Editors’ Postscript
281
The differing conceptions just mentioned suggest that literary historians need
to think about this term and try to agree on its meaning so as to avoid misun
derstandings. This problem is most obvious, perhaps, in the survey by Sergei
Zavialov, who chose his authors strictly by age, conceding the arbitrariness of
such an approach and the fact that it would inevitably produce an incomplete
picture. What remains outside his picture are, first, those works that could not
appear in print because of the censorship and so became literary facts at the
end of the 80s and beginning of the 90s when they were read for the first time,
i.e., at the same time as other works that were then being written or published.
Second, there are no precise boundaries between generations, and after the end
of censorship poets whom the reader had known earlier (and sometimes much
earlier, such as Lipkin, Chukhontsev, Lisnianskaia, Morits, Rein, Sokolov, Kushn
er, etc.) continued to write and publish. And third, the narrow focus of the
critic did not take in those poets who began publishing in Russia right at the
end of the 1980s—e.g., Gandlevsky, Kibirov, Strochkov, to say nothing of the
emigres. In narrowing his range the critic has become hostage to his own selec
tion of poets. Much of what he cites relates to the genre that Adamovich once
called “the human document” (as distinct from an aesthetic phenomenon). One
can see what the authors referred to are writing but cannot see how they are
doing it. In other words, the conversation is limited to ethics (the condition of
writing without censorship, sometimes understood as the absence of censorship),
but he does not enter into poetics.
Of course, such a view is entirely legitimate, even if only because it leads one
to look quite differently at what is going on.
It’s interesting to note that something very similar was occurring a century
earlier. Critics were not prepared to examine what was happening here and
now, and so poets took on the job: had it not been for Briusov, Gumilev, Bely,
Khodasevich, Voloshin and Vyach. Ivanov our present picture of the poetry of
the Silver Age would likely be far less clear than it is. That came to mind thanks
to Chuprinin’s passing remark about poets and prose writers who indulge them
selves in writing criticism. Most often such “indulgence” comes not from the
good life but because these writers were dissatisfied by the critics’ understand)
ing of the literature that they, the writers, were creating. And so they were
compelled to eliminate the middleman, so to say. Writer’s criticism is, perhaps,
a much stronger presence within the Russian tradition than in any other Euro
pean literature. Indeed, the “journalistic principle” of Russian literature stems
mainly from writereditors like Karamzin, Pushkin, Nekrasov, Shchedrin, and
later, from Briusov, Gorky, Averchenko, etc. Toward the end of the Soviet period
and immediately thereafter it was mainly critics who edited journals: in this
regard Novy mir, Znamia, Zvezda, etc. followed the example of Inostrannaia
literatura, Literaturnaia ucheba, as well as journals like Voprosy literary and
Literaturnoe obozrenie that were essentially devoted to criticism. It’s also sig