Dmitry Lipskerov

About him and butterflies

© Lipskerov D. M.

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2016

* * *

Arkady Novikov, friend and first reader of my manuscripts...

Arseny Andreevich Iratov was sleeping.

He always slept well at night. Not because in his fifties nervous system remained intact, but as a result of once properly selected therapy. For twenty-five years, three minutes before bedtime, he swallowed two tablets of something and immediately fell asleep, choosing a position on his side, with his legs tucked up to his stomach.

Sometimes he had good light dreams, sometimes the plot of the dream was ordinary, but accompanied by an atmosphere of anxiety. However, often the dreams were not dreamed at all.

Somehow Arseniy Andreevich doubted the correctness of such a long intake of drugs and went to a neurologist he knew, who almost screamed, chastising Iratov for the fact that he was an established drug addict, why he had not previously informed a friend about the illness, he would have been qualified to help, but now ... Blame yourself to your anxiety and nightmares! Having finished screaming indignantly, the neurologist said that the possibility of correction exists. Having canceled the old prescription, he prescribed a fashionable and expensive antidepressant.

Arseniy Andreevich obeyed and, rejecting the intake of almost "narcotic drugs", began to drink new expensive pills.

A week later, the patient felt unwell and reported this to the comrade who wrote the prescription.

- You have a real breakdown! the neurologist said. - Be patient!

Iratov endured aching bones, total insomnia, an extraordinary desire to eat all the time, in large quantities, with shaking hands with impatience. There were bruises under his eyes, and Arseny Andreevich looked almost an old man, which disturbed his Verochka, a young woman of thirty years old, with whom he lived unofficially, but very well - as they say, soul to soul ... Verochka lived on the floor above, where Arseny Andreevich settled her, explaining this by the need to spend most of the time alone and alone, and the complete impossibility of falling asleep with a woman in the same bed. Beauty Verochka almost did not resist such a feature of her friend's body, she lived calmly in a dedicated apartment, on a good street, in an excellent house.

Often the couple met in boutique restaurants for lunch, they visited exhibitions and theaters together, they led a measured but passionate intimate life, still kissing eagerly on the lips ten years after the start of the relationship.

Verochka loved Iratov strongly and deeply, as a Russian woman, brought up correctly, feeling subtly and ready for complete self-giving without any conditions, can love. Arseniy Andreevich echoed strong feeling girlfriend, was not at all an egoist, on the contrary, he had a generosity of soul, understanding and admiring the beautiful, and he did not close his pocket from his beloved woman. Both apartments were registered to Verochka, and also a premium-class car belonged to her, considerable monthly funds for personal needs, an impressive bag of jewelry, but most importantly, she was widely marked in the Iratov will, like the Volga River, even though he had someone to share between his fair condition.

However, the withdrawal from the refusal of old drugs did not end, it had been dragging on for the third month, and before that, the constant pressure jumped like a kangaroo through the bush, and the chair left much to be desired. But the most unpleasant were the arrivals of the state of deja vu, lasting not rare moments, like ordinary people, giving them joyful surprise, but painful hours of hyperrealism, taking Iratov's consciousness into the past, forcing him to experience the past times to complete torment, although his life was difficult to compare with life biblical sufferers: quite human, with ups and downs. Iratov knew well that hell is shame, and not a frying pan with boiling oil, shame raised to the absolute. To burn in hell is to burn in shame. Hundreds will pass before you, to whom you did something bad during your lifetime, perhaps without even realizing it, but the thousandfold increased shame will become almost eternal. Here, in a state of deja vu, Iratov burned in a shameful fire. Maybe someone needed it? ..

Being a strong-willed man, Arseniy Andreevich through I can not returned to daily walks. He used to walk along the Arbat alleys and, until the onset of illness, tirelessly admired the old Moscow architecture. He understood beauty and responded to its signs with a grateful connoisseur... Now he hobbled, leaning on an elegant cane with an ebonite head, and did not notice the Arbat stucco moldings, lace mansions and classical masterpieces of the nineteenth century. Like a wild peasant, Iratov stood in the middle of a silk Persian carpet in dirty bast shoes, not realizing his own wildness - such was his condition.

Panic attacks came to him, weaving, he shied away from everyone he met, who seemed to him somehow convex from this world, too celluloid and colorful, and therefore dangerous. With his brain, Arseniy Andreevich was aware that the ominous pictures of an ordinary street, with monster cars, pedestrians from science fiction films, were just a game of a tired mind that had not slept for a long time ... He managed to follow the usual route, by the end of which, despite the winter, he was completely wet, almost swimming in sweat.

Home was easier. He was not afraid of anything, he even talked on the phone in his usual confident manner, but the look of the seriously ill dog tormented his friend Verochka, who, of course, in these unexpected times almost did not leave Iratov alone. She cooked a lot herself, Arseniy Andreevich asked for pilaf with large pieces of meat, pasta in large pots and dessert, which Verochka ordered at the Pushkin cafe.

All this nightmarish time of torment, the human pills that Iratov had been taking for twenty-five years lay unclaimed in his desk drawer. The subconscious reminded him every now and then that as soon as he drinks them, his condition returns to normal within an hour. But the will is the main value, the reward for any man - his will was so strong and reliable that it did not shake even for a moment. So it must be, Arseniy Andreevich told himself, there is peace, and there is retribution for it, and there is the will to accept retribution!

But she was too harsh. On sleepless nights, the brain searched for reasons for such fierce revenge - and, alas, found them in abundance.

At some point, Arseniy Andreevich realized that he could die very soon. This thought did not frighten him, but only upset him with the only thing - the loss of Verochka, whom he did not enjoy, whom he did not like. A glass of rare wine was only a quarter drunk, and swallowing it in drops, like the rarest elixir, to achieve a balanced state of soul and body will be impossible. Iratov did not care that he did not use his material condition to the full, realizing that human existence is only a short transition between one and the other, and selfless love improves a person in the eyes of God. Where he was found, castles have already been built for his immortal soul, on an eternal foundation, indestructible and beautiful ... Or first shame ... But shame, even after millennia, will end ...

- I love you! - Verochka stroked Iratov's hair, black as a raven's wing, with a gray strand, wavy and like winter, falling to his shoulders. - I love you! .. - and kissed his beautiful, with the features of a demon, face, slowly, touching him almost at regular intervals. Temple, cheek, cheekbones - and her sensual lips fell to the neck.

At such moments, it seemed to Arseny Andreevich that he had almost recovered, he even briefly enjoyed it - until he realized that tears were flowing from his eyes. It was wow!!! ugh! - unworthy of its stone core, granite, of which it was all composed. There are no tears in the stones ... He pushed Verochka aside and imperiously ordered to leave.

Iratov, trying to find out on his own what was happening to him, scoured the Internet for hours, looking, thanks to perfect English, for articles on professional European medical sites on his problems, studied protein G, the chemistry of the disorder, means of blocking adrenaline, but, delving into medical terminology, I realized more and more clearly that there is simply no single treatment for such conditions. It was a revelation for him that many great people almost did not leave the house, tormented by panic attacks for decades, dying alone, and, probably, he, crushed by fears, was also destined to die within four walls, deprived of a full life.

Iratov spoke to Verochka:

“I don’t want you to waste your life on my madness!”

You are not insane...

Anyway, I'm disabled.

- I am your wife.

- No, we are not married and are not burdened with oaths!

- Iratov, don't be a bastard!

- You still have a destiny! - He stretched out his beautiful hands with long fingers to Verochka's face and stroked her cheek. Everything will be fine, trust me!

Dmitry Lipskerov's new novel, About Him and Butterflies, is not a read for the faint of heart. However, like all other works of the writer. An explosive mixture of post-Soviet realities and magical-surrealistic realities turns reading into a walk through the labyrinth of the Minotaur, where not one, but hundreds of monsters are hiding. The heroes who are absolutely beyond comprehension find themselves in absolutely absurd situations, exist outside the context of the work, but at the same time harmoniously fit into the plot.

Arseny Iratov and his butterflies

"About him and butterflies" – romance with mysterious name and pretentious cover, full of mystical creatures that turn the world upside down. Evil goes hand in hand with good, every minute slipping into the product of clouded consciousness. And it all starts everyday: main character talks on the phone with an old friend who offers him a profitable deal. The hero's name is Arseniy Andreevich Iratov, he is an aging businessman, burdened with a large fortune and a rather young, sincerely loving wife. And everything would be fine, but Arseniy Andreevich has recently been tormented by insomnia, and, as a result, all sorts of glitches. The pills that Arseniy Andreevich has been taking for 25 years now no longer help, and the new ones only increase the deplorable state of the hero. And then another friend, it turns out, is a doctor by profession and is ready to help out Iratov if he plunges headlong into an adventure. And so it happens, after which Lipsker's trademark obscurantism begins.

Double Lipsker

Dmitry Lipskerov is an interesting person. He is both a writer and a businessman. The author began to develop his first role in the 90s, when he was engaged in dramaturgy under the direction of Oleg Tabakov. Dmitry Lipskerov has staged several plays, including "River on Asphalt" and "School for Emigrants." However, genre restrictions associated with the theater soon began to put pressure on the author, and he completely went into writing. The novel "40 Years of Changzhoe", somewhat reminiscent of "100 Years of Solitude" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, appeared in the magazine "Mir" in 1996, and later came out as a separate book. This was followed by other works of the author: “Gotlieb’s Space”, “The Last Dream of Reason”, “Oedipus Complex”, “Leonidas Will Surely Die”, etc. Dmitry Lipskerov is also notable for the fact that he willingly helps young non-standard talents to open up. In 2000, the writer established an independent literary prize“Debut, then a less regulated version of this competition - “Neformat”.

The second component of Dmitry Lipskerov showed itself in restaurant business. The network of Moscow restaurants "Twin Pigs", "Rice and Fish", as well as "Drova" are all the brainchild of the author, who have been feeding visitors deliciously for more than one year. Regarding the unusual fusion of economic and creative activity Dmitry Lipskerov just shrugs his shoulders: they say that writing is, of course, good, but you also need to live on something.

Rated the book

Dmitry Lipskerov is an author who has an endless carte blanche from me for any literary experiments. I like in absentia everything that and how he writes, the whole phantasmagoric scattering of his mystical-crazy characters and plots. Although this time I nevertheless pulled myself together and tried to manage in the review without a true sad story from my own life.

To begin with, I consider it necessary to warn you - the book fully justifies the 18+ marking, and not by one criterion. Characters smoke, drink and fuck. And obscenely expressed with or without. There is a lot of sex, varied and often beyond the normal. So for people with a fine mental organization, the book is contraindicated. The very title of the book - "About him and about butterflies" - already hints at the sexual sphere. "He" is the same exceptional male organ, and "butterflies" are the very lepidoptera that vanilla-like paws sort out in the bellies of women.

In fact, the novel is a family saga in which four generations of diverse destinies are woven into a pattern around the central character, Arseniy Andreyevich Iratov. A wealthy attractive man in his early 50s with the appearance of a Vrubel demon, the owner of an architectural bureau, a stock market player and a connoisseur of the charms of his young common-law wife Verochka, suddenly lost his most valuable thing - his own penis. Such a nuisance happened to him, the reasons are unclear, the consequences are vague. After this unpleasant incident, Iratov recedes into the background for a while, and a certain entity, clearly not from this world, in the form of a middle-aged man, comes to the fore as a narrator. A colorful character, even charming in places, who takes on the role of a trickster and a god from a machine.

The appearance of another actor may be one of the first tests for gentle souls, whose owners blush at the word "ass". After such a plot move, seasoned reviewers should begin to talk about the obvious influence of Gogol's "Nose" on Lipskerov's work, and what interesting forms this very work can take. The young man Eugene seemed to me ... Yes, he seemed to me to be nothing, and except for his birth, he did not please me in anything.

Do not expect straight-line logic and measured flow from the novel. The narrative jumps back and forth in time, depicting Iratov's life, starting from his youth in his father's house and ending with a cheerful farce of illegitimate descendants. There was a place for horror stories about the KGB, and the dashing 90s, and oligarchic modernity. Everything is described in a light style, with unsophisticated enthusiasm, cheerfully and frivolously. At the same time, the grotesque blackness and exaggerated "terrible reality" does not allow the novel to slide into a humorous genre. Around the last third, the book slightly changes tone and turns into a mixture of trash and quite charitable dialogues based on Jewish culture with elements of a parable, which smoothly flows into a dystopia in the scenery of victorious feminism.

If you have come across Lipskerov before and you liked it, feel free to read this book, everything in it, as before, is good, crazy and unusual, although, in my opinion, other books are still stronger (read, more wonderful and crazy) will be. If you do not like the author, then do not rely on the second and subsequent chances. In "About him and about butterflies" everything is just as bad, strange, wild and incomprehensible, fu-fu-fu, why write this at all.

I think this novel is quite suitable for the first acquaintance with the author, if 18+ does not scare away. It is dynamic, easy and fast to read, there are smart thoughts. Also "About him and about butterflies" gives a good example of the author's boundless imagination and the style in which he writes.

Rated the book

A man without a penis - somewhere I've already seen it ... well, well ... "Dogma", "Route 60", "Misfits" ... the first thing that came to mind. But with Lipskerov, as always, everything is so dizzying that it doesn’t let go for a very long time. This is not your lone narcissist snickering bartender.
First of all - the plot, which I will not talk about here, but my teammates know it and everyone around who is ready to listen to me or is not very confident fighting off my enthusiastic speeches.
On my account, this is already the sixth book by Dmitry, so from the old memory I was ready for orgy, unexpected turns, discoveries and other vicissitudes of madness. However, I must admit that if it were not for the case, I would not have dared to take it on for a long time.

I love his style of writing - straightforward, sometimes rough, sometimes ornate, but always on topic. By the way, here 18+ is not as categorical as, for example, in "Demons in Paradise". And all the sex scenes from voluntary to not very well described in such a way that there is no after feeling of dirt (and I'm not a fan of bed scenes in books), on the contrary, they are so logical and beautiful or ugly, if necessary, but always in their place. And in general, Lipskerov has everything in its place, every word, every character. Although I'm lying, there were several questions that my critical thinking could not answer, but I forgave and forgot everything. And how else - if last days I lived with this book, woke up, washed my face, cooked, even worked, reading paragraph by paragraph in micro breaks.

Perhaps the primary function of this book for me is entertainment. In one of the previous books, I compared the works of Dmitry with the paintings of Salvador Dali (well, everyone knows who our main surrealist is), and here he compared himself with him, indirectly, but I liked that we had a personal dialogue and it was me told him (giggle). The narrative captures, circles, the destinies of the characters skillfully intertwine and from time to time the eyebrows themselves rise, and on the face there is an expression something like "oh, that's how it is!".

But the author did not limit himself to just one entertaining function. Quite a lot of talk about God, about actions and their consequences, about goodness and evil, and that our world is not black and white. Basically, Mr. E moralizes with us, sometimes even going too far, to take at least the incident with his non-random fall. Well, let everyone laugh, but not all from evil or with arrogant mockery. The situation itself is funny, the person looks funny, you automatically worry if you hurt something and if you need help - and here everyone is hell. Meticulous caught fallen angel. In general, there is such a message here - to remain yourself and a person, no matter how the Demons seduce you. Although the demons promise hurricanes of passion... And many ladies are quite satisfied with these short-term unforgettable meetings... And it would not hurt for men to keep an eye on whether they have bred offspring somewhere, where their flesh and blood suddenly vegetate, like two drops of water similar on them. You have to be more modest, think with your head, even if testosterone is not enough for clarity of mind.

The characters, as always, are all very colorful, not only secondary, but also tertiary and generally random, to whom they singled out two lines of everything, and even then without replicas. I want to remember these little stories of insignificant, but such living people in their entirety, moreover, I want to know the details - the author knows how to interest. And even with all the improbability of what is happening, you believe everything, they say, yes, it was, or could be, or maybe it’s happening right now.

But I didn’t really like that he repeatedly emphasized that a woman’s calling is precisely in motherhood, without this she is inferior and generally unwomanly and subhuman. These stereotypes have already been set on edge. Perhaps someone needs to go through hellish labor pains in order to understand that she is a woman, and not a collective farm cattle, but there are those who already know this. In addition, giving birth and raising are not the same thing. And some #yazhemati scare me in general. Well, okay, let's consider that this philosophy was important for the story. Pretty much every girl/woman I've met has been swept up, and in some way from the same gene pool. And you know, I have now come to another conclusion that this book is about God and motherhood. Take at least the heart of a mutilated woman that beat for several hours after wounds incompatible with life. Why did it beat? Because of the children. And God is here - and retribution for actions and knowledge that are available to people, but they do not know how to read them. "

The book is a teaching every second, discovering everything new and new in your soul in the lines memorized for decades. "If I don't confuse anything, do you remember the book by heart? - Now I even know her a little" "The text itself is not so important as the key to it, to its understanding" "if you are capable of this - to be obsessed with a book, if it is destined for you to open, then ..."

Did "About him and about butterflies" open to me? It seems to me that there was something else important, but I can’t find the right words for this. I doubt it will come to me. And I will wait new book Dmitry and chance, and hope that she will again be at a high level.

"About him and about butterflies" by Dmitry Lipskerov: The incredible disappearance of Iratov's penis

Looks like Lipskeroff made a bet that he could write a book where everything revolves around penises. Now you know which word replaces the pronoun in the title of the new novel. ReadRate review.

Iratov, a wealthy fifty-year-old gentleman with the appearance of a Vrubel demon, discovered something terrible one morning.

Namely, the complete absence of sexual organs. Several decades before the tragedy, he was known as a wonderful lover (there are satisfied witnesses). Iratov lived enchantingly: he cheated, sold currency, collaborated with the KGB, was in prison, lived in America, became a successful architect. And all his life he was watched by a strange subject, surprisingly dedicated to the secrets of Iratov's personal life and soul, and at the same time to all his acquaintances.

(author of intellectual novels and) has long used the clever trick of magical realism. It seems that everything in his novels is extremely recognizable: in the famous "Lyra" on Gorky, Iratov agreed to become a money changer, and his current wife prays in the Church of the Resurrection of the Word on Ostozhenka. But at the same time, the writer adds a drop of the mystical to the familiar thickness of reality. This drop is just enough to believe in it. This is always the case with Lipskerov's books - you believe them as documentary prose, as the story of a taxi driver - an eyewitness to hundreds of events. With one caveat: Lipskerov, unlike the taxi driver, does not moralize, does not teach and does not strive to emphasize the meaning. And it seems that his novel has no global meaning. There is an impeccable style, there are thousands of captivating and vivid pictures, there are memorable characters. And there is a senseless and merciless, but very beautiful end.

It seems that Lipskerov belongs to that rare category of writers who are more artists than thinkers. Therefore, the novels of his authorship can be disassembled into quotes or retell in fragments, but it is almost impossible to understand. Just as it is impossible to understand, for example, the paintings of the abstract expressionist Pollock or the still life of Petrov-Vodkin. They are left to admire. But this is already great gift readers.

Quote:

I paid the bill and, finishing my seventh glass of tea, looked into the window glass, behind which people were wandering somewhere under the falling snow. Almost all of them had a dull look, as, indeed, the majority of the population of the Central Russian plain. Conceived without joy, they live in anguish. How do they know that falling snow is a blessing? Everything that happens from above is joy, and from below - nothing good. Here a person slips, shirks his head on the ice to death, and if he dies on the back of his head, facing the sky, he is lucky, but if his face is in the ground, it is a universal failure.

Dmitry Lipskerov with the novel About Him and Butterflies for download in fb2 format.

The hero of the new novel, by the will of the author's rich imagination, will find himself in a very delicate and absolutely Gogolian situation. It is from her that events begin that turn the whole world upside down, in which rogue and wise characters, angels and ordinary people weave the fate of the universe.

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Today, there are a large number of electronic literature. The publication About him and about butterflies is dated 2016, belongs to the genre " Modern prose”and is published by the AST publishing house, edited by Elena Shubina. Perhaps the book has not yet entered the Russian market or has not appeared in electronic format. Do not be upset: just wait, and it will definitely appear on UnitLib in fb2 format, but for now you can download and read other books online. Read and enjoy educational literature with us. Free download in formats (fb2, epub, txt, pdf) allows you to download books directly to e-book. Remember, if you liked the novel a lot, save it to your wall in social network let your friends see it too!