Author of the novel Silver Thread Spinner, I have a small essay written in 2008, which can be regarded as a review for the book “The Cocaine Romance o...moreAuthor of the novel Silver Thread Spinner, I have a small essay written in 2008, which can be regarded as a review for the book “The Cocaine Romance or Confessions of a Russian opium-eater” by M. Ageyev--
The List
essay
by Lara Biyuts
I. The Baleful Splendour. Instead of Preface
Time reveals verges--the first phase of the dream. A feeling of an involving power, warm and tender, it makes you dip into the world of contemplation where any verges clear away like a mirage. You feel involved in a wonderful travel, and all is possible in the future. Desire on the verge of contemplation--a moment of intense passion and tenderness. Seeing without touching. Sinking in the mystery of the passion. You feel your desirous heart opens to meet something great, something unknown. The night dreams open a way towards a pagan treasure, a travel to sombre pyramids and night forests, touching the legend, whose enigma is shining oddly and beautifully like a raven’s feathers against the red sun. The travel to Shangri-La. All of us are from Shangri-La. All of us have lost our Shangri-La in order to begin searching for it in the maze of our consciousness and legends from books and somewhere beyond the skyline. The white flower under the snow--a moment of fear, a moment of pain. Contemplating, regarding the white flower as a symbol of peace. Then the alarming phase of the dream, as you feel the relentless flurries realizing the brittleness and defenselessness of the world. The sea is open--you feel warmth. In a rush, you hasten to the warmth. Now, you walk along a road, and a light train of white butterflies fly behind you. The road opens the sea as an endless valley of the emerald and azure light before your eyes. Standing amidst this infinity, you have a chance to look at the face of eternity. Close your eyes, and you’ll see the white shaman’s dream, blown round by ancient winds, and glittering incantations of white sand, framed by misty rocks and silvery foam, glowing and descending in infinity.
II. la blanche
Heroin. Heroine. La blanche. La Blanche. Years back, I happened to read some fiction about drug addicts and addiction: the novelette “Morphine” by Mikhail Bulgakov, the story “Ether” by Nikolay Gumilyov, the story “The Hashish Club” by Theophile Gautier, the novel “Diary of a Drug Fiend” by Aleister Crowley, “Confessions of an English Opium-Eater” by Thomas De Quincey's, the novel “Junkie” (a.k.a. Junky) by William S. Burroughs. This fiction is a candid narration of the authors’ own experience. Reading the books one can know much. For my part, no desire to taste a narcotic I felt reading the books; only curiosity and then aversion. I’m not familiar with the teaching of Aleister Crowley and don’t feel like knowing it; I merely love one of his works, the story “The Needs of the Navy”, and his book “Diary of a Drug Fiend” I regard as an impressive narration that let you know of the real danger that lurks to anyone in the dark realm of the drug addiction. Recently, I’ve read one more book on the subject, the forgotten novel “The Cocaine Romance or Confessions of a Russian opium-eater” by M. Ageyev. Published in 1934, in Paris. The author used a pseudonym which caused some brief speculation in literary circles about a possibility that the book might actually be the work of Vladimir Nabokov, perhaps one of his mystifications. As I think, the author is not Nabokov. The book is “a Dostoevskyan psychological novel of ideas, which explores the interaction between psychology, philosophy, and ideology” and which was alien to Nabokov. “In its frank portrayal of an adolescent’s cocaine addiction” the novel is a very candid narration too, horrific here and there. The quiet horror of the Russian drab existence and the life of a drug fiend. After reading this book I’ve lost even curiosity to the subject. The list of the books may be continued, but I am not sure that being continued the new list will remain as instructive and effective as my list proved to be. If young people read the books like the forgotten novel and those I’ve mentioned above, they never wanted to begin to take narcotics, even out of curiosity, for their curiosity would be quenched, for ever. “Why drink? If you want to be intoxicated there are so many much more delicious things,” said Anthony Blanche in Evelyn Waugh’s novel Brideshead Revisited . Why take narcotics? (less)
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