The whole truth about Marina Akhmedova. Marina Akhmedova: “You don’t choose death, so the main thing is that someone holds your hand” Conversation about reporting from hot spots, book fairs and literary awards

Women's prose about modern warfare is becoming a noticeable trend, although it is currently represented solely by Marina Akhmedova. A philologist, correspondent for the weekly "Russian Reporter", she had not visited Chechnya even once by the time she began writing her debut story about Natalya Medvedeva, a photojournalist at the first Chechen war and Basayev’s voluntary hostage in Budennovsk. But Akhmedova visited Dagestan, and not only at the time of the terrorist attacks, but much earlier, in her childhood days.

Now she remembers how she lived in Tomsk in a wooden house, surrounded by grandmothers, one of whom embroidered portraits of Stalin, another with sore legs danced a gypsy girl, and the third, if something happened, took her granddaughter on her lap and hugged her. And from this fabulous Siberian house, her father sent Marina to the other side of the country, to a completely different grandmother - to a Dagestan village, so that she could learn it native language. Another grandmother did not speak Russian at all, she had eleven children and countless grandchildren. Only her grandfather had time to work with Marina; he worked at the post office, talked to her about God, and when her city granddaughter’s shoes were stolen on the very first day, he bought her galoshes. Marina spent “two painful months” in the village and did not learn her father’s language.

The beginning of the book about the girl Khadija from a Dagestan village is sadder than the ending. After all, how it ends is clear from the title, but how it began, how a person who chose such a death could live is exciting.

ELECTRONIC IN THE COUNTRY OF MOUNTAINS

Quite noticeable media noise around another recent book about Dagestan - “Salaam to you, Dalgat!” Alisa Ganieva was supported, among other things, by the author’s indignant compatriots: why wash dirty linen in public? Meanwhile, the book made a kind of breakthrough of the information blockade, creating Russian society request for modern national literature. There has been a rebranding of the republic: from the area of ​​literature lessons and journalistic reports, it has moved to the area of ​​the five senses and emotional attachments of the reader.

It seems to me that Akhmedova’s achievement is not that she explained where suicide bombers come from, but that after her novel this becomes even more incomprehensible. U human heart there is nothing in common with war and death, it reaches out to life and love, and the novel makes you feel this craving. We get used to the world of Khadija through her language, in which Akhmedova clearly conveyed the sensitivity and straightforwardness of a natural person.

The only thing I regret is that I was not born in small town N. If I was born in this small town, I would be happy. My friends always laugh at me when I say that my dream is to be a waitress. I'm not kidding

Feeling the taste again simple images, the brightness of unmixed colors, the strength of unimaginable feelings, learning after the heroine to speak simply and succinctly about such complex things as the death of parents, love, the bitterness of passions, we forget that before us is a suicide bomber, a character from a criminal chronicle, and we see that the original Dagestan not contradictory, but beautiful. To your very roots eternal mountains, which, as Khadija learned, are “alive inside.”

It was three years ago, my friend and I came to Nelidovo to report on local weddings. One story was about a wedding in the Russian outback, the other was about a wedding in Gudermes, Chechnya. I looked at all these wedding celebrations somehow distantly. Although I am also a woman, and there was a very beautiful bride in the air pink dress, I looked at her and mentally kicked myself in the ass, and said: “Marina, why don’t you envy her?”

I sincerely wanted to envy her. Because she wore a pink dress, but I never did.

Then I told my friend that the only thing I regret is that I was not born in the small town of N. If I had been born in this small town, I would have been happy. My friends always laugh at me when I say that my dream is to be a waitress. I'm not kidding.

And from my experience of communicating with shepherds... When I went there, I imagined: I would sit on some green mountain, surrounded by bleating sheep - a heavenly picture... There would be lamps hanging above me big stars. We will sit around a blazing fire with shepherds and have philosophical conversations. They spend so much time in solitude that they are able to have philosophical conversations with me.

But when I got there, everything turned out to be a little different. Because no one was going to sit near the fire with me, they slept in a hut and invited me there. And I had the Moscow bad idea of ​​sleeping under the stars... And it was impossible to talk to them. Firstly, because they speak Russian poorly. And then it turned out that... People always reproach me for asking very simple questions in interviews. However, it turned out that these simple questions of mine were difficult for them; they did not understand what I was talking about.

We stood there, and I saw these people, militants, leaning out of the window. I always try to put myself in other people's shoes, and I imagined how scared they might be right now

I spent some time there, trying... I didn't try to live their life, but - nature is captivating. And so I looked around and realized that this was a thousand years ago, two thousand years, and I was here for just a short time. And when you get used to this picture - everything is very beautiful, but there is nothing for the eye to cling to, then you... You don’t want anything at all. It was strange: I didn’t want my own mobile phone, I didn’t want my laptop, I sat and listened, and it seemed to me that I, too, was starting, like them, to work not with my mind, but with my soul.

Then I talked to them a lot and realized that compared to us they are truly philosophers. I realized how much happier they are than me. The trouble is that I cannot be that happy, because for this you need to be born in city N, not travel outside of it and be content with what you have.

HOW NEW ENTITIES ARE CREATED

Interview with real prototypes She took suicide bombers Khadija Akhmedova more than once. Not among suicide bombers - this is impossible for obvious reasons, but among women who are ready to blow themselves up for the sake of the war that killed their husbands and brothers.

Akhmedova was prompted to write a book about the suicide bomber not by these conversations, but by the report “Understanding the Dragon,” for which she received the prestigious Iskra journalistic prize in March of this year.

The report, exposing the intractability of the conflict in Dagestan, turned out to be prophetic. Shortly after the publication, a terrorist attack occurred at Moscow's Domodedovo airport, and the employees of the Russian Reporter were bombarded with questions: how did you know? The point, of course, is not mysticism, on the contrary: an accurate realistic study of the powder keg of Dagestan does not allow you to sleep peacefully. But in Moscow they prefer to pretend that they are sleeping.

Indifferent people in the subway are Akhmedova’s favorite image, which, however, not only Muscovites can take personally. In Dagestan itself, people have learned to live past the war and come to terms with the inevitable death of loved ones.

M.A.: I was inspired by the special operation in Makhachkala. I had been on special operations before, but this one became special for me, because then I came into contact with corpses. Quite by chance, a man approached me, and it turned out that he could lead me through the cordon as a medical expert.

We stood there, and I saw these people, militants, leaning out of the window. I always try to put myself in other people's shoes, and I imagined how scared they might be right now. They, of course, say that they die as heroes - martyrs, but they are still people, they should be scared.

And then they brought the mother of one of the militants - and they are young, they are 18-20 years old... And I am perplexed: why is the system like this, why are they not trying to save lives? Just imagine: a baby is born! First, conception, then you carry it, then it grows, grows - this is a miracle for a mother, and how can you take it and ruin it? This is strange to me. This is illogical and irrational!

And then his mother came and asked him to leave... He told her: “Mom, go away, don’t humiliate yourself in front of them.” And she said: “Oh, you’re my mother’s, my mother’s soul...” She, of course, really wanted him to come out. But he wouldn’t come out, that was clear.

They unloaded the corpses, took them to the morgue and left me with them. Because I am a “medical expert”! And I communicated with these corpses, well, that is, how... I looked at them... I have seen corpses before, the energy of death frightens me and at the same time attracts me...

I approached the special forces and said: “You know, I’m really hungry, tell me, how long will it take you to kill them, maybe I’ll have time to have a snack?” They told me that maybe they would kill them for at least another two hours... And I went to neighboring yard, there was a cafe there, I ordered trout, it was very delicious fish it was wildly delicious, and I ate this trout... I just don’t understand why I shouldn’t have eaten it if I wanted to eat? But this trout - it backfired on me, because when I wrote in the report that they were killing there and I ate to the sound of mortar fire... There were still people there who were eating. At least I thought that death was near me, but they didn’t think at all! And somewhere nearby there was a wedding.

I couldn’t say: some kill, others eat fish. I said: I ate fish. Because I am also part of this society.

Then I went with the corpses to the morgue, and relatives were already standing there waiting for the corpses to be brought. And here I am... It’s not necessary for me to see and hear something - what’s important to me is the moments when I feel something. Because I know that the text will come out then. And I felt terrible hopelessness.

Because imagine that you are a parent, and this is your child, and you know that now they will kill him... And he is still alive. When he died, you can't change anything! But now - yes, he is alive, and how is it - you have to be there, you have to bite, kick, foam at the mouth, tear out everyone’s hair, throw yourself at the barrel of a machine gun, I don’t know what - this is your child! And they had already arrived at the morgue. This does not mean that they did not love them or loved them less. It’s just such a system, it makes you feel hopeless and hopeless, and you know: no matter what you do, they will still be killed. And that was terrible.

And in general it should be terrible for everyone...

They unloaded the corpses, took them to the morgue and left me with them. Because I am a “medical expert”! And I communicated with these corpses, well, that is, how... I looked at them... I’ve seen corpses before, the energy of death scares me and at the same time attracts me... And I couldn’t understand: these are men, these are women... Of course, I saw which of them a man and a woman, but such energy emanated from them, already inhuman. I didn't know who it was. Some new entities lay in front of me, and for me it was... not educational, but especially so.

Especially, yes.

And the report... As for “Understanding the Dragon,” I was to some extent pleased with the reader reviews, because suddenly they started asking me on Facebook: is this true? Well, people didn’t know the truth, and it’s great that I told them the truth.

It’s not that militants live there, they fight with the security forces, they kill so and so many people every day. I showed that behind every corpse there is life and peace, and they also have mothers who gave birth to them, and for them these are their children.

I am always criticized for the fact that I mostly communicate with militants, or with relatives of militants, or with the wives and sisters of killed militants. I’m somehow more on that side, but not because I have a good attitude towards action films, no. I just have a bad attitude towards the military. I am against war. I am shocked by men who can become contract workers. Maybe because I'm a woman, maybe because I'm a pacifist.

But if you killed a person, how to live?

DIFFERENT GOALS

In my idealistic reader's imagination, all authors of books about the war in the Caucasus represent a community. Something like an anti-war squad. But when I mention the diary of Polina Zherebtsova for the third time during the conversation - a girl from Grozny who captured the first and second Chechen wars in her notebooks - Akhmedova finds it necessary to object.

M.A.: You know, I don’t understand at all how we are connected with Polina Zherebtsova. I just really dream and hope that I wrote something in the field of literature. In any case, I very much count on this, maybe I’m wrong...

These are not my memories. Polina Zherebtsova, whose work I am not familiar with, wrote about herself, and my heroine is fictional, I just collected everything I witnessed. I pursued completely different goals than those who wrote diaries based on their own memories. Creativity definitely comes first for me. I want to make myself known not as a person writing about the Caucasus, but as an author.

Yes, the fact that in the press and on television writers are being turned into “experts on the Caucasus” does not speak about their social mission, but about the fact that they don’t want to conduct a real examination of the situation in our country. An eyewitness and victim of war, Zherebtsova should not be compared with the reporter and writer Akhmedova. But I want to compare - for the sake of that very morality, above which art is higher, for the sake of the possibility of creativity on Earth.

Creativity - where does it come from? — I think to myself, listening to the objections of my interlocutor. From a distance, from what she herself says: “No one has killed anyone so close to me except animals. There was always a certain distance between me and the moment of someone’s death, I looked at it from a distance.” Well, Zherebtsova talks about her injury under shelling of the Grozny market in 1999 like this: “Death and I - ... there is nothing that could come between us and close us.” Akhmedova admits that she has been concerned about the topic of concentration camps since childhood, and “those were my most acute and painful sensations from childhood.” — when I was reading some kind of diary - I don’t remember, I was reading some kind of brown book, I was nine years old, I think I was reading a book of memoirs of concentration camp prisoners, in my opinion, it was a girl...” Well, Polina at nine years old makes the first serious entries in her diary after her grandfather is killed under fire at the hospital at the very beginning of the campaign.

There are rhymes between the books of Akhmedova and Zherebtsova: prophetic dreams, mystical visions or here are the miracles of the Islamic faith - a donut with a holy inscription in the novel “Khadija”, the fragrance from the body of a woman killed during prayer in the diary.

But precisely because Polina did not have the opportunity for creativity, creative distance in relation to the war, such images are read differently in her notes.

Although Marina, however, had prophetic dreams. For example, a dragon on the eve of the terrorist attack in Domodedovo.

DEDICATED TO THOSE WHO HAVE LOST THE MEANING OF LIFE

Valeria Pustovaya: But Polina Zherebtsova dedicated her diary about the Chechen war to the rulers of modern Russia...

M.A.: I really don't care about rulers.

V.P.: What, completely useless?..

M.A.: You know, I was recently near Sasovo, I worked as a rural postman, we were delivering pensions, these were completely abandoned villages, there were four people there, we walked 25 kilometers a day at minus 35. We walked along some terribly narrow paths, constantly falling into snow to bring a very small pension to people, well, there, for example, who have lost the meaning of life at fifty. They were lying on the sofa, they were warmed by cats, some drunkards, they had no money for firewood, they had nothing to eat. And if one of them suffered a stroke, then he had to be dragged on a sheepskin coat through the snow through the burnt-out forest.

I ask the postman: “Why aren’t they cleaning the road?” - “This is for the administration.” - “So the administration is allocated money to clean the road.” The government allocated money to clear the road. It seems to me that even if Vladimir Vladimirovich wants to make everyone happy or says: “Let’s clean the roads in the villages!” - no one will go. And that's why it's much more important to tell people...

Not to say, but to show - how a stroke breaks, how it descends eyeball, corner of the mouth, how ugly it is, how drool flows from the corner of the mouth, how hard it is to drag this person, how cold it is, how the fingers freeze, how this person speaks, how he cries or maybe doesn’t cry, how to somehow make the person himself He put it in this sheepskin coat and mentally drove through this forest... And then he will understand that the road needs to be cleared.

The fact that in the press and on television writers are being turned into “experts on the Caucasus” does not speak about their social mission, but about the fact that they don’t want to conduct a real examination of the situation in our country

Although he won’t go clear the road, I know he never will in his life. But at least there will be some little worm in his head and every time he sees an uncleaned road, he will say: yes, the road should have been cleaned.

I’m not sure that those people who went to protest rallies signed off on their indifference. I take a much more cynical approach to this, and my friends constantly criticize me for this. I was at almost all the rallies. But I don’t think that... What is the main message there - we were deceived, our votes were stolen from us? No one says that the village is dying, that they treat homeless animals in a hellish, inhumane manner, no one says that in the Caucasus they kidnap people every day, rip off their nails, shove bottles up their butts... Yes, now in Kazan they were raping people with bottles from champagne. This is how they do it in the Caucasus every day and in a much more sadistic way. Nobody talked about this. All these people who, in general, have a normal life, many of whom have acquired an apartment, a car and are quite capable of going to the Shokoladnitsa to warm up after the rally, they didn’t say that they lived in this Russia for ten years and were quite decent consumers. They didn’t think that only Moscow lives like this, and the rest don’t.

Therefore, for me, in all this, you know what is there? Now I’ll say something terrible, damn it, I’m even scared to say it, all my friends will hate me... Well, in general, the office plankton is looking for the meaning of life.

Well, like everyone else: tango, dancing, something spiritual type Buddhism, Kabbalah, yoga... And now this. This is also the meaning of life. Because sitting in the office from morning to evening is very boring, life goes by, and you haven’t invested yourself anywhere, in anything great, yes.

LOWER OF SUFFERING

Akhmedova asks not to write that she is a war correspondent. She says young people are starting to take her too seriously and only invite her to war films. She generally tries to disown the role of “expert on the Caucasus” and could easily, having confessed her love for Remarque’s hero from a novel about a concentration camp, switch to a story about how a cat scratched her Dolce Gabbana bag.

After two stories about the Chechen war (“A Chechen Women’s Diary”, “House of the Blind”) and a novel about Dagestan, Akhmedova is going to publish a book not related to either the war or the Caucasus. Her fourth book will be called "Masterpiece" and will tell a "psychological-mystical" story about a bead maker.

M.A.: The heroine has few tools to create a masterpiece. You can be a jeweler and create a masterpiece, but if you are a bead maker, what will you create? These are just beads on a string. What do you need to put into them to create a masterpiece?

This feeling, process, outburst - it in itself is so powerful that it should not just go away. And for the sake of the fact that there was suffering on earth and will still be, masterpieces must exist

At some point, she and I thought, why do we need to be immortalized at all? And when I was thinking, why create something that would be called a masterpiece, and why in general - my grandmother Nyura died, and there was nothing left of her, and there will be nothing left of you, especially when you are sitting in the mountains and everything there is so eternal, and you are nobody, although I don’t feel like “nobody”... And I thought about the concentration camp. And I realized that all great things and creativity exist because there was suffering. It doesn’t matter, maybe not with you...

This feeling, process, outburst - it in itself is so powerful that it should not just go away. And for the sake of the fact that there was suffering on earth and will still be, masterpieces must exist.

For example, when I came to Chechnya and saw parents who called themselves dead, because their children... Well, for example, their fingers were torn off, like from a banana, and their scalps were cut off when they were still alive, and when they were dug up in still fresh pits, they had such a bizarrely curved body position and such an expression in the eyes that the parents simply died on the spot, but at the same time remained alive. I thought it was necessary - although I later did nothing with many of these stories - I thought it was necessary to at least record them.

And when I see something beautiful - no matter a work of art or a work of nature - the memory of past generations of humanity who suffered awakens in me. When I see this, I want to remember them, those whom I don’t know and won’t remember by name, I don’t know what they were like or where they were, but I know that they were. When I see something beautiful, I remember that they were there.

Well, this is how I connect it all with beads.

Akhmedova (Kolubakina) Marina Anatolyevna - poet, translator, publicist. Born in January 1952 in the Urals into a family of Russian engineers. I spent my childhood and youth in Ukraine. She began writing poetry at the age of six. She studied at the philological faculty of the Chelyabinsk State pedagogical institute. Graduated in 1977 Literary Institute them. Gorky in Moscow. Since 1980 he has been working in the Writers' Union of Dagestan (Deputy Chairman of the Board). Executive editor of the monthly newspaper “Literary Dagestan” and founder of the publishing house “Dagestan Writer”. Editor children's magazine"Sokolyonok"
Member of the USSR Writers' Union. Author poetry collections: “Father’s Light” (Moscow, “Sovremennik”, 1982), “Leap Century”, “Autumn of the Century” (Makhachkala, “Dagknigoizdat”, 1984, 1986), “Your Image” (Moscow, “ Young Guard", 1987), "Equinox" (Makhachkala, "Dagknigoizdat", 1992), "Nostalgia" (Moscow, I. Sytin Foundation, Rasul Gamzatov Foundation, 1996), "Caucasian Notebook" (Makhachkala, “Jupiter”, 2004), “Long Echo” (Makhachkala, “Dagestan Writer”, 2005), “Tree of Life”, “And Here, in the Valley of Dagestan” (Makhachkala, Dagknigoizdat, 2007. , 2012), “Poetry.ru (There are no bad times for poets)” (Makhachkala, “Dagestan Writer”, 2015), Anthology of Dagestan poetry. Translations. (Makhachkala, "Dagestan Writer", 2015) "From all springs." Anthology of modern poetry. Translations. (Moscow, 2016), “Russian Field” (Makhachkala, “Dagestan Writer”, 2016), “Magic Chest” (Makhachkala, Lotos Publishing House, 2017).
Author of translations of poems and poems folk poets Dagestan Rasul Gamzatov, Faza Aliyeva, Suleiman Stalsky, Akhmedkhan Abu-Bakar, Yusup Happalaev, Magomed Gamidov, Magomed Akhmedov, many other Dagestan authors, as well as Ukrainian, Turkish, Bulgarian, Chechen, Latvian, Italian, Romanian, American and Azerbaijani poets.
People's poet of Dagestan. Honored Worker of Culture of Russia and Dagestan. Laureate of the Lenin Komsomol Prize of Dagestan (1983), State Literary Prize of the Republic of Dagestan named after Rasul Gamzatov (2005), prize of the weekly " Literary Russia"(2009). Winner international competition poetry "Parnassus - Angelo la Vecchia Prize" in Italy in the category "Parnassus International" (2015). Laureate of the All-Russian Literary Prize for the best literary translation of “The Word is the Connecting Thread” for 2015, International Prize"White Cranes of Russia" in the category "Best Literary Translation" (2016). Laureate State Prize Republic of Dagestan in the field of literature (2017). Site Laureate Russian writer" for 2017. Laureate of the Prize of the Union of Writers of Russia "Slovo-2018". Member of the Public Chamber of the Republic of Dagestan of the first composition.

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Marina Akhmedova is a prose writer, journalist, deputy editor-in-chief of the Russian Reporter magazine. Author of the books “Women’s Chechen Diary” and “Ukrainian Lessons”, the novels “House of the Blind”, “Diary of a Suicide Woman. Khadija" (shortlist for the Russian Booker Prize), "Masterpiece",...

• October 1, 2015, 13:00

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“Dances of Demons” is a mystical novel that tells about the life of a Western Ukrainian village, whose inhabitants believe in the existence of witches and demons. The witch - old Leska - lives alone on the outskirts of the village. As soon as she enters the church, the villagers flee from it. They believe that Leska can cause damage, steals milk from cows, carries crow's eggs under her arm and hangs out with evil spirits and demons. The village can’t wait for the old witch to disappear from the world...

However main war goes in human soul. Does a person make his own choice or is his fate predetermined? And is it necessary, as in ancient times, to make a sacrifice for the well-being of many, or, on the contrary, the shed blood of a sacrifice will entail rivers...

• 7 February 2015, 13:48

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“I wrote my first report from the main square of Ukraine – Maidan Nezalezhnosti – at the beginning of the year. Then I could not even imagine that a war would break out in the southeast and I would make regular trips to shelled Donetsk, meet people, listen to and write down dozens of stories about great heroism and great betrayal. And that in the end I will hold in my hands a book in the texts of which some people are still alive, but in reality they are already dead. Killed.

And for those who have not heard or seen all this, let this collection become documentary and material evidence that all this is happening here and now. And all this, unfortunately, is our reality.”

• May 13, 2014, 00:43

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“Crocodile” is terrible, amazing, necessary for ignorant youth as a warning, an antidote, an antidote. Marina has a journalistic acumen - she plunged headlong into this world, isolated from normal life, which exists next to us and which we almost do not notice. She lived in the lair itself in the role of a spy and brought out from this bottom her terrible and somewhat cold story. Marina Akhmedova is not talking about young Western intellectuals indulging in cocaine in the dazzlingly clean toilets of modern Moscow City offices. She obtained a story in a semi-legal manner from the very bottom, from such a bottom of life that Alexei Maksimovich himself had never dreamed of. She talks about those who sit on a “crocodile”, from which it is impossible to “get off”, because the destruction it produces in the body is monstrous and irreversible, and it is not, as a rule, children from “decent” families who fall into these “crocodile paws”. families,” and those from the back alley are the most vulnerable, deprived of a normal family, loving parents, dropped out of society and not needed either by society or by themselves.

"Guard! – Marina Akhmedova shouts. - Help! Save!" It screams differently than people of my generation would write. No, perhaps she doesn’t scream at all - she rather coldly reports what is happening, because, having stood in this rotten corner of life, she knows that these people cannot be saved.

Lyudmila...

• December 17, 2013, 18:06

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“Diary of a Suicide Woman. Khadija” is a girl’s leisurely story about life in one of the mountain villages of Dagestan, where the heroine from childhood learns to distinguish between the anger and mercy of Allah, who constantly puts her before a choice - white or black?

Having matured, Khadija will leave the village and plunge into the passions of the city, where you are accepted based on your clothes, where a lot of things are bought and sold. The city where there is a war going on between militants and security forces, constantly offers her a choice, but disguising white as black, and vice versa. What will she choose? Khadija herself does not know the answer to this question and only towards the end she understands that her whole life is a series of choices and each choice made determines the next one.

The prototype for the heroine was real girls involved in the gang underground in the Northern...

• 14 November 2013, 04:53

Genre:

Genre: ,

Chaos comes to the city. Residents flee from it before chaos overwhelms them and wipes them off the face of the earth just as it wipes out the houses in which they lived. The city is emptying... And it’s good if you see and know in which direction to escape from it. But what should a handful of blind people, forgotten in the midst of chaos, do? They go down to the basement of the house in which they lived in peacetime as a friendly commune... It would seem that they should die in a matter of days, because even a sighted person finds it difficult to survive in the center of the pandemonium that is unfolding - military shells are raining down on the city day and night. But the blind don't see them. They don't see what chaos has turned their city into. They make radios and every day they find themselves on the same wavelength with those who are dropping shells on them. They wait with bated breath - overshoot or undershoot? The city is silent, deserted, and it seems to them that they are the only living beings in...

Alexander Chantsev talks with Marina Akhmedova, special correspondent for Russian Reporter, specializing in the Caucasus and acute social topics, and the author of three art books about “War”, about new drugs, problems North Caucasus and how a journalist can influence society and government.

Alexander Chantsev: Marina, what did you want to become as a child?

Marina Akhmedova: I often ask the subjects of my interviews this question, but I myself don’t remember what I wanted to become as a child. I only remember for sure that I had no intention of becoming a writer or journalist. By the age of seven, I had read several dozen books from my father’s library, did not understand anything in them, and was convinced that books were written special people. I still clearly remember how I imagined myself as an adult beautiful woman V expensive clothes floating on a yacht. Traveling. There I always accompanied a handsome, rich man (I also loved reading novels as a child). Basically, I wanted to be the beauty that a handsome prince would marry. And I didn’t want to be anyone else. But it didn’t work out...

A.Ch.: How did you get into journalism?

M.A.: Unexpectedly and unnoticed. I moved to Moscow, studied and worked as a secretary in a small publishing company. She also published a medical newspaper for doctors and patients. I had been working there for several months, and then one day the chief editor of this newspaper, Natalya Anatolyevna Smirnova, came to me and said that all the journalists had left, and she had no one to send to write a note at some medical meeting. He says: “You go.” I got scared and started to deny it, but she forced me. After attending this meeting, I spent the whole day writing a note, trying out sentence after sentence. It turned out something wildly official and boring. But Natalya Anatolyevna said that I have talent. Gradually I started writing articles for her, and within a few months I had pushed everyone who worked there out of the central pages, and I felt cramped. I switched to glossy magazine and wrote a lot of articles about sex under a pseudonym. It got to the point where they paid me double the fee for the strip. And it became boring again. I was invited to work at Publishing House"Secret of the Firm", I worked there for a short time before the opening of "Russian Reporter". This year “Reporter” celebrates its fifth anniversary. I've been working there for five years now.

And Natalya Anatolyevna has Parkinson’s disease. A long time ago. I wrote a report about her in the RR “My angel, come with me.” She calls me as soon as she sees me on TV or hears me on the radio. Her diction is impaired, our telephone conversations sound strange. I probably would have started writing anyway, even without her, but I always need a push. By the way, Natalya Anatolyevna called me immediately after the publication of your review, Alexander, of “House of the Blind” and said that she has something to be proud of. And then I tried to explain to her why I hadn’t been to her for a long time. That I may have time, but I’m too lazy to force myself. I've noticed that writing relaxes you and you quickly become impudent.

A.Ch.: After reading your reports, I got the impression that you are not least attracted to extreme situations, radical personalities, and generally transgressive topics that can frighten not only the average person, but also a more impressionable reporter. Not to mention the Caucasus, this is a shelter where dogs are euthanized, drug addicts with tuberculosis... Is there a challenge to yourself, social conventions or something else in your choice of topics? What general criterion determines your choice?

M.A.: My answer will not be modest. The first criterion is that I know that I have the gift of speech. Thanks for it to the one who gave it to me. I know that I have the ability to put what I see into words in a way that makes the readers feel and feel strongly. I can’t say that, being in a situation, for example, with drug addicts, from whom I recently returned, I feel something strong. But I feel it later when I sit down to write. My drug addicts were not only sick with an open form of tuberculosis, they were also all HIV-infected. I spent several days in tension - not to step on the syringe, not to let someone poke you with a used needle, not to show them that I was avoiding touching. By the way, I didn’t avoid touching. These new acquaintances of mine, as friends, suit me quite well. We lived together for four days. Yes, short term. But for those who live in a slow drug rhythm, and who have little left to live, four days is a sufficient period of time for friendship. And I also immersed myself in their rhythm. I just don't expect more from them than they can give. The only obstacle to friendship is that they inject themselves with crocodile, which means they will live for a few more months at most.

There is a second criterion - my ambitions. They were very well reflected in the choice of this topic - living with drug addicts. I read reports about the crocodile, a lot of reports. And everything didn’t suit me, everything was wrong. On someone else’s twentieth report about a crocodile, I decided that, damn, that’s enough, I’ll go and write it myself.

The third criterion is that perhaps I can help them. Not a fact, but suddenly. In fact, I don’t challenge anyone when choosing topics. I throw them away when I write - the way I write. It’s true that when I get bored, I try to find something nerve-wracking for myself so that I can live with this topic for a few days, no matter how difficult it may be, but without getting bored. I probably sound terrible, but the fact is that when you go where others don't go, you clearly see that this situation is not radical. It exists, it happens, and some people live in it. IN currently of your time and at this point of your presence, this is a completely normal situation. And you try to solve it together with the heroes. Of course, I feel sorry for people in trouble. But what is very important is that I regret it later when I write. That is, the main criterion is the gift of speech. I know that it exists, and it obliges me. I sacrifice a lot to work it off.

A.Ch.: Those. During the collection of material itself, it is more important for you, as a doctor, to abstract yourself from the pain of others than to feel sympathy. What do you have to sacrifice?

M.A.: I don't know if it matters. But when I work, it turns out like this. This is not some kind of rule, I didn’t develop rules for work at all, it just happened that way, and over time I noted it to myself. When I find myself in a situation, I live in it, forgetting about who I am, where I came from, what other things await me, I completely become involved in the situation, as its element. Everything happens naturally. I can't explain how. This is not a calculation. And not even something meaningful. I analyze only after.

Sometimes you have to sacrifice your personal life and people. If I see that a person is really trying to communicate with me, but he will not become close to me, and communication with him is a waste of time, I unceremoniously remove him from me. But the most important thing I sacrifice is time. My window faces the metro, a busy street full of cafes and people. Turning from my laptop to the window, I can see life in full swing from my work chair. And I begin to yearn for life, although between us there is only glass and my reluctance to tear myself away from the chair. And I think: “What a horror, Marina, life is passing by.” And when I go out and sit with friends in those places that I missed, I say to myself, “What a horror, Marina, how can you waste time so mediocrely. You have to work. You have to leave something behind." I probably sound cynical about everything, but where the truth can be told, I like to tell it. But the truth, according to my observations, often sounds more cynical than a lie.

I have a lot of different friends, and one of my close friends always says that I am surrounded by the whole theater freaks. I like special people, but I also like ordinary people. The main thing is that they don’t try to play social games with me. And so it only seems that I am living some kind of interesting life that I am there, and there, and there. In fact, I am often bored, and I am a rather boring person myself.

A.Ch.: Can you cite cases where your texts actually specifically helped people? Isn’t journalism (and calls for help in another form, in blogs) losing the ability to evoke a lively response - in our country, where emotions have become coarsened by news of constant disasters, where the sprouts of help are often obviously doomed to die under bureaucratic asphalt, where, in after all, a whole choir of people in need of help? Or, on the contrary, it turns out that the state has delegated to us the care of our neighbors, and something needs to be done about this?

M.A.: There was a report about the monastery, when volunteers were found who wanted to cover the old church with a roof. At this church there lived an exiled priest, about thirty years old, he kept a cow, made cottage cheese from milk, sold it and repaired a church in a remote village, where men were constantly trying to steal a cross for vodka. And he, father, guarded her with a gun at night. There was a report about orphanages, when they became interested in specific children. There was a report about the action films "Understand the Dragon". Some housewives wrote to me - “Is it true? But we didn’t know. And if it’s true, then let’s do something.” There was a report on “Dogs Flying to Heaven.” My only report when I cried. After its publication I received many letters. Their main meaning is “I used to kick mongrels, I didn’t know. Now I won’t.” “I won’t now” - in my opinion, is much more important than helping one specific dog, which, however, is also important. There were a lot of reports. That's why I try to dive in and have the reader walk through and see with me. I achieve the effect of presence. I don't think people have become callous. But when you read: “In Moscow they treat stray dogs very badly. The laws don’t work. Everyone is an asshole and bureaucrats! Such and such a number of dogs were destroyed” - this essentially doesn’t bother anyone. Because the reader does not imagine all this. And news about disasters is news about disasters. Short summaries. Reading them, it is difficult to imagine the smell, pain, eyes, blood. Yes, I have big flow information, and therefore journalism must change. I talk about this so often that I’m starting to remind myself of a parrot. Journalism, especially such a component as reporting, should become like a picture. For the reader to see. We must not tell, but show. Therefore, callousness has nothing to do with it.

I delegate everything to myself. So I want young and not young people not to die from cheap drugs. And I will write about this, proving to the state that these people are not extra people in our country. And old people in dying villages are not superfluous people. We need them. If the authorities don’t need them, then I need them. And I am against waiting for them to die out. And if the deputies (which goes without saying) never go to live in a brothel, then I will show them what it’s like to live there. I still believe that the conscience of some of them will not let them sleep peacefully. In general, Mikhail Fedorovich Lipskerov has been pushing the idea of ​​a horizontal structure of our country for two days now, and has already almost proven the need for self-organization into communities. I am also of the opinion that public organizations, made up of people who love their country and do not consider the people living in it superfluous - this is very good.

My drug addicts and I went to the pharmacy to buy “ingredients” for the crocodile. In that city, the sale of Sedalgin without a prescription is prohibited. The pharmacists, seemingly warm-hearted Russian women, sold them without a prescription at a markup of eighty rubles. They didn't look them in the eye. They knew who and what they were selling to. And they understood that by earning eighty rubles, they were killing someone else. I stubbornly tried to catch the eye of one pharmacist. She finally looked at me and blushed. Well, you can say that I wrote my report for her too. She shouldn't sleep peacefully. The report has not yet been published, I just returned from a business trip. But I will definitely indicate in my text the address of the pharmacies where these pills are sold.

A.Ch.: It seems that the idea of ​​horizontal (self-)organization is now shared by many. Are you participating in protest movement, do you believe that it can change something in our country now?

M.A.: I am participating as an observer. I, like everyone else, am infected by the common reason for participating in rallies - all my friends are there, and I will go. Well, there is still a factor - but life passes. It is impossible to stay at home when your time and events are happening in your city. What should I tell my grandchildren then? Moreover, I am a journalist. But it’s good that thoughts are not heard. If those who came to the rally could hear what I thought about it, they would beat me. I am certainly concerned about the future of the country. And I constantly tried to tell in my reports how my country lives. When those who now go to rallies, all this was of little concern. Now everyone has become politicized and oppositional.

At first everything was fine - at the rallies. We rallied, we began to fight. But then speakers and sound appeared there. And then I realized that there was a gap between those speaking from the podium and me. They don't know me. I don't want to listen to stupid or monotonous speeches that don't touch me. PR, the struggle for power, ambitions, personal grievances - all this was clearly heard from the speakers. At least, clearly for me. And I kept asking myself - well, why did such shit happen? Why did my friends run to vote for Prokhorov? They couldn’t seriously believe that he wanted to become president? Perhaps this is a completely primitive approach, but nevertheless, I want to know. I tell my friend before the election: “Oh, I don’t believe you’ll vote for him. At least justify it." She makes a “you-don’t-understand-this” face and says that as long as she’s not for Putin. Well, yes, we are not in a store, the choice is limited, and you have to make it. But what should I do if I don’t trust any of them? I'm sincerely trying to develop a love for protesting. I come to rallies, to opposition camps, huddle in the thick of the crowd, and begin to convince myself that protest is good, that people have woken up, that society is growing up. But it doesn't work. Should I kill myself, or what? Yes, I see cool young people with sparkling eyes at all these rallies, but there are so few of them. There are few real ones there. I see a boardwalk with dogs with white ribbons tied to their tails. I see such meetings, walks and gatherings turning into a form of leisure, a way of life and, worst of all, a fashion. I imagine subtle political strategists over all this, when it seems to us that we are making decisions, but in fact, others are making them for us. One of the protest slogans, “You don’t even imagine us,” was spread across the Internet. I think neither the government nor the opposition represents us. It seems to me that a serious demand for intellectual communication has matured in society. The authorities, of course, will not only not want to, but will not be able to satisfy him. But it seems that the leaders of the opposition movement do not really understand who the crowd is made of, and they also speak to us in a more primitive language than we deserve. Especially Navalny. That's who I can't hear. He's a manager, he has nothing to tell me. I can tell him myself. I somehow don’t take Nemtsov and Ryzhkov into serious consideration at all. I like Ponomarev, but perhaps only because I recently interviewed him, and he, at least, was honest in the conversation.

I can't even imagine who I would like to see on the podium. Who would I like to hear? Recently, in an interview, a fellow journalist asked me: “Do you have authority? An example to follow?". I answered - “No.” Then I thought about it, went through all the living ones - how did it happen that I have no authority? But no. Then I realized that my authority is still, as in childhood, the 509th from Remarque’s “Spark of Life”. Fictional hero(but there were many such incredible sufferings in those days, he collective image). The 509th is a concentration camp prisoner who, without being a hero, tried to live and act like a man. Just like a person, not even with capital letters. I wish people were like this. What does this mean? About the fact that I haven't matured or that modern society until he can’t squeeze out a hero? I don't know. In general, I don’t understand anything with all these rallies. But, of course, if they ask my friends where I should go, I’ll go and have a look.

A.Ch.: The artistic actions of “War” (which began long before the Moscow opposition protests) and Pussy Riot compensate for their low political power with great public resonance. It seems to me that Pussy Riot was brought to logical conclusion the idea of ​​direct speech coming from "War", which was (is) less politically oriented, but nevertheless more radical. How do you feel about their activities?

M.A.: I did two materials about “War” in “Russian Reporter” - an interview with the group and a report from the birth of Mom - daughter Oleg and Koza. Not all of their actions are close to me, but gradually I came to the conviction that people like Oleg, Lenya and Koza are necessary for any society. They voice their protest. Something always begins with such people. Vorotnikov, in general, arouses sympathy for few people, but I like him Lately more and more reminiscent of such a modern saint. Not saints who become aggressive as soon as you try to take away their holiness and opportunity to do good. Namely, a saint in a modern incarnation.

Vorotnikov has a lot of shortcomings, he is unbearable, I have never met a person capable of such brainwashing, but I recognize the importance of his existence. I know what he sacrifices to do his job. But for me, “War” begins and ends with Oleg, Lenya Ebnuty and Koza. Whatever they are, at least they are real.

I didn't find any talent in the Pussy Riot campaign. A provocation based on religious feelings is primitive and not new, if only because Voina once had a similar event - a punk concert in the Tagansky court. And, as far as I understand, it was impossible to listen to this action in real life - the girls did not sing, and the clip was later edited. And I can't help but feel that the main goal of the participants was to draw attention to to their own persons. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's my feeling.

I don't want to take sides. There are always additional options between the two sides chosen by the majority. I was not impressed with the promotion. And in the desire to sentence activists to seven years, I see neither legality nor Christian love and forgiveness, which the church seems to be supposed to demonstrate. Undeveloped people, and there are many of them among the clergy, think that God will love them more if they foam at the mouth and defend the church. And God is love. That's what it says.

But I don't think Pussy took the "War" statement to its logical conclusion. Figuratively speaking, they drew another dick on the bridge, but it was no longer funny.

A.Ch.: Such a modern holy fool Vorotnikov... As a journalist, you have written and are writing a lot about the North Caucasus, all three of your books are “A Chechen Women’s Diary”, “The House of the Blind” and “The Diary of a Suicide Bomber. Khadija" - dedicated to the theme of the Caucasus. What does the Caucasus represent for you, perhaps at the level of association, sensation? And is it possible complete peace- What would you do if you had the power not of a writer or journalist, but the powers of a very powerful person, so that complete peace would be established between nations?

M.A.: I would gather all my friends, we would come to schools and spend time there open lessons for children - about the value of life. Every life. We would show chronicles from concentration camps, animals maimed by humans. Especially dogs, because they have very piercing eyes. I would teach kindness, which in the Caucasus is a sign of weakness, and tolerance, which does not exist at all in the Caucasus. I don’t know how to boost the economy there, given that it’s in a sad state throughout our country. But in the Caucasus there are resources for this. I just wouldn't be an asshole trying to get rich by any means necessary. And with such assholes in the Caucasus, as throughout Russia, if you spit at an official, you won’t miss. Need to Caucasian man brought a salary into the house and was able to provide for his family. That's all. Then everything will start to get better on its own. Until this happens, they will either join the security forces or the militants. I would do at least something towards good. Now there, and I mean, rather, Dagestan, the game is on the side of evil. Although many hide behind religion, they have it in a childish way. How many times on business trips have Muslims blown my mind, but even to me it was clear that they have very little, offensively little, understanding of Islam. There is a terrible cauldron boiling there now, and when you try to figure it out, you realize that everything is confused. That everything is not true. Therefore, I would now focus only on the economic base. I would at least give men peaceful work and see what happens. And there you can develop viticulture, sheep breeding, and fishing. There's a lot to do there. Only corruption and clans have fallen on these republics like a dead weight, they have been lying there for a long time and are dying out, but they do not want to budge.

I wrote three books about the Caucasus, and talked so much about the Caucasus that I began to feel embarrassed about my interviews. I stopped posting them on Facebook. Everywhere I say the same thing. Therefore, now I have written a novel that has nothing to do with the Caucasus. And the next book I will write is about protest artists.

As a journalist, I decided to shift the emphasis in my work in the Caucasus. Now I will talk about peaceful Caucasians as if there is no war going on there. On next week The first report from the series I planned - about shepherds - is coming out in Russian Reporter.

But, by the way, I must say that my books about the Caucasus are not really books about the Caucasus. They are about people, and the situation is shown through them and their destinies.

The Caucasus for me is a mini-version of Russia, in which all Russian shortcomings and vices are presented, but due to their small size, they are crowded, concentrated, hyperbolic, take on grotesque forms and therefore prick the eyes. But, in essence, this is the same Russia.

A.Ch.: IN last years quite a lot of books appeared about the Chechen war - stories by A. Babchenko, “Pathologies” by Z. Prilepin, “ Chechen stories"A. Karasev, "Letters of a Dead Captain" by V. Shurygin, "There are no living suicide bombers" by V. Rechkalov, "Asan" by V. Makanin, corresponding episodes in "Hair of Venus" by M. Shishkin. Is there one among them that is closest to you, or has no such book been written yet?

M.A.: Unfortunately, I have not read any of these books. I can't say I'll read it. I really wanted to read Vadim Rechkalov’s book “There are no living suicide bombers,” but the bookstore didn’t have it, and I didn’t have enough time for further searches. By the way, I consulted with him before starting Khadija. And he was sad, afraid that I would write pop music. I told him that I was named Marina in honor of my older sister’s doll, and he then said, “So write a novel that begins with the words “I was named Marina in honor of the doll.” A good start". But I wrote about the suicide bomber. In my opinion, it didn't turn out to be pop. I also, it seems, wrote a good book about the Chechen war, “A Chechen Women’s Diary.” And since I haven’t read other books, from the list you suggested, I can only name this one as a book “close” to me, unless you consider me too impudent.

A.Ch.: What is interesting and close to you from our modern literature?

M.A.: Something is probably interesting, but nothing is close. I like the way Sorokin writes, but I’m not close to what he writes. Probably Limonov good writer, but I haven’t figured it out yet, I’m just starting to master his work. In fact, I'm trying to remember what I've read recently from our modern literature. About six months ago I was inspired by “Shaitans” by Alisa Ganieva. But I didn’t read anything for almost two years - I picked up a book and fell asleep out of boredom. And now I’m back to reading books. I can just list the books I've read so far last month– “The Elegance of the Hedgehog” by Muriel Burberry, “The Map and the Territory” by Michel Houellebecq, “Shosha” by Isaac Singer, “The Diary” by Chuck Palahniuk, “ A Clockwork Orange» Anthony Burges. I simply devoured A Clockwork Orange. There is a book that I have been re-reading for several years - “For Whom the Bell Tolls”, it always lies on my sofa. I open it and read it, but it is so beautiful that I can’t stand it and stretch it out. I should also brag about reading the book “How to make anyone fall in love with you,” I don’t remember the author, but it’s quite interesting, and most importantly, useful. Recently it turned out that this book was published in Russian ten years ago by my close girlfriend. The book became the first in the publishing house she had just opened. And Tanya, saying that the book was shit, gave me another one - “Migraine” by Oliver Sacks. But somehow I wasn’t interested in reading about migraines...

A.Ch.: Quite a tough set, and Limonov, in my opinion, is close to you in some ways - at least in his frankness, without fear of coming out to everyone openly in his texts... It seemed to me that your reports and books are similar in the sense that the actual part of the articles diluted with a powerful literary component, and your books, again, are built, as it seems, on what was seen and experienced, but at the same time they are read as such modern parable, almost like Gibran Kahlil Gibran, about war and peace, ordinary people and their universal questions, death, love, good and evil. You said it's already written next book, - what is she talking about?

M.A.: Thanks a lot. But it is not powerful everywhere - this component. Chief Editor Leibin will confirm that I had a couple of unsuccessful reports. He tactfully pointed out to me the lack of a super idea, and in response I became hysterical that no one simply loves me. And Leibin said: “Well, stupid...”.

I often hear about myself - she is not a journalist, but a writer. I don’t argue, but to myself I never agree with this. Why can't the article contain literature? “Russian Reporter” generally wins due to its reports, in which there is a literary component, or at least the appearance of it.

The novel has been written, but it is impossible to tell what it is about - about love, first of all. About aging, about beauty. About trying to create a masterpiece. About trying to understand what a masterpiece is. About suffering. About pedophilia. ABOUT precious stones and beads. About split personality. About life and death. He is a death sentence for gloss. But I hope that glossy girls will read it too. I don't want to listen when they say it's too difficult for most people. No, how much arrogance do you have to have to talk like that about the majority?!

My speech technique teacher Svetlana Kornelievna and I read an excerpt from it during class. She winced with disgust, and in some places it was really disgusting. At some point, one heroine kills another, and to describe this, I went to an autopsy. But I didn’t need details and medical details; I had already seen how a corpse was opened. I needed energy. Svetlana Kornelievna then caught me in the corridor of “Expert” and, still wincing with disgust, said, “Well, my dear, not everyone would dare to let their insides out on a piece of paper like that.” But this is not my gut! This is the gut of all women. My biggest fear with this novel is that the author will be confused with the heroine. And there are other fears. For example, that I wrote shit.

AST announced that I would be reading an excerpt from the novel during library night. I arrived, the readers gathered, I took my sheets and could not read. When I realized that I couldn’t read, I felt terribly ashamed and scared. I always pulled out large audiences, but something happened in the Nekrasov Library. And while anxious librarians were jumping around me, my hands were shaking, my tongue was paralyzed, and I looked at the readers in horror, realizing that not only could I not read them an excerpt from this terrible novel, but I didn’t want to talk about it at all. It was such a fiasco. But somehow I quickly recovered from it and suggested we talk about “Khadizha.” I generally come to my senses quickly.

I don't know if this novel was a success for me or not. All I know is that I will never read it because it terrifies me. And I will never let my parents read it. But I still decided to call it “Masterpiece”, because my heroine persistently tries to create a masterpiece, not realizing that she herself is a masterpiece. She will never know.

Interviewed by Alexander Chantsev