Postmodernist Moscow in the Prose of Petrusˇevskaja and Pelevin
15
Indeed, both Petrusˇevskaja and Pelevin deal with the fluidity of
language and its self-destructive qualities. In Petrusˇevskaja’s
novel “The
Little Sorceress”, linguistic transformations play an important role. It can
be argued that in this novel Petrusˇevskaja is a reporter walking around
Moscow suburbs in search of social dialects. Petrusˇevskaja’s range of Mos-
cow languages include obscenities, salesmen’s broken Russian, slang and
the language of contemporary media. Names, dates, and consecutive nar-
ration are kept to a minimum as Petrusˇevskaja highlights the fragility of
the stylistic masks of her characters. Thus, for example, in Petrusˇ£evkaja’s
1992 Booker Prize-nominated ‘Time: Night’ the protagonist Anna loses
her verbal control to the effect that the narrative fades into chaos. Anna
represents a contemporary Moscow poet, displaced from the literary main-
stream but with a life fulfilled by the real poetry of working as editor for a
Moscow newspaper and replying to readers’ letters. Her gesture is akin to
the Russian Constructivists’ desire to merge art and everyday life.
Pelevin’s Peter the Void can be compared to Anna, too. He is a poet
who struggles to win the support of the masses. His association with
Cµapaev adds mythical overtones to his personality. In fact his surname
means ‘void’ (pustota) and suggests the mimicking nature of his poetic
skill in adopting various identities and styles. He represents the new pop-
poet who no longer needs to be original and who mimics languages and
Moscow dialects, including such pop-stars as Muscovite Filipp Kirkorov, a
young Bulgarian who was a renowned sex symbol to many young Russian
girls in the 1990s. Kirkorov’s popularity is reflected, for example, in the
following references: “And the world that the Japanese was preparing to
quit – if by ‘world’ we mean everything that a man can feel and ex-
perience in his life – was certainly far more attractive than the stinking
streets of Moscow that closed in on Serdjuk every morning to the accom-
paniment of the songs of Filipp Kirkorov. Serdjuk realised why he’d sud-
denly thought of Kirkorov — the girls behind the wall were listening to
one of his songs. Then he heard the sounds of a brief quarrel, stifled
weeping and the click of a switch. The invisible television began trans-
mitting a news programme, but it seemed to Serdjuk that the channel
hadn’t really changed and begun talking in a quiet voice”. It is not sur-
prising that Pelevin mixes references to classical literature with allusions
to Russian pop-culture to convey contemporary Moscow as both repulsive
and glamorous, in an oxymoronic manner. Furthermore, Pelevin’s refer-
ences to Kirkorov are entwined with an allusion to two prostitutes whom
Serdjuk and his Japanese friend befriended.
Such a representation of the metropolis is in line with the established
tradition of urban writing. Thus in European and American modernist
literature the representation of the metropolis is often linked to the ques-
16
Alexandra Smith
tion of sexual relations within mass culture. Thus, for example, Gillian
Swanson argues that in many 19
th
-century narratives the public woman
appears to be used as a sign of urban pathology to the effect that the cor-
respondence of sex and commercial city life was produced through a con-
cept of waste that threatens the autonomy of urban masculinity (Swanson
in Watson and Gibson 1995, 85). In Pelevin’s narrative, Kirkorov and the
two prostitutes symbolise the development of the industry of consump-
tion, retailing industries and popular entertainment, leading to the loss of
authoritive self-presence of a male protagonist. In other words, we see in
Pelevin’s text the correspondence between femininity and disorder as re-
quiring some form of management. In the concluding chapter of Pele-
vin’s novel, Peter remarks: “all women suck” (Pelevin 1999, 323). Yet
Peter never abandons his wish to be a poet, and he uses women as his
muses. It can be argued that the number of durable identities possessed
by Pelevin’s male narrator makes him no different to the women whom
he perceives as transient and provisional. His new art is part of popular
culture, driven by social consumption. Although the carnival anarchy and
laughter found in Pelevin’s novel bring to mind many of the 1970s pic-
tures and comic books of Warhol and Lichtenstein, Petrusˇevskaja’s slogan
“Laughter will save the world” (Petrusˇevskaja 1993, 96)
seems to be ap-
plicable to it, too. In fact, Petrusˇevskaja shares with Pelevin a strong inter-
est in laughter, popular culture and reflexivity. Both use the literary fan-
tastic and fairy-tale plots, presenting thereby post-Soviet Moscow as a
comic-book world. Pelevin’s novel “Life of Insects” could be also compared
to the whole gallery of real-life fairy tales images and plots created by Pe-
trusˇevskaja. It should be borne in mind, however, that Petrusˇevskaja in-
sists in her interviews that her fairy tales should not be taken seriously.
Given the above analysis, it would be appropriate to extend the line of
juxtaposition between pop-art and the works of Petrusˇevskaja and Pele-
vin. If we take into account Brian McHale’s assumption, that in compar-
ison with modernism which produced fiction based on epistomological un-
certainty, postmodernism is the literature preoccupied with ontological
questions (McHale in Dalton-Brown1997, 217), then it becomes clear
why Petrusˇevskaja and Pelevin are interested in blurred and fluid
boundaries between animals and people, between creator and his crea-
tion, between rational and irrational. In fact, they deconstruct the cultural
space to which they both belong in the same manner, transforming many
plots of the Moscow ‘text’ into the format of a comic book. For example,
in “The Clay Machine-Gun” one of Peter’s first observations refers to the
revolutionary changes in Moscow in 1918, notably in relation to the
famous monument of Pusˇkin (which became a cult object in Russian
modernist writing): “The Bronze Pusˇkin seemed a little sadder than usual