"A Book for People Like Me" by Max Fry, summary Automatic translate

This book is a collection of essays, literary diaries, and notes on art, published in 2019. It shifts the focus from the familiar image of the science fiction writer to that of a passionate explorer of other people’s texts and cultural phenomena. The work is divided into several semantic blocks, each exploring a specific layer of cultural space. The text dispenses with a single plot, replacing it with a stream of reflections on literature, loneliness, and contemporary creativity.

Macht Frei

The first section consists of personal notes and literary essays. It begins with a self-portrait: Max Fry describes his physical measurements. He admits that he instinctively ducks in doorways, feeling incredibly tall, and when he laughs, he weighs almost nothing. At times, the author imagines his skin is green, and his blood type makes him an ideal donor.

Reflecting on the nature of writing, Max Fry agrees with Borges: books are written by no one. Authorship is laughably random, and reading becomes a dreaming art for the lazy. Literature has the power of the unfulfilled. Readers always seek mirrors in texts: some yearn to see themselves as beautiful, others revel in descriptions of others’ vices, and still others prefer a distorting mirror offering an idealized image of the hero. The true magic of a text lies in the promises the author makes to his audience.

Analyzing Tove Jansson’s Moomin tales, Max Fry admires the absence of primitive binary logic. The writer doesn’t judge anyone, even the most repulsive characters like Sniff or Muskrat. Jansson’s main principle is to accept yourself as you are. Snufkin, who needs only a hat and a harmonica, becomes the ideal of a free individual. The author perceives Tove Jansson’s death as a personal tragedy, revealing the breath of eternity.

Charles Baudelaire’s prose poems are reminiscent of the Portuguese word "soldada." This multilayered concept expresses the melancholy of a sailor who cannot return to his native shores and ceases to believe in the existence of anything new. A tense comradeship reigns on the ship, and loved ones left behind seem like ghostly angels. Baudelaire’s "The Spleen of Paris" conveys precisely this crushing form of melancholy.

The Norse Eddas are examined through the lens of journalism. Thor stalls for time, interviewing the dwarf Alvis until dawn, when he turns to stone. And King Gylfi questions the Aesir about the structure of the universe, after which the gods hastily reshape reality to make their drunken fancies come true.

H.G. Wells’s work is devoid of the usual fairytale aura. His terrifying logic is inexorable: invisible eyelids prevent sleep, and the future turns into a nightmare of Eloi and Morlocks. Daniil Kharms is like a literary Lobachevsky: his texts abolish the continuity of existence and expose the absurd with the cynicism of an alien. Jaroslav Hašek, with his Good Soldier Švejk, demonstrates the absolute triumph of controlled stupidity over uncontrolled stupidity.

In his novel "Unforgettable," Evelyn Waugh satirizes the human vanity surrounding funerals. Poet Dennis Barlow, working at a pet cemetery, emerges as the ultimate winner in a world where everyone fears losing face. Stephen King’s novel "The Shining" is dissected from an unexpected angle: the story of Jack Torrance is presented as the tragic love of a hotel for a man. The hotel is jealous, infatuated, and murderous when it realizes it cannot keep its lover.

Milorad Pavić and his "Dictionary of the Khazars" demonstrate two methods of reading. The male version of the text demands linear, rational comprehension, while the female version demands irrational, sensual immersion. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is compared to a cool waterfall for desert dwellers: his miracles are salutary, but fleeting. And Dino Buzzati’s novel "The Tartar Desert" reveals the nightmare of human destiny, when the hero waits his entire life for a great battle, but loses to old age in a roadside inn.

The Perfect Romance

The second section is a conceptual literary game. Drawing on people’s habit of skimming the ends of books, Max Fry has compiled a collection of the final paragraphs of works that never existed.

False endings for a variety of genres are presented here. An Australian detective story concludes with the hero’s miraculous resurrection with one and a half million dollars. A Russian folk tale ends with the traditional drinking of mead and kvass. African myths succinctly explain the origins of the stars. French detective stories leave the commissioner alone with his tenth cup of coffee. American thrillers leave the reader on the brink of the abyss with the last romantic in a mad world.

With only the title and ending at their disposal, one can relive the experience of reading the entire hypothetical text. It’s an experiment in constructing meaning, proving that the anticipation of the ending often surpasses the narrative itself.

The ABCs of Contemporary Russian Art

The third section is a guide to the world of Russian contemporary art of the 1980s and 1990s. The text is organized alphabetically and covers key terms, institutions, and individuals. The author positions himself as a curious native, ready to guide newcomers through the labyrinth of new aesthetic practices.

Absurdity is proclaimed as the fundamental basis of the Russian mentality. The difference between avant-garde and modernism is explained: the avant-garde sought to restructure aesthetics, and by extension, society itself. Contemporary art is defined as a living experiment, taking place here and now.

Actionist strategies are described. Artistic scandals are seen as an effective way to attract media attention. Radical actions by Alexander Brener, Oleg Kulik, and Anatoly Osmolovsky are mentioned. Kulik appears as a dog-man, biting critics at an exhibition in Stockholm. Brener paints a dollar sign on a painting by Kazimir Malevich, and Avdey Ter-Oganyan chops up icons with an axe, for which he is prosecuted and flees the country.

The group "Mukhomory" stands as an example of successful collective creativity. The artists recorded albums, staged absurd performances, and were ultimately conscripted by the authorities. They were replaced by the "Champions of the World," who combined youthful maximalism with outright hooliganism. The ironic "Mitki" created a warm national myth, relying on striped shirts, processed cheese, and good-natured drunkenness, from which they later successfully recovered.

Special attention is given to provincial artists. Isolation from metropolitan institutions forces them to construct their own context from scraps of information. Art replaces their lives, transforming every mundane activity into a performance. The phenomenon of the "Russian boom" of the late 1980s, when Russian artists suddenly became in demand in the West, is examined. This easy money was followed by a decline in interest, forcing artists to search painfully for new clients.

The dictionary encompasses concepts of conceptualism, Sots Art, and Simulationism. Vitaly Komar and Alexander Melamid conceived Sots Art in a pioneer camp, replacing consumer society with a society of ideology. Ilya Kabakov became a mythological figure, exploring the horrors of communal apartments and Soviet everyday life. The Medical Hermeneutics group normalized the use of obscene language in novels. The Apt-Art movement transformed ordinary apartments into legitimate exhibition spaces.

The author laments the lack of a full-fledged contemporary art museum in Russia. Only a few departments exist within major museums, collections gathering dust in basements, and private initiatives. Galleries, independent magazines, and online projects, creating a unified information space across geographic boundaries, are saving the situation.

Instead of an afterword

The narrative concludes with a short dialogue, framed as a rejection of the classic interview format. In a conversation with Galya Anni, Max Fry lists the things that bring him true pleasure.

The list of joys is pointedly simple. The author enjoys green lights, driving, walking barefoot, and stained glass. He professes a love for high-quality, expensive shoes, which compensate for years of wearing uncomfortable sneakers. Animals, including snakes and spiders, evoke more sympathy in him than people. Large crowds deeply disgust the author.

Childhood memories reveal a fear of wax seals: breaking other people’s secrets seems like violence to him. A hatred of sauerkraut soup alternates with thoughts of sailing ships. The dream of becoming a king is explained solely by a desire to attain the right to absolute peace. The conversation concludes with a discussion of oysters, which are eaten alive. The author concludes: "I myself am quite an oyster." Man, like a mollusk, is forced to cultivate a strong shell to protect himself from an aggressive world.