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is this Lilli-Bunny anyway?
a matter of fact, questions such as "Who are you?" have
existed since the day of creation. Our Lord, after getting his hands
dirty in the clay, molded the bearded muzzle of Adam, and when this
little chump had hardly opened his eyes, he reached up to God’s
nose, asking, “Who are you?” God did not answer. God has still
not answered. Perhaps he was offended—or is still thinking about
Thus, of course, expecting the legitimate question, "Who is
anyway?" I present you with the following explanatory
conversation, because readers indeed love books with a lot of
conversation and pictures, and I don’t want to disappoint you from
the first page.
Who is this Lilli-Bunny? Is he that important to write or, even
worse, read novels about? We have never heard of him. Did he kill
fifty million people?
But did he participate in any massacres?
Did he invent the A-bomb?
No, he did not.
Did he drop an A-bomb? (One of those who dropped the A-bomb was
recently declared a hero by Time
No, Lilli-Bunny didn’t drop the A-bomb.
Maybe Lilli-Bunny is the kind of bearded guy, like Karl Marx, that
invents the kind of theory
that makes a couple of continents almost strangle themselves?
Well, would you excuse us, but this personality is unremarkable,
because it is necessary to murder a certain number of souls in order
to be considered a great hero or even a historically significant
try to argue that Lilli-Bunny is an ordinary character with the
virtues of anyone
to live a happy life, but you won’t listen. You’ll turn away. My
novel will stomp into the corner sniveling.
go on with your life, through your uneventful working days between
traffic jams and washing machines, proving my novel to be
unimportant. Actually, you don’t realize that novels are guiding
your lives. Look out at the street – do you see Harry Potters
carrying their brooms, Raskolnikovs3 with their axes,
Pickwicks sitting on
the benches, Captains Nemos hiding silently somewhere in the city
sewers? Each of us selects, subconsciously, a character from a novel
read in one’s childhood, and this person hobbles through one’s
might say that the present generation does not read any literature.
They simply read new novels or watch the movies, which does the same
simple trick. These books and movies rule our lives…
a matter of fact, this is a novel for you. It will treat your
anxieties, make your back pain go away and help you work
healthy insight into your life
(This is true, of course, only if you haven’t been so abused
and neglected before you reached these lines that it is
already too late to help you out. In that case, you will carry
on with your miserable life, dragging Raskolnikov's axes to
kill old ladies for money. Or maybe you will play the role of
an Idiot and feel sorry for Raskolnikovs and old ladies
whispering to their own ears sweet fairy tales about their
uniqueness. But murdering with an axe sounds so unique that it
deserved to be included in the novel.)
is a positive hero and does not fight with axes. Then why should you
give precious minutes of your priceless existence to the reading of
my book? Because the efforts of your teachers shouldn’t go in
vain. Your English teacher, some Mrs. Watson, didn’t sleep at
night reviewing your English papers. You are indeed the last
generation that can still read! I do not mean inscriptions in
graffiti on the walls; I mean text longer than a parking ticket.
God forgot to give us instructions on how we are supposed to use
ourselves. So we can be excused, at least, for reading those.
might be you, but without the dog-eat-dog life, work that sucks,
shrimpy wage, abuse and discrimination, burnt porridge, rubber love,
clay conscience, spat soul, snotty childhood, wooden toys, finger in
the glass of milk in kindergarten (so that the neighbor would not
drink it), blots in your copybook, ice cream fallen to the pavement,
slaps of bully schoolmates, Jules Verne ships that set sail without
you, pathetic marriage, or pressure of “certain circumstances”
that became fully-grown boneheads who smoke in your basement (not
just tobacco), dysfunctional family, disrespectful grandchildren,
measly old age, early death, solitude in the crowd, and also of
course the Major Disappointment of Your Entire Life (what-so-ever
you choose it to be) and other insignificant troubles...
might be you if, of course, you add to your life a full scoop of
sunny days, some
semolina porridge with raspberry jam, a friendship with a teddy
bear, some common sense, some sense of humor, some sharp-toothed
satire, some merry laughter, some unrestrained laughter with hands
swinging and feet stamping on the floor—“Ha! Ha! Ha!”