Russian journalist Valery Panyushin, who writes for Kommersant, recently spoke on Radio Kultura. I’m paraphrasing a translation here in which Panyushin states that there are “two basic cultural traditions in Europe. One is called, conditionally, the ancient Greek, and the other is called, conditionally, the christian.”
Panyushin argues: “the ancient Greek tradition presupposes evil exists simply as a mistake of the good whereas christianity presupposes that evil exists in and of itself, by itself.”
Panyushkin says that he “loves Pushkin, Tolstoy, Nabokov and Pasternak,” but admits that he has “a very difficult relationship with Dostoevsky and … Platanov, because in them, evil exists, it’s not simply a mistake of the good. It really exists and maybe they are right, but this makes me very sad and I rarely reread them while I reread Tolstoy every year.”
This excerpt from the radio broadcast got me thinking. When I read Dostoevsky’s The Demons a few years ago, I found it extremely disturbing, so much so that I delayed dipping into Dostoevsky again.
Then I started to think of other books I had really enjoyed but that I found disturbing. The Derek Raymond novel He Died With His Eyes Open immediately came to mind. He Died With His Eyes Open deals with some evil, horrible people. The book is incredible but at the same time, it got under my skin. I turned the last page, and I felt that I needed to recover before starting the second Factory novel in the series. Is this what Panyushin means?
Derek Raymond’s fourth novel, I was Dora Suarez is notorious for being both his best and his most “repulsive” work. I have yet to read it, but it’s reviewed over at Pechorin’s Journal. Raymond (real name Robin Cook) said this about the toll of writing the book:
Writing Suarez broke me; I see that now. I don’t mean it broke me physically or mentally, although it came near to doing both. But it changed me; it separated out for ever what was living and what was dead. I realised it was doing so at the time, but not fully, and not how, and not at once.
If you go down into the darkness, you must expect it to leave traces on you coming up–if you do come up.
So according to Raymond, writing about evil also comes with a price. Reminds me of Nietzsche’s epigram:
Whoever fights monsters, should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you (Beyond Good and Evil Epigrams and Interludes 146 )