accepted that the profession of a writer is public, because the final “product” of his activity is addressed to a wide range of readers. And they probably think so correctly: without a reader there is no writer, in the reader the author finds an echo of his songs, in the reader lies the understanding of the author. But the writer himself is like the creator, as a person, is not public, but hidden. back side No one will tell about this secretness, about loneliness, about our very hidden pain “we won’t tell anyone.” The writer will either remain silent, or, on the contrary, will train a verbal whiner, behind which he will hide from the intrusiveness of outside life and from the indelicacy of people. But then he shakes everything off from himself, and now - he is still interested in people and again, as a young man, he is attracted by the noise of life. This means that he is far from exhaustion, which means that the emanations continue to nourish him life-giving. How familiar this should be to an artist! I would like to say about the most amazing thing that remains after reading Nosov’s pages. Whatever Evgeniy Ivanovich writes about - something can be said for a sad reason and even for a mournful one, another for an earthly, joyful reason - his word is not closed, but is open to the search for meaning. It is concentratedly quiet and attracts you with this silence, makes you read the depth. That depth that fashionable loudmouths, caressed by the architects of “public opinion” do not have: as you know, an empty barrel rattles more - to the delight of frivolous observers. Having already mentioned the prayerful nature of Nosov’s letter, we will draw an important conclusion about the reason that gives rise to the high meanings of his prose Precision is obligatory for the master, whether it concerns the description of nature or psychological state person, the accuracy of the plot of the work or the proportionality of its parts, is read by Evgeny Nosov as Truth. The author of these lines had to read through the manuscripts of Evgeniy Nosov for editorial reasons, and an amazing thing: in the submitted manuscripts it was impossible to detect a flaw or damage - everything in the writer’s prose - whether it concerned miniatures or voluminous stories - everything, down to a single comma, was “in place” ! In another fast-written author, one small inaccuracy is adjacent to another, and these small inaccuracies gradually accumulate into one big lie. But the master’s sense of truth inexorably and fearlessly straightens the pen, when - this is how it is felt - one inaccurate word, and not just a falsely composed phrase, excites the urge to vomit, as after poisoning. Prose is purified to a state of such precision of meaning and freshness of expression, when the word begins to emit an even and hot light. You can’t lie even in a single word - this is the enormous human courage and rare calling to testify about the world and about man - which distinguished prophets and evangelists, and which not every artist is chosen to do. Nowadays it has somehow been forgotten that even for one crafty word - let alone whole volumes of lies - as for violating the commandment “Thou shalt not bear false witness” - a person will have to answer to the latter, Last Judgment! If you were tempted in a single word, you lied - you will answer! And the domestic verbal “industry” has generated and continues to generate such a wave of vanity and lies that its creators are probably tossing in their graves and sleeping poorly at night. But it's too late. And now, from modernists and postmodernists, who are in demand in times of violent change to disguise the essence of what is happening, to “politically correct” detective writers who turn literature into a marketable commodity, many, many sin. And Evgeny Nosov probably latently remembered what was possible and what was not - as each of the last honest Russian writers remembers this. And as long as the tradition of honest testimony is alive in Russian culture, we are not lost people. But what combination of atoms and molecules of matter leads to such chosenness, the vibration of what energies causes this reverent relict passion to tempt the secrets of being in order to testify is unknown... In contrast to this passion, which is unknown in its source, the prose of Evgeny Nosov in its spirit does not contain anything exalted, extreme in “loudness” of expression, breaking out of the general measured structure. A similar feeling arises when reading the works of A.S. Pushkin and his most accurately can be defined by the word norm. We can understand it both as a measure of artistic expressiveness, and as a philosophical principle underlying creativity, and what we recognize as mediation. The artist is gifted with the gift of witnessing, but he seems to have no right to bring anything personal into it , subjective, distorting. Despite the fact that we all, of course, know that apart from the personality of the artist, without his feelings, without his understanding of life and man, without the beating of blood in his veins, without his passion and heartfelt, nothing objective can be “conveyed” impossible. This is one of the mysteries of creativity; why a gift is not appropriated, but serves as a “transmitter” and amplifier of an idea expressed by Someone. Who knows: maybe this idea, “transmitted” by the artist to us sinners - in leprosy and lichens, in urticaria, in scabies and scabies, from which we cannot be spiritually healed, to us, who are in the bliss of eternal poverty - is contained in the sent normal? And what then is it? It is difficult to write about Evgeny Nosov. Because he himself was sometimes difficult, as any great personality can be difficult, he was irreconcilable, touchy, gloomy. It was also difficult because he was different. In one of his photographs, Evgeniy Ivanovich resembles a lion in profile. He has a large, masculine face with chopped folds, a cast neck securely holds a heavy head with a mane of thick, stubborn hair, frosted with gray. Under the thick lenses of massive horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes, the color of the pale blue of the Kursk sky, sometimes became cloudy with a frown. And the next day they will light up, Evgeny Ivanovich will be transformed, and there is no longer anything lion-like in his slow demeanor. Then we saw a neat Russian face, illuminated from within by thinking work. But his eyes were keen and their gaze - so it seemed to me - saw right through everyone. It is difficult to write about Evgeny Nosov for one more reason... With feelings that scratched my heart, I listened to his ardent speech beyond his age at the presentation of the Solzhenitsyn Prize, filled with expressions of gratitude that seemed excessive in tone to me, partly quoted later on television. It is known that during these times, Evgeniy Ivanovich was subject to strong suspicions from the authorities and could even have suffered after the Vermont prophet, in one of his speeches, praised the work of Evgeniy Nosov. Then “politics” was attached even to a harmless evaluative remark. And how, probably, the soul of Evgeny Nosov was pleased by the attention of a person who did not forget about him and celebrated him with his prize, created from the proceeds from the publication of his “GULAG Archipelago”, a work in its spirit that was revealing, imbued with subversive pathos and ardently turned against everything - if to understand this to the end - what the Russian writer Evgeny Nosov lived in for years, what he breathed and in what he found both meaning and beauty. But in terms of the volume of talent, the magnitude of artistic gift, Evgeny Nosov is no lower than Alexander Solzhenitsyn or Viktor Astafiev, “officially” recognized as a classic during his lifetime. It’s just that his gift is different – quiet, sincere, heartfelt. For Evgeny Nosov, this position seemed, if not humiliating, then offensive. Well, the Yevgeny Nosov Prize had not yet been established, and he could not award it for literary merits, which no one denies him, and as a sign of gratitude to the writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn - but everything turned out the other way around. There was a touch of some theatrical unreality in this, and maybe there was even a bitter smile of fate in it. Somehow I felt painfully sorry for these two “old men” with such different fates, who professed a certain innocence of vanity, and at the end of their lives, when, as the biblical Job said: “My eye goes to God,” something was so unexpected about both of them confused... In the years past great war artilleryman Evgeny Ivanovich Nosov’s shoulder and shoulder blade were torn apart by a fragment of a burst German tank blank, and his entire central structure seemed to be slightly turned in the direction of the blow around the spinal “axis.” And it seemed that the entire time left for life he had to overcome the deep pain from this annoying, twist, not planned in his youth, and write about what war is. He wrote honest, piercing lines about the war, which entered the golden treasury of Russian literature. Something continued to ache in him even after, prompting him to protect those few who have survived to this day soldier last war, to protect the memory of his comrades, those who themselves could no longer reveal anything. He also spoke about the present humiliated and insulted - without exaltation or strain, but with a stern and at the same time merciful word. He was intolerant of lies about the war, no matter who uttered them, and with this intolerance he set a certain point of reference for young writers, who, after all, also looked closely at the “old men”: which of them would stick to the “fairway” line to the end, who would not fail, not will he succumb to the craze of exposing the past and even “denigrating” it? And few survived. And among those who survived is Evgeny Nosov. In this regard, he was often compared with another Russian writer, his longtime friend, Viktor Astafiev. And they compared, and compared, and even found some kind of dual unity. It turned out to be unmerged. Viktor Astafiev, the author of the unsurpassed “Last Bow”, “The Fish King” and “The Shepherd and the Shepherdess”, works marked with the stamp of a major artistic gift, wrote “Cursed and Killed”, a novel about the war, which Evgeny Nosov in his now published letter to Valentina Goland called it “terrible, unscrupulous.” “Vitka,” as he called Viktor Petrovich friendly and out of his eyes, had fallen hopelessly in his eyes. Which of Evgeniy Nosov’s guests lately does not remember the thick general notebook in which he wrote down all the damage to Astafiev’s novel with its corrosive criticism? And at every meeting with him, all he had to talk about was “Vitka”, about his unforgivable mistakes and outright distortions, whether it concerned errors in the descriptions of artillery guns or the scenes he created. front-line life. And he felt something personal here - as if he had been offended. In his faded eyes, which seemed huge because of the strong spectacle lenses, something defenselessly childish appeared and it became uncomfortable to listen to his words addressed to a distant Krasnoyarsk friend with a reproach dictated by a feeling of deceived friendship, which he apparently valued very much and why not could forgive her betrayals: why is he being disingenuous? Did you want to get even with the authorities? With the same one from whom I received everything, except, perhaps, the complete collected works? “Because of the mill”, which was taken away from his grandfather when the Bolsheviks came to power?.. It turns out – “because of some kind of mill”! We have to remember this not out of a desire to throw a stone at the deceased man who was our friend Evgeniy Ivanovich, but again out of a feeling of betrayed trust that young writers felt in the “old men.” Viktor Astafiev, irritated by the foundations of his former life, began to overthrow them, like idols, with ambiguity, which he belatedly and with some kind of soul-crushing recklessness put on the pages of his latest works. By exposing the past, you also expose your fathers. But why reprove: because the fathers ate sour things, and now the sons have their teeth set on edge? This is not Christian, not Russian somehow. It was believed that the “old people” would sing their pure note to the end and would not compromise the truth about a person... It turned out that not everyone was granted a saving tenacity to the main line of life. Some strict materialists are even offended by the mention of the word “spirituality” - and Evgeniy Nosov himself tried to avoid it: each of us puts meanings into this word that are very easy to “refute”, since they imply the immaterial. But you notice one more feature when reading the prose of Evgeny Nosov: he is not interested in natural functions. It is impossible to imagine that he would undertake to describe any kind of diarrhea or sexual itching. But the same thing happens to a person, and others devote entire novels to this. Evgeniy Nosov left this as not worthy of description and artistic attention, because it is “worthy”. And “worthy” suddenly turns out to be this very “spiritual”. Because it is imbued with love for existence. Some extraordinary lightness appears before the reader’s mind’s eye, immersed in the world of the heroes of his story “The Meadow Fescue Is Noisy,” or the story “Who Are They?..” created with a light, free breath. Gratitude for the writer, who spoke in such a clear voice about the enduring sweetness of life - but with all its fiercely lumpy manifestations and painful moments, inspired either by war or human disorder, does not cool down. Gratitude for the fact that, it turns out, you can so keenly feel the charm and fullness of being given to you, and that in the world, it turns out, there is so much to love: life, nature, women, children, comrades... Evgeniy Nosov awakens this fading over the years the need for love with its insatiable shades and penumbras, and with the awareness that the world and life are not worthy of curses, but of tender gratitude for the fact that they whispered their sweet dreams to a person and filled his centuries with high meaning. The spirit is in love. Silent flesh only multiplies, and only the spirit gives life. And grants sight, voice, and free speech... Biography Hero of Socialist Labor, laureate of the State Prize and the International Prize named after M.A. Sholokhov. Born on January 15, 1925 in the village of Tolmachevo, Kursk district, Kursk region. Wife - Ulyanova Valentina Rodionovna (born 1924). Son - Evgeniy Evgenievich Nosov (born 1948), designer. Daughter - Nosova Irina Evgenievna (born 1954), design engineer. The village of Tolmachevo, perched on the bank of one of the channels of the Seim, with a bell tower and a park of linden trees, is still clearly visible from Kursk from the low bank of Tuskari. There, in his grandfather’s house, in a large peasant family, Evgeniy Nosov spent his childhood. At one time, his father worked in Artemovsk on the construction of a bakery, but mainly as a mechanic at the Kursk Mechanical Plant. The future writer also remembers well the path that, as a child, he and his mother walked to the city and back. “The bread stood level with my head, with every gust of wind the ears tickled my neck and ear,” writes Evgeniy Nosov in one of his stories. In 1933, Evgeniy entered secondary school in the city of Kursk and managed to complete 8 classes before the war. As soon as the Germans occupied the city, he moved with his mother and younger sister to his grandmother in Tolmachevo. In October 1943 he was drafted into the Red Army. For a year and a half he was in forward positions in an artillery battery of tank destroyers. His military path ran through Bryansk, Mogilev, Bobruisk, Minsk, Bialystok, and Warsaw. On this path, Private Nosov knocked out a lot of enemy military equipment, was awarded the Order of the Red Star and the Order of the Patriotic War, II degree, and the medals “For Courage” and “For Victory over Germany.” In February 1945, in the battle of Koenigsberg (East Prussia), Evgeny Nosov was seriously wounded. I celebrated Victory Day in a hospital bed in the city of Serpukhov, and only in June 1945 was demobilized due to disability. The joy of meeting with family was quickly extinguished by hungry post-war life. My father, who also partially lost his ability to work due to being wounded at the front, had a hard time obtaining funds to support his family. Not knowing how to alleviate the plight of his family, Evgeny Nosov hastily passed his high school exams in one year. Soon after his future wife Valya Ulyanova, who graduated from the Soviet Trade College and was sent to work in Kazakhstan, he moved to the city of Taldy-Kurgan. There, luck smiled on him. The regional newspaper "Semirechenskaya Pravda" needed a graphic designer, and he, being able to draw well, decided on this position. A year later he got married. When obvious literary inclinations were revealed in him, the editors assigned him other responsibilities. At first, as a special correspondent, he traveled to cities and villages, then he was entrusted with leading the department of industry, transport and trade. In 1951, Evgeny Nosov returned to Kursk and began working in the editorial office of the newspaper "Young Guard", where he successively headed the departments of working youth, rural youth and Komsomol life. In 1957, he became seriously involved in literary work. To gain time for creativity, I again took up the position of graphic designer. He contributed short stories to periodicals. By the beginning of 1958, he compiled the collection “On the Fishing Path”, and the Kursk Literary Association sent it to the All-Russian Seminar in Leningrad. The leaders of the group, led by Vsevolod Rozhdestvensky, highly appreciated the experiences of the young prose writer, and after the book was published, they recommended him to the Union of Writers of the USSR. After graduating from the Higher Literary Courses (1961-1963), Evgeny Nosov switched to professional writing. At the time of creative maturity, his books “Where the Sun Wakes Up” (1965), “In an Open Field Beyond a Country Road” (1967), “Banks” (1971), “The Meadow Fescue Is Noisy” (1973), “Bridge” (1974) were published. , “And the Steamboats Sail Away” (1975), “Red Wine of Victory” (1979), “Usvyatsky Helmet Bearers” (1980), “My Chomolungma” (1982), “Selected Works” in 2 volumes (1983). Literary criticism ranked Evgeny Nosov among the countryside writers. However, in his best works, readers find not only a narrow peasant understanding of natural and everyday processes in their native land, but also a large-scale philosophical understanding of the existence of people and the Fatherland. The skill, breadth of interests and realistic experience of Evgeniy Nosov are natural, natural, rich and varied; he easily, freely and artistically paints pictures of the working village and the life of the city, factory, the army retreating in the terrible summer of 1941, the people rising to the sacred struggle. In Evgeniy Nosov's story "The Usvyat Helmet Bearers" the unexpectedness of the coming war, the heartless weight of misfortune from the fascist invasion that fell on men and women, old people and children, is vividly and powerfully described. The name “Kasyan” suddenly reveals a certain historical prophecy, a long-standing readiness and habit. This name, in a fundamental sense, seems strangely incompatible to the hero with how he understands himself. The supposed fatality contained in the name is rejected by the healthy peasant consciousness as a hidden catch. Evgeny Nosov shows that no amount of patriotic rhetoric can weaken the force of this blow. Reflecting on why the nation remembers the war for so long, he unobtrusively leads to the conclusion that the cunning and mercilessness of the enemy not only affects the mass consciousness, but shakes the human spirit to the core. All the more striking and undeniable is the epic panorama that opens at the end of the story: clouds float over the country roads, and columns of mobilized people are moving towards the assembly point: the Usvyatskys are marching, “the Nikolskys ran and the farmsteads”, the Sitnyansky men are walking, the Stavskys, and it seems there is no end to them - they have risen all of Russia, Russian people are ready to protect themselves and their loved ones. Evgeny Nosov invariably combined his literary and creative work with extensive and fruitful social activities, being a member of the board of the Union of Writers of the USSR, secretary of the board of the Union of Writers of Russia, and a member of the editorial boards of the magazines “Our Contemporary”, “Rise” and “Roman Newspapers”. For the book “The Meadow Fescue Is Noisy” he was awarded the State Prize of the RSFSR named after M. Gorky (1975). For his stories of the 90s, he was awarded the International Literary Prize named after M.A. Sholokhov (1996), and in 2001 he was awarded the A. Solzhenitsyn Prize. For outstanding services in the development of Soviet literature and fruitful social activities, Evgeny Nosov was awarded the title of Hero of Socialist Labor (1990), he was awarded two Orders of Lenin (1984, 1990), the Order of the Red Banner of Labor (1975) and the "Badge of Honor" (1971). In life, Evgeniy Ivanovich, according to the testimony of numerous admirers of his talent, is different. He can be taciturn and gloomy, looking at everyone from under his brows, when old front-line wounds make themselves felt, he can be full of affection and humor, and then all of him, a large, stocky man, glowing with kindness and a cunning mind, fills the hearts and minds of his family and friends, He can be an amazing oral storyteller, enchanting or plunging friends and listeners into laughter. Biography (http://art.thelib.ru/culture/people/nosov_evgeniy_ivanovich.html) Wife - Ulyanova Valentina Rodionovna (born 1924). Son - Evgeniy Evgenievich Nosov (born 1948), designer. Daughter - Nosova Irina Evgenievna (born 1954), design engineer. Evgeny Nosov was born into the family of a hereditary craftsman and blacksmith. The village of Tolmachevo, perched on the bank of one of the channels of the Seim, with a bell tower and a park of linden trees, is still clearly visible from Kursk from the low bank of Tuskari. There, in his grandfather’s house, in a large peasant family, Evgeniy Nosov spent his childhood. At one time, his father worked in Artemovsk on the construction of a bakery, but mainly as a mechanic at the Kursk Mechanical Plant. The future writer also remembers well the path that, as a child, he and his mother walked to the city and back. “The bread stood level with my head, with every gust of wind the ears tickled my neck and ear,” writes Evgeniy Nosov in one of his stories. In 1933, Evgeniy entered secondary school in the city of Kursk and managed to complete 8 classes before the war. As soon as the Germans occupied the city, he moved with his mother and younger sister to his grandmother in Tolmachevo. In October 1943 he was drafted into the Red Army. For a year and a half he was in forward positions in an artillery battery of tank destroyers. His military path ran through Bryansk, Mogilev, Bobruisk, Minsk, Bialystok, and Warsaw. On this path, Private Nosov knocked out a lot of enemy military equipment, was awarded the Order of the Red Star and the Order of the Patriotic War, II degree, and the medals “For Courage” and “For Victory over Germany.” In February 1945, in the battle of Koenigsberg (East Prussia), Evgeny Nosov was seriously wounded. I celebrated Victory Day in a hospital bed in the city of Serpukhov, and only in June 1945 was demobilized due to disability. The joy of meeting with family was quickly extinguished by hungry post-war life. My father, who also partially lost his ability to work due to being wounded at the front, had a hard time obtaining funds to support his family. Not knowing how to alleviate the plight of his family, Evgeny Nosov hastily passed his high school exams in one year. Soon after his future wife Valya Ulyanova, who graduated from the Soviet Trade College and was sent to work in Kazakhstan, he moved to the city of Taldy-Kurgan. There, luck smiled on him. The regional newspaper "Semirechenskaya Pravda" needed a graphic designer, and he, being able to draw well, decided on this position. A year later he got married. When obvious literary inclinations were revealed in him, the editors assigned him other responsibilities. At first, as a special correspondent, he traveled to cities and villages, then he was entrusted with leading the department of industry, transport and trade. In 1951, Evgeny Nosov returned to Kursk and began working in the editorial office of the newspaper "Young Guard", where he successively headed the departments of working youth, rural youth and Komsomol life. In 1957, he became seriously involved in literary work. To gain time for creativity, I again took up the position of graphic designer. He contributed short stories to periodicals. By the beginning of 1958, he compiled the collection “On the Fishing Path”, and the Kursk Literary Association sent it to the All-Russian Seminar in Leningrad. The leaders of the group, led by Vsevolod Rozhdestvensky, highly appreciated the experiences of the young prose writer, and after the book was published, they recommended him to the Union of Writers of the USSR. After graduating from the Higher Literary Courses (1961-1963), Evgeny Nosov switched to professional writing. At the time of creative maturity, his books “Where the Sun Wakes Up” (1965), “In an Open Field Beyond a Country Road” (1967), “Banks” (1971), “The Meadow Fescue Is Noisy” (1973), “Bridge” (1974) were published. , “And the Steamboats Sail Away” (1975), “Red Wine of Victory” (1979), “Usvyatsky Helmet Bearers” (1980), “My Chomolungma” (1982), “Selected Works” in 2 volumes (1983). Literary criticism ranked Evgeny Nosov among the countryside writers. However, in his best works, readers find not only a narrow peasant understanding of natural and everyday processes in their native land, but also a large-scale philosophical understanding of the existence of people and the Fatherland. The skill, breadth of interests and realistic experience of Evgeniy Nosov are natural, natural, rich and varied; he easily, freely and artistically paints pictures of the working village and the life of the city, factory, the army retreating in the terrible summer of 1941, the people rising to the sacred struggle. In Evgeniy Nosov's story "The Usvyat Helmet Bearers" the unexpectedness of the coming war, the heartless weight of misfortune from the fascist invasion that fell on men and women, old people and children, is vividly and powerfully described. The name “Kasyan” suddenly reveals a certain historical prophecy, a long-standing readiness and habit. This name, in a fundamental sense, seems strangely incompatible to the hero with how he understands himself. The supposed fatality contained in the name is rejected by the healthy peasant consciousness as a hidden catch. Evgeny Nosov shows that no amount of patriotic rhetoric can weaken the force of this blow. Reflecting on why the nation remembers the war for so long, he unobtrusively leads to the conclusion that the cunning and mercilessness of the enemy not only affects the mass consciousness, but shakes the human spirit to the core. All the more striking and undeniable is the epic panorama that opens at the end of the story: clouds float over the country roads, and columns of mobilized people are moving towards the assembly point: the Usvyatskys are marching, “the Nikolskys ran and the farmsteads”, the Sitnyansky men are walking, the Stavskys, and it seems there is no end to them - they have risen all of Russia, Russian people are ready to protect themselves and their loved ones. Evgeny Nosov invariably combined his literary and creative work with extensive and fruitful social activities, being a member of the board of the Union of Writers of the USSR, secretary of the board of the Union of Writers of Russia, and a member of the editorial boards of the magazines “Our Contemporary”, “Rise” and “Roman Newspapers”. For the book “The Meadow Fescue Is Noisy” he was awarded the State Prize of the RSFSR named after M. Gorky (1975). For his stories of the 90s, he was awarded the International Literary Prize named after M.A. Sholokhov (1996), and in 2001 he was awarded the A. Solzhenitsyn Prize. For outstanding services in the development of Soviet literature and fruitful social activities, Evgeny Nosov was awarded the title of Hero of Socialist Labor (1990), he was awarded two Orders of Lenin (1984, 1990), the Order of the Red Banner of Labor (1975) and the "Badge of Honor" (1971). In life, Evgeniy Ivanovich, according to the testimony of numerous admirers of his talent, is different. He can be taciturn and gloomy, looking at everyone from under his brows, when old front-line wounds make themselves felt, he can be full of affection and humor, and then all of him, a large, stocky man, glowing with kindness and a cunning mind, fills the hearts and minds of his family and friends, He can be an amazing oral storyteller, enchanting or plunging friends and listeners into laughter. Was seen in frosty days for posting calls for people to feed the birds. He asked me to write on the grave: “Feed the birds.” He was buried in Kursk in 2002. Creation Evgeny Nosov can be considered a representative of “village prose” and no less significant in the literature of the 20th century, “trench truth”. Its most important themes are military and rural. In 1957 - the first publication: the story “Rainbow” was published in the Kursk almanac. In 1958, his first book of short stories and stories, “On the Fishing Path,” was published. In 1961 he returned to Kursk and became a professional writer. In 1962 he began studying at the Higher Literary Courses in Moscow. He published a lot in the magazines “Our Contemporary” and “New World”, where his best stories and novellas were published, taking their rightful place in Russian literature. The story “Usvyat Helmet Bearers” (1980) was a great success; in 1986, a collection of his stories and short stories was published under this title; in the same year - a book of essays “I’ll get off at a distant station”; in 1989 - a book of stories for primary schoolchildren “Where the Sun Wakes Up”; in 1990 - novels and short stories “In the Open Field”; in 1992 - a book of stories for senior schoolchildren, “Red Wine of Victory.” Nosov’s narration and all descriptions are distinguished by their balance. His works are dedicated mainly to the people of the modern Central Russian village; From time to time he includes episodes from the Second World War into the fabric of the narrative. The heroes of Nosov's novels and stories are people from the people, closely connected with nature. Nosov describes everyday events in which human destinies are outlined; He is best at developing character gradually or revealing it in the course of events, unobtrusively, step by step. Essays On the Fishing Trail (1958) Movies * Based on the story “The Usvyat Helmet Bearers” the film “Spring” was made (directed by A. Sirenko) Titles and awards Hero of Socialist Labor (1990). War stories by Evgeny Nosov Unlike the story “Chopin, Sonata Number Two,” written, so to speak, in the wake of the war about those who returned from it and those who are to continue life, the story “Usvyatsky Helmet Bearers” (1977) is dedicated to the main character of the great battle , who could not help but win, had to win and won. In an outwardly calm narrative tone, he talks about ten days in the life of the peasants of the village of Usvyaty. About ten days that reflect their transition from peaceful labor to selfless feats of arms in the name of their homeland.” “In winter, they replaced the infantry unit on the bridgehead on the other side of the Dnieper. Thinned out, exhausted by heavy fire, she was quietly taken back across the river. And Uncle Sasha, who then commanded the company, saw a dead soldier through binoculars in front of the occupied positions. He hung face down on the German barbed wire, his blue, shorn head drooping. Bare, withered arms protruded from the sleeves of his overcoat almost to the elbows. It seemed that with these outstretched arms he asked the earth to accept him, unpleasant, to hide him from bullets and shrapnel, which continued to pierce and shred his body. But the wire apparently grabbed the soldier tightly and did not let him go to the ground. Over the winter, a hump of snow grew on it, ridiculous, ugly. It was, apparently, our sapper or maybe a scout. He, Lieutenant Sasha Polosukhin, twice sent his men at night to remove the dead man. But the corpse was shot by the Germans, and only two more people were lost in vain. He no longer sent for the dead man. So the soldier hung there until spring, and everyone was painful and ashamed to look in that direction. And in April the corpse thawed, the spine could not stand it, it broke, and the dead man hung on the wire, folded in half... Only in June was the enemy’s defense broken through. He, Polosukhin, led the company through the passages made in the wire fence and suddenly saw with a shudder that the gate at the hanging overcoat was empty and the wind was swinging the empty sleeves ... " In the image of Evgeny Nosov, war is blood, suffering, death, it is often the death of people whose names the military clerks do not have time to write down. He created a requiem for them in the story “Chopin, Sonata Number Two”. In my opinion, he wrote the most terrible page in the literature about war - this one: The work revealed a new aspect of the writer's talent - his ability, while maintaining all previous merits, to rise to the creation of epic paintings, depicting the people in the unity of their diverse characters. Russia in its historical and geographical steadfastness. Perhaps he was one of Pelageya’s two brothers, who also died in obscurity. Only her mother hopes for a miracle. It is for her that Polosukhin performs part three of Chopin's sonata number two, filling the room first with inconsolable sobbing, and then with slowly fading, fading sadness. With an amazing wealth of details, Evgeniy Nosov traces how, in the first ten days of the war, we cannot stop, the process of Kasyan and others like him from a peaceful mood, peaceful concerns takes place, how he truly realizes what his home, wife, children, mother, neighbors are. , village, region. “We meet the heroes of Russian literature about the past war,” stated N. Podzorova, “in the trenches, in tank attacks, in daring reconnaissance forays, in partisan detachments. Nosov's story is addressed to the prehistory of their military life, to the very starting point from which one thousand four hundred and eighteen days of the heroic and tragic chronology of the Great Patriotic War began. This is a new aspect of the theme of war in literature, giving it a retrospective and artistically subtly exploring the genealogy of Russian heroism, its root system.” Kasyan, Nikola Zyablov, Lekha Makhotin, Afonya the blacksmith begin to think more broadly and deeply, which is helped by grandfather Seli-van, a former honored warrior, Knight of St. George, with his stories about the past. His vivid speeches, replete with countless proverbs, sayings and other aphorisms, none of which are superfluous, compress the experience of generations. As in all his work, in his war stories Evgeny Nosov is also original and unexpected. An artilleryman who went through the entire war, he wrote about it in his own way, in a way that others did not write. There are no battle scenes in his stories, no description of protracted or fleeting battles. But how difficult it becomes for us to breathe as soon as we, together with the author, find ourselves in a hospital near Moscow (“Red Wine of Victory”) next to the dying transporter Kopeikin, we come to life for a minute when he recognizes his native estate in the drawing held out to him and whispers: “Add a house... my home is here... In the village...” - and then... all our lives we remember the “indifferent, idle whiteness” of the pillow that became a draw. The abundance of historical reminiscences, analogies, allusions, folklore variations associated with them creates a second, symbolic plan in the story, as Georgy Gyrdev correctly wrote: “The literary version of the folklore motif appears to be the scene of separation from the family and Natasha’s decision to name her future son Kasyan after his father, so that the line of helmet-bearers - defenders of the Motherland - does not end. Symbolic meaning takes a farewell swim in his native river Ostomle. Before the first fight, men seem to perform a sacred rite of ablution. The author managed to give many other episodes and scenes additional semantic load and thereby create a second, symbolic plane in the ideological and figurative system of the work, revealing the deep spiritual connection of contemporaries with their ancestors...” Integrity, completeness and extreme laconicism did not change Evgeny Nosov this time either. The writer does not accept war. But he has a veteran of the war who came to the opening of the obelisk, grandfather Vasily, says: “But still, my brothers, to die as a soldier in battle with the enemy holy cause, whatever you say! Of all deaths, death! Well, what am I? Well, I’ll smoke the light for a little while, three or four years, and then I’ll die on the stove. They will demolish it outside the village and bury it. And all this is short-lived. Because he died of old age. But if I had died there as a soldier, that would have been such a death! Look, they would erect a monument to me.” “The old woman finally stood up and, pushing aside Pelageya with her hand, who rushed to support her, hobbled alone, shuffling in her hemmed felt boots. “Well, that’s okay...” she said. “We played well... So we saw our people off.” Thank you". The ending also removes the apparent misunderstanding between generations, which Professor John Dunlop did not notice. Without finishing the story, he interpreted it as a depiction of the gap between generations in modern Soviet society. Biography (Essay on the topic Evgeny Ivanovich Nosov) His homeland is the village of Tolmachevo, not far from Kursk. Father is a worker. Nosov graduated from eight classes of school, then fought, was wounded, and was awarded orders and medals. After the war he worked for a newspaper as a graphic designer and correspondent. Having been accepted into the Writers' Union, he graduated from the Higher Literary Courses. His first book, “On the Fishing Path” (1959), was dedicated to the nature of his native Kursk region - “the border outskirts of Russia.” The beloved Kursk region will be present in most of his works, although the writer will then pay tribute to other Russian lands - for example, the North (primarily this concerns one of his most famous stories, “And the ships sail away, and the shores remain,” 1970). Both in the first and subsequent collections, Nosov’s stories, despite the sometimes noticeable touch of newspaper sketches, demonstrated a special artistic expressiveness of style. As the critic V. Vasilyev noted, “... his early passions for drawing, hunting, fishing and collecting herbs... developed to extraordinary acuteness... the ability to plastically perceive nature in all the diversity of its colors, sounds, smells and changeable states " The images of people, especially children and teenagers, both peasant and urban, were also memorable - they appear as such in stories with autobiographical elements (early 1960s) - “The Bridge” and “The House Behind the Arc de Triomphe”, in “ When the sun wakes up”, “Podpaske”, “Rainbow”, “Screw”... Nosov, a descendant of both worker and peasant families, who in his childhood, in particular, lived in pre-war Kursk, does not have the notorious opposition between the “righteous” village and the “wrong” city (although some critics are known to try to accuse him of such an approach). At the same time, he is concerned about the problem of a person who, of his own free will or by force of circumstances, leaves the village for the sake of the city, when as a result, according to the poet’s famous formulation, “the city did not come out of us, and the village was lost forever.” .. (they) will be just... substandard human material... There is nothing to hide, and the city itself still has a lot of its own filth. But even this spontaneous influx of thousands of people maintains and fuels a favorable environment for swindling, hack work, bribery, speculation, shrinkage, weight loss, the temptation not to tighten a screw with a screwdriver, but to hammer it with a hammer...” - and so on. Back in 1963, Nosov wrote the story “My Chomolungma”, dedicated to the escheated life of one old house, inhabited by a motley public, who at one time broke away from their roots; two years later - the short story “The Outrider”, the hero of which, having managed to leave the impoverished post-war village and got a job as a rounder at the reserve, at first demonstrates flattery and servility to his new superiors, and then, gradually, having consolidated his position, he himself becomes a kind of king, which both the scientific staff and all the surrounding villages are afraid of... People who remain in their native places, who cannot imagine another life for themselves, no matter how hard it is for them, are described by Nosov with the warmest feelings: “Temple of Aphrodite” (1967), “The meadow fescue rustles” (1966), “On Saturday afternoon rainy...” (1968) and many other works. The military theme is present in Nosov’s works in a special way: there is practically no front, no military action, that is, war as such. But its anticipation, moral preparation for the upcoming trials are fully shown (the story “Usvyatsky Helmet Bearers”, 1977), the way the war leaves an imprint on the souls of wounded soldiers who greet the news of its end in the hospital (the story “Red Wine of Victory”, 1969 ), finally, the memory of the villagers who died in the war (the story “Chopin, sonata number two”, 1973). The hero of the story is an ordinary collective farm groom named Kasyan, whose “universe, where he lived and never experienced crowding and boredom, was almost described by a horizon with half a dozen villages in this circle.” He, like most of the other men from the village of Usvyaty, who received summons to the front and were going to join the people's militia, almost never left their small homeland throughout his entire life. But this life, nevertheless, cannot be called poor in impressions and events - for it is filled with the inexhaustible meaning of work on earth. This, in general, according to Nosov, is a real man from the earth: he is, first of all, a Plowman, and only becomes a Warrior forcedly, by the will of evil circumstances... In terms of genre, Nosov’s work is not particularly diverse; it seems that he is not at all cramped within the framework of the story and the story. Thick, multi-colored language and lyricism of worldview give him the opportunity to continue and develop the traditions of Turgenev, Bunin, and other Russian classics. Biography (en.wikipedia.org) Evgeny Nosov was born on January 15, 1925 in the family of a hereditary craftsman and blacksmith. As a sixteen-year-old boy, he survived the fascist occupation. He graduated from the eighth grade and after the Battle of Kursk (July 5 - August 23, 1943) he went to the front in the artillery troops, becoming a gunner. Participated in Operation Bagration, in the battles on the Rogachev bridgehead beyond the Dnieper. Fought in Poland. In the battles near Koenigsberg on February 8, 1945, he was seriously wounded and celebrated Victory Day in a hospital in Serpukhov, about which he later wrote the story “Red Wine of Victory.” After leaving the hospital, he received disability benefits. After the war he graduated from high school. He went to Kazakhstan, Central Asia, worked as an artist, designer, and literary collaborator. I started writing prose. In the 1980s was a member of the editorial board of the Roman-Gazeta magazine. Has been seen on frosty days posting calls for people to feed the birds. He asked me to write on the grave: “Feed the birds.” E.I. Nosov died on June 13, 2002. Buried in Kursk. Creation Evgeny Nosov can be considered a representative of “village prose” and no less significant in the literature of the 20th century, “trench truth”. Its most important themes are military and rural. In 1957 - the first publication: the story “Rainbow” was published in the Kursk almanac. In 1958, his first book of short stories and stories, “On the Fishing Path,” was published. In 1961 he returned to Kursk and became a professional writer. In 1962 he began studying at the Higher Literary Courses in Moscow. He published a lot in the magazines “Our Contemporary” and “New World”, where his best stories and novellas were published, taking their rightful place in Russian literature. The story “Usvyat Helmet Bearers” (1980) was a great success; in 1986, a collection of his stories and short stories was published under this title; in the same year - a book of essays “I’ll get off at a distant station”; in 1989 - a book of stories for primary schoolchildren “Where the Sun Wakes Up”; in 1990 - novels and short stories “In the Open Field”; in 1992 - a book of stories for senior schoolchildren, “Red Wine of Victory.” Nosov’s narration and all descriptions are distinguished by their balance. His works are dedicated mainly to the people of the modern Central Russian village; From time to time he includes episodes from the Second World War into the fabric of the narrative. The heroes of Nosov's novels and stories are people from the people, closely connected with nature. Nosov describes everyday events in which human destinies are outlined; He is best at developing character gradually or revealing it in the course of events, unobtrusively, step by step. Essays * On the Fishing Trail (1958) Movies * Red wine of victory, delivered in 1988. Prizes and awards * Hero of Socialist Labor (1990) Notes 1. Shevarov D. Edge of bread // Russian newspaper. - 2008. - May 29. - No. 115. - P. 25. Literature * Shevarov D. The Edge of Bread // Rossiyskaya Gazeta. - 2008. - May 29. - No. 115. - P. 25. Nosov Evgeniy Ivanovich
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