By the bookshelf. Nadezhda Borisovna Smirnova. My favorite stories. The world of good books Nadezhda Smirnova Smirnova Nadezhda Borisovna Orthodox writer
On April 1, our parish was visited by a guest - writer Nadezhda Borisovna Smirnova from the Kaluga region. She has been traveling around the country giving performances for a long time and her books are published in thousands of copies. In January 2015, she was awarded the Order of the Russian branch of the Peace Foundation. And for the work “Beyond the Temple Gates. Confession of a Lonely Soul,” the writer was awarded the national award “Best Book of the Publishing House of 2010.”
Nadezhda Borisovna considers herself an Orthodox writer. But in her understanding, this does not at all mean propaganda of the Church. Having come to faith after a serious illness and many life difficulties, she is sure that Orthodoxy is synonymous with morality, conscientiousness, and the ability to make the right moral choice.
Many of her stories are familiar to readers and have long been loved by them. These are the books “Dunyashina’s Easter”, “I have returned, Lord”, “Stepanov’s bread”, “Holy Spring”. “Gift of the Queen of Heaven”, “Indian Summer”, “Green Trinity”, “War and Faith” and others. The heroes of her stories are people with a difficult fate, who are faced with questions about choosing a life path. Spiritual quests force them to change, look at the world around them with different eyes, and be stricter about their own actions.
Based on the stories of N.B. Smirnova has shot several films and cartoons. Her speeches were given in the assembly hall of the parish Sunday school, in the Bilyarsk secondary school, and in the central library of the town. Alekseevskoye, in the House of Culture of the village of Kurkul, in the Alekseevsk School of Arts. Its audience included parishioners and church employees, school students and teachers, members of the community of veterans, disabled people and internationalists of the region. Library workers and readers. Everyone wanted to hear a smart, kind word, from which good fruits should grow.
Before leaving, Nadezhda Borisovna left the following review in the Book for Guests of Honor: “The Lord vouchsafed me to visit your village and your amazing temple. In addition, He filled my heart with joy and warmth from meeting people who serve God so zealously. My deepest gratitude to everyone. I want to wish you Easter joy, burning, God’s help, as well as faith, hope and love. With hope for new meetings, Orthodox writer N.B. Smirnova."
We wish our guest further creative success!
Prologue
The lock would not open again. Irina pulled the handle, twisted the key, pulled it out and reinserted it. The door wouldn't budge. Clutching her bag to her chest, she angrily kicked the door and called her neighbor. He lived alone for a long time, worked, it seems, in the market, and before that he was a big man. They said that he was valued at the plant and was awarded more than once with orders and trips to resorts. But this vile life has broken everything, distorted and continues to distort good people, mercilessly spitting them out with bitten vertebrae. Vasiliev is one of them.
As soon as he saw Irina, he immediately went out into the common corridor and bent at the door of her apartment, trying to deal with the lock. Irina asked him for such help with some regularity, and one could only wonder why she had not yet changed the lock.
Looking at her neighbor’s back, Irina impatiently shifted from foot to foot. Tired. I wanted to quickly find myself in the cozy twilight of the kitchen, pour hot tea into my favorite cup and savor the scalding fragrant drink, looking detachedly out the window. And then the lock jammed, as luck would have it. And Vasiliev has been digging around for too long.
“I was in church today,” the neighbor said as if by chance, as if addressing no one. “It’s so good in my soul, as if I was talking to God.”
Shrugging her shoulder irritably, Irina chuckled. What church? What God? She would have Vasiliev's problems. Irina has absolutely no time to go to such places.
Either hearing her displeased cough, or sensing Irina’s nervousness, the neighbor slouched even more, trying to turn the key in a certain way. Finally the door swung open.
- Thank you. I owe you one. – Irina uttered the usual phrase, remembering that she had never thanked Vasilyev properly.
“Tomorrow I’ll buy him some sweets,” she firmly promised herself, heading to the apartment.
“Wait a minute,” Vasiliev asked a little guiltily and somehow sideways, awkwardly slipped through his door.
Then he came out and handed Irina a small cardboard icon.
“The priest gave it out in the church.” And for some reason he gave me two. I thought maybe you, Irina, would find it useful,” the neighbor smiled a quick, shy smile and stepped over the threshold.
Confusedly twirling the cardboard in her hands, Irina went to her room and while drinking tea, leaning the icon against the sugar bowl, began to look at it closely. The Savior depicted on the paper looked at Irina carefully and seriously. And for some reason this look made me anxious. In the family there was little talk about faith and religion in general. Sometimes, only after sighing, my mother mentioned the words from the prayer. Something like: “Lord, help me.”
But Irina, brought up in the traditions of the pioneers and the Komsomol, which rejected the existence of God, waved it off with displeasure or joked, calling her mother “dense.” There were no icons in the house. And this paper image was, in fact, for Irina the first close encounter with the Lord, unknown and a little mysterious to her. Recently, many newspapers and magazines have written about faith, miracles and elders.
Perestroika in politics played its role: society greedily absorbed knowledge that was previously inaccessible. As a rule, Irina missed such publications in the press, but what reached her ears from the conversations of her colleagues made her amazed, perplexed and doubtful.
Now, the longer Irina peered into the face of the Savior, the more she wanted to talk to Him. Because a lot of things that seemed like prosperity just yesterday became wrong and pitiful at that moment. Irina didn’t know how to explain this, but her heart told her: God knows.
Rising quietly, she carried the icon into the bedroom and placed it on the shelf above the bed. She wanted to move silently, on tiptoe, she felt someone's invisible presence, and her heart beat and beat restlessly. The new state of mind caused confusion and even fear.
Trying to shake off the obsession, Irina shook her head.
“What nonsense,” she said loudly, turning on the lights in all the rooms.
Chapter 1
Irina grew up as an amazingly happy child. Loving parents doted on her, but did not spoil the girl. Their love and warmth opened up more and more new facets in Irochka: smart, always polite, well-mannered, interested in painting and literature, with an extraordinary ear for music, Irochka could easily get her interlocutor talking and captivate her with her idea.
And she was full of ideas: funny games, home performances, jumping from the roof of a village barn into a snowdrift. In moments of inspiration or fun, her large face with a large mouth became unusually attractive. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed red, and her smile was so sincere that it was simply impossible not to love her. I wanted to admire the fair, blue-eyed girl with cute dimples on her cheeks and wavy bangs flying above her forehead and call her by a diminutive name. Which, however, many did with great pleasure.
Irochka went to art school. The teachers predicted a wonderful future for her. She drew wonderfully, sketches from life and portraits were easy for her. The girl had a keen sense of color, and many of her works evoked admiration for the color palette and skillfully captured plot.
Despite her extraordinary talent and having withstood serious resistance from her parents, after school Irina went to university, studying philology - her love for literature outweighed her. True, I didn’t give up drawing, but I no longer did it with such desire, only when I was in the mood. Very often, the work that was started would gather dust on the closet for several months, waiting for Ira’s next inspiration.
At the university, Irina was caught up in a whirlwind of social work. Komsomol organizer of the group, member of the literary circle, active participant in amateur performances. Very soon everyone knew Irochka: from the assistant professor to the cloakroom attendant.
She studied easily, with only A's in her record book. She liked both the teachers and the lectures. Everything was new and interesting. Sometimes Ira would kick, as her mother called it, and could run away from lectures. Especially when the crazy spring was making her dizzy, and classmate Kostya was constantly writing her notes of confession, and she found them in the most unexpected places: in the hood of her jacket, in her powder compact, in her gloves. When they broke up from classes and, without saying a word, went to Filevsky Park, where they swung until they were stupefied on the swings, ate ice cream, kissed in secluded places, and then wandered home, tired, wet and happy.
Already in her third year, Irochka met him. A tall, dark-haired young man stood in a university corridor, surrounded by a crowd of enthusiastic boys and girls. He was cheerfully telling them about something, laughing contagiously, and only his dark, squinting eyes remained serious for some reason.
- Who is this? – Irochka asked Svetka, her friend, with whom they had been friends since first year.
Sveta had a friendly character; you could always grab a twenty from her before a scholarship. In addition, Svetka had an enviable ability: she was always the first to find out everything about everyone.
- What are you doing? – she whispered hotly in Irochka’s ear. - This is Leshka from archaeological school, he took an academic course and has now returned. All the girls are in love with him.
- Free?
- Yes, I think I met Tanka. She's studying history. Yes, you know her, so small and cute.
Irochka remembered miniature Tatyana. They said about her that she had been dancing professionally since childhood. That’s why Tatyana’s gait was extremely graceful, as if flying. Always perfectly made up, with a fashionable haircut, she aroused the envy of all the girls in the course. And her chiseled figure, perfect legs and seductive bust made her popular among the male half of the university.
Irochka twisted her large mouth, trying to drive away the veil that had flowed from God knows where over her eyes. Then she decisively parted the crowd of students and asked Alexei an extremely stupid question:
-Can you sing?
Alexei stared in surprise at the strange girl and was just about to open his mouth to answer when she turned sharply and disappeared.
Irina, having locked herself in the toilet, cried angry tears, cursing herself at all costs: both for her stupid question, and for the fact that she had now embarrassed herself in front of the guys, and most importantly, for the fact that now it is unlikely that she will ever be able to approach to this handsome man.
Now all she had to do was hide like a mouse in a hole and stay out of his sight.
Alexey found it himself. A week later, leaving the classroom, Irochka saw him standing by the window. Having met her eyes, Alexey smiled, waved his hand to Irina and, picking up her bag with books, sang:
- My dear, forest sun...
Irina became embarrassed, not knowing what to answer, and he, without allowing her to come to her senses, said:
- Let's run, I have two tickets to the Planet. The session is in half an hour.
Then, no matter how hard Irina tried, she could not remember the name of the film. She sat next to Alexei, and she was shaking as if with a fever. When the lights went out and Alexey took her hand, she clearly felt that the ceiling was closing in on them. She closed her eyes - and that’s it: Irina passed out so much that it seemed to her that these hot hugs and kisses, and his hand on her lap - all this was happening not to her, Ira Kolesnikova, but to some other girl, who does not live in this world at all, but flew here from a distant unknown star. And Leshka, of course, is not a student at a Moscow university, but the hero of a fascinating, beautiful novel that Svetka gave her to read, and together they wept over the passionate tragic love of romantic heroes.
Life spun Irochka in a joyful kaleidoscope. She laughed for no reason, fooled around, seemed to not walk, but float, radiating happiness and love. Sometimes she caught Kostya's sad gaze fixed on her. But I couldn’t help myself. Alexey eclipsed everyone for her.
They ran with him to the cinema, and most often to student parties. Irochka knew all of Leshka’s friends, and since cheerful gatherings and holidays were held quite often and sometimes lasted beyond midnight, Irina often stayed overnight either in the hostel with her friends or with Alexei.
Mom, of course, was unhappy, she reprimanded Irochka more than once, sometimes it even came to scandals. Several times Irochka came home in the morning and, to put it mildly, not entirely sober. Her parents tried to reason with her, refusing to recognize this girl, who had lost herself in happiness and was doing stupid things, as their daughter.
And Irochka, indeed, seemed to have moved to another planet; she lived only for Alexei, passionately surrendering to her feelings. She simply couldn't do it any other way. Irina looked at Alexey with delight and accepted all his suggestions - from a walk in the park to the next party - unconditionally. She got used to the fact that every such meeting with friends ends in drinking, and she got used to drinking herself. At first, little by little, allowing herself one or two glasses of wine, and once, imitating Alexey, she dashingly knocked over a glass of vodka. She felt bad, and Alexei touchingly looked after his beloved: he gave her water, soaked her temples with a wet towel, endlessly kissing the pulsating vein on her neck. Irina did not let go of Leshkin’s hand for a minute. For this, she could drink at least another whole bottle of vodka without hesitation.
At the end of the school year, when the summer session was behind us, Alexey was included in the archaeological expedition that was about to go on excavations in Crimea. Alexei's jubilation knew no bounds. Irochka, of course, was also happy for him. However, she was also sad, realizing that they would face a separation, albeit a short one.
Alexey gave a grand farewell, they walked all night. They drank, danced, drank again. Irochka did not leave Leshka a single step.
“Promise that you will write every day,” she whispered, snuggling up to her sweetheart and looking hopefully into his eyes.
“Of course,” Alexey answered blithely.
Irochka waited for the first letter for two weeks. She was exhausted, lost weight, and looked into her mailbox every day with hope.
“Irochka, pull yourself together,” the mother asked, looking at her daughter with alarm. Irochka silently raised her bottomless eyes to her, in which anxiety, love, uncertainty and hope were read.
When the long-awaited letter finally arrived, Irochka could not open it for a long time - her hands were shaking.
The letter turned out to be short and businesslike. We settled down and started digging until we found anything interesting. The weather is good, we swim a lot, and I’m tired. No words of love, no tenderness, as if Alexey was writing not to the girl he loved, but a dry report on the work done. But Irina was happy about this too, read and re-read the meager lines, finding an explanation for such a restrained letter in his fatigue and busyness.
“Irina, wake up, finally come to your senses, don’t you understand that he doesn’t love you,” the mother spoke harshly, hoping that this would shake her daughter up and make her think.
“Lesha loves me,” Irochka answered all my mother’s arguments.
Letters still came rarely and were just as short and unkind. She didn't know what to think. But an even greater blow awaited Irina ahead.
One day Irochka realized that she was pregnant. At first, this guess shocked the girl. It seemed as if a whole tub of ice water had been dumped on her. Confusion and terrible fear crept into my soul. For almost a week, Irina walked around not herself, which unusually worried her family.
- What, he’s not writing again? - Mom asked. “It’s time to get used to it and... calm down.”
Turning away to hide her tears, Irina remained silent. And at night, no longer hiding, she cried into her pillow. Alexey did not write, and Irina was thinking that it was time to tell her mother about her situation, when suddenly a saving thought flashed through her head. Ira’s mood immediately changed.
She flew around the apartment, kissed her mother, and was ready to hug the whole world.
“Are you crazy?” Mom clutched her heart when Irina announced her pregnancy. “You’re not scheduled, and then, your relationship...” Mom simply couldn’t find the words. And Irochka repeated endlessly:
“Everything will be fine, everything will be fine now.” You will see.
She wrote a long letter to Alexei and now ran to the mailbox every day. There was no answer. Alexey didn’t write, didn’t call, and Irochka didn’t know what to do. She wrote several more letters, in the hope that Leshka had not received the previous ones.
Irina was completely at a loss, not knowing who to tell about her situation. She didn’t want to talk to her mother; Irochka knew everything she would say in advance. I also couldn’t see Svetka’s malicious eyes.
Exhausted, Irochka decided to tell Kostya everything. She didn’t care that he was a man, that he loved her without looking back, and therefore Ira’s confession would be too painful for Kostya to listen to. But hopelessness, passionate love for Leshka and an unbearable feeling of jealousy exhausted her so much that Irochka decided to not give a damn about conventions, called Kostya, made an appointment and was now waiting for him on a bench in the park. Out of impatience, I arrived half an hour earlier and was completely exhausted while I counted the minutes until my friend’s arrival.
Kostya rushed over with a bouquet of flowers, carefully sat down next to Irochka and, without taking his loving gaze off her, prepared to listen.
The whole time Irina was talking, he was silent, occasionally stroking her hand. When she spoke, he smiled:
- Give birth, Irochka.
Irina began to talk angrily, swallowing her words out of excitement. How can he say that, since Leshenka doesn’t know about Irina’s pregnancy, there’s nothing from him, most likely, her letters simply didn’t reach him. What if he doesn’t want to, and what about her alone with the child. It’s hard: crying at night, dirty diapers, and most importantly, there are two years of study ahead.
– Mom was against our relationship with Alexey from the very beginning. – Irina’s voice began to tremble from the approaching tears. – And in general, what do you understand about this? I thought you would support me, but you...
She stood up abruptly and brushed an unruly lock of hair from her forehead.
“If a letter does not arrive from Lesha in the near future,” she said decisively, “I will have an abortion before the deadlines pass.”
Irina said these words, and she became scared. For the unborn baby, for myself. And for some reason for Kostya. And Kostya stroked her head, gently touching her fluffy hair. Irina pushed his hand away, got angry, but Kostya did not want to let her go, whispering something tenderly and affectionately.
At home, my mother silently handed Irina a telegram. Irochka read it, turned and left. Mom was about to rush after her, but Irochka shushed her mother over her shoulder and quickened her pace.
Irina vaguely remembered what happened in the next five days. She drank stinking port wine in the gateway with some dirty, ragged, foul-smelling people who could hardly be called human. She spent the night in basements, moving from one to another. They groped her with greasy, greasy hands, tried to kiss her with toothless, stinking mouths - she felt nothing. Irina drank what was brought to her. She ate nothing, slept fitfully and drank again.
On the sixth day Kostya found her. Irina was lying on a dirty trestle bed in the basement of a neighboring house, with a fat drunk woman snoring nearby. Irina did not move. She looked, without blinking, at the ceiling, blue shadows lay under her eyes, her lips were chapped. Tangled hair that had not been combed for a long time hung in clumps.
Kostya picked her up and, completely indifferent to everything, brought her home.
Mom was crying, father locked himself in the office, and his frequent nervous steps could be heard from there.
Chapter 2
Irina was silent for almost a month, did not answer her mother’s questions, looked at Kostya with unseeing eyes, and refused to eat. She stayed in bed for a long time, hardly slept, and only her father could force her to drink a little chicken broth.
Irina lay in the room all day long, covered with a blanket, and could not think about anything. Only the text of Leshka’s telegram burned like fiery letters in her fevered brain: “I got married.” It seemed that hot tears were filling her all over, from head to toe, but for some reason the salty moisture did not pour out, but burned her soul until Irina got up and, taking out a hidden bottle, took a few sips. Only then could she fall into a short sleep.
The father took an academic leave from the university, and then transferred his daughter to the correspondence department.
Seven months later, Irina gave birth to a stillborn boy. Her mother reassured her, stealthily wiping away her tears. And Irina seemed to be petrified, not a single tear fell from her eyes. She lay alone in a hospital room, staring blankly at the ceiling. The compassionate nanny, after much persuasion, brought her a bottle of vodka, and Irochka drank the bitter liquid in the toilet straight from the bottle, without taking a bite. She drank, trying to forget her love, and her unlucky life - broken and distorted - and the little unfortunate baby, for whose death only she was to blame.
Irina spent a whole year regaining her strength. The father bought his daughter a ticket to a holiday home in the Moscow region. She went with reluctance, but she unexpectedly liked it. She walked a lot in the picturesque surroundings, even made several sketches. She often went to the lake, which was located not far from the holiday home. I sat on the shore for a long time, looking at the calm waters, gradually thawing my soul.
Irina was never able to get close to any of the vacationers, so she spent most of her time alone. Kostya came several times, bringing fruits, sweets, and pies baked by his mother. Despite difficult experiences, Irina remained an attractive woman, and men looked at her. But these views left her indifferent. The love for Alexei in my soul has not yet burned out, love in half with the pain of his betrayal.
There were days when Irina was attacked by inexpressible melancholy, she could not see anyone or talk to anyone. I felt almost physical mental pain. When she went to the store, she bought vodka and, locking herself in the room, drank until the hops allowed her to forget and fall asleep. Irochka understood that this was not normal, that an intelligent, self-respecting woman could not act like this. She knew, of course, that my mother had been guessing about everything for a long time, but was silent, although she suffered unbearably. It was obvious to her that there was only one step to the terrible disease called alcoholism, and for some reason women became drunkards faster than men. She was aware, worried, but she couldn’t help herself, and most likely, she didn’t want to, reassuring herself that when everything was forgotten and left her soul, then she would give up this damn habit.
Irina graduated from the university quite well and defended her diploma perfectly. But then perestroika struck. It was impossible to find a job. The schools paid meager salaries. Several months passed in search. Finally, Irina managed to get a job as a literature teacher, and she also earned money by giving private drawing lessons.
Despite everything, Irina liked her work, and somehow her students immediately fell in love with her. She was strict, but she could joke appropriately, or even make fun of the guys, although she never humiliated them. Irochka maintained even friendly relations with her colleagues, but did not get particularly close to anyone and kept to herself. No matter how much they respected her, they knew that she would come to the rescue and support her at any moment.
Nadezhda Smirnova
Nadezhda Borisovna Smirnova born in the city of Mosalsk, Kaluga region in 1960.
In 1977, after graduating from high school, she entered the Kaluga Pedagogical Institute, Faculty of History, from which she graduated in 1983.
At the same time, she worked as a correspondent for a regional newspaper.
In 1996, she also graduated from the Obninsk Institute of Atomic Energy, Faculty of Psychology. Based on the qualifications she received, she worked in Mosalsk and at the same time collaborated as a journalist with a number of regional and district newspapers and magazines.
In 2008, Nadezhda Smirnova’s first book, “The Last Hero,” was published.
Since May 2010, she has been actively working in the Orthodox publishing house "Smirenie".
Married. She has two adult children.
Lives in his hometown of Mosalsk.
I'm back, Lord!
What trials has been prepared for us from above? Are we able to overcome all of them alone? These are the questions that Irina, the heroine of the story “God Chose a Woman,” asks. Difficult turns of fate lead a woman to despair, and she increasingly seeks solace at the bottom of a glass. One day, a small icon of the Savior, donated by a neighbor, falls into Irina’s hands. With her appearance, many things change in a woman’s life. It seems to her that someone is invisibly directing her to the source of light.
Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church.
Indian summer.
Nadezhda Smirnova’s story “Village Holidays” tells about a girl who came from the city to the village for the holidays. The girl despises the simplicity and disorder of the village, but over time her feelings become completely different. The stories in this book are dedicated to the events of the war years. The Russian people endured terrible hardships on their shoulders, and only the deep faith that God is not in power, but in truth, helped them survive that terrible war. The years of difficult trials have long passed, but the wounds caused by it have not yet healed in the hearts of people who have known the price of victory.
Touch my heart, Lord
The book of stories by Nadezhda Borisovna Smirnova “Touch My Heart, Lord” belongs to a new rapidly developing genre of Orthodox literature, which can be conventionally designated as folk Orthodoxy. Authors working in this genre are, of course, deeply religious people. Using specific examples of modern life, they examine pressing issues of faith and its ever-increasing influence on a person’s everyday life.
Behind the temple gates. Confession of a lonely soul
“Beyond the Temple Gates” is the second book by Nadezhda Smirnova after the recently published but already very successful collection of her stories “Touch My Heart, Lord.” Using the example of real life situations, the author continues the conversation with the reader about the difficult fate of ordinary people - our contemporaries, who are unsuccessfully trying to build their lives outside the church, beyond the threshold of the holy temple. And only the realization of the futility of these attempts forces them to take the first timid steps towards God.
Holy spring
The heroine of N. Smirnova’s new story, Vika, was not lucky in life. Once prosperous and successful, she suddenly suffers a collapse in life. Her son's incurable illness, her husband's betrayal, and the death of her parents put her on the brink of despair. How to get out of very difficult circumstances, how to overcome them?
Life had some twists and turns in store for her. But for the sake of her son, Vika is ready to act. And she does, perhaps, not a completely logical act - she goes to live in the village.
It is not immediately that a city dweller manages to comprehend the wisdom of village life. But the advice of kind people and the emerging goal of life - to find a holy source that will help her heal her son - pour new strength into her. And Vika begins the search. Where will they lead, who will she meet along the way? Why is the source called Raven, who is the monk Kuksha? N. Smirnova’s fascinating story will tell us about this, the events of which are connected by invisible threads with the events of bygone days.
Her new stories are no less fascinating. They are incredibly life-like, and the events described in them seem to be painfully recognizable. But simple life situations are the canvas on which complex patterns of human relationships are drawn.
Stepanov bread
The already well-known author, laureate of the National Award “Best Books and Publishing Houses of 2010,” this time reveals himself to the Orthodox reader in a new capacity. Before us is an action-packed adventure story. In it, the main character - a successful businessman, the owner of several bakeries - fantastically finds himself either in the era of the Time of Troubles, or in the period of the reign of the Antichrist, and finds himself either in Russia of the 17th century, or in Poland of the 25th century.
The story is read in one breath, but it is not only fascinating, but also, of course, spiritually beneficial. The Orthodox author encourages you to think about a lot, feel and understand a lot.
The second part of the book consists of stories. These, as always with Nadezhda Smirnova, are uninvented stories, most often about people who live difficult lives, sometimes lost, who have stumbled. The author is characterized by sincere sympathy for his characters, and therefore no one can remain indifferent to their fates; they touch to the depths of the soul.
The reader has already noted the special author's style, determined that N. Smirnova's works belong to a genre that has been successfully developing in the last decade, to which he, the reader, gave his name - folk Orthodox story. There is no doubt that the new book will not disappoint readers' expectations.
Treasures of Paraskeva Pyatnitsa
What would you do if you suddenly got your hands on a bag full of antique jewelry? This is exactly what happened to Vera, the heroine of Nadezhda Smirnova’s new action-packed adventure story “The Treasures of Paraskeva Pyatnitsa.” It soon becomes clear that there is a real treasure hunt going on, and the jewels suddenly disappear...
Together with the heroes of the story, you will get acquainted with real historical events: the history of an old merchant family, the ominous secret and mysteries of the dungeons of the ancient church. And, finally, the discovery of another treasure, much more valuable than the notorious jewels of Paraskeva Pyatnitsa. Which? This secret is to be revealed to the reader of the book...
In the second part of the collection, in the tradition of the author, we will meet, as always, with amazing and heartfelt stories by Nadezhda Borisovna, dedicated to the difficult life of our contemporaries.
Dunyashina Easter
At all times, children loved to celebrate Holy Easter. So little Dunyasha Streshneva, the future Russian queen, was looking forward to this great holiday. But to meet him with dignity, you need to work hard. Dunyasha tries: she goes to church for services, prays at home, and helps the poor. Dunya also baked her first Easter cake in her life. Very soon the church will sing “Christ is Risen!” and joyful days with games and fun will come for Dunyasha and the village children.
Indian summer
Agree, walking on the podium, feeling the admiring glances of the audience, drowning in the spotlight, receiving applause is much more pleasant than, say, working in a factory, standing at a machine, milking cows - living quietly, unnoticed and with God in your soul.
This is how, for the time being, the heroine of Nadezhda Smirnova’s story “Country Vacations,” a city dweller, proud and feisty, Margot, thought.
But a chance trip to the village to visit her aunt opened up to her a different world, filled with other values that are based on the commandments of God.
At first, Margot treats with deep contempt everything that is dear to her new acquaintances. Indeed, you can despise anything, but you cannot ignore great and bright love. What final choice the heroine will make, in which direction the scales will tip, we will learn about this only at the very end of the story.
The stories of N.B. Smirnova, placed in this book, are dedicated to the events of the war years. Our people have endured terrible hardships on their shoulders. And only the deep faith of the Russian people that God is not in power, but in truth, helped them survive the fierce battle.
It seems that the years of difficult national trials have long passed, but the wounds inflicted by that war did not heal in the hearts of the people who knew its horrors.
"It would be difficult for me
live without "Omilia"
Nadezhda Smirnova, psychologist, writer and journalist, member of the International Club of Orthodox Writers, member of the Union of Writers of Russia and the author of several books that have sold large copies, became one of the laureates of the National Award “Best Books and Publishing Houses of 2010”, which was established by the Russian Biographical Institute, Russian State Library, Literaturnaya Gazeta and Cultural and Educational Center "Orden". In this regard, we decided to talk with Nadezhda Borisovna about her work, writers, books and awards.
Where do you think a writer begins? When does a person trying his hand at literature turn into a writer?
- Do you feel like a writer?
For me, since childhood, a writer is, first of all, a venerable and significant person in literature. The one whom the whole country knows and loves, whose books are read. It is clear that I do not live up to this. But to be honest, I don't even think about it. I'm just writing books. And I’m glad that at least someone likes them, they are useful, they help.
How important is it for a writer to communicate with others like himself? Does a writer need it at all, or is loneliness preferable to him?
At one time I thought that communication does not play a big role, since I myself am a reserved person, but then I realized that I was wrong. Without communication, even virtual, it can be difficult to assess your strengths and capabilities. Everything is important here: friendly support, constructive criticism, even argument - all this undoubtedly helps in creativity.
- Who do you personally maintain relationships with, if it’s not a secret? Tell us about your literary friends.
I live in a small provincial town in central Russia, and my communication is only virtual. I enjoy communicating with Irina Bogdanova. We had never met, but we immediately felt mutual sympathy for each other. And her advice helps me a lot. Correspondence with Mother Euphemia (Pashchenko) became an everyday necessity. And meeting her in Moscow did not disappoint me. A very smart and insightful author. Quite recently I met the St. Petersburg writer Nikolai Konyaev and realized how much I still need to grow.
- Do you have any literary idols?
Of course, without this, it’s probably impossible to become a master, even with a small letter. Ever since school I have really loved F. M. Dostoevsky, of course, A. S. Pushkin, also I. A. Bunin and A. P. Chekhov. Among modern authors, I am a fan of Yu. Voznesenskaya, M. Ulitskaya, and I like many of the authors of Omilia. You, Svetlana, are for me the best author of miniatures, stories, and philosophical essays.
- What does a writer’s skill depend on? How to write a good book?
Every writer is given a gift from above. But it is also necessary to improve your skills. Now you can learn this by reading various tutorials. But the best thing, I think, is self-improvement, reading classics and modern talented authors. Working on yourself every day is the key to success.
- A good book today - what kind of book is it? What books do readers and publishers need today?
A good book today is, first of all, a fascinating book, and also a useful one, helping a modern person not to go crazy, not to lose common sense, common sense. In general, our society is so diverse and motley that it is sometimes difficult to decide what exactly readers want. Detective, fantasy, historical novel... - they read it all. But without a doubt, a book will always be in demand if it is written in an interesting, lively, captivating way, and if it is capable of forming spiritual and moral guidelines in the reader. When bloody events unfold on the pages, when a book teaches perversion or murder, to be cruel and cynical, then, you see, it’s difficult to call such a book good. At least that's how I see it. And I speak from the position of an Orthodox writer.
Please tell us about the book for which you received the Book of the Year 2010 award and a little about the award itself, if possible. How were the winners awarded? What impressions do you have?
This is my second book from the publishing house “Humility”. It’s called “Beyond the Temple Gates.” Confession of a lonely soul." The heroes of my stories and short stories are often deprived and socially disadvantaged people: homeless people, drunkards, single mothers, disabled people. We often despise them and push them away, but they really need our prayer. I want readers to look at them and their destinies from a different angle, sympathize, and help. The heroine of my winning book is a woman who drinks. She herself did not notice how she had slipped, if not yet to the very bottom, then very low. She grew up from a cheerful, happy girl to a loving and beloved wife and high school principal. But life without faith is difficult. And the tempter of the human race has already laid out his nets for her. Her fall is rapid. But the Lord never leaves his children. It’s just important not to miss the moment when He extends a helping hand to you. And my heroine managed not only to see, but also to accept this help. The book is written in the first person. By the way, this is my favorite literary device.
When I was told that Confessions of a Lonely Soul was the winning book, I was at a loss. I didn't expect it at all. The National Prize was established in 2001 by the Russian Biographical Institute, the Russian State Library, the Literary Gazette, and the cultural and educational center “Orden”. It is awarded in various categories: economics, political science, etc. This year the prize winners were Y. Urbanovich, L. Bockeria, E. Mironov, as well as N. Konyaev and a number of other writers and publishing houses.
The award ceremony took place in the editorial office of Literaturnaya Gazeta. Everything was very elegant and solemn. Many good and warm words were said, new acquaintances were made, there was an opportunity to exchange books and continue communication in an informal setting.
- Perhaps you previously received other awards, became a laureate of some competitions? Tell us about them.
Last year I became a laureate of the All-Russian competition held by the Orthodox film festival “Family of Russia”. One of my stories was recognized as the best and I was invited to a festival that took place in Moscow. The most wonderful experience: watching films, meeting new people, and, as a result, a charge of energy and inspiration.
- I would like to hear a few words about the Omilia Orthodox Literary Club: what does it mean to you?
Of course, special mention should be made about Omilia. This is the first club where I began to realize myself as a writer, where I was supported, helped and always received warmly and sincerely. Every time I come here with trepidation, I always learn a lot of new things, discover talented authors, and I want to say thank you to the authors of the project, the constant admins and the head of the club for the amazing warm atmosphere in the club. It would be difficult for me to live without Omilia. I think the same goes for other authors too. I pray for its creators and spiritual inspirers. God help you!
- In your opinion, is an Orthodox writer very different from a secular one? What exactly?
I think it's different. First of all, completely different life guidelines. Faith in Christ and everything connected with it. It is from these positions that the Orthodox writer tries to talk to the reader.
Orthodoxy in the life of the writer, in your personal life - what place is given to it? Who is more important in you: a Christian or an artist? Who reports to whom?
My boss is a Christian. Although it was once the other way around. I started out as a secular writer, not a writer, but a creator of stories, or something. At that time I was not yet established in the faith. My path to the temple was difficult. However, for people of my generation it is not easy for everyone. I started writing stories and they were willingly published in women’s magazines “Liza”, “Domashny Ochag” and others. Everything seemed to be fine, but my soul felt somehow uncomfortable. And then I asked myself this question: what do I want? Become a Christian, a deep and sincere believer or, as before, sprinkling stories for the needs of the public? The understanding has come that without faith you are nothing. I go to the temple, my heart is open to the Lord, and without His help it would be difficult for me to achieve any success.
- Your advice to an aspiring writer: how to achieve success and, say, receive the same award as you?
I think there is no need to think about the bonus. It’s better to just live, work, write. Our club has a lot of opportunities for this. He is like a stepping stone into great literature. In particular, this happened to me. It was “Omilia” that became the calling card when I contacted the publishing house “Smirenie” and offered my works. I want to wish everyone success in our very difficult field, health and guess what else? Of course, inspiration.
Interviewed by Svetlana Koppel-Kovtun
