Posthumously published book by Eduard Limonov, “the old Man travelling”. In the opinion of Mikhail Trofimenkov, these “travel notes” — an event of European literature.”Travel notes” — conventional genre. The writer really travels with secret lover Fifi, the film-makers of the future film about Limonov in space: France, Abkhazia, Italy, Spain, Mongolia, Karabakh, Yalta, Buryatia. But in time, too: flashes of memories about Kharkov 1950s, new York 1970, Paris 1980. This is not a memoir: the load-bearing structure in the book at all, and in this sense “Man” is a very French book. The French love genre uncertainty semi-essays, notebooks, marginalia. Only in France they are issued and Flirty momentary masters of doom, those who decided to love here and now. Lemons — the one who decided not to love, but not love them after this book “unheard-of simplicity” — it is impossible.The role of the man unfamiliar to him, he pulls her to himself, she shakes like Italian shoes with buckles: what rubbish is this Italian “handmade”. Then walks to the ranks of the “yellow jackets”, which gives a firework definitions: from the “sans-culottes” to “bandits”. Some whine that the Luxembourg garden, “the best place on earth” isn’t “littered with people”: “I’m jealous of the Luxembourg gardens to all these crowds”.But he’s not just the old man and the old man waiting for “the death of the main events in the life of man.” How much written in recent years pompous words about “physicality”, invariably involving pornographic or shameful, or shameless physiologist. Authentic, visceral, and pure physicality — that is, Limonov, a teenager in the body heavy as a suit of the diver. This comparison he heard once from a 93-year-old Salome Andronikova, the femme fatale of the era of the “Stray dog”.It hurts to eat, talk, drink. It is a shame that it breaks on notation the Parisian waitress. He sad, turning over in the Roman apartment of books by her former owner, now deceased artist. He is in a hurry in the Yalta hotel to see the movies about Harry Potter, because he had never seen them. In the Buryat datsan he buys the “book “NO DEATH” in the cover of the cherry blossom”. And this naive purchase of rhymes with the way the Lemons in the Preface explains the “old Man”: “I would like to stumble and read this book in early youth — then I would have deeper and more serious I looked hard at anything that I’ve noticed in life, he would have noticed the deeper the shaggy greenery, its a riot, violent eyes of the animals and the thirst for freedom in the eyes of women.”In contrast to this seriousness, the last words of the Preface dumbfounded: “Now remember, like in Mongolia horses love to climb shallowly in the pond are a flock, around this, head to head, as if deliberating”.Why? Waiting for election results and you about some of the horses. ��Desh wills, I knew Lemons that this is his last text, and get in the highest sense senseless book, not giving the reader any instructions how to live nor how to die. And what could be pointless poetry?The true genre of “the Man” — namely, that the collection of lyrical poems and prose. About a young timid Kirghiz plumber who discovered under a bathroom in Moscow apartment Limonov the entrance to Shambhala. About as young, but not shy and a drunken author, saved from death at the Paris dump hyacinth bulbs, flowering and answered him many years of love. On bullfighting: “the bull is perceived as muscular and scary “he is.” Toreador rather perceived as “she” is”. But on the Black sea — this passage is reminiscent of the best in the world of fairy tales Donald Bisset: “”Oh sea!” engaged in her favorite pastime — a Scarecrow of winter holidaymakers and natives of Yalta, rushing to the waterfront: “Wow! Plop!” — but always to people not reaching”.Or that’s about the frescoes in the Karabakh temple: “a Young prospetive madman Christ. And its fisherfolk. Simple guys. Only Judas was not the only intellectual in the gang… I like Jesus in a red shirt sitting as Alexei Khvostenko in the Arab quarter of the Goutte d’or a Paris. And broadcasting, the wine is poured”.Fancies that “heretic” Lemons so comforting yourself first meeting with the poet Alexei Khvostenko in the heavenly city of Paris. Since their earthly and favorite Paris went under water, “as the city of Kitezh”.Eduard Limonov. The old man travels. M.: The Individual, 2020.
