Mikhail Shishkin made his literary debut in
1993 and swiftly went on to win acclaim as one of the greatest living
contemporary Russian writers. He is the first author to win all three of the
major Russian literary prizes- the Russian Booker, the Big Book Award, and the National
Bestseller Award- while his work has been translated into twenty five languages.
In fall 2012, Open Letter will publish his novel Maidenhair, in translation by Marian Schwartz; while in 2013 the
British house Quercus will publish Letter-Book
in translation by Andrew Bromfield. In anticipation of his appearance at this
year’s BEA, regular Publishing
Perspectives contributor Daniel Kalder spoke to him about literature, exile
and creating a new language.
You
moved to Switzerland in 1995, when you were already in your mid thirties. Were
you concerned that distance and detachment from Russia would alienate you from
the language and subject matter? How did that “exile” affect you as a writer?
If you are over 30 you can´t learn anything new
about your own country. It´s like a tree: every season it changes its
appearence, but you know that this is the same tree. And even if the leaves
would proclaim that they have changed the name of their native tree from
“Soviet birch dictatorius“ to “Russian birch democraticus“ you know what shape
of leaf will appear the next year: the same, actually.
I think it is very important for any writer
from any country to live abroad for some years. This is the best way to
understand yourself and your background. My
“exile“ helped me to realize that I should not write about exotic russian
problems but rather about the “human being.“
You
adhere to a grand and noble conception of literature, that it should have a
serious moral/philosophical purpose, that indeed reading plays a role in
“preserving human dignity”. How much of this is down to your soviet (or
Russian) upbringing? Do you feel this attitude is generally dead in Russia
today- the 90s were a period of post modern nihilism- or does the tradition
continue?
When I was 16 reading saved me. I am afraid
that you can´t really comprehend what it means to be born in the happiest
country in the world and then realize that this is a huge prison and that they were
all lying. I felt as though my country was
occupied by invaders. The enemies could be in possession of my body but they could not capture my thoughts. What was
inside my skull was a territory of my freedom in that prison. Reading forbidden
books (and even Joyce and Nabokov were forbidden) was my fight. And the victory
was mine.
Now I often go to Russia to meet my readers both
in the “capitals“ and in small provincial towns- which is much more interesting
and inspiring. There you can see that nothing has changed in the last 20 years:
the real Russian readers – provincial teachers, doctors, librarians – still
need some demanding books to save their human dignity in this everyday
avalanche of humiliating “democratic“ reality.
Communist lies have switched to “democratic“ ones. This literary tradition
still works in Russia: writers write to save their souls and readers read to
save theirs. Reading in Russia is more than reading. And it always will be.
Your
work has won many prizes and much acclaim, but has your status as an “outsider”
brought criticism? I lived in Russia for ten years and felt that in the 2000s
the country became more closed, hostile to criticism, to external perspectives…
I was harshly criticized by our “new
patriots“. The accusation was: “What
moral right has a writer to write about Russia if he lives in
Switzerland?“ But later, after all the
prizes, my most severe critics wanted to become my
friends and conduct interviews with me. You know critics are like suckerfish:
they go with the ship. They always are filled with indignation that you are not
going in the direction they´d like to go. But why should a ship care? It has
its own destination.
Growing
up in the USSR you thought your work would be un-publishable in the USSR and
might only ever see print abroad. Was destiny always calling you to leave, to become
a writer in semi-exile?
I started to write early and was sure that one
day my texts - if they were really good and deserved publication - woud appear
abroad because it was impossible to publish my writing in the Soviet Union. Who
could have imagined that three Soviet leaders in succession would “kick off“ in a period of just four years and
leave the young and weak Gorbachev to save the regime. The last Communist
leader failed, so my books were published in Moscow and after that all over the
world. My latest novel “Pismovnik (Letter-Book)“
which will appear in English translation by Quercus in Great Britain has now
been translated into 25 languages. By the way my “semi-exile“ was in no way
politically motivated- it was just a family matter.
You
stress the importance of tradition, and that you feel you are a part of a
tradition. Are you speaking of the Russian literary tradition, or something
broader?
There are only two traditions of writing
whether you are Russian or not. The first one means earning money by writing
what they expect from you. The writer as servant. And the other kind of writing
I compare with a blood transfusion. A writer shares with his reader the stuff
which is essential and vital for him. But of course the blood group must match.
This tradition matters.
“Maidenhair”
will be published by Open Letter this October. It’s a big, complex, challenging
book that draws on your own experience as an interpreter for refugees, and
which travels across time, and contains many voices. You have spent some time
in the US- do you think American audiences are ready for it?
When “Maidenhair“ was first published in
Moscow, the critics were distressed that such a great and demanding book would
never reach a broad audience in contemporary Russia. The publisher of “Book
Review“ magazine promised in his blog that he would “eat his underpants in
public“ if this novel ever sold 50 000 copies. It is to be regretted that
critics never keep their word. This amount of copies was sold in the first year
and you shouldn´t forget that in Russia you can download all new books on the
Internet for free. As for the Americans
I think you should never underestimate readers, even in the US.
Do you
think your experience living outside Russia somehow makes your books more
readily accessible to non-Russians?
Yes, I think so. Several Russian generations
in the 20th century spent their lifetime in jail. They developed their own way
of thinking and speaking. The leakproof prison reality gave birth to a very
special subculture. And Western readers cannot identify themselves with Russian
exotica. It is time for writers to bring Russia back to the world, as it was in
the 19th century. Russian literature is worth it.
“I am
creating a language of my own that will exist outside of time.” Are you
succeeding?
If you don´t try to create such a language you
are not a writer, but just a scribbler for sale. And as to who will succeed-
we´ll know the answer in one hundred years’ time. Wait and see.
Originally published by Publishing Perspectives in June 2012 to coincide with the Read Russia Festival in NYC.