In the center of T. Tolstoy's stories is a modern man with his emotional experiences, life drinking, peculiarities of life. The story "The Okkervil River", written in 1987, raises the theme of "Man and Art", the influence of art on man, the relationship of people in the modern world, this is a reflection on the relationship between dreams and reality.

The story is built on the principle of "chaining associations", "stringing images". Already at the beginning of the work, the picture of a natural disaster - the floods in St. Petersburg - is combined with the story of the lonely, growing old Simeonov and his life. The hero enjoys the freedom of loneliness, reading and listening to rare gramophone records of the once famous, but today completely forgotten singer Vera Vasilievna.

Three time layers can be distinguished in the story: present, past and future. Moreover, the present is inseparable from the past. The author recalls that time is cyclical and eternal: "When the zodiac sign changed to Scorpio, it became very windy, dark and rainy."

St. Petersburg is animated, its image is woven from metaphors, an abundance of epithets, romantic and realistic details, where the creative, but terrible Peter the Great and his weak, frightened subjects became central: “the wind-blowing city behind a defenseless, unfinished bachelor window turned out to be an evil Peter's intent. The rivers, having reached the swollen, frightening sea, rushed backwards, lifted their water backs in the museum basements, licking the fragile shamanic masks made of cock feathers, crumbling with damp sand collections. Curved overseas swords, sinewy legs of evil employees awakened in the middle of the night. " Petersburg is a special place. Time and space keep the masterpieces of music, architecture, painting. The city, the element of nature, art are merged together. Nature is personified in the story, she lives her own life - the wind bends the windows, rivers overflow their banks and flow backwards.

Simeonov's bachelor life is brightened up by reading, enjoying the sounds of an old romance. T. Tolstaya masterfully conveys the sound of the old "anthracite circle":

No, not you! so ardent! I love! - Jumping, crackling and hissing, Vera Vasilyevna was quickly spinning under the needle; a divine, dark, low, at first laced and dusty, swelling underwater pressure, then swelling underwater pressure, swaying with lights on the water, rushed out of a scalloped orchid - no, it was not him that Vera Vasilievna loved so ardently, but nevertheless, in essence, only him, and this was mutual with them. H-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u. " The singer's voice is associated with a caravel, rushing through “the night water splashing with lights, a glow blooming in the night sky. And the details of a modest life fade into the background: “melted cheese or ham scraps fished out of the windows,” a feast on a spread newspaper, dust on the desktop.

The contradictions present in the hero's life are emphasized by the details of the hero's portrait: "In such days, Simeonov set up a gramophone, feeling especially nosy, balding, especially feeling his early years around his face."

Simeonov, like the hero of T. Tolstoy's story "Blank Slate" Ignatiev, rests with his soul in a different, associative world. Creating in his imagination the image of a young, Blok-style beautiful and mysterious singer Vera Vasilievna, Simeonov tries to distance himself from the realities of modern life, brushing off the caring Tamara. The real world and the invented one are intertwined, and he wants to be only with the object of his dreams, imagining that Vera Vasilievna will give her love only to him.

The title of the story is symbolic. The Okkervil River is the name of the final tram stop, a place not known for Simeonov, but occupying his imagination. It may turn out to be beautiful, where there is a “greenish stream” with a “green sun”, silvery willows, “wooden humpbacked bridges”, or maybe there “some ugly factory spills out pearlescent poisonous waste, or something else, hopeless , marginal, vulgar ". The river, symbolizing time, changes its color - at first it seems to Simeonov as a "dull-green stream", later - "already blooming poisonous greenery."

Having heard from the seller of gramophone records that Vera Vasilievna is still alive, Simeonov decides to find her. This decision is not easy for him - two demons are fighting in his soul - a romantic and a realist: “one insisted to throw the old woman out of his head, to lock the doors tight, to live as he used to live, loving to the best, moderately languishing, listening alone to the pure sound of the silver trumpet , but another demon - a mad young man with a consciousness darkened from the translation of bad books - demanded to go, run, look for Vera Vasilievna - a blind, poor old woman, shout to her through years and adversity that she was a wonderful peri, destroyed and raised him - Simeonov, the faithful knight, and, crushed by her silver voice, all the corruption of the world fell down,

The details accompanying the preparation of the meeting with Vera Vasilievna predict failure. The yellow color of the chrysanthemums bought by Simeonov means some kind of disharmony, a kind of sick beginning. This, in my opinion, is indicated by the transformation of the green color of the river into poisonous greenery.

Another trouble awaits Simeonov - someone's fingerprint imprinted on the jelly surface of the cake. The disharmony of the forthcoming meeting is also indicated by the following detail: "The sides (of the cake) were sprinkled with fine confectionery dandruff."

The meeting with a dream, with a living but different Vera Vasilievna, completely crushed Simeonov. When he got to the singer's birthday, he saw the routine, the absence of poetry and even vulgarity in the person of one of the singer's many guests, Potseluev. Despite the romantic surname, this character stands firmly on the ground, is purely businesslike and enterprising. A feature of T. Tolstoy's style is the use of complex sentences, an abundance of tropes when describing the stream of consciousness of the heroes, their experiences. Simeonov's conversation with Potseluev is written in short phrases. The efficiency and down-to-earthness of Potseluev are conveyed by abrupt phrases, reduced vocabulary: “Ou, muzzle. Golosina is still like a deacon. " His search for a rare recording of the Dark Green Emerald romance is combined with the search for an opportunity to get a smoked sausage.

At the end of the story, Simeonov, together with other fans, helps to brighten up the singer's life. This is humanly very noble. But poetry and charm disappeared, the author emphasizes this with realistic details: "Bent over in his lifelong obedience," Simeonov rinses the bath after Vera Vasilyevna, washing "gray pellets from the dried walls, knocking out gray hair from the drain hole."

A distinctive feature of T. Tolstoy's prose is that the author empathizes with his heroes, pity them. She also sympathizes with Simeonov, who is looking for true beauty and does not want to accept reality. Vera Vasilievna, who so early lost the main thing in life - her son, her job, who does not have basic amenities in her old age, Tamara, who brings her beloved cutlets in a jar and is forced to “forget” either hairpins or a handkerchief.

The story ends, as it began, with the image of the river. “Kisses started the gramophone, a wondrous, growing thunderous voice was heard, washing over the steamed body of Verunchik drinking tea from a saucer, over everything that cannot be helped, over the approaching sunset, over nameless rivers flowing backwards, overflowing the banks, raging and flooding the city, like they only know how to make rivers. "

The work of Tatyana Tolstaya "The Okkervil River" tells the story of an aging, bald bachelor Simeonov, who lives in St. Petersburg. His life is boring and monotonous. He lives in a small apartment, where he sometimes translates books.

Every day he enthusiastically listened to Vera Vasilyevna's records about love and took her affectionate words personally. In principle, it was so. Simeonov's feelings for her were mutual. The relationship with this lady suited him, with them nothing could be compared.

One autumn day, a bachelor bought another Vera's record, and learned from the seller that she was already old and lived somewhere in Leningrad, but already in poverty. Her popularity quickly faded, and along with her money, her husband, jewelry and other benefits of life disappeared. At this moment, Simeonov was tormented by doubts about how to live on. On the one hand, he wanted peace, he did not intend to let anyone into his settled life, except Tamara. But, on the other hand, he dreamed of finding an old woman, and showing her how much he loves her, and as a result, in return for unlimited gratitude and love.

Nevertheless, the hero got hold of the address of the object of his sighing, and, armed with flowers and a cake, went to the meeting. After ringing the doorbell and entering the apartment, Simeonov was dumbfounded by what he saw. Vera Vasilievna was well made up and was sitting at the table surrounded by a crowd, she was celebrating her birthday. It turned out that fans visited her every month and helped as much as they could. They asked Simeonov if he had a bath. Having received a positive answer, the crowd happily offered to bring Vera to him for a swim. His world was destroyed, the bachelor finally decided to return home and marry Tamara. Vera Vasilievna died for him that day.

The next evening she was brought to bathe at the depressed bachelor. After the bath procedures, she went out to him in a bathrobe, steamed and contented. And he went to wash off the pellets and get her gray hair out of the drain hole.

Picture or drawing Tolstaya - Okkervil River

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Belov

Okkerville River

When the zodiac sign changed to Scorpio, it became very windy, dark and rainy. The wet, flowing, wind-blowing city behind the defenseless, uncurtained, bachelor window, behind the melted cheese curds hidden in the cold between the windows seemed then an evil Peter's intent, the revenge of a huge, goggle-eyed, with an open mouth, toothy king-carpenter who was catching up with everyone with a ship's ax in a raised hand, his weak, frightened subjects. The rivers, having reached the swollen, frightening sea, rushed back, with a hissing pressure they snapped off the cast-iron hatches and quickly lifted the water backs in the museum basements, licking fragile collections crumbling with damp sand, shamanic masks made of cock feathers, crooked overseas swords, beaded robes, angry employees awakened in the middle of the night. On such and such days, when a white cheesy face of loneliness loomed out of the rain, darkness, and the bending glass of the wind, Simeonov, feeling especially nosy, balding, especially feeling his early years around his face and cheap socks far below, on the border of existence, put the kettle on, he wiped the dust from the table with his sleeve, cleared the space from the books, the white tongues of the bookmarks sticking out, set up the gramophone, selecting the required thickness of the book in order to slip it under the lame corner, and in advance, blissful in advance, removed Vera Vasilyevna from the torn, stained yellow envelope that had gone an old, heavy, anthracite shimmering circle, not split by smooth concentric circles - one romance on each side.

- No, not you! so ardent! I! love! - Jumping, crackling and hissing, Vera Vasilievna was quickly spinning under the needle; hissing, crackling and whirling curled like a black funnel, expanded with a gramophone pipe, and, triumphing over the victory over Simeonov, rushed from a scalloped orchid a divine, dark, low, at first laced and dusty, then swelling underwater pressure, rising from the depths, transforming, swaying with lights on the water , - psch-psch-psch, psch-psch-psch, - a puffing voice sailing - louder, - breaking the ropes, rushing uncontrollably, psch-psch-psch, caravel on the night water splashing with lights - more and more, - spreading its wings, gaining speed, smoothly breaking away from the lagging thickness of the stream that gave rise to it, from the small one that remained on the bank of Simeonov, who lifted his balding, bare head to a gigantic grown, shining, overshadowing half of the sky, emanating in a victorious cry of voice - no, Vera Vasilievna did not love him so ardently, and yet, in essence, only him alone, and this was mutual with them. X-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u.

Simeonov carefully removed the silenced Vera Vasilievna, rocked the disc, clasping it with straightened, respectful palms; examined the old sticker: eh, where are you now, Vera Vasilievna? Where are your white bones now? And, turning it over on its back, set the needle, squinting at the prune reflections of the flapping thick disc, and again listened, languishing, about the chrysanthemums that had faded long ago, shchshch, in the garden, shchshch, where they met her, and again, growing in an underwater stream, dropping dust, lace and years, Vera Vasilievna crackled and appeared to be a languid naiad - an unsportsmanlike, slightly full naiad of the beginning of the century - oh sweet pear, guitar, rolling champagne bottle!

And then the kettle was boiling, and Simeonov, having fished out melted cheese or ham scraps from the window, put the plate from the beginning and feasted like a bachelor, on a spread newspaper, enjoyed, rejoicing that Tamara would not overtake him today, would not disturb the precious meeting with Vera Vasilyevna ... It was good for him in his loneliness, in a small apartment, alone with Vera Vasilievna, and the door was firmly locked from Tamara, and the tea was strong and sweet, and the translation of an unnecessary book from a rare language was almost completed - there would be money, and Simeonov would buy from one crocodile for a high price for a rare record, where Vera Vasilievna yearns that spring is not coming for her - a man's romance, a romance of loneliness, and the disembodied Vera Vasilievna will sing it, merging with Simeonov into one longing, hysterical voice. Oh blissful loneliness! Loneliness eats from a frying pan, fishes out a cold cutlet from a cloudy liter jar, makes tea in a mug - so what? Peace and freedom! The family strumming a cupboard, arranging traps and saucers, catches the soul with a knife and fork, - grabs it under the ribs from both sides, - chokes it with a teapot cap, throws a tablecloth over its head, but a free lonely soul slips out from under a linen fringe, passes snake through the napkin ring and - hop! catch it! - she is already there, in a dark magic circle filled with lights, outlined by Vera Vasilievna's voice, she runs out after Vera Vasilievna, following her skirts and a fan, from the bright dancing hall to the summer night balcony, to a spacious semicircle above the garden fragrant with chrysanthemums, however, their smell, white, dry and bitter, is an autumn smell, it already foreshadows autumn, separation, oblivion in advance, but love all lives in my sick heart - this is a sick smell, the smell of deceived and sadness, somewhere you are now, Vera Vasilievna, perhaps in Paris or Shanghai, and what kind of rain - blue Parisian or yellow Chinese - drizzles over your grave, and whose earth chills your white bones? No, I do not love you so ardently! (Tell me! Of course, me, Vera Vasilievna!)

Trams passed by Simeonov's window, once shouting bells, swaying in hanging loops that looked like stirrups - it seemed to Simeonov that there, in the ceilings, horses were hidden, like portraits of tram great-grandfathers brought to the attic; then the bells ceased, only a clatter, clank and rattle was heard at the turn, at last the red-sided solid carriages with wooden benches died, and the round, noiseless carriages began to go round, noiseless, hissing at stops, you could sit down, flop down on a soft chair, gasping under you, and drive into the blue distance, to the final stop, which attracted the name: "Okkervil River". But Simeonov never went there. The end of the world, and he had nothing to do there, but that's not even the point: not seeing, not knowing this distant, almost Leningrad river, one could imagine anything: a muddy greenish stream, for example, with a slow, muddy the green sun floating in it, silvery willows, quietly hanging branches from the curly bank, red brick two-story houses with tiled roofs, wooden humpbacked bridges - a quiet, slowed down, as in a dream, the world; But in fact, in fact, there are probably warehouses, fences, some nasty factory spits out nacreous poisonous waste, the dump is smoking smelly smoldering smoke, or something else, hopeless, outlying, vulgar. No, no need to be disappointed, go to the Okkervil River, it is better to mentally plant its banks with long-haired willows, arrange steep houses, let in unhurried residents, maybe in German caps, in striped stockings, with long porcelain pipes in their teeth ... cobblestones of Okkervila embankments, fill the river with clean gray water, build bridges with turrets and chains, align granite parapets with smooth patterns, put tall gray houses with cast-iron gateways along the embankment - let the top of the gate be like fish scales, and nasturtiums look out from the forged balconies, settle there young Vera Vasilyevna, and let her go, pulling on a long glove, along the cobbled pavement, putting her feet narrowly, narrowly stepping over black blunt-nosed shoes with round, like an apple, heels, in a small round hat with a veil, through the quiet drizzle of the St. Petersburg morning, and the fog on this occasion, file blue.

Submit the blue mist! The fog is filed, Vera Vasilievna passes, tapping with round heels, the entire specially prepared paved section held by Simeon's imagination, here is the border of the scenery, the director has run out of funds, he is exhausted, and, tired, he dismisses the actors, crosses out balconies with nasturtiums, gives those who wish with a pattern like fish scales, clicks granite parapets into the water, shoves bridges with turrets in his pockets, - he bursts his pockets, chains hang like from grandfather's watches, and only the Okkervil River, convulsively narrowing and expanding, flows and cannot choose a stable look for itself ...

Simeonov ate processed cheese, translated boring books, sometimes brought women in the evenings, and in the morning, disappointed, he sent them out - no, not you! - he locked himself from Tamara, who kept coming up with laundry, fried potatoes, colorful curtains on the windows, all the time carefully forgetting important things at Simeonov's, now hairpins, now a handkerchief - by nightfall she urgently needed them, and she came for them across the the city, - Simeonov put out the light and stood without breathing, huddled against the lintel in the hallway while it burst, and very often gave up, and then he ate hot for dinner and drank strong tea with homemade powdered brushwood from a blue and gold cup, and Tamara went back it was, of course, late, the last tram left, and even less could he reach the foggy Okkervil River, and Tamara flung pillows while Vera Vasilievna, turning her back, not listening to Simeonov's excuses, walked along the embankment into the night, swaying on round, like an apple, heeled shoes.

Autumn thickened when he bought from another crocodile a heavy disk, chipped from one edge, - they bargained, arguing about a flaw, the price was very high, but why? - because Vera Vasilievna is completely forgotten, neither will it sound on the radio, nor will her short, tender surname flash in quizzes, and now only exquisite eccentrics, snobs, amateurs, aesthetes, who want to throw money on the ethereal, chase her records, catch , string on the pins of gramophone turntables, rewrite her low, dark, shining voice like expensive red wine on tape recorders. But the old woman is still alive, said the crocodile, lives somewhere in Leningrad, in poverty, they say, and disgrace, and she did not shine for long, and at one time, she lost diamonds, her husband, an apartment, a son, two lovers and, finally , voice - in exactly this order, and managed with these losses of hers until the age of thirty, since then she has not sang, however, she is alive. This is how, I thought, with a heavy heart, Simeonov, and on the way home, across the bridges and gardens, across the tram tracks, he kept thinking: this is how ... And, having locked the door, brewing some tea, he put the chipped treasure he had bought on the turntable and, looking into a window to the heavy colored clouds that were gathering on the sunset side, built, as usual, a piece of granite embankment, threw a bridge - and the turrets were now heavy, and the chains were heavy cast iron, and the wind ruffled and wrinkled, stirred the wide, gray surface of the Okkerville River, and Vera Vasilievna, stumbling more than she should have on her uncomfortable heels invented by Simeonov, wrung her hands and bowed her small, smoothly combed head to a sloping shoulder - quietly, so quietly the moon shines, and the fatal thought is full of you, - the moon did not give in, it slipped out of her hands with soap, rushed through the torn Okkerville clouds - there is always something alarming with the sky on this Okkervil - how the transparent, tamed shadows of our imagination rush restlessly when the sniffing and smells of living life penetrate their cool, foggy world!

Looking at the sunset rivers, from where the Okkervil River began, already blooming with poisonous greenery, already poisoned by the living old woman's breath, Simeonov listened to the arguing voices of two fighting demons: one insisted to throw the old woman out of his head, to lock the doors tightly, occasionally opening them for Tamara, to live, as before he lived, moderately loving, moderately languishing, listening in moments of loneliness to the pure sound of a silver trumpet singing over an unknown misty river, another demon - a mad young man with a consciousness darkened by the translation of bad books - demanded to go, run, find Vera Vasilievna - a half-blind, poor, emaciated, husky, dry-legged old woman, to find, to bow to her almost deaf ear and shout to her through the years and hardships that she is the only one, that her, only he loved her so ardently that love lives on in his sick heart that she, a wondrous peri, rising in her voice from the depths of the underwater, filling the sails, sweeping rapidly through the night fiery waters, soaring up, eclipsing half the sky, destroyed and raised him - Simeonov, the faithful knight - and, crushed by her silver voice, small peas fell in different directions trams, books, processed cheese, wet pavements, Tamara's bird cries, cups, nameless women, passing years, all frailty the world. And the old woman, stunned, will look at him with eyes full of tears: how? You know me? can not be! Oh my God! does anyone else need it! and could I think! - and, in confusion, will not know where to put Simeonov, and he, carefully supporting her dry elbow and kissing a hand that is no longer white, all in age spots, leads her to the chair, peering into her faded, ancient modeling face. And, looking with tenderness and pity at the parting in her weak white hair, she will think: oh, how we missed each other in this world! How madly the time passed between us! ("Ugh, don't," the inner demon grimaced, but Simeonov was inclined toward what was needed.)

He casually, insultingly simply - for a nickel - got the address of Vera Vasilyevna in a street address booth; heart thumped: not Okkervil? of course not. And not the embankment. He bought chrysanthemums from the market - small, yellow, wrapped in cellophane. They have faded for a long time. And in the bakery he chose a cake. The saleswoman, removing the cardboard lid, showed her chosen on the allotted hand: is it good? - but Simeonov did not realize that he was taking, recoiled, because outside the window of the bakery flashed - or did it seem? - Tamara, who was going to take him to the apartment, lukewarm. Then he untied the purchase in the tram and asked. Well nothing. Fruit. Decently. Under the glassy jelly smooth surface, lonely fruits slept in the corners: there is an apple slice, there - a more expensive corner - a slice of peach, here a half of a plum froze in the permafrost, and here - a playful, ladies' corner with three cherries. The sides are sprinkled with fine confectionery dandruff. The tram shook, the cake quivered, and Simeonov saw a clear thumbprint on the jelly surface of the water mirror - whether it was a careless cook or a clumsy saleswoman. Nothing, the old woman doesn't see well. And I'll cut it right away. (“Come back,” the guardian demon shook his head sadly, “run, save yourself.”) Simeonov tied up again as he could, and began to watch the sunset. Okkervil was noisy (was it noisy? Was it noisy?) In a narrow stream, beating against the granite shores, the shores were crumbling like sandy ones, sliding into the water. At Vera Vasilievna's house he stood, shifting gifts from hand to hand. The gate into which he was to enter was decorated on top with patterned fish scales. Behind them is a terrible yard. The cat scurried. Yes, he thought so. The great forgotten artist should live in just such a courtyard. Back door, garbage cans, narrow cast-iron railings, dirt. My heart was beating. They have faded for a long time. In my heart is sick.

He called. ("Fool," the inner demon spat and left Simeonov.) The door swung open under the pressure of noise, singing and laughter pouring from the depths of the dwelling, and Vera Vasilievna immediately flashed, white, huge, rouged, black and thick-browed, flashed there, behind a set table, in a lighted doorway, over a pile of smelly snacks to the door, over a huge chocolate cake topped with a chocolate hare, laughing loudly, laughing out loud, flashed - and was taken away by fate forever. And I had to turn and leave. Fifteen people at the table were laughing, looking into her mouth: Vera Vasilievna had a birthday, Vera Vasilievna was telling a joke, choking with laughter. She began to tell him, even when Simeonov was climbing the stairs, she cheated on him with these fifteen, even when he toiled and hesitated at the gate, shifting the defective cake from hand to hand, even when he was riding in the tram, even when he locked himself in the apartment and cleaned there was space on the dusty table for her silver voice, even when, for the first time, with curiosity, he pulled out a heavy, black disc, shimmering with a moonlit envelope from a yellowed torn envelope, even when there was no Simeonov in the world, only the wind stirred the grass and the world was silent. She did not wait for him, thin, at the lancet window, peering into the distance, into the glass streams of the Okkerville River, she laughed in a low voice over the piling up tableware, over salads, cucumbers, fish and bottles, and drankly drank, enchantress, and dashingly turned there -here obese body. She betrayed him. Or did he betray Vera Vasilievna? It was too late to sort it out now.

- Another! - with a laugh someone shouted, by the last name, as it turned out right there, Kisses. - Penalty! - And the cake with the imprint, and the flowers were taken from Simeonov, and squeezed into the table, making him drink to Vera Vasilyevna's health, health, which, as he was convinced with hostility, she simply had nowhere to go. Simeonov sat there, smiling mechanically, nodding his head, grabbing a salted tomato with a fork, looking, like everyone else, at Vera Vasilievna, listening to her loud jokes - his life was crushed, run over in half; the fool himself, now you can't return anything, even if you run; the magical diva was snatched away by the mountaineers, but she herself gladly allowed herself to be snatched away, spit on the beautiful, sad, bald prince promised by fate, did not want to hear his footsteps in the noise of the rain and howling wind behind the autumn windows, did not want to sleep, pricked by a magic spindle, bewitched by for a hundred years, she surrounded herself with mortal, edible people, brought this terrible Kissyev closer to her - especially, intimately close by the very sound of his surname - and Simeonov trampled gray tall houses on the Okkervil River, smashed bridges with turrets and threw chains, covered the light gray waters with garbage , but the river was once again making its way, and houses stubbornly rose from the ruins, and carriages, harnessed by a pair of bay ones, galloped over the indestructible bridges.

- Do you smoke? Kisses asked. - I threw it, so I don't carry it with me. - And he cleaned Simeonov for half a pack. - Who are you? Amateur fan? It's good. Is your apartment? Is there a bath? Gut. And then there is only general. You will take her to your place to wash. She loves to wash. On the first days we get together, listen to the recordings. What do you have? Do you have a "dark green emerald"? It's a pity. We've been looking for a year, just some kind of misfortune. Well nowhere literally. And these of yours were widely circulated, it is not interesting. You are looking for "Emerald". You have no connections to get smoked sausage? No, it's bad for her, it's me ... so myself. Couldn't you bring smaller flowers, or what? I've brought roses, literally with my fist. - Kisses close showed a hairy fist. - You're not a journalist, are you? There would be a broadcast about her on the radio, everything is asking for our Verunchik. Ooh, muzzle. Golosina is still like a deacon. Let me write down your address. - And, pressing Simeonov with a big hand to the chair, - sit, sit, do not see him off, - Kisseuyev got out and left, taking with him Simeon's cake with a fingerprint mark.

Strangers instantly populated the misty Okkerville shores, dragged their belongings, smelling of long-standing housing - pots and mattresses, buckets and ginger cats, it was impossible to squeeze on the granite embankment, then they sang their own, swept garbage on the paving stones laid by Simeonov, gave birth, to a friend to visit, a fat black-browed old woman pushed, dropped a pale shadow with sloping shoulders, stepped on, crushing, on a hat with a veil, crunched underfoot, rolled old round heels in different directions, Vera Vasilievna shouted across the table: "Pass the mushrooms!" - and Simeonov said, and she ate the fungi.

He watched her big nose and mustache move under her nose, how she transferred from face to face big, black eyes, seized by an old age, then someone turned on the tape recorder, and her silver voice floated, gaining strength - nothing, nothing, Thought Simeonov. I'll get home now, nothing. Vera Vasilievna died, she died a long time ago, killed, dismembered and eaten by this old woman, and the bones have already been sucked, I would have celebrated the commemoration, but Kiss took my cake, nothing, here are chrysanthemums on the grave, dry, sick, dead flowers, very appropriate , I honored the memory of the deceased, you can get up and leave.

Tamara was looming at the door of Simeon's apartment - dear! - she picked him up, brought him in, washed, undressed and fed him hot. He promised Tamara to marry, but in the morning, in a dream, Vera Vasilyevna came, spat in his face, called him and left along the damp embankment into the night, swaying on invented black heels. And in the morning, Kiss, who had come to inspect the bathroom, to cook for the evening, rang and knocked at the door. And in the evening he brought Vera Vasilyevna to Simeonov to wash, smoked C-Meon cigarettes, leaned on sandwiches, said: “Yes-ah ... Verunchik is power! How many men left in due time - oh my God! " And Simeonov, against his will, listened to how Vera Vasilyevna's bulky body groaned and swayed in the cramped bathroom trough, how her tender, fat, poured side lagged behind the wall of a wet bath with a squelch and smacking, how the water went into the drain with a sucking sound, like slapping on the floor bare feet, and finally, throwing back the hook, a red, steamed Vera Vasilievna comes out in her dressing gown: “Ugh. Okay". Kisses was in a hurry with tea, and Simeonov, inhibited, smiling, went to rinse after Vera Vasilyevna, wash off gray pellets from the dried walls of the bath with a flexible shower, and gouge out the gray hair from the drain hole. Kisses started up the gramophone, a wondrous, growing, thunderous voice was heard, rising from the depths, spreading its wings, soaring over the world, over the steamed body of Verunchik drinking tea from a saucer, over Simeonov, bent over in his lifelong obedience, over warm kitchen Tamara, over everything that cannot be helped, over the approaching sunset, over the gathering rain, over the wind, over nameless rivers flowing backwards, overflowing their banks, raging and flooding the city, as only rivers can do.

The unbearable dullness of being. Where to run? How to hide from her? Or maybe dispel with the help of a multi-colored dream? Everyone has their own recipe, which, however, does not guarantee complete healing and is accompanied by a host of side effects, such as even more viscous, deep disappointment. As they say, we treat one thing, and another appears, no less difficult. Such unfortunate treatment is discussed in the story of the modern writer Tatyana Tolstaya "The Okkervil River" (A summary of the work follows).

Storybook

1999 year. A new collection of stories by Tatyana Tolstoy is published in the publishing house "Podkova" under the rather unusual title "The Okkervil River", a summary of which is given in this article. Needless to say, the book was a great success with a wide range of readers. Why? As they say, the reason does not like to walk alone and takes with it a myriad of friends. Therefore, there are many reasons why the book so quickly found its reader and fell in love with him for many years, and one of them is the undoubted talent of the author, Tatiana Tolstoy, her poetic style, a little headstrong, full of epithets, metaphors, and unexpected comparisons, her kind of humor, its mysterious, romantically sad, magical world, which either enters into a cruel collision with the mortal world, somewhere meaningless, oozing with longing, then coexists with it quite amicably and peacefully, leading to philosophical reflections.

Summary: "Okkervil River", Tolstaya Tatiana

The collection also includes the story of the same name "The Okkerville River". In short, the plot of the story is simple. He lives in a large, “wet, flowing, blowing wind into the glass” city of St. Petersburg, someone named Simeonov - a big-nosed, aging, balding bachelor. His life is simple and lonely: a small apartment, translations of boring books from some rare language, and for dinner - melted cheese and sweet tea fished out of the window between the windows. But is she really so lonely and joyless as it might seem at first glance? Not at all. After all, he has Vera Vasilievna….

In the story "The Okkervil River", a brief summary of which cannot convey all the beauty of the work, her shining voice that overshadows half the sky, coming from the old gramophone, spoke words of love to him every evening, or rather not him, she did not love him so ardently, but in essence , only to him, only his one, and her feelings were mutual. Simeonov's loneliness with Vera Vasilievna was the most blessed, the most long-awaited, the most deceased. No one and nothing could compare with him: neither the family, nor the comfort of home, nor the Tamara lying in wait for him here and there with her matrimonial snares. He only needs the disembodied Vera Vasilievna, beautiful, young, pulling on a long glove, in a small hat with a veil, mysteriously and leisurely walking along the embankment of the Okkervil River.

The Okkervil River (you are now reading a summary of the work) is the final stop of the tram. The name is alluring, but Simeonov was never there, did not know its surroundings, landscapes and did not want to know. Maybe this is a “quiet, picturesque, slowed down like in a dream world”, or maybe ... This is exactly this “maybe”, probably gray, “outlying, vulgar”, seen once, will freeze and poison him with its hopelessness.

One day in the fall

The summary of the work "Okkervil River" does not end there. One fall, buying another rare disc with Vera Vasilyevna's enchanting romances from the crocodile speculator, Simeonov learns that the singer is alive and well, despite her advanced years, and lives somewhere in Leningrad, albeit in poverty. The brightness of her talent, as often happens, quickly faded and soon faded away, and with her the diamonds, her husband, son, apartment and two lovers flew into oblivion. After this heartbreaking story, two demons started a serious argument in Simeonov's head. One preferred to leave the old woman alone, lock the door, occasionally opening it for Tamara, and continue to live “without extra costs”: love in moderation, languor in moderation, work in moderation. The other, on the contrary, demanded to immediately find the poor old woman and make her happy with his love, attention, care, but not for free - in return he will finally look into her tearful eyes and see in them only immense joy and long-awaited love.

Long-awaited meeting

No sooner said than done. The street address booth suggested the desired address, however, everyday and even somehow offensive - for only five kopecks. The market helped with flowers - small ones wrapped in cellophane. The bakery offered a decent fruit cake, albeit with a thumbprint on the jelly surface: well, nothing, the old woman doesn't see well and probably won't notice ... He called. The door flew open. Noise, singing, laughter, a table heaped with salads, cucumbers, fish, bottles, fifteen laughing ones and a huge, ruddy white Vera Vasilievna telling an anecdote. It's her birthday today. Simeonov unceremoniously squeezed into the table, took away the flowers, the cake and made him drink to the health of the birthday girl. He ate, drank, and mechanically smiled: his life was crushed, his "magic diva" was stolen, or rather, she herself gladly let herself be stolen. For whom did she exchange him, a beautiful, sad, albeit bald, but prince? Fifteen mortals.

Life goes on

It turns out that on the first day of every month, Vera Vasilyevna's fans gather in her communal apartment, listen to old records and help as much as they can. They asked if Simeonov had his own bathtub, and if so, they would bring a "magic diva" to him to swim, because here is a common one, and she loves how to wash. And Simeonov sat and thought: Vera Vasilyevna is dead, we must return home, marry Tamara and eat hotter every day.

The next day in the evening Vera Vasilievna was brought to Simeonov's home to swim. After long ablutions, she came out all red, steamed, barefoot in a dressing gown, and Simeonov, smiling and sluggish, went to rinse the bath, wash off the gray pellets and pull out the clogged gray hair from the drain hole ...

Conclusion

Have you read the summary of "Okkervil River" (Tolstaya T.)? Okay. And now we advise you to open the first page of the story and start reading the text itself. About a dark, cold city, about a bachelor's feast on a spread newspaper, about scraps of ham, about precious meetings with Vera Vasilyevna, which Tamara so brazenly and unceremoniously sought to destroy…. The author spares no paints, makes savory strokes, sometimes even too much, drawing every detail, capturing the smallest details, full-bodied and convex. It is impossible not to admire!

The point is not even that Vera Vasilievna turned out to be not at all what she remained in the dreams of a longtime admirer, but that he himself, at first rejoicing at the opportunity to help the lady of his heart with something, is deep down in his heart afraid of this. Hence the coarse word "old woman" that appeared in his thoughts, for which a cake that someone has picked up, and small, already fading "market" chrysanthemums will do. “You couldn’t bring any smaller flowers, or what? I've brought roses, here literally with my fist, ”- Kisses, the faithful admirer of Vera Vasilievna, is surprised. Simeonov himself later realizes that dry, sick, dead flowers are only suitable for the grave of his love, and it is not by chance that Kisses takes the “cake with a fingerprint mark” to his home. www.intoregions.ru

Fans of Vera Vasilyevna gather to exchange records, through which they can solve their own problems, they are practical and cheerful people who live in real life and succeed in it, as evidenced by their ability to deliver rare records inaccessible to Simeonov. Simeonov in this circle feels like a stranger and completely unhappy, his ideas about the life of his idol are absurd and ridiculous. He is on the verge of losing his mind, so strong is the blow inflicted by the reality of life, a woman saves him from madness: “At the door of Simeon's apartment, Tamara, dear! - she picked him up, brought him in, washed, undressed and fed him hot. He promised Tamara to marry, but in the morning, in a dream, Vera Vasilievna came, spat in his face, called him and walked away along the damp embankment into the night, swaying on invented black heels.

Unlike her colleagues in women's prose, Tolstaya gives a fairly detailed (within the framework of the story genre) the image of the heroine - the bearer of patriarchal culture. Sonya in the story of the same name, Margarita (“They sat on the golden porch”), Tamara (in “Okkervil River”) are given rather positively, and if not with sympathy, then at least in a positive contrast to the image of the chimera. And this to a large extent characterizes T. Tolstaya as a carrier and masculine principle in women's prose. In the story "The Okkervil River" by Tolstoy, two types of women accompanying Simeonova, Tamara and Vera Vasilievna are presented, the first is the mistress of the house (hypothetically), the second is a creative nature, not adapted to housekeeping and unable to create comfort. Let us only emphasize that in such an artistic interpretation of the portrait there is something from a tough male gaze.

Perhaps, if the hero actually fulfilled his promise to marry, Tamara made him happy, but “in the morning, Kisses rang and knocked at the door, who came to inspect the bathroom and cook for the evening. And in the evening he brought Vera Vasilyevna, who lived without comforts, to Simeonov's to wash, smoked Simeon's cigarettes, leaned on sandwiches, said: "Yes-ah. Verunchy is power! How many peasants left in due time - that's my God!" But even over the description of the vulgar atmosphere of the fun he saw, and then - the ridiculous bath day, when Simeonov has to wash the gray pellets from the walls of the bathtub, in the hero's soul "a wondrous, growing, thunderous voice reigns, rising from the depths, spreading its wings, soaring over the world." There will be money, and Simeonov will buy a rare disc for a great price, where Vera Vasilievna yearns that spring will not come for her. The disembodied Vera Vasilievna will sing, merging with Simeonov into one yearning, hysterical voice.

The heroes of the story change roles from a gender point of view: Simeonov is overly sensitive, and Vera Vasilievna, although she sings about spring, is a “male romance,” according to the hero himself. A man in his dreams sees himself as a knight, personifying a beautiful ideal, to which a woman aspires, but in reality he is weak. The implementation of the gender stereotype through the positioning of male and female roles in the text is given by the author by overcoming the clear attribution of the characters to a pure male or purely female gender role. Both the image of Simeonov and the image of Vera Vasilievna include both the features of the masculine and the feminine principle: he is both a noble devoted knight, and an indecisive lonely man, she is both a beautiful naiad and a firm, staunch lady, who, by the power of her voice, turns the whole being of the hero into a petty one. peas, into nothing. Tolstoy's story ends on a philosophical note. The writer does not give hope for a better arrangement of the hero's life, he did not have enough strength to change his life, he cannot part with the dream, where he is a knight, and she is a beautiful lady, reality is unacceptable and destructive for his finely organized male soul.

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Tatiana Tolstaya published the book of stories "The Okkervil River" in 1999, and almost instantly her work gained recognition and fame. Tolstoy's stories are mythical in nature and are perceived as fairy tales, since, first of all, the writer wanted to show wonderful and significant moments of human life, filled with experiences and deep feelings.

It is the tradition of the epic that allows her to most clearly and accurately show these magnificent moments, and draw people's attention to the fact that they can happen in everyday life.

Illusion or Reality?

Using eloquent metaphors, T. Tolstaya invites readers to look at everyday life for every person from the side of a miracle, something incredible and fateful. Initially, with her fabulous narratives and colorful fantasy, she takes people away from difficulties and problems, from the vulgarity of everyday life, which makes people automated.

Thus, everyone who is imbued with the stories of the "Okkervil River" feels nostalgia for the times when he could still believe in something miraculous, and allows himself a philosophical look at the world around him.

But still the main idea of \u200b\u200bTolstoy's stories lies in the ensuing conflict between her fairy-tale characters and the rough and deluded reality. The general theme of the stories is revealed in the confrontation between beautiful invention and the harsh present.

And most often the conflict unfolds within the heroes themselves, they cannot come to terms with their own existence and the reality that is created around them. In the stories of the Okkervil River, there are a lot of main characters, and each of them experiences its own contradiction, its own internal struggle.

In the story "The Circle" - this is Vasily and his twisted, closed world, in the story "A Date with the Bird" - it is Petya, whose impression of the sorceress Tamila turns into the collapse of his own world, in "Sweet Shura" it is Shura and her barely perceptible struggle with time.

The main idea of \u200b\u200bthe stories

Tatiana Tolstaya raises the theme of childhood, the most fabulous and illusory beautiful period in a person's life, and this is her main metaphor in the cycle of stories "The Okkervil River". After all, a child's soul is a fairy tale in itself, but a child is forced to grow up and expel a fairy tale from his heart and soul.

Tolstaya also addresses the elderly, in whose souls eternity is already, and are just as out of time as children. Opposing these cycles of human life, the writer reveals the main idea of \u200b\u200bher work - regret about the transience of life, sympathy for people, since they are forced to correspond to the fast-moving time.

Tolstoy sometimes laughs at the characters, creating truly comic situations for them, but with her irony the writer wants to show their essence, their spiritual depth, which cannot change over time.

Most of the heroes have two faces, one that Tolstaya describes to us at the beginning of the story, and one that itself looms for us at the end, and sometimes these faces are completely different, and amaze with their opposite.

This is not to say that the author regrets the people she describes, no - Tolstaya simply tells about the process of life itself, demonstrating it from different sides. Everybody ever invents an ideal, fabulous world for themselves, and someday everyone is faced with the fact that this world was created from unnecessarily fragile material that fell apart at the very first awareness of reality.

Lesson summary in grade 8 based on T. Tolstoy's story "Okkervil River"

Hello guys, sit down. Tune in to the lesson, mentally wish each other good luck. I also wish you successful work in the lesson, good mood, new discoveries. At home, you got acquainted with the biography of Tatyana Tolstaya and her story "The Okkervil River". I ask you to tell us about Tatiana Nikitichna. Let's do it together. What have you learned? (They speak in short phrases in turn).

(Born in 1951 in Leningrad, granddaughter of the writer Alexei Tolstoy through her father and poet Mikhail Lozinsky through her mother. Born into a large family - 7 brothers and sisters. Graduated from the philological faculty of Leningrad University. She worked as a proofreader in the editorial office, then began to write and publish. In 90 he left for America, where he was teaching. In 99 he returned to Russia. Journalist, writer, TV presenter, teacher. The eldest son Tolstoy Artemy Lebedev is a famous web designer, the younger Alexey is a programmer and photographer, lives and works in America)

Tatiana Tolstaya in her works raises problems that are very important for every person. We will talk about one of them, connected with the story "The Okkervil River", today. Read the statements of famous people.

"The dream is the most faithful, the most interesting society" (Pierre Bouast)

“Dreams give the world interest and meaning” (Anatole France)

“We all dream of some magical rose garden beyond the horizon, instead of enjoying the roses that bloom right outside our window, in real life.” (Dale Carnegie)

“It's dangerous to joke with a dream; a broken dream can be the misfortune of life, and chasing a dream, you can miss life "(D. Pisarev)

What contradiction have you noticed? Which problem? (Some urge to dream, others warn against it). Highlight the key, supporting words of these statements (dream, life). Let's try, based on this contradiction, to formulate the topic of the lesson. (The conflict between dreams and reality in the story of TN Tolstoy "The Okkervil River").

The topic has been identified, and what goals will we set for ourselves? What steps do you need to take to uncover the topic? (Analyze the story to understand the author's intention, the motives of the hero's actions, find answers to your questions, take lessons for yourself). –How are we going to analyze the story? What to talk about? Look at the title of the topic (What is Simeonov dreaming of, what is his real life, how the conflict occurs and what came of it).

Let's work with the text. Where does the action take place? (In Petersburg). Why is this important to us? (Petersburg is a special place. This is the city of Pushkin, Gogol, Dostoevsky. A mysterious city, living its own life, a city where the real and the ghostly collide).

When does the action take place? (Late October - November). How does the author talk about this? (“When the zodiac sign changed to Scorpio”). This is the real world of the protagonist Simeonov. Let's reflect this in the diagram. (They begin to draw a diagram).

How is the surrounding world depicted at this time? (Petersburg, windy, dark, rainy, damp, uncomfortable, gloomy, cold, lonely).

What do we know about Simeonov? What does he do? (He is a translator of "unnecessary books", a bachelor, no family, he has an unsettled life) How do we find out about unsettled life? (processed curds between frames).

How does he live in this real world? How does Simeonov feel? (lonely. - He is burdened by his loneliness? - No - What does his family seem to him? (read p. 156), balding, hiding from reality, small).

Simeonov constantly locks himself in his apartment - from whom or what? (From Tamara) What is Tamara, the personification of what world? (Real), sign into the scheme. How does Simeonov feel about her? (she annoys him) - What is she doing? (Takes care of Simeonov, brings him food, cleans the apartment, and does laundry). Tamara tries to return him to real life, to pull him out of the world of illusions.

With the help of what or who does Simeonov plunge into another reality, invented? (with the help of music, romances, V.V.'s voice)

Let us also listen and try to understand why the illusory world turns out to be so attractive for Simeonov. (romance sounds).

Find in the text the words characterizing the voice of V.V. (divine, dark, low, at first lacy and dusty, then swelling, rising from the depths, rushing uncontrollably ...)

What happens to Simeonov when he hears this voice? (turns out to be in another world) Let's characterize this world (scheme: harmony, comfort, beauty, peace, pacification, lights, fragrance, V.V.).

If in real life Simeonov is in St. Petersburg, then in the dream world where does he end up? (On the Okkervil River), we sign into the scheme.

What is the Okkervil River to him? (A symbol of the magical world, the world of dreams.) Who and what inhabits the banks of the mysterious Okkervil River Simeonov? (Page 157, you can read it). And in fact? (the last stop of the tram, a place where he has never been). Why doesn't he get to the final stop? (Afraid of facing reality, afraid of disappointment). Why did this particular river become a symbol of his illusory world? (Unusual, some name not typical for our places).

How does Simeonov feel in the fantasy world? (he feels good, he is happy, calm, enjoys life, love him V.V.)

What was V.V. Simeonov? (the ideal of a woman) - how does she see her? (young, beautiful, mysterious, unearthly).

Explain why Simeonov felt hard when he found out that V.V. alive? (in his mind there was a collision with reality, illusion under the threat of destruction)

Read the excerpt on page 158 ("Looking at the sunset rivers ...")

Who do the demons represent? (romance and realist).

Which one expects to see V.V. Simeonov? (old, lonely, poor, emaciated, husky, forgotten and abandoned by everyone). Why? (They were intended for each other, but missed in time).

Simeonov did not obey the inner demon, went to the living V.V. In the next paragraph, name the keywords that predict the collapse of all Simeonov's illusions (I got the address offensively simply - for a nickel, small yellow chrysanthemums, sprinkled with dandruff, a thumbprint on a cake, back door, garbage cans, filth).

How did the real V.V. appear before Simeonov? (celebrates dr., laughs, drinks, is surrounded by people, tells jokes, obese, big, who has not lost her taste for life).

What happened in Simeonov's soul when he saw the real V.V.? (he felt disgust, his life was crushed, the world collapsed).

How can you rate Simeonov? His character? How does he make you feel? (The attitude is mixed, ambiguous. On the one hand, it evokes sympathy, but on the other, protest, because you cannot live only with illusions. After all, in real life there are joys, reasons for happiness).

Whom does Simeonov remind you of? (Akaki Akakievich Bashmachkin from Gogol's "Overcoat", Alekhine from the story "About Love" by Chekhov, Nikolai Ivanovich from "Kryzhovnik") What unites all these heroes? The desire to escape from reality, the desire to close oneself from the world, limiting oneself to small. They are all "small" people.

Strong or weak, in your opinion, Simeonov?

This is our relationship to the hero. And how does Tatyana Tolstaya herself relate to Simeonov? What details will help answer the question? (Name: the hero does not have a name, only a surname. It seems to me that this happens when a person is not completely respectful. Labor does not bring him any joy: he translated books that no one needs. She sympathizes with him, sometimes sneers.)

Here is what Tatyana Tolstaya wrote about her heroes: “I am interested in people from the“ outskirts ”, ie those to whom we, as a rule, are deaf, whom we perceive as absurd, unable to hear their speeches, to discern their pain. They leave life, having understood little, they leave, perplexed, like children: the holiday is over, but where are the gifts? And life was a gift, and they themselves were a gift, but no one explained to them. " So what is Tatyana Tolstoy's author's idea? Why did she write this story? (Warning).

Let's go back to the statements that we read at the beginning of the lesson. Should a person dream? Or is it dangerous? Write down your findings. Dreams or reality? (Of course, you have to dream, but sometimes dreams take us very high, you still have to return to earth every time to accustom yourself to reflect on your actions, meet friends, quarrel, put up, in a word, live. Live in the real world. not just dream, but set goals to go towards them. The dream must be high.)

Lesson grades.

Guys, at the end of our conversation, I suggest watching a short video.

Home. Back. What the story "Okkervil River" opened for me

Development of the problem "hero and time" in the story "The Okkervil River"

As we have already noted above, the category of time is the most important in the poetics of T. Tolstoy's prose. The first critics of the writer's work drew attention to this. “Constant overlapping of time layers, alternation of acceleration and deceleration of the course of time,” noted P. Spivak. The author, according to M. Lipovetsky, creates his own chronotope, in which everything is animated.

It should be noted that time in T. Tolstoy's stories is ambivalent and interpenetrating. Often the past flows in the present, the present in the future and vice versa. A characteristic feature is the dismemberment of the passage of time. Chronological leaps, changes of acceleration and deceleration are very frequent. Moreover, it is important that the acceleration of the passage of time is associated with the everyday life of the heroes, and the slowdown - with the most vivid memories. Time, like memory, stops at the brightest. The beginning and the end of time are in eternity.

In all stories, due to the latent or explicit presence of the narrator, the countdown begins from the end, returning through the beginning again to the end. This is how the eternal circle of time is formed - one of the central concepts of T. Tolstoy's poetics.

And at the same time, one should agree with P. Weill and A. Genis, who note that the author's ideal is time that does not go forward into the future, but in a circle. Tolstaya enjoys a special time. The action in her stories takes place not in the past, not in the present, not in the future, but in the time that is always there.

Consider the specifics of the flow of time in the lives of the heroes in one of the best stories "The Okkervil River".

This work, written in 1987, raises the theme of "Man and Art", the influence of art on a person, the relationship of people in the modern world, this is a reflection on the relationship between dreams and reality.

The story is built on the principle of "chaining associations", "stringing images". Already at the beginning of the work, a picture of a natural disaster - a flood in St. Petersburg - is combined with a story about a lonely, aging Simeonov and his life. Undoubtedly, the author's postmodernist technique is also noticeable: the emphasis on the intertextual connection with The Bronze Horseman by A.S. Pushkin, where the theme of the greatness of Peter I, his best creation - the most beautiful city of St. Petersburg and the insignificance of a little man with his hopes, dreams, disappointment, sounds, the endless and inescapable need for love, purity, self-realization in love relationships and the tragic impossibility of these aspirations. Tolstaya is far from thinking that the world is reasonable, she protests against the romantic illusion that life is unconditionally beautiful. Tolstoy's irony is not just a way to avoid pathos, not armor that protects the innermost, but a necessary feature of artistry that reveals the most natural and human. The trouble with many of Tolstoy's heroes is that they do not notice the gift of life itself, they wait or seek happiness somewhere outside reality, and in the meantime life passes. T. Tolstaya shows that dreamy self-deception and the exposure of dreams are part of the natural self-movement of life. This process is typical for both men and women, an example of this is not only Simeonov, but also Galya from the story "Owl", Alexandra Ernestovna ("Sweetheart Shura").

The hero of the story "The Okkervil River" is self-sufficient (high social status, intense spiritual life), and even loneliness, which sometimes pushes a person to extreme actions, is perceived here as an integral part of his spiritual world. Unlike the lack of spirituality of many male heroes of female prose, Simeonov is sentimental and impressionable as a woman, for many years he has been in love with the singer Vera Vasilievna, every day he listens to a record with her voice and dreams of meeting her, which does not prevent him from meeting a real a woman - Tamara, who sometimes interrupts "precious meetings with Vera Vasilievna." Hours of loneliness become "blissful" for Simeonov, just when no one bothers him, he enjoys the singing of his beloved woman, happiness is distant and unrealizable, because the hero is actually in love with his dream (but this, as they say, is not a vice). The subtlety, albeit somewhat deliberate, of the hero's experiences is emphasized.

Simeonov's bachelor life is brightened up by reading, enjoying the sounds of an old romance. T. Tolstaya masterfully conveys the sound of the old, "anthracite circle":

No, not you! so ardent! I love! - Jumping, crackling and hissing, Vera Vasilievna was quickly spinning under the needle; ... a divine, dark, low, at first laced and dusty, swelling from the scalloped orchid, then swelling underwater pressure, swaying with lights on the water, - psch - psch - psch, a blowing voice … - No, Vera Vasilievna did not love him so ardently, but nevertheless, in essence, only him, and this was mutual with them. H-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u. " The singer's voice is associated with a caravel, rushing through “the night water splashing with lights, a glow blooming in the night sky. And the details of a modest life fade into the background: “melted cheese or ham scraps fished out of the windows,” a feast on a spread newspaper, dust on the desktop.

The contradictions present in the hero's life are emphasized by the details of the hero's portrait: "On such days ... Simeonov ... set up the gramophone, feeling especially nosy, balding, especially feeling his early years around his face."

The title of the story is symbolic; the symbol of time is encrypted in it - the river. "The Okkervil River" is the name of the final tram stop, a place not known for Simeonov, but occupying his imagination. It may turn out to be beautiful, where there is a "greenish stream" with a "green sun", silvery willows "," wooden humpbacked bridges ", or maybe there" ... some nasty factory spills out a nacreous poisonous waste, or something else, hopeless, marginal, vulgar ”. The river, symbolizing time, changes its color - at first it seems to Simeonov as a "dull green stream", later - "poisonous greenery that has already bloomed."

Hearing from the seller of gramophone records that Vera Vasilievna is alive, Simeonov decides to find her. This decision is not easy for him - two demons are fighting in his soul - a romantic and a realist: “one insisted to throw the old woman out of his head, to lock the doors tight, to live as he used to live, loving to the best, moderately languishing, listening alone to the pure sound of the silver trumpet , but another demon - an insane young man with a consciousness darkened by the translation of bad books - demanded to go, run, look for Vera Vasilievna - a blind, poor old woman, ... shout to her after years and adversity that she was a wonderful peri, destroyed and raised him - Simeonov, faithful knight, and, crushed by her silver voice, fell ... all the frailty of the world ",

Another trouble awaits Simeonov - someone's fingerprint imprinted on the jelly surface of the cake. The following detail also speaks of the disharmony of the upcoming meeting: "The sides (of the cake) were sprinkled with fine confectionery dandruff."

As she approaches Vera Vasilyevna, the writer reduces her image, accompanying the hero's path with everyday details, unsightly realities, which the dreamer hero is trying in vain to subjugate to his imagination: to combine the back door with romance lines, garbage cans, narrow cast-iron railings, uncleanness, a cat slipping away ... " Yes, he thought so. The great forgotten artist must live in such a courtyard ... Her heart was beating. They have faded for a long time. In my heart is sick. " The hero did not turn off the path, having entered Vera Vasilyevna's apartment, but the reader understands that his beautiful water castle on the Okkervil River is already crumbling. What awaited the hero outside the door of the apartment of the great singer in the past? "He called. ("Fool," the inner demon spat and left Simeonov.) The door swung open under the pressure of noise, singing and laughter pouring from the bowels of the dwelling, and Vera Vasilyevna immediately flashed. " In life, she turned out to be a huge, rouged, thick-browed old woman with a rolling laugh, with clearly masculine traits. "She laughed in a low voice over the piling tableware, over salads, cucumbers, fish and bottles, and drank dashingly, enchantress, and dashingly turned to and fro with her obese body." The hero's disappointment is that he was not alone at Vera Vasilyevna's home, she did not wait for him. The patriarchal nature of Simeonov's convictions is manifested in his feeling of possessiveness, emphasized by the unreality of the situation: this feeling manifests itself at the sight of guests at the singer's birthday: “She cheated on him with these fifteen ... was in the world, only the wind stirred the grass and there was silence in the world ”.

In the end of the story, Simeonov, together with other fans, helps to brighten up the singer's life. This is humanly very noble. But poetry and charm disappeared, the author emphasizes this with realistic details: "Bent over in his lifelong obedience," Simeonov rinses the bath after Vera Vasilyevna, washing "gray pellets from dried walls, knocking out gray hair from the drain hole."

The story ends, as it began, with the image of the river. “Kisses started the gramophone, a wondrous, growing thunderous voice was heard ... soaring over the steamed body of Verunchik drinking tea from a saucer, ... over everything that cannot be helped, over the approaching sunset, ... over nameless rivers flowing backwards, overflowing the banks, raging and flooding the city, as only rivers can do. " And this is exactly the feature of Tolstoy's style, which we noted above - the looping of time, movement in a circle.

Humanism in Russian literature of the 19th century

Composition Bulgakov M.A. The image and characteristics of the Shvonder in the story the heart of a dog by Bulgakov composition Characteristics of the heroes heart of a dog Shvonder