In the service of man: diaries of young Eduard Limonov found in archives
In the preface to the book of early diary prose by Eduard Limonov (which includes several letters to Elena Shchapova), the compiler of the collection Denis Izotov tells about the history of the texts offered to the reader, discovered in foreign archives: "Limonov kept diaries all his life. This is many thousands of pages, which is surprising if you remember that, in addition to them, he managed to write more than 70 books. Some notebooks have already been discovered, others have yet to be found, and none have been published so far." Critic Lidia Maslova presents the book of the week specifically for Izvestia.
Eduard Limonov
"I don't want to be a simple person"
M.: Alpina non-fiction, 2026. — 536 p.
This edition contains a part of Limonov's diary from June 6 to December 27, 1971, which smoothly flows into the story "Self-Portrait without Elena." The author himself, in an entry dated June 23, calls this auto-fix a poem, saying that he wrote it lying in bed, and three days later explains the structure and nature of the resulting text: "It crumbles, crumbles... The poem... But gradually I manage to put it in order. This is her inner law. It starts out out of tune — its task is to achieve harmony. And so she gets it in the end. And that's what the whole poem was written for."
The poetic "looseness" and avant—garde confusion of writing are somehow inherent not only in "Self-Portrait...", but also in Limonov's diary entries, and the third work of the collection, the experimental essay "I Don't Want to be a Simple Man", written in 1972 on the verge between diary and fiction. This is the writer's life credo that permeates every line of his work — as Daniel Dukhovskoy, the author of the commentary, Limonov's long-term comrade and literary secretary, notes in the finale of the book, "Limonov's hypertrophied self sticks out from every paragraph, from every situation," but this is precisely what makes up a significant part of Eduard Veniaminovich's charm for his devoted readers. Moreover, this consistent, declarative egocentricity paradoxically coexists with amazing observation and attention to the world around us in the most seemingly insignificant everyday manifestations and details. "Later, he would develop this property, intuitively felt in early texts, into an entire author's philosophy: no one, even the most casual, the most "small" person, deserves to be forgotten," explains Dukhovskoy the exceptional humanism of Limonov's literary method.
The main character of the texts presented in the book, of course, is the muse and lover, and later Limonov's wife, Elena Shchapova: from the day they met, the published part of the diary begins, where "Shchapova's honey eyes" are mentioned. Limonov has quite a lot of sweet lyrical intonations in the descriptions of his beloved, who is cheating on her husband, Victor, a wealthy artist. But sometimes the author can be quite ruthless and strict towards the owner of honey-colored eyes, as, for example, in the 1980 letter concluding the collection: "Your image for me, dear Elena, is false. You never understood how I suffer from the rudeness of life, from lack of money, from my ugly parents, from my own face, from everything. <...> You are blind, my friend. It's a pity, by God. You're blind, selfish, and you live by the laws the world has dictated to you. I'm not. I am still a free, though unhappy bird. It's all or nothing."
At some point, the quite tangible Elena, which sets off the subtle nature of the aestheticist poet ("How interesting Elena looks next to me") begins, if not to "crumble" like a poetic image, then to mythologize, turn into a literary dream, a product of Limonov's fantasy, perhaps more beautiful than a real beauty. Among the numerous descriptions of the tedious waiting for a call from Elena or her visit, or conversations with her, there are such passages that determine the function and status of the muse in the universe of the poet, who himself created a dream woman for himself, or, as he puts it, figured out: "I am the happiest of mortal poets—I was lucky enough to see and love my own dream." However, a dream does not always correspond to the truly cosmic ambitions of its creator, and then Limonov's intonation is tinged with skepticism: "Oh, do you love her? Are you grasping at straws, or did you invent one for yourself to survive? After all, you slowly put her together from the pieces of your fantasy, and now she has appeared alive, and is doing some of the things that you assigned her. She does, but something."
Even during periods of maximum aggravation of love experiences and suffering from the fact that Elena does not live up to expectations and does not fully fulfill her artistic mission (and besides, she cannot belong to him completely), Limonov does not cease to be a thinker, for whom it is important to outline and stake out her place not so much in the heart of a woman as in Russian culture. And already at the age of 28, he feels this place quite clearly, as well as the peculiarities of the national character that dictate the way of self-expression, inextricably linked with the way of living life.: "Pure aesthetics no longer satisfies me. This is a Western trait — the composition of formal riddles on abstract topics. As a Russian person, I want to participate in life, and skillfully or not skillfully I try to roll out in the shit or lose my head, but get involved in this whole painful story called life." And in the essay "I don't want to be a simple man," one can also see the future Limonov, a politician and patriotic publicist: "Our country is in! Big and rich. We must respect her. As Russians, the influence and light of Russia is falling on all of us. You are Russian. I'm Russian. Oh! Russia is for me. Come on, offend!".
Striving for radical self-determination as the only and inimitable hero of his own myth, Limonov can sometimes be harsh in polemics with those who completely do not understand the spirit of his poetry, such as Bulat Okudzhava, who had the temerity to compare the Kharkov metaphysician with Nikolai Zabolotsky: "And Okudzhava is a fool. Zabolotsky has colored pictures. I have depth, space. And everywhere I have a deep buried mysticism — an inner being." Constantly bringing his "inner being" to a boiling point, living every minute with maximum emotional intensity, Limonov feeds on the energy of opposition, every now and then finding himself in opposition to the notorious "ordinary man", that is, the philistine, or the "sluggish poets" chewing their dull compositions: "I'm not sluggish, not I'm dull, I'm bright, I'm sweeping, I'm dark, I'm aggressive, I'm handsome, and I have a beautiful style."
It's hard not to admire such an accurate self—portrait of a young poet who is still in the process of becoming, still forming as the main character of his own literature, but already perfectly aware of the necessary direction of his development: "Going to the spiritual, starting with the carnal, and going to the spiritual - I serve man. And I'm writing about myself because who else can I write about, not by making it up, but by taking it out right from the inside. Only about myself. There is no selfishness here, only a stupid person will see it. I need to believe, and I need to be accepted, even if it's like a disease. But the disease is rare and worthy."
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