Biography of Dina Rubina. Films based on the works of Dina Rubina The White Dove of Cordoba

Among the large number of names in the writing world, there is one that I would like to talk about in particular. This is Rubina Dina. Her books are read and re-read by a huge number of people in all countries. The release of new works is awaited as a real holiday. She is compared to such an expert human souls, like Lyudmila Ulitskaya - winner of numerous literary awards.

What do we know about Dina Rubina? Where was this writer born? What are the main themes of her work? What is the secret of popularity? What do readers say about Dina Rubina’s work? Based on numerous reviews, we offer an overview of the most famous works writer, as well as interesting facts from her biography.

"I see - I think - I write"

Who is Rubina Dina? What is so attractive about this writer? First of all, the deep disclosure of images. Reading her books, you experience a feeling of tenderness and compassion, sadness and joy, aching melancholy and unbridled delight. This is a writer with a capital letter. She is equally good at short stories and large works. Where does she find themes for creativity? From life. Any situation seen or conversation heard can be reflected on the pages of her books. The main themes are life, the eternal struggle between good and evil.

Rubina Dina: interesting facts from her biography

• She was born into a family creative people. Father is an artist, mother is a history teacher.
• Dina studied music from childhood, graduated from the conservatory, but did not become a professional musician. I chose a different path in life - literature.
• Born in Tashkent, but lives in Israel. About interesting facts from the biography of Dina Rubina can be read in many of her books. For example, in the novel "On the Sunny Side of the Street".
• The first story, “When Will It Snow,” was written at the age of fifteen. It was published in the magazine "Youth". Millions of people read it. The name of Dina Rubina has become a symbol of quality literature.

Most popular books

Based on numerous reviews, we will describe the most books read Dina Rubina. They are united by a bright, lively language, attention to detail, and dynamic plot development.

• "On the sunny side of the street." For many readers, this is one of the writer’s favorite books. Two stories - mothers and daughters. Two attitudes to life. What to choose - the sunny side or the darkness? Together with Dina Rubina, we choose the happiness of enjoying life and being grateful to it even for small gifts.
• "Leonardo's Handwriting" The main character can read other people's thoughts and see the future. Is it good or bad? Is this a gift or a curse? Dina Rubina, together with the reader, tries to give answers to these questions. The book captivates mystical world unusual destinies and opportunities.
• "Lyubka." The story of the lives of two women during the reign of Stalin. One of them is a doctor, the other is a former prisoner. Each of them has grief and troubles behind them. Despite all the difficulties, they find the strength to live on and help each other.
• "White Dove of Cordoba" Main character - talented artist, who can draw any picture of a brilliant master so that it cannot be distinguished from the original. This book is beautiful and tragic, you want to read it very slowly, prolonging the pleasure.

Trilogy by Dina Rubina

The novel "Russian Canary" causes conflicting opinions. Some call this thing complete mediocrity, which is not worth wasting your time on. However, there are many more who consider this novel worthy of reading attention. What is he talking about? The novel takes place in several countries: Russia, Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Israel. This is a large plot canvas, including a huge number of well-written characters. The genre of the trilogy can be defined as a family saga, but at the same time as a detective story with a psychological twist.

The events in the book begin a hundred years before the birth of the main character, Leon Etinger. At the center of the story are two families: Jewish musicians from Odessa and a family from Almaty, in which they raise canaries. With a whole row talented individuals Dina Rubina introduces us. Each of them is on a short time becomes the main character.

Dossier

Place of power

Apartment near Golgotha

Woman's happiness

Beloved granddaughter

Personal fortune teller

Love Formula

Library

When I was convinced that my biography must be placed on the site, I began to leaf through dictionaries and encyclopedias, where - from a short paragraph to an extensive article - different versions of my rather mediocre and absolutely boring biography were presented.

Usually I am rather indifferent to such things, believing that no one reads them. In essence, who cares what kind of university the author of this or that novel graduated from, how many brothers or sisters he has, how many children, husbands and other life’s junk...

For some time I was even annoyed by the request of the creators of my site to write my own biography. In the end, any writer’s biography is split into small and large chips to kindle the creative fire on which we ourselves writhe throughout our entire literary life.

Then I decided to look at this matter from the point of view of the artisan. Here, they say, there is a certain minor heroine of an as yet unwritten novel. Take it and—sometimes concisely, sometimes more elaborately—outline some kind of picture of your life’s path. That's what I decided on.

She was born in 1953, after Usatii’s death, in the family of an artist and a history teacher. Both were born in Ukraine. Father is in Kharkov, mother is in Poltava. The parents each got to Tashkent their own way. Mother - with the wave of evacuation, appeared as a girl of seventeen, rushed to enter the university (she was terribly fond of literature). IN admissions committee she was asked sternly: “Are you studying philology or history?” She graduated from a Ukrainian school, heard the word “philological” for the first time, and was embarrassed to ask what it meant, so she enrolled in history. At night she worked as a security guard at a weapons factory, during the day she slept during lectures given by brilliant professors from Moscow and Leningrad universities who were evacuated to Tashkent. Those wartime winters were monstrously frosty. Cardboard shoe soles were tied with ropes. Students saved themselves from hunger with nuts - a glass cost a mere penny. Back then they didn’t know that they were terribly high in calories. In addition, the student canteen provided savory food. Both students and professors carried tin bowls and spoons in their briefcases... One day, my eighteen-year-old mother accidentally exchanged briefcases (identical, oilcloth) with a famous Moscow professor who was teaching a course on the Middle Ages using his own textbook. Mortified with shame, she went up to the teacher and said: “Professor, you accidentally took my briefcase and I’m terribly ashamed: if you open it, you will find that there is nothing in it except a bowl and a spoon for rubbing.” The professor said to this: “if you opened mine, you would see the same thing.”…

My father, originally from Kharkov, returned from the war as a young lieutenant to Tashkent, to his evacuated parents. Entered art school, where his peer, a very beautiful, funny girl, taught history... That’s how my parents met.

Both have legends in their families, quite literary ones. From one legend I have already concocted “travel notes” - “Sunday Mass in Toledo”, which were published in the 2nd issue of “Friendship of Peoples” and included in a book published by the Vagrius publishing house. And the “gypsy” legend of the maternal relatives is still waiting in the wings. It’s impossible to write in a nutshell. It's too romantic.

I believe that during the period - before and after the revolution - my ancestors did exactly what hundreds of thousands of Ukrainian Jews did: traded a little, studied a little, taught others a little. My maternal great-grandfather was a religious man, respected and - judging by some of his statements, which are still quoted in the family - unusually witty. His paternal great-grandfather was a Warsaw cab driver, a man of unbridled rage, which caused his grandfather to run away from home at the age of fourteen and never remember his family. From this not too distant ancestor comes a temper and the ability to ruin relationships with people.

My childhood, as well as my youth and youth, and my entire subsequent life, was in cramped home conditions, literally: small apartments where a growing person does not have his own corner. One of the rooms is definitely a workshop, because first my father’s canvases are placed in all corners, then my husband’s. I wrote about all this in the story “The Camera Moves In!” So, physical, everyday pressure, as well as the pressure of circumstances, constantly pressing... Well, and music lessons for several hours a day - a special music school at the conservatory... in general, there was something to write about.

An unyielding face in photographs from those years. My face. Vulnerable eyes, square cheekbones. A rather pitiful creature, oppressed by the service of beautiful art, damn it...

My maturation - that is, the infusion of a pitiful chicken brain on the alcohol and spices of life in the colonial capital - was accompanied by visions. Or rather, this: the most ordinary thing - a scene, a random phrase melting in a street crowd, an everyday detail of everyday life suddenly struck a sparkling spark in me and I fell into prostration. A gentle underwater hum in the ears, the pressure of the deep, the steamy rattling of air, which rises above the hot sand in the heat, accompanied these uninvited meditations. So one day, during a physics lesson, I flew out of the window and made two smooth circles over the school playground - I already wrote about this.

Another time, a marvelous landscape on the cracked wall of a wooden outhouse in the corner of a half-abandoned construction site dazzled me on the way from the music school. Landscape, landscape. I mean literally: a picture. For some reason, I didn’t stop to carefully examine the find, but clutching the music folder to my skinny belly, I walked past, only turning my head back, trying to hold on to the wonderful vision (rumbling in my ears, trembling of the air...) The next day there was no landscape. Fainting despair. Longing for the marshmallow-porcelain beauties of the afterlife. Now I think it was a daub by one of the workers - why not? He probably hung the painting out to dry and then removed it. In short, today I would not be one iota intrigued by such adventures of my imagination. And at that time I lived deeply and dangerously. On the verge of insanity, like many teenagers.

Constantly falling into meditation. Falls into some wells of underground blissful darkness, sweet numbness and looking at yourself from the inside: satin bottom closed eyes, with sheaves of emerald-orange sparks running sideways.

The central path of childhood was the music school at the conservatory.

What could be scarier and more unrealistic than a piano exam? The rattling of hands, the slipping of the keyboard, fingerprint marks on the narrow backs of the black keys from sweaty fingers... And the insulting forgetting of notes. What can even compare in terms of mockery and humiliation with your disobedient body?

Pancreatic melancholy, nausea in the joints, swollen eyes - the way I was afraid of the stage, no one was afraid of her. In my childhood and youth, I threw out the surf of this mustard horror from myself, squeezed out this pre-death, post-mortem sticky cold from my frozen pores. I'm not afraid of anything anymore... I saw everything, I returned from hell. That’s why I never worry at my literary performances.

Children's friendships are a fragile thing, they arise quickly, fall apart quickly... I have yet to write about Tashkent, it was a very interesting city in my time, the blessed South, with all the ensuing details of life, friendships, neighborhoods, a kind of southern Babylonism, a mixture of languages ​​and races. — The topic is too broad, and I’m a person of details.

So, I graduated from a special music school at the conservatory for gifted children. Such an elite hard labor, I also wrote about this in “Music Lessons”, and I will write more. Piano, damn it. From my school years, there is only one friendship left, which is still with me, in Israel, lives near Haifa, plays the violin, teaches, is already a grandmother. And yesterday we, eighth-graders, stood at the window after a “technical” exam, on the second floor of the school named after. Uspensky, watched the snow fall and warmed our hands on the radiator. It was yesterday.

Then - the conservatory, teaching at the Institute of Culture, and other rubbish of the biography, from which novels and stories have long grown.

From the first, unhappy, marriage - an adult son, from the second, happy, - a daughter.

The first story was published in the magazine "Youth" when I was sixteen years old. It was called "Restless Nature", an ironic little story, published in the "Green Briefcase" section. At that time I was constantly joking. Then two more stories were published there, after which I solemnly moved to the prose department of this magazine and was published there until my departure from Soviet Union. Of course, they didn’t take my best things. So, stories, little things. But readers remembered me, loved me, and waited for magazines with my things. So, I’ve already left the country, basically. famous writer.

Thick magazines recognized me from afar, from abroad, I probably had to go to break through the dam of the “New World”, “Banner”, “Friendship of Peoples”. True, I became a completely different writer in Israel, but that’s another topic.

My writing life in Tashkent is very funny, too - a plot for prose. To earn money, I translated Uzbek writers. She received an award from the Ministry of Culture of Uzbekistan for outright hackwork, which she wrote based on Uzbek folk tales, together with the poet Rudolf Barinsky. The fact is that I left my first husband with my little son to live with my parents, thereby multiplying the eternal cramped conditions. I urgently needed to buy a cooperative apartment, so I sat down and wrote a play for the musical comedy theater. There it was staged and was a success (as can be seen from the award). Using the fee, I bought a one-room apartment, which I lived in before moving to Moscow. The play was called “Wonderful doira” (it’s an instrument like a tambourine). Friends, of course, renamed her “wonderful Dvoira.”

The theaters staged a play based on my famous story “When Will It Snow?” It is still broadcast in the form of a radio show, and it has been shown on central TV many times in the form of a teleplay. It was staged in Moscow, Perm, Bryansk and God knows where else. To this day, some letters from provincial directors bring me various information about productions.

A film based on the unsuccessful story “Tomorrow, as usual” was also shot at Uzbekfilm. The movie is also terrible. It was called "Our grandson works in the police." This was in 1984. On the other hand, the successful story “Camera Rolls In” was written based on the material of these film sufferings. This means that suffering and vulgarity have paid off, that is, they are profitable.

In general, I am convinced that my prose can only be read. (Recently, Dasha Yurskaya read one of the stories in a Moscow Art Theater performance). Playing me in theater and cinema is just as impossible as playing Iskander or Dovlatov. The prose of writers with a pronounced author's intonation cannot be transferred to stage and screen. You just need to come to terms with this.

When this unfortunate film was being filmed, I met my second husband, which means that the suffering was doubly worth it. She moved to Moscow with him. Again - into cramped conditions, into “Khrushchev”, where we lived until 1990, the year of emigration, until the next, already Israeli existential and complete “crowded conditions”: - apartment, money, country.

Lived in Moscow freelance artist(In general, I’ve been living as a free artist since I was twenty-three; I only began to serve in fragments when I moved to Israel, and now, more about that below.) My circle of contacts is very diverse. Of course - writing, art, music. The widest. At a quick glance, I’m quite open man, quite secular. So, it’s difficult to list acquaintances. (My husband worked for some time at the Taganka Theater, staged several performances with director Efim Kucher, here’s the acting component; I wrote radio plays on Moscow radio, here’s another side of Moscow life, and magazines, Central House of Writers... - in a word, like all Moscow writers.)

At the end of 90 we repatriated.
This is a biographical, creative, personal milestone.
And no matter what I did in Israel - I served a little, wrote a lot, performed, lived in the "occupied territories", traveled under bullets, received literary awards, published book after book both in Jerusalem and in Moscow... - all this is described, described , described...No need to repeat.
There are two prizes - for books. One, named after Arie Dulchina, for the book “One Intellectual Sat Down on the Road”, the second - from the Israel Writers’ Union - for the novel “Here comes the Messiah!”

I experience a period of creative crisis every time I put an end to another novel-story-story-essay. In general, I live in an eternal state of creative crisis. Highly self-critical. After moving to Israel, I really remained silent for six months. But this was not a narrowly creative, but a total personal crisis, which I also wrote about in the story “At Your Gates” and in the novel “Here Comes the Messiah!”

My husband and my daughter are religious in the truest Jewish sense of the word. With all the ensuing details of life. I slip out of any shackles, as an artist should be, although, of course, I turn to God constantly.

Bibliography...

"When will it snow...?", story and stories. - Tashkent: ed. "Yosh Guard", 1980

"The House Behind the Green Gate", novels and short stories. - Tashkent: publishing house named after. Gafura gulama", 1982

"Open the window!", stories and stories. - Tashkent: publishing house. Gafura Gulyama, 1987

"Double surname", novels and short stories. - Moscow: "Soviet Writer", 1990

“One intellectual sat down on the road,” stories and stories. — Jerusalem: "VERBA Publishers", 1994

"Here comes Mashiach!" Novel. — Tel Aviv, 1996
translated by Daniel M. Jaffe as "Here Comes The Messiah!" (Boston, Zephyr Press, 2000)

"Here comes the Messiah!" Novel and story. - Moscow: ed. "Ostozhye", 1996

"Music lessons". Novels and stories. — Jerusalem, 1996

"Guard Angel" Novels and stories. - Moscow, ed. "Medzhibozh" 1997

"Music Lessons", novels and stories. - Moscow, ed. "Gudyal Press" 1997

"The last boar from the forests of Pontevedra." Novel, story. — Jerusalem: "Pilies Studio Publishers", 1998

"Here comes the Messiah!" Novel. Publishing house "Podkova", 1998

"High water of the Venetians" Novels and stories. — Jerusalem: "Lyre", 1999

"Under the Sign of Carnival", a collection of essays. — Jerusalem: "Lyre", 1999

"Double Surname", collection of stories - Moscow: "Olympus", 1999

"Astral flight of the soul in a physics lesson", collection of stories - Moscow: "Olympus", 1999

"Under the sign of carnival." Novel, essay and interview. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2000

"When the snow falls." Novels and stories. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2000

"Here comes the Messiah!" Novel. - St. Petersburg: "Retro", 2000

"The last boar from the forests of Pontevedra." Novel, story. - St. Petersburg: "Symposium", 2000

"One intellectual sat down on the road." Novels and stories. - St. Petersburg: "Symposium", 2000

High water of the Venetians." Novels and stories. - Moscow: Vagrius, 2001

"What should I do?" - a collection of essays. — St. Petersburg: "Retro", 2001

"On Verkhnyaya Maslovka" Novel. Stories. Stories. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2001

"Under the sign of the carnival." Novel. Essay. Interview. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2001

"When the snow falls." Novels and stories. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2001

"The house behind the green gate." Novels and stories. — Moscow: “Vagrius”, 2002

"Hero's eyes close-up." Stories. — Moscow: “Vagrius”, 2002

"Sunday Mass in Toledo." Stories and essays. — Moscow: “Vagrius”, 2002

"The house behind the green gate." Stories. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2002

"Close-up of the hero's eyes." Stories. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2002

"Here comes the Messiah!" Novel. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2002

"At your gates." Stories and novel. — Ekaterinburg: "U-Factoria", 2002

"A few hasty words of love." Stories, tell. - St. Petersburg: "Retro", 2003

Since 2003, Dina Rubina begins to collaborate with the largest publishing house in Europe, EKSMO, which publishes and reprints the entire corpus of her prose a lot. Over the years of cooperation with Eksmo total circulation D. Rubina's books amounted to more than two and a half million copies. There is no way to list all the reissues here; The following lists only new books - novels and collections of stories, novellas and essays:

"Syndicate". Comic novel. — Moscow: "EXMO", 2004
"Cold spring in Provence." Novels. — Moscow "EXMO" - 2005
"On the sunny side of the street." Novel. — Moscow: "EXMO", 2006
"Gypsy". Collection of stories and short stories. — Moscow: "EXMO", 2007
"It only hurts when I laugh." Collection of interviews and essays. — Moscow: "EXMO", 2008
"Leonardo's Handwriting" Novel. — Moscow: "EXMO", 2008
"White Dove of Cordoba" Novel. — Moscow: "EXMO", 2009
"Parsley Syndrome". Novel. — Moscow: "EXMO", 2010

She graduated from the music school at the conservatory, and in 1977 from the Tashkent conservatory.

Rubina's first story, “Restless Nature,” was published in 1971 in the magazine “Youth.”
In 1977-78 taught at the Tashkent Institute of Culture in 1978-84. led the literary association at the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan.

She published stories and novellas in the magazine “Youth”; wrote the plays “Wonderful Doira” and “When Will It Snow?”, which were staged in several theaters in the Soviet Union. In the 1980s Three books of Rubina’s prose were published in Tashkent: “When will it snow..?” (1980), “The House Behind the Green Gate” (1982), “Open the Window!” (1987), in 1990 a collection of stories and short stories “Double Surname” was published in Moscow.

In 1990, Rubina repatriated with her family to Israel. Lives in the city of Ma'ale Adummim.

Rubina's works have been published many times in the Israeli and foreign press, including in the Jerusalem Journal, in the magazine Continent, Znamya, New world", as well as in many literary almanacs and collections.
From 1990 to 2002, more than 30 books of Rubina’s prose were published in Israel and Russia; collections of her works in translation were published in Israel, France, Bulgaria, Estonia, and the Czech Republic.
Since 2000, Rubina has worked as a representative of the Jewish Agency for work with communities in Moscow.

Rubina's books were published in Israel: novels and short stories “One intellectual sat down on the road” (Jer., 1994); novels “Here comes Mashiach” (T.-A., 1996); “The Last Boar from the Forests of Pontevedra” (Jer., 1998). The books “High Water of the Venetians” (2001) were published in Moscow; “Close-up of the hero’s eyes” (2002), etc.

Rubina's prose is distinguished by a pronounced author's intonation, attention to everyday details, accurate depiction of characters, irony and lyricism. A special place in Rubina’s work is occupied by the Jewish theme: the historical past of the people, as well as modern life Jews in Israel and in the Diaspora.

Literary awards

Prize from the Ministry of Culture of Uzbekistan for the play “Wonderful Doira” for the musical comedy theater, written by her together with the poet Rudolf Barinsky in the late 70s of the 20th century in Tashkent, based on Uzbek folk tales.
Prize named after Arie Dulchina (Israel) for the book “One intellectual sat down on the road.”
Prize of the Union of Writers of Israel for the novel “Here comes the Messiah!”
Russian Prize « Big Book"for 2007 for the novel "On the Sunny Side of the Street".
March 2008 - award Charitable Foundation Oleg Tabakov for the story “Adam and Miryam”, published in the magazine “Friendship of Peoples”, No. 7, 2007.
April 2009 - Portal Award, best fantastic work(large form) for the novel “Leonardo’s Handwriting”

Films based on the works of Dina Rubina

On the sunny side of the street
On Verkhnyaya Maslovka

- (b. September 19, 1953, Tashkent, Uzbekistan), Russian writer (since 1990 lives in Jerusalem, Israel). Born into the family of an artist and a history teacher. She studied music since childhood and graduated from the Tashkent Conservatory in 1977. Started writing... encyclopedic Dictionary

Dina Rubina at the presentation of the collection “Gypsy”, Moscow, House of Russian Abroad, September 13, 2007 Dina Ilyinichna Rubina (1953, Tashkent) is a famous Israeli writer who writes in Russian. Contents 1 Biography ... Wikipedia

Dina (Hebrew: דינה‎) Hebrew Gender: female. Etymological meaning: justice, retribution Foreign language analogues: English. Dinah Hung. Dina ... Wikipedia

Surname. Famous speakers: Rubina, Dina Ilyinichna Rubina, Riva Ruvimovna ... Wikipedia

This list includes individuals of Jewish origin who satisfy. Jewish origin(one or both parents are ethnic Jews), [These criteria do not apply to individuals whose adoptive parents (including stepfather or stepmother) ... ... Wikipedia

Dina Rubina- Saltar a navegación, búsqueda Dina Ilínichna Rúbina (en ruso: Dina Ilínichna Rubina, en hebreo: דינה רובינה‎,) (nacida 19 de setiembre, 1953 en Taskent, la URSS) es una destacada escritora rusa e israelí moderna. Contenido 1 Biografía 2 Obras… … Wikipedia Español

Years in the literature of the 20th century. 1953 in literature. 1896 1897 1898 1899 1900 ← XIX century 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 1914 1915 1916 1917 ... Wikipedia

Books

• Parsley syndrome, Rubina Dina Ilyinichna Category: Series: Great prose by Dina Rubina Publisher: Eksmo,
• Parsley syndrome, Rubina Dina Ilyinichna, Dina Rubina did the impossible - she connected three different genres: a fascinating and at the same time almost gothic novel about dolls and puppeteers, bringing together the poles of history and art;... Category: Contemporary Russian prose Series: Dina Rubina. Collected Works (new series) Publisher: Eksmo,

Near Jerusalem, in our opinion, almost in a residential area, is the town of Maale Adumim. Among its residents there are many representatives of the Russian intelligentsia - writers, artists, journalists; over the years they moved to Israel from Russia and other republics of the former Soviet Union. The city is young - it is not even 40 years old. Its name from Hebrew is translated in two ways: either “Red Rise” - in biblical times this was the name of the corridor between the rocks that rose from Jericho to Jerusalem, along which an important trade and military route passed; or “The Rise of the Edomites” - after the name of the tribe that lived in these places many thousands of years ago. That is, in any case, the location is iconic. And it is there, on the edge of the Judean Desert, surrounded by olive trees, some of which are two thousand years old, that Dina Rubina lives. And it was there that TN correspondents visited the writer.

— Dina Ilyinichna, in Russia you are one of the most widely read Russian prose writers. Your works are translated into many languages ​​of the world and filmed (just remember the films “On Verkhnyaya Maslovka”, “Lyubka”, “On the Sunny Side of the Street”). And in Israel they simply call you “our Dina.” No pressure from recognized status literary classic? How do you regard this - some kind of burden or a gift of fate?

— Only the first publication was a gift. When you're 16 years old, a stunt like this feels like fireworks. Now my fame is a burden, and quite a serious one. Primarily due to lack of time. I receive a huge number of letters to my email address - up to fifty a day: business, friendly, from readers. I answer most of them. There are also meetings with readers, interviews, an endless number of submitted manuscripts and books that I am asked to read, and so on. Perhaps all this would make me happy if I were essentially different, not valuing solitude more than anything else. After all, I only give the impression of an easy-going, secular, sociable person. Few people realize how much of a moody introvert I am. I have a tragic personality, I don’t know how to be joyful.

- Well, weren’t you happy in childhood?

“I never understood or liked these conversations about a happy childhood.” No matter who you listen to, everyone turns out to be happy. But in my opinion, in childhood a person is almost constantly unhappy, simply because he is defenseless and small, and this gigantic, frightening world is rushing towards him at great speed. And even if he grows up in a prosperous family, it means that something is certainly wrong in the yard, at school... I was born in Tashkent. And she lived there for 30 years. She grew up and matured in a despotic environment. Now I’m talking about this without fear that dad will read it. (Sighs heavily.) He won’t read it anymore: he’s been gone for three months... And before, I always gave interviews taking into account the fact that it might catch my father’s eye. I was afraid of his reaction. When I called in the morning to ask what his blood pressure was, if his back hurt, after two or three minutes of conversation, dad would certainly utter the catchphrase: “Well, stop chatting! Work, Negro! " And I dutifully listened to this in my sixth decade, with all my published volumes, huge circulations and awards. My dad remained a tyrannical father to the end. But he never laid a finger on me. The overwhelming force of his authority and character was irresistible. He was an artist, taught painting and drawing at the Tashkent Theater and Art Institute. The students respected and loved him.

I grew up in a family where it was believed that a child should achieve everything every day, achieve the maximum. For my father, there was always something lacking in my sister and I: high grades, success, thoroughness in working out some sonatas... As a child, this offended me terribly, but now I remember with gratitude, because my dad instilled in me, or rather drilled in me, a frantic I thirst for perfection. My personal perfection... I still can’t imagine myself doing nothing—let’s say, lying on the couch in front of the TV. This is simply impossible, and not only because I don’t have a TV. I am constantly working internally on the next book. Right now I’m working on a new novel in two volumes - “Russian Canary”. It's very difficult to write. The first book, as long as The White Dove of Cordoba, is already ready. It took me two years to write this volume. This means the second one will take at least another year. If you get a page per day - great luck. The first option never suits me, the next day I rewrite it, the day after tomorrow I return to it again - and so on countless times. At the same time, my creative baggage is enormous simply in terms of the total working time in my life. Even in my youth, I woke up at five in the morning and sat down at the typewriter. The first half of the day I worked on my essays, and the second half I worked on translations. I have always lived a hard, exhausting and very educational life... By the age of 24 I was a member of the Writers' Union.

- Is your mother as harsh as your father?

- No, mom is a very lively person, enchanting, I would even say adventurous. She escaped from her father’s character behind some Potemkin villages. Moreover, as a teacher of Russian history, she knew many wonderful tales about that era and told them well. In general, it seemed to me that Catherine II, Potemkin, Paul I, Peter the Great were representatives of our family clan.

— Did your parents encourage your literary aspirations?

- On the contrary, they considered my writings to be complete nonsense and idleness. They persistently led my sister and me to musical career. By the way, my sister was taken out: Vera is a magnificent violinist. Now lives in the USA, president of the Massachusetts Music Association, a brilliant teacher - her students receive prizes at competitions. And my mom and dad saw me as a pianist. The preparation was thorough, and it was real musical violence. I frankly hated the classes and still believe that they took 17 years of my life. I studied at a special school at the conservatory and had to study music six to seven hours a day. Imagine this hard labor. Of course, she tried to evade the drill, made a fair effort to squeeze out of her life at least some pieces of time for her inner life. In connection with this, scandals broke out in the family every now and then. But since my parents were constantly working, I still managed to escape their attention. I was a fantastic liar, I could build a tower of lies just to go where I wanted. For the sake of protecting one’s self and personal time, in order to escape from domestic captivity. Where? Could sit on commuter train and leave for the whole day without showing up for school at all. She often disappeared at the zoo - she just sat on a bench and looked at the monkeys. By the way, I moved in space completely alone - even then I didn’t need absolutely anyone. I say: I am by nature a complete introvert, multiplied by the cube. It’s strange, yes, to hear this from a person surrounded by friends, girlfriends, acquaintances, semi-acquaintances, strangers? But it is so.

— How did you manage to break into writing?

- Nobody broke through anywhere. Everything happened as if by itself. Smile of fate. Cinderella's version. When I was in ninth grade, I came across a story in the magazine “Youth” written by an eighth-grader. I thought: “But I have so many stories like this. Why not send it? And she sent one, forgetting about it immediately. And so once again I ran away from school to God knows what outskirts of Tashkent. Returning, I knock on the door with the conventional family knock. Dad opens the door and says from the doorway: “You’ve finished your game!” Everything is clear: the class teacher reported my absenteeism. Horror... I started lamenting: “Dad, dad, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again... This won’t happen again...” To which he sternly said: “They sent you a letter from the government department.” Do you know what envelope the dispatch came in? Pravda Publishing House. It was something unreal. It’s good that Stalin’s times have passed, otherwise we could have shit ourselves out of fear. Of course, a letter from the country’s leading party publishing house. So, the envelope fell into the hands of my father. It was considered impossible in the family to print out other people's letters, but it was also unthinkable to leave such a message unattended, so dad read it against the light, holding it up to the lamp. It was written there: “Your story has been read and liked... It will be published in such and such an issue of the magazine...” The family was numb. The parents didn't know how to react. On the one hand, I should have been pissed off, because I was again writing some stupid handwriting, instead of studying music, and in mathematics and physics - an eternal nightmare in the class magazine. But on the other hand, publishing a publication with a circulation of three million is no joke. Do you know what fee I received? 92 rubles! Terrible money, huge, at that time - monthly salary junior researcher. Mom immediately said that we need to buy something that will remain as a memory of this event. For life! For many provincial people, everything is done “for life.” (With a smile.) No, I still regard my childhood with great irony. In short, my mother and I went to the Farhad market. A speculator caught us in a nearby gateway. A gigantic woman, a real Gargantua in a skirt. On her huge belly were some sweaters, leggings, and skirts packed in plastic bags. As soon as she saw us, the aunt squealed: “Come here, buy something for your girl, she’s such a beauty, such a good mother!” Mom asked: “Well, what are you going to offer us?” She exclaimed: “Here is the jacket! Buy this beauty for your daughter so she can wear it all her life.” I thought sadly: “Why do you need a jacket for life?!” But, of course, this synthetic masterpiece of the monstrous Pink colour was bought. I wore the new thing for a week, until the first wash, after which the jacket faded and began to pill.

- When did you fall in love for the first time?

- In 17 years. Passionately, fieryly, as befits his age and emotional status. We dated for three years, at the age of 20 I got married and lived in marriage for five years. Our son Dima was born. The boy was very restless; he didn’t sleep at all at night. Fighting sleep, I took him out into the air in the stroller - there he finally calmed down, fell asleep, and I, rocking the stroller with my foot, made notes in a notebook. This is how the story “When Will It Snow?” was written, which was also published in “Youth”. Suddenly it became popular - they made a radio dramatization of it and staged a play. And I turned into a Tashkent celebrity.

— Was your husband normal about your success or jealous?

- What kind of man, especially in his youth, would happily accept his wife’s success? My husband was no exception. But this was not the only reason for our divorce. Still, there is such a thing in the world as your half - a person who is destined specifically for you. My second husband is actually destined for me. And the first one just happened to get hurt by me. Like a meteorite. I crashed into him and hurt him for many years. I left like a man, taking with me only my son and a typewriter. Later, with her fees, she bought Dimka and me a tiny one-room cooperative apartment not far from our parents.

— You are taking off creatively, you are beginning to actively realize yourself as a writer, and you have a child at home. How did you combine it?

“I repeat, my father hammered into me the main word - “duty.” In everything. And of course, the child was my main duty. I lived on the edge. But some incredible amount of energy was seething inside me. I remember I made a living in Uzbekistan by translating Uzbek prose writers. In particular, there was Nurali Kabul, the son-in-law of the first secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Republic, Sharaf Rashidov. He wrote stories, they gave me a word-by-line translation, and I made literature out of it. The resulting result was published in the magazine “Yunost”, and then translated into different languages ​​from my “translation”. Nurali told me: “Dinkya-hon, why don’t you ask for anything? What do you need? Do you want a car, do you want an apartment? What to give you?" After thinking, I answered: “Nurali, do you have paper for a typewriter?” That too was in short supply back then. And he gave me a stack of paper... From time to time, Nurali organized a “tui” (“holiday.” - TN note) for some Moscow guests. And of course he invited me as his translator. But this eternal “debt, duty!” - Dad believed that I myself should deal with my son and everyday difficulties. In a word, after sitting among the guests for a while, I got up and explained that I needed to go home to my son. Nurali said: “What I respect Dinka for is that he good mother…»

- How did you manage to get married again with such paternal control?

— A film was made based on my story “Tomorrow as usual.” It was a worthless picture, but the music in it was lovely. It was written by the wonderful composer Sandor Kallos. When I arrived in Moscow for dubbing, he said: “Dinochka, I want to introduce you to a brilliant artist.” By that time, I had been alone for five years, although surrounded by a crowd of suitors who hovered around me with intentions and hope. But I repeat: I am a heavy person and, most importantly, a workhorse, which means it is not easy to bear me. Sandor was not aware of my personal life, he only wanted me to look at interesting pictures and meet a talented person. My reaction was one of the “no thanks, no thanks” - I’ve had enough of artists since childhood. But I went anyway. Boris Karafelov had a huge workshop in the Palace of Pioneers. He taught there several days a week. I described all this in the story “The Camera Moves In!” Although during my acquaintance with Boris’s paintings I politely showed my approval, his paintings did not make any impression on me. My father was an artist of a completely different direction, I grew up in realism, as if in materiality, and all Borisov’s colors, multi-colors, multi-layeredness were incomprehensible and not close to me. But I liked the artist himself. Short, thin, with incredible eyes - very gentle, chaste and at the same time deep, penetrating. Moreover, his character turned out to be soft, delicate, and absolutely not oppressive. In short, as it later turned out, Boris - only person, whom I can bear next to me for a long time. Nevertheless, I did not immediately lose my head, unlike him, who immediately began to seek reciprocity. Everything happened very stormy and very seriously: letters, trips to Tashkent - this is not the world... He completely captivated me with his delightful old-fashionedness.

— Have your parents shown loyalty?

- Well, with all the great love for me, there was never any loyalty. “Why do you need to get married? You have a son, you have creativity! And for whom - for the artist?! They are used to the fact that their daughter is alone and everything seems to be fine with her, so what the hell does she need more?! But in 1984 I went to Boris in Moscow, and two years later Eva was born to us. By the way, we registered secretly. In Tashkent. For a lot of money - to speed up the process. First, for 25 rubles we bought a certificate that I was pregnant, and another 50 rubles were paid to have us signed up for the day after tomorrow. The next day after the passports were stamped, my mother’s brother, Uncle Yasha, came to see me. A loyal communist, a man of extremely strict rules. It formed unexpectedly: he came to his parents, and this is a neighboring house, but there was no one there, so he came to me. At that moment I was preparing dinner in the kitchen, Boris was in the bathroom. Uncle Yasha entered the room and sat down to drink tea. Boris hid. For quite a long time I didn’t dare to show up, but finally I couldn’t stand it - how long can you sit locked up? He came out in sweatpants, a T-shirt and slippers. Uncle is dumbfounded. Silent scene. “Uncle Yasha,” I say, “please meet me: this is my husband.” He choked and asked again: “Who, this one?!” - with such intonation, as if Boris was an escaped convict. “Yes,” I say, “we signed yesterday.” - “On what basis?!” - “Uncle Yash, how about which one? Based on women's needs." Then he said to Boris: “What are you doing?” Borya admitted that he is an artist. Uncle Yasha looked at me derogatoryly: “Couldn’t you find something more thorough?” My family is funny. But then everyone came to terms with my choice and, by the way, fell in love with Borya very much. (With a smile.) But what could they do? Do you know when my husband finally conquered me? Soon after we signed, my mother came to us. She was somehow very worried that she was not at the center of the incident. “Do you know, Boris, that Dina is a difficult person?” - asks. He said, “I know.” “She,” he says, “can remain silent all day.” “I readily believe,” my husband replies. And I thought: “Here is finally a person who will swallow me with all my bells and whistles.” And indeed, Borya and I may not say a word to each other in a day. And it doesn't annoy anyone.

— Dina, why did you decide to emigrate?

— There were several reasons. One of them, quite significant, was the fact that they gradually stopped publishing me. Obviously because I started writing something more serious than romantic stories girls from the provinces. For example, the story “On Verkhnyaya Maslovka”. Now it’s so well-loved, filmed, translated into different languages, and theses and dissertations are written on it in Western universities. And then they didn’t take her to Yunost. The heroes are some marginal people, losers, an ancient old woman... Where are the topical topics, where is the nerve of our time?! I thought that, in the end, the light had not converged on Yunost, and I went to other magazines. But even there they turned me away. I wrote some things that were out of line with the social orientation, the heroes of my stories and stories were eccentrics - strange people with non-Soviet destinies that existed on their own, separately from any communities or parties. My characters did not fit into the reality of the mid-1980s, and I myself did not fit in... And one more thing: it was a time when many areas of Moscow were plastered with anti-Semitic slogans. This is exactly what made our area different. But I cannot live in a situation that is offensive and unbearable for my well-being. I realized that I don’t want my children to grow up in this hostility... We left for Israel at the end of 1990. I moved my whole family there. I didn’t have to persuade my husband - sensitively feeling my condition, he understood how important this was for me. In addition, apparently, I have long wanted to, as they say, “change pastures” - a purely writerly feeling of exhaustion of the surrounding space and themes. However, that global move became a colossal challenge.

Emigration is not just a change of situation. And not even disaster. This is hara-kiri, suicide. Especially for a writer writing in the language of the country he left. We were leaving forever. No hope of returning, no intention of returning. Leaving the apartment, although in those years housing could already be privatized and sold - many of our friends did just that. But I didn't do this. She left the country exactly as she left her first husband - she left everything behind, only she took her children. And, funny as it may seem, she took out only one thing. Apart from Borya's paintings and paint brushes - and you could only take no more than 20 kg per person - I took my favorite Gzhel teapot, wrapping it in some rags I found. It turned out to be two pairs of underpants - a son and a husband. (Laughing.) With these two pairs of panties we started a new life.

— At that time, it seems, the war in the Persian Gulf just began...

- Yes, we found ourselves straight in a war - with air raid sirens, with gas masks. I described all this in the story “At Your Gates.” A few weeks before the bombing began, they explained to us how the air raid siren would sound and what should be done at that moment. But when a chilling howl was heard for the first time in the middle of the night, I decided that the day of the Last Judgment had come. She lay motionless, staring blankly at the ceiling. Boris brought me out of my stupor: “Why are you lying there?!” We put on gas masks and go into the room!” In Israel, every house has a sealed room with a steel door and steel blinds on the windows - in case of chemical and other attacks. The hardest part was putting the gas mask on my four-year-old daughter. At these moments, Boris, Dimka, and I began to dance around Eva, as if such a funny performance was taking place. (With a sigh.) Very scary, but there was no turning back. All that was left was to simply move on with life. The hardest test of strength was life itself. A million people descended on the country, there was no work, the language still had to be learned. All the little money that we were given in the form of allowances was spent on an apartment, on a refrigerator, on a heater... There was nowhere else to take. And I began to do what most women who came from the Soviet Union did then, regardless of education, former social status and other Soviet regalia - I went to wash the floors for 10 shekels per hour. After all, the worst thing is the ghost of your starving children.

- You and a mop in strangers' houses?! This is a blow to self-esteem.

- Yes, it was a shock. It’s just that now I know that I’ve already died once—at that time. For me, of course, it was death. I knew for sure: my earthly life as a writer was over. But I couldn’t control my gut, the verbal magma, the images that involuntarily overwhelmed me. Understand, I have been writing since childhood, all my life, by that time I was already the author of four books, that is, a completely established writer, and writing was my tic, a skill I had developed over the years.

— And at the same time washing the floors...

- Well, what can we do? After all, I am quite a tough woman... But soon I was offered a position as an editor in a tiny publishing company. They paid very little money, but still it was Fixed salary. I received the required small grant for the publication of the book - the circulation, of course, is scanty, but that’s bread. I began to travel around the country, speaking to readers - also some pennies. So little by little life began to get better. And finally a wonderful period came: Borya’s paintings began to sell well. The first one was bought at an auction in Nice. This was serious money, we became terribly excited and... for the first time since our arrival, my husband and I went to a cafe.

— How did you feel about the fact that in Israel everyone, including girls, is being drafted into the army?

— They don’t “take away” — each person has the opportunity to choose alternative types of service. They volunteer because it is necessary. And there's nothing you can do about it. Of course, when my children put on military uniforms, I, like any mother, was worried. But at the same time I was proud. The fact is that this country rests on the shoulders of our children. If not for a strong army, it would have been crushed long ago. We simply have no other choice. Mine served honestly, as they say, according to Hamburg standards. Especially Eva - she served in very serious, prestigious troops.

— What are the children doing now?

— Dima works as a manager in a large trading company - he orders products, always conducting some kind of negotiations. Every year he is awarded with certificates. Eva received her first university degree in English literature and is now completing a second degree in archeology, preparing to defend her diploma. Next he plans to pursue a dissertation. He draws beautifully, writes prose and poetry, both in English and Hebrew. I also have a wonderful Karina Pasternak, whom I consider my adopted daughter. At the beginning of the 2000s, I was the head of cultural and public relations in the Moscow branch of the Sokhnut agency, and Karina worked in my department. She became a very close friend of our family, and when we were about to return to Israel, she suddenly said: “I want to go with you.” I was taken aback: “How?! And mom, grandma?! You’re the only one they have.” But she firmly stood her ground. I had to discuss this topic with her mother, who now happily comes to Israel to visit her daughter. And Karinka made a wonderful career here, becoming the designer of the website of the famous museum in memory of the victims of the Holocaust of the Jewish people, Yad Vashem. He drives around in his own car and rents an apartment not far from us. On Fridays, all the children gather for family dinner.

—Are you comfortable being a grandmother?

“I would say it’s stunning.” My granddaughter became a huge discovery for me. It's so funny and educational for me to watch Shaylee, that's her name. In Hebrew it means “gift to me.” At first I was taken aback by such an unusual name for Russian ears; I hoped that after all the child would be called by a human name. But now I'm used to it. And I already hear something dance-French in the name...

- Dina, do you re-read your books?

- Never. Although I recently had to turn to “Parsley Syndrome,” but only because a friend asked for advice about dolls. While I was working on the novel, I studied the topic thoroughly. So I was forced to return to my essay. I started reading. And I remembered a wonderful story about Tolstoy, when, while putting things in order, he pulled out a certain sheet of writing from some crevice and... began to read, and after reading to the end, he said: “Who wrote this? Well written!” I had the same feeling. I even called Boris. He came down from the workshop: “What happened?!” And I say: “Borka, you know, it’s a very good book!” So I said that I don’t know how to be happy. That's right, that's true. And yet I know what happiness is. When the book is finished and I send it to the publishing house with the press of a computer key, at that moment I experience incomparable, enormous happiness.

Family: husband - Boris Karafelov, artist; son - Dmitry (37 years old), manager of a trading company; daughter - Eva (26 years old), archaeologist; granddaughter - Shaily (1 year old)

Education: graduated from the Tashkent Conservatory in piano

Career: author of several dozen collections of stories, stories and seven novels: “On the Sunny Side of the Street”, “Parsley Syndrome”, etc. She taught at the Tashkent Institute of Culture, headed the literary association at the Union of Writers of Uzbekistan, and headed the department of cultural programs of the Jewish Agency “Sokhnut”