Many writers write one book their whole life, most of them work that way, however, Vladimir Sorokin says that every time he likes to take off his old literary skin and put on a new one. He has been reinventing his literature and what can be written in Russian literature for decades. As he says, everyone who embarks on the adventure of writing in Russian literature has bearded classics from which, willy-nilly, he borrows. But you need to be able to do that, use their tools, and not look at them idolatrously. Sorokin has been able to do that for a long time. Over the past 40 years, Vladimir Sorokin's work has broken almost every imaginable political, social and literary taboo in Russia.
Very early on he started to deal with writing, graphics, painting and conceptual art under the influence of the Russian underground of the eighties (he illustrated more than fifty books). Sorokin's literary debut (poetry) dates back to 1972, after which, although he wrote intensively, he published almost nothing for a decade. In 1985, in the Parisian magazine A-Ja, he published a selection of six stories and (published by the famous Sintaxis house of Andrej Sinjavski), the novel "Red". It was not until March 1992 that this novel was published by the Russian magazine Umjetnost filma.
Novels followed: Norma (1979-1983), Thirty Marina's Love (1982-1984, first published in 1995), Roman (1994), Four Hearts (1994), Blue Fat (1999), Led trilogy (2002), Broov put (2004), 23.000 (2005), Oprichnik Day (2006), Sugar Kremlin (2008), Blizzard (2010), Tellurium (2014). He also published a large number of collections of short stories, stories and essays: Feast, Morning of a Sniper, Moscow, A Month in Dachau, Eros of Moscow, Horse Soup, Hiroshima, Aim, Black Horse with a White Eye, etc. He also wrote a large number of theater plays: Zemunica (1985), Russian Grandma (1988), Trust (1989), Dysmorphomania (1990), Jubilee (1993), Hochzeitsreise (1995), Shchi (1996), Dostoevsky-Trip (1997). , Peljmeni (1997), Srećna Nova (1998), Kapital (2006), Enchantment (2009). He also writes very notable and award-winning film scripts: Crazy Fritz (1994), Moscow (2001), Kopejka (2001), "4" (2004), Meta (2011), Dau (2013). He also wrote the libretto for the opera Rosenthal's Children to the music of Leonid Desyatnikov, which premiered in 2005 at the Bolshoi Theater. At the Venice Biennale in 2015, Sorokin performed in the Tellurium Pavilion, and in 2017, he organized an exhibition of paintings and graphics in Tallinn. He is the winner of a large number of "People's Booker" and "Andrei Bely" awards for special merits in Russian literature (2001), the "Liberty" award (2005) for his contribution to Russian-American culture, as well as the Russian-Italian "Maxim Gorky" award for the novel Ice (2010). The novel Mećava received the NOS (New Literature) award in 2010, the most prestigious Russian award "Velika knjiga" in 2011, and the award of Chinese publishers and translators for the best foreign novel in 2012. The novel Plavo salo received the "Twitter Prize" in 2012 ” as the best foreign novel, which is awarded by voting on Japanese Twitter. He was elected a member of the German Academy for Language and Literature in 2013.
Vladimir Sorokin's works have been translated into English, French, German, Italian, Dutch, Finnish, Swedish, Polish, Serbian, Estonian, Japanese, Korean and other languages.
If you succeed in elegantly kicking the government - great, but making a profession out of it is dangerous for literature itself
In October, he presented himself and his works to the Podgorica audience at the opening of the "Blue Hall/Day of Oprichniks - cancelrussianculture" exhibition. One of the most popular and recognized contemporary Russian writers arrived in Montenegro, after New York, London and Berlin, with an exhibition of works created with the help of artificial intelligence. His stories, like his works of art, are provocative, surreal, absurd, grotesque and transgressive, often depicting scenes that are taboo, disturbing, frightening and unpleasant to read, but also hilarious and always stylistically brilliant.
Many of them are set in alternative or futuristic hyperbolized versions of Russia, and combine elements of science fiction, satire and social commentary. He now lives in Berlin, and many of his books are either restricted for distribution or outright banned in Russia, such as his latest novel, The Inheritance. Over the years, even before the war between Russia and Ukraine, many of his books have also caused a stir among critics and an outcry among conservatives and pro-government activists.
For "Vijesti" he spoke about his literature, the complicated relationship between the writer and the authorities in Russia throughout history, censorship, the new Oprichniks, today's Kremlin and Putin, the cancellation of Russian culture and the war in Ukraine...
Do you still believe that the Russian writer has two options: to write or to be afraid?
In Russia, the government and the writer never liked each other. The writers (the good ones) wrote the truth about Russian life and the state, which the authorities did not like. Almost all of our classics died because of the authorities, and some even lost their lives. In the eighties of the last century, I realized once and for all: if you are afraid to write the truth, don't write, just be a reader. It's like mountaineering: if you want to climb Everest, but you're afraid of heights - stay at home, look at the photos of the top taken by others.
After all these years of attacks, it seems to me that you have only become bolder and more popular, even in the West. Am I right?
Yes, the number of readers has increased. But it is not only because of the scandal and the attention of the authorities. I've been writing for over forty years! My first book was published in the West in 1985. During that time, a lot of work was done and something remained on paper.
The pyramid of power, the reactor of dictatorial energy, radiates the one at the top, making him not a person, but a function. The vertical of the government is an anti-human construction, which does not take into account the wishes and needs of ordinary people, and the population is only material for its plans. All Russian misfortunes originate from her. In the 21st century, this is a frighteningly archaic structure, a grotesque that renders the life of citizens meaningless, making it dangerous, unpredictable, poor.
Do the words of writers, in the era of censorship, become even more murderous?
The most important thing in a situation with censorship is that there is no self-censorship and that the writer does not use literature as a destructive tool to fight against the pyramid of power. Many of our dissident writers, when the USSR collapsed, collapsed with it, because their literature was completely dependent on the object of their hatred. Literature is a wild and beautiful horse, not a breaking tool. If you succeed in elegantly kicking the government - great, but making a profession out of it is dangerous for literature itself.
Literature in Russia still plays a very important role in society. Are there two Russian literatures, the one in the homeland, and this one, like yours, in exile, and how do they affect you?
For a true writer, national borders do not play a role. We carry our Russia within us, as Nabokov noted. Today, there is no iron curtain and that firm division of writers into Soviet and anti-Soviet, which existed in the 20th century. At that time, in the USSR, the method of socialist realism was imposed on writers from above. In Putin's Russia, where there is no ideology, only the government's desire to preserve itself at all costs, there is no literary state mainstream either. A novel about the greatness of the current Russian government and the wisdom of Putin has not been written and is unlikely to be written. However, modern Russia is not North Korea.
Oprichnine is a poison that has been poisoning Russian life since the time of Ivan the Terrible. Oprichnik is a servant of the government with special powers. In every policeman, in every security guard, there lives an oprichnik who is allowed to do anything for the "protection of the state". The spirit of the oprichnina pervaded the Russian government
How do you see the current situation in your country from the Berlin exile? Is your emigration permanent?
I don't want to call myself an emigrant. Emigration is a one-way ticket, a difficult position for writers in the 20th century. Of course, today there are people from the culture who cannot return because of the criminal proceedings that the government initiated against them. My situation is not like that, I can go back anytime, but I just don't want to. That's my choice. I am sure that the regime in Russia will change for the better and I will return. And many will return.
I consider the cancellation of Russian culture ironic, because it has long since become part of the world, and no social event, not even war, can cancel it, cross it. In the 1940s, many refused to read Goethe. But the war is over, and it is once again studied in universities around the world and read at home. Wars come and go, but culture remains. Our bearded literary classics cannot be cancelled.
In an article published in the "Guardian" four days after the start of the war in Ukraine, you wrote that President Putin sucked hatred towards the West "in black milk from the nipple of the KGB". How do you see him and his politics today?
The problem is not in Putin, but in the archaic, pyramidal structure of government that was built by Ivan the Terrible in the 16th century and that persists to this day. The man who finds himself on top of it becomes a dictator ten years later. It is the law, like the power of the ring in "The Lord of the Rings". Before his presidency, Putin was an ordinary official, no worse than others. Then he said sensible things about democracy, Western partnership, freedom of speech, etc. The pyramid of power, the reactor of dictatorial energy, radiates the one at the top, making him not a person, but a function. The vertical of the government is an anti-human construction, which does not take into account the wishes and needs of ordinary people, and the population is only material for its plans. All Russian misfortunes originate from her. In the 21st century, this is a frighteningly archaic structure, a grotesque that renders the life of citizens meaningless, making it dangerous, unpredictable, poor.
"Day of Oprichnik" was written in 2006, at a time of relative optimism in Russia. How were you so sure that things would take a sinister turn and that your country would end up in war?
Oprichnine is a poison that has poisoned Russian life since the time of Ivan the Terrible. Oprichnik is a servant of the government with special powers. In every policeman, in every security guard, there lives an oprichnik who is allowed to do anything for the "protection of the state". The spirit of the oprichnina pervaded the Russian government. The signs of the new oprichnina were visible at the beginning of this century, about which I wrote a story. But it's a big topic. When it comes to the war in Ukraine, it is a consequence of the fact that one man sat at the top of the pyramid of power for more than twenty years. Dictators sooner or later start wars, because they live in the world of their geopolitical illusions.
Who is more dangerous - oprichniks from the past or today?
Both are disgusting.
How important is engagement in fine arts to you and how does it correspond with your literature?
I'm an artist by profession, I've been doing it since I was nine years old, in the 1980s in the USSR I earned my living by making graphics for books. When I'm not writing (and such breaks can last several years for me), I draw. They are two completely different processes, which I have never combined. It's like flying through the sky and swimming under water. They mutually enrich each other, no doubt.
Just as you took pioneering steps in Russian literature and broke many taboos, you also tried your hand at modern artificial intelligence technology. Is this your permanent commitment, to always go further, at least ten steps ahead of others?
Diving into new cultural waters is my weakness. I wrote not only novels, but also scripts for films, even librettos for operas. Marat Geljman, our tireless art enthusiast, suggested I work with artificial intelligence (AI). I dove into this new pool. And I must say, I feel great in it. There are many possibilities to do something that will be very surprising.
In the name of your exhibition, which you presented in Podgorica, it says "cancel Russian culture". What do you think about the policy of canceling culture and whether the entire Russian literature and art is to blame for the current policy of the Kremlin and should suffer the consequences?
Indeed, after that expression, which has already become a well-worn cliché, our exhibition should have had a '?' sign. But he disappeared for some reason! I consider the cancellation of Russian culture ironic, because it has long since become part of the world, and no social event, not even war, can cancel it, cross it. In the 1940s, many refused to read Goethe. But the war is over, and it is once again studied in universities around the world and read at home. Wars come and go, but culture remains. Our bearded literary classics cannot be cancelled. I hope this senseless and bloody war will end soon.
Bonus video:
