I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 6 Contemporary Russian Literature

Thanks to the few rubles he paid a few days ago, Mikhail's food has been greatly upgraded. It has successfully evolved from hot pot water to pig food...

Of course, the food that ordinary Russians ate during this period was generally not very good.

If one was unlucky and was born a serf, he would probably hardly get to eat meat a few times in his life. Most of them had to rely on the food they grew themselves to survive. Even if they worked diligently in the fields every day, pouring tons of sweat into this never-satisfied land, food shortages were still common.

God knows why this is the case, or rather, God knows, this group of people is often the easiest to manage.

For other classes, you have to pull out their bones to make them crawl over, but for this group of people, even if you pull out a big stick, they will still thank you!
There are two completely different descriptions of the images of serfs and ordinary people in literature in today's Russian literary world.

One type is the progressive aristocrats represented by Pushkin. In their writings, peasants and ordinary people often appear as exceptionally simple, kind and innocent, but this kind of praise is nothing more than a distorted fantasy of the aristocratic lords about rural manors.

The other category is represented by Gogol, who exposed the absurdity, darkness, selfishness and narrow-mindedness of the serfs.

However, this kind of exposure does not really criticize this group. It is more about using this kind of image to reflect the mental oppression and destruction caused to the serfs by the serfdom system.

The reason I mentioned this is naturally that in order to better understand the current landscape of Russia and the current trend of the literary world, Mikhail has spent a lot of time walking in the streets and alleys of St. Petersburg, observing people's lives, and looking in bookstores to see what the current writers in the literary world are writing.

This sight really made Mikhail laugh.

After all, Pushkin and Gogol mentioned above are certainly more progressive poets and writers of this era.

The writings of many other writers are indeed empty, dull and boring.

After all, these days, writing is considered a relatively luxurious hobby, and most of the time only wealthy and free nobles can participate in it.

There are almost no civilian writers.

Therefore, most of the books in this bookstore, except for the ancient books handed down from generation to generation, are either about the romantic affairs of aristocrats or hymns to aristocrats and heroes. Ordinary people and serfs are mentioned very rarely, and most of the time they are not positive characters, but are often stupid, absurd and funny.

This kind of absurdity and comedy is certainly not from Gogol's school. It is simply a kind of condescending and amusing look of the nobles on the lower class.

Looking at it this way, the collections of pornographic stories and anecdotes specifically for the general public seem much more interesting than those things.

All I can say is that every era is filled with a lot of literary and artistic garbage, and those that have been able to survive and become famous are the words in Mikhail's mind. In this era, they would easily be hanged...

Just thinking about Mikhail's neck starts to itch...

After all, he is not Pushkin, Turgenev and Tolstoy who are of noble birth. The Tsar may not take action against them for the sake of his face, but it is just a matter of moving his fingers to deal with a commoner like Mikhail.

Of course, if a noble plays a big game like keyboard politics too hard, he will lose his head.

But no matter how itchy it is, I still have to write it first.

Back to the issue of diet, compared to the serfs who ate sour rye bread and other grains for years, the city residents ate a slightly richer diet, including rye bread, pickled fish, cheap sausages, and some cooked food that was often available on the streets.

Not to mention the middle class and aristocratic gentlemen, Mikhail really couldn't imagine something he hadn't seen much.

Mikhail's current living standard is roughly between that of ordinary residents and serfs.

A little bit of gluten-laden black bread mixed with sawdust, a little leftover vegetable soup, and if you're lucky, sometimes even a cup of tea with not a single tea leaf in it.

The food was hard to come by and the accommodation wasn't very good either.

The space was only six steps long, making it impossible to pace back and forth. The last time the three of them discussed the matter, they practically hugged each other.

The wallpaper was yellow and dusty, and was peeling everywhere. It was so low that Mikhail didn't dare to stretch too far.

Not to mention the living quarters, which is just a big, bulky sofa. When no one is there, it is Mikhail's bed, and when people come, it becomes a place for guests to sit.

When Mikhail wanted to sleep, he would just lie down on the bed with a sheet, covered with his tattered schoolboy coat, and with a small pillow under his head.

Although it seems okay, but if the posture is wrong, back pain is common.

And it was in such an environment that Mikhail finally completed his work and wrote a new novel.

More things can wait until later. Right now, he really needs some royalties to improve his life. The most important thing is to take care of the affairs at home.

Mikhail read the family letter twice these days. Combining it with his memory, Mikhail understood very clearly that his sister had no feelings for the clerk at all. It was just that the clerk had been pursuing her relentlessly, and coupled with the family situation, all of this finally made the 17-year-old girl make the final decision.

The reply letter has been sent, but more importantly, they should be shown substantial results and rewards, otherwise everything is just empty talk.

So after completing the novel, Mikhail did a final check, and then spent a few kopecks to find the maid Nastasia and asked her to help mail the manuscript out.

Mikhail was a little exhausted from having to finish the manuscript overnight. The damn Russian was much harder to write than he had imagined.

In addition, I was not sure where the post office was, so I had to ask Nastasia to do it for me.

"What is this, Mikhail?" Nastasia, the maid who was not wearing a maid outfit, took Mikhail's manuscript, held it up in amazement, and looked it up and down.

"The love letters you wrote to your little sweetheart? It's such a thick stack. Even if she is the meanest and most cruel lady in our country, she might shed a tear because of your sincerity."

"This is a novel, Nastasia." Mikhail knew that the other party was illiterate, so he patiently explained: "Please make sure it is not damaged in any way. This is very important to me."

Because he was a little drowsy, Mikhail felt something was wrong after he finished speaking.

If I tell this nagging maid, what difference does it make if I tell everyone else in this apartment?
"Novel? Oh my god, you're a college student after all."

Mikhail was not sure whether there was any sarcasm in the other party's words, but there was no doubt that the other party was quite excited at the moment.

"Nastasia, please make sure no one else knows about this."

Since he was writing this kind of article, Mikhail thought it would be better to keep a low profile, so he emphasized again: "This is just a small attempt."

"Don't worry, Mikhail."

Nastasya, the old maid with green eyes, assured:
"The whole village of Volzogre in Arkhangelsk knows that my mouth is tighter than a widow's door."

Mikhail: “.”

What are you mumbling about?

What village?

(End of this chapter)