VLADIMIR SOLOVYOV
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They could say, in effect, "Do you think these people are really
poets? They are parasites, subversives, anti-Soviets." Of course they
could have had an evaluation prepared by a well-known literary
critic, citing his skill and his prestige . But even an anonymous
reader's report was useful to them. As Chudinov once said to me ,
"Go and see a few plays in that theater. You can be our literary look–
out."
On both occasions it was hard to refuse; but I realized that I
was on the edge of a whirlpool that could suck a man under. In that
situation, if you yield you are no longer a literary critic but Agent
Number Such-and-Such - and no one will ever hear of you again.
So I began to bargain with them, saying in effect: "I can write
reviews for newspapers and magazines, but I can't do readers'
reports for you. And of course I can review only things that have
already been published."
"Well," came the reply, "I doubt whether those things will ever
get published . And what if somebody from that group asks you
instead of the KGB?"
That same evening I had a telephone call from K.K. He was
the leader of the group of poets, although he was better known for
his exotic way of life and his sexual perversions than for his poetry.
Everyone was amazed at his bold behavior. "He'll overdo it," people
would say of him, "and get sent to prison. " And indeed, his scandal–
ous way of life did seem to violate all accepted norms. Furthermore,
against the dull backdrop of the Leningrad scene, it seemed like the
highest form of dissidence .
It
turned out that what K.K. wanted to ask me was the same
thing Chudinov had asked me: whether I wouldn't write a critique of
the group's poetic miscellany. This time, however, declining was
easier.
What really amazed me about this whole business was not so
much K.K.'s duplicity but the thoughtlessness-almost the frivol–
ity-with which the KGB sacrificed its victims. And I must admit
that this was one of the reasons, although not the chief one, for my
decision to stay as far away from the "Committee" as possible.
Unlike art, life cannot reach an almost absolute state of per–
fection . Hence , one cannot imagine all of the Soviet dissidents ,
headed by Sakharov, as characters in Chesterton's novel. On the
other hand, Soviet life offers more complex models than the English
literary wit could have imagined . "Provocation" is a very low,
