Well, what can I talk about with you: what is mizanabim and how to understand it
The genre definition of Anna Matveeva's book, the novel mizanabim, points to a tricky multi—layered structure: in literary studies, the French term mise en abyme refers to the placement of one plot inside another, by analogy with a matryoshka doll. Critic Lidia Maslova presents the book of the week, especially for Izvestia.
Anna Matveeva
"You could say that: Roman is a misanabim"
Moscow : AST Publishing House : Edited by Elena Shubina, 2026. 316 p.
As the most obvious example of mizanabim, the play "The Mousetrap", staged by the hero of the tragedy "Hamlet", is most often used. She is also mentioned in Matveeva's novel, already at the end, when a funny satire on theatrical and literary mores takes on a phantasmagorical connotation and the main character, a successful but aging writer Arkady Nurov, confesses his sympathy for the Mousetrap, although it is not entirely clear to whom. His interlocutor at this moment is transformed in a surreal way from a woman to a man, or perhaps it's just the imagination of the hero, who is talking to himself in delirium. But you might also think that the angel of death has finally appeared behind the writer, acting as one of the characters in the play "Stuffiness", which Nurov is trying to write in a creative crisis, trying to revive his shattered reputation.
Matveeva's novel begins with a painful blow to this reputation and Nurov's self-esteem. In the second chapter, the hero goes to the ceremony of awarding the Main Literary Prize, being absolutely sure that he will not leave empty—handed: "The only intrigue is which Nurov's place will be first (5 million), second (3 million) or third (2 million). Of course, it would be insulting to get the second one, and the third one would be simply insulting, but this is unlikely to happen." However, this is exactly what happens: in front of a shocked audience, instead of Nurov, an unknown young writer Lisa Andreeva takes the first place with the novel "You can say that." To top it all off, the humiliated hero immediately finds his young wife, actress Sophia, in a men's bathroom stall with the chief director of the MDR theater. The abbreviation stands for "Young and early," and in Matveeva's novel there are many such comic word games, as well as speaking surnames in a kind of Gogol-Bulgakov (or, if you like, in the Ilfo-Petrovsky spirit): Antagonieva, Veselidze, Lapushka Kuznetsova-Come on.
The most satirical name, Elsa Piecek, belongs to a leading literary critic known for "never reading peer—reviewed books, content with skilfully flipping through them." Meanwhile, skilful scrolling, filtering, and selecting the most valuable and relevant quotations and excerpts from everything written in human history is one of the necessary and inevitable aggregate forms of literature's existence. It is this form of fragments plucked from various places in the texts that makes up an important part of the Matveev book, which is replete, even overflowing with epigraphs, starting with the very first one, which relates to the entire novel: "There are three rules of writing, and no one knows which ones. Somerset Maugham."
Also, a separate epigraph precedes each of the three parts of the novel (Flaubert, Bulgakov and Platonov are in the assortment, setting the intonation, in the first case bilious, in the second — mocking, in the third — lyrical). But moreover, potential epigraphs (choose any one — according to your mood and mental development) are also abundantly presented as a collection of quotations and aphorisms, which Nurov collects without any specific goals, simply out of love for literary statements: about what torments the hero, you can say so, or you can That way.
Matveeva clearly shares the conviction of the Nurov literary teacher that "for every book written, about three dozen strangers should be read," and is not afraid to compose two whole chapters from the epigraphs — one serves as a supporting wall in the middle of the novel, the other becomes the foundation supporting it a couple of chapters before the end. The first "epigraphic chapter" bears the playful title "Tu la voulu", and this is a Russified response to the famous French phrase from Moliere's comedy ("Vous l'avez voulu, Georges Dandin. That's what you wanted, Georges Dandin.") In the context of Matveyev's novel, this remark can probably be forwarded to anyone who has managed to become a professional writer. The lyrical hero Nurov, by the way, does not like the word "writer", which the reader is warned about at the very beginning in the list of his many oddities, which ends with a sympathetic tragicomic feature: "he was fatally bored with himself in the last century and did not dare to commit suicide just because he considered it vulgar."
By and large, "You can say that" is only at one level a humorous essay on literary mores, writer's complexes and women's ambitions (there are many more women in the novel than men, as in Nurov's life, and the hero reflects on this topic in detail). And on a higher, philosophical level, it's a novel about aging, about being tired of the work you've dedicated your life to, and ultimately about what inevitably follows old age. Sad finishing thoughts are increasingly visiting Nurov, who, in search of inspiration and an attempt to get out of the zone of stultifying comfort, moves from a prestigious apartment on Moscow boulevards to a residential backwater of Vyselka: "He has been thinking quite often lately about whether he will be remembered after his inevitable death — and in what words."
It is appropriate to recall here that mizanabim was originally an artistic term, including a scaled—down, sometimes almost imperceptible self-portrait of the artist inserted into the painting (like, say, a small mirror with a reflection of Jan Van Eyck in the "Portrait of the Arnolfini Couple"). In this sense, of course, Nurov is a kind of reflection of Matveeva herself, who, like any recognized, mature writer, surely cannot help but think about what will happen to her talent next: "But this happens almost always — when you write, it seems that you have at least a "War and the world“, and then someone switches the lever - and you're horrified at your mediocrity, mentally agreeing with critics who can't stand you. And at the same time, you're desperately afraid that your idea will be stolen, that a faster, younger, more resilient author will write your novel." And sometimes Nurov reflects on his prospects with ruthless sobriety.: "A normal writer, like most people, has to stop writing over the years. Provided that a normal writer has good taste, of course. To a non-average writer — who has high earnings, fat royalties and film adaptations — we wish him to continue to dirty the paper "Snow Maiden".
However, Matveeva's mizanabim novel, which bears little resemblance to anything from her previous work, does not cause the feeling that the ghost of literary impotence is creeping up on the author (even if this metaphor is not entirely appropriate for a woman). And in Nurov's painfully born ecumenical play "Dukhota" about the kinship of different religions, which takes place on board the crashed Varadero—Moscow flight, there are still interesting and lively moments and characters. For example, a Cuban magic doll that comes to life to make each of the passengers a final offer — to convince her why he should be the only survivor after the plane crash. A play with a frightening plot, however, prepares a completely comforting ending for all the actors, provided if not by the enchanting talent of the author, then at least by his sincere affection for the characters he created.
Переведено сервисом «Яндекс Переводчик»
