Alexievich on Ales Adamovich: I would like to ask him why Fukuyama's "End of History" never came?

Ales Adamovich talks with women for the book "I Am from a Fiery Village"

— If we look at the literature of the second half of the 20th century today, can we say that after Adamovich, it became impossible to write about catastrophes the way they were written before?

Probably. But the most important thing is that he turned out to be a visionary: he was the first to formulate and bring the witness onto the literary stage. It is precisely the witness who is the main hero of literature today. Ales Adamovich realized this 70-80 years before all of us.

— He defined his new literary practice with a somewhat pretentious term "super-literature"...

Apparently, he stumbled upon this discovery and didn't immediately precisely formulate its essence. The striking nature of the formula caused some alienation, although in reality Adamovich was absolutely right. Today we live in the world he proposed.

— So, before Adamovich, literature most often told about man, while with him, man spoke for himself?

It's hard to claim this was a technique discovered for the first time. For example, much earlier, in 1917, Sofia Fedorchenko, who worked as a nurse during the First World War, began to create the book "People at War" from soldiers' voices, conversations, and stories. So, attempts to find new ways of connecting with reality existed before us.

— And did you follow in the footsteps of your famous countryman by chance?

— It's deeper than that. I grew up in a village, so literature in its pure, stylized form didn't appeal to me. From childhood, I remembered strong impressions from village conversations on benches and porches, and later I didn't find that refrain in purely fictional renditions of reality.

— The phrase "Adamovich influenced Alexievich" has long been common, and you yourself have called him your teacher more than once. But didn't he, in a certain sense, become a teacher for an entire literary generation — even for authors who never knew him? After all, Adamovich fundamentally changed the very nature of testimonial literature.

Павялічыць

— Unfortunately, the world learned little about Adamovich. "I Am from a Fiery Village" was translated into only a few languages and virtually remained unknown to world literature. Therefore, it would be honest to say: much of what is written about me today actually belongs to Adamovich. I heard it from him.

Nevertheless, he didn't teach me in the way some imagine — as if I brought him pieces of a book, and the master read and gave advice. Nothing of the sort! He instilled in me a way of thinking — through his books and, of course, our conversations. That's how I learned to see, feel, and think beyond the confines of one culture — globally. Adamovich truly had a global mindset, although, unfortunately, it still remained within a rather narrow circle. Our limitations at that time were also to blame: we were separated from the rest of the world, even Russia itself didn't know much about us...

Once he shared the idea for a book about women in war, which he himself wanted to write. I was captivated by this idea because in my newspaper assignments, I met such women, and they made a strong impression on me. And from childhood, I remembered the widows of fallen partisans... And then I simply brought him the finished book.

— "The Unwomanly Face of War"...

— And I heard: "What a happiness that it wasn't me, but you who took on this topic"... — "Why, Ales Mikhailovich?" — "It wouldn't have occurred to me to ask about certain things; I didn't even know that you women think like that, see things like that: time differently, fear differently — everything is somehow different for you." That, that was the learning!

— Why, in your opinion, did he so clearly gravitate towards "we," towards co-authorship, in his work?

— Indeed, "we" was constantly heard. Why did he need collectivity so much: due to lack of time, or did he and Bryl, Kolesnik, Granin make sense of it all as they went along, or something else altogether?... I don't know.

Павялічыць

Personally, from studying with Adamovich, I took away the idea of a new genre. It didn't reach the subtleties and depth of discussion, or the further path: he was heavily occupied with his own way, had many affairs and meetings. And he lived in two houses and two countries — all of that is very complex.

Therefore, I continued absolutely independently. And, in my opinion, after the second book, I understood that a cycle of five to seven books should be born to cover our entire history. Of course, back then I didn't yet imagine how this history would end. Then I simply followed life.

— In the popular imagination, Adamovich is primarily a war writer. Although, in my opinion, he actually wrote something more universal — about how man gets used to evil and how evil becomes the norm.

— When I recall old conversations, we were indeed talking precisely about human nature, how he discovered European experience for himself, and how it became his personal one — that's what we pondered.

At that time, the problem of a new global catastrophe literally hung in the air; we were worried that everything could end with an explosion.

Somewhere in 1984 or '85, a conference dedicated to the threat of nuclear war even took place in Minsk. After one of the main speakers was summoned to the Central Committee, the head of the culture department, Ivan Antonovich, began a preventive conversation in a raised voice: "Why do you keep frightening everyone with an atomic bomb? Where did you get that all of humanity will perish?!"

And after Adamovich's arguments, he told him: "Even if only ten people from our entire nation remain alive, the task is for them to be Soviet people." He concluded with something like: "In this I see the purpose of my work, and yours, as a writer, too."

Павялічыць

However, Adamovich lived with a different philosophical dilemma: to press or not to press the nuclear bomb button. He strove to literally comprehend what would happen afterward to humanity and the ordinary person, and not just the Soviet or communist... In his essays, he was a brilliant thinker, a personality of global scale.

— By the way, that classic discussion in the Central Committee happened literally on the eve of the Chernobyl disaster... The premonition came true, albeit in a different form. But in reflections on the grand scale, Adamovich's constant close attention to the experiences of so-called ordinary people was also present. In general, to witnesses of important events. A lesson?

— Once again: it was very important — to recognize the witness as the main figure of literature.

I always remember how a helicopter pilot who dropped sandbags on the reactor asked to meet, and I said I didn't have time. He said: "No, I don't have it..." We met: the man was like a skeleton — not long for this world... And he said: "It's good that you don't have a notebook, but a dictaphone, because I'll tell you what I saw but didn't understand. Maybe you won't get to the truth either, but the time will come when people will understand this."

Adamovich's main message, as I formulated it for myself, the course of his thoughts was about this: to see life, reality through the eyes and ears of witnesses. That's how it's easier to get to the truth.

— Where did Adamovich's attention to hundreds of shades of tragedy come from? From his own war experiences?

— Not only in him. Bykaŭ, Astafyev, Kondratyev — there are many of them. This generation grew up in horror and resentment... It's very difficult to escape such a cycle. And the fact that some of my generation, or I in particular, succeeded — it's not because we are smarter, but because we are fifty years smarter. We are simply smarter for our time. We were given something different.— 

And yet — again a new round of war, again "Zinc Boys"... Even if drones fly now and thousands of tanks are no longer needed, the questions remain the same. Humanity has not yet climbed out of the darkness of the abyss. Perhaps people took just as long to unlearn cannibalism.

— If today you could choose: to ask Adamovich something or to tell him something — what would you choose?

— I am an attentive listener who also loves to ask questions. I would ask, for example, why we cannot break free from this cycle of violence. Why did Fukuyama's "End of History" never arrive?

There was a time when Adamovich spoke with the Dalai Lama. A book of conversations about evil and good was supposed to be published, about where we ended up and if we got out at all, about the philosophical understanding of life. Unfortunately, something interfered — the book did not appear.

When I walked on the Chernobyl land, I thought: why did ancient Indians, when they killed an animal for their life, ask its forgiveness and never killed more than was needed? But we haven't reached that level. We abandoned those animals and left, and then soldiers returned and began shooting these lesser brethren, especially domestic ones. They trustingly reached out to people, but after the massacre, the surviving animals began to fear people.

That is, many new questions that had only just begun to emerge, again receded and dissolved into this culture of violence.

— I want to return to the very beginning of your acquaintance at the end of our conversation...

I had barely finished university when I received an assignment to interview him. "I Am from a Fiery Village" had just been released. I prepared, reread the book — every tiny detail was a philosophy of pure horror... I called him, asked to meet. "Okay." But without setting a time.

A few days later, I was sitting in the editorial office, when suddenly the door opened — Adamovich.

"Who is Alexievich? You called me." — "Oh, it's the first time a classic has come here himself..."

He laughed. There was something boyish, kind in his demeanor — and generally many qualities one could learn from.

A handsome, intelligent man, a living classic without a pedestal. He probably didn't think of himself in bronze. Many called him with requests and invitations. His wife scolded him: "Your heart... Take care of yourself!" But it was no use — he couldn't do that: he responded immediately, went immediately.

He was madly interested in life. He used to say: "living life." He generally loved precise formulations: dead life, living life... But always — life.

— And alongside this — death. Why, understanding his stature, did he not want to be buried in prestigious Moscow or Minsk cemeteries, but chose his native Hlushany?

It's the philosophy of connection to the land you're from. I've been to his grave more than once... That choice is entirely an artist's thought. About the beginning and the end.

Павялічыць

Overall, we are far from the meaning of life that great minds only glimpsed. Adamovich also pushed through to it — and wanted to talk about it, and tried. It was interesting to talk with him on the level of such ideas. And a similar conversation is hard to imagine with any other writer.

I remember my last meeting with Ales Mikhailovich. I was at his home, we talked for a long time. Then he suddenly remembered: "I need to go to the House of Writers! — and continued: — Let me walk you first, and then I'll go down to the subway."

I didn't even think it was a farewell. It seems I asked about his well-being already near the subway. He paused and said: "Well, not very well, but... But, you know, Sveta, it will be interesting to see: what's there? What's there? Does everything really just end?"

He turned, walked away, and I thought: God, he even wants to look there and think it through... And that was it — he died within a month.

— A mystical story...

Seemingly simple, but very powerful. This is Adamovich.

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