Chapter 26: The Hunger Artist

In any case, criticism of Mikhail's novels certainly existed, and the volume was indeed considerable; to some extent, Mikhail even genuinely helped Gogol, who was at the center of the storm, absorb some of the fire.

You must know that Gogol and his "Dead Souls" had almost monopolized the hot searches in the Cultural Circle of St. Petersburg for nearly several months, and the heat has remained high to this day.

Under such circumstances, to show one's head even slightly, in others' eyes, Mikhail was indeed quite extraordinary.

As for those critical articles, some of the fire was indeed fierce, but Mikhail simply did not take them to heart; after reading them, he just laughed them off, and they would not affect him at all.

Others may not know who is right and who is wrong, but how could Mikhail not know?

They are just a bunch of dried bones in the grave.

Of course, some bastards taking advantage of the topic to make a point are truly detestable; just by writing such articles, some people were already calling Mikhail a rebel and a traitor, and it is unknown whether they did it for attention or truly thought so.

Mikhail did not care much, but the few friends who were watching him came specifically to check on his situation because of this matter.

The first to arrive was Dmitri, who walked with a wind-hissing sound and wore a worried expression; before Mikhail could say anything, he immediately comforted Mikhail vigorously. That was one thing, and explaining things clearly was another, but the key was that as he spoke, his emotions ran deep, and he suddenly embraced Mikhail, saying painfully:

"Oh dear Misha, I know you must be under a lot of pressure! If you really feel bad, let's go have a drink! Drink as much as you want, I will definitely bring you back safely!"

Mikhail: "?"

Good brother, let go of me first.

As for drinking, that was even more out of the question; Mikhail's tolerance for alcohol was quite average, and since his mindset was relatively good, he did not need to numb himself with alcohol for the time being.

Of course, more importantly, he did not want to unlock one of the classic Slavic deaths, namely freezing to death on the street after getting drunk.

After dealing with Dmitri's concern, Nekrasov also soon came to the door; while checking on Mikhail's recent condition, he also conveyed greetings from Belinsky:

"Oh dear Mikhail, how have you been recently? I came specifically to see you, and incidentally to convey Vissarion's greetings. You know, he has been busy writing new counter-attack articles these days, but he should come to see you specifically in another day or two. Are you okay now?"

"Thank you for your concern, I am as good as I can possibly be, Nikolai."

Generally speaking, the so-called war of words in magazines basically follows this process: if one side sells out in this issue due to a certain novel or review, the other side will specifically criticize that article in the next issue to boost sales, and then in the issue after that, the first side will counter-attack.

It sounds a bit rigid, but in reality, it is often for one purpose; besides selling more magazines, the greater goal is to occupy the high ground of public opinion.

When the voice of criticism is prominent enough, will more and more people notice this situation, try to do something, and even join the ranks of changing the world?

Often, critics and political essayists do exactly this kind of work.

Although such changes often happen first among the upper class and often ignore the broader masses, it is still a fairly good start.

Belinsky was perhaps writing those articles with such a belief, and besides writing, thinking about the recent criticisms of Mikhail's novels in various publications, Belinsky was somewhat worried, so he asked Nekrasov to check on Mikhail's situation for him as well.

Now that he had really come to the door, Nekrasov immediately knew that his and Belinsky's worries were truly superfluous; Mikhail looked as good as he could possibly be, and even joked with him about those critical articles.

He looked as if he did not take these matters to heart at all.

Seeing that Mikhail was in this state, while feeling relieved, Nekrasov undoubtedly felt even more admiration for Mikhail.

Recalling when Nekrasov published his first collection of poems back in the day, almost no one paid attention; only a few small newspapers specifically dragged out his poetry collection to mock it for attention.

Then our young Nekrasov lost his temper and immediately wrote a rebuttal letter to them; as a result, they hung up his letter and mocked it all over again, leaving him with neither face nor dignity.

Fortunately, this matter caused some commotion, and coincidentally Belinsky saw it at that time; after reading it seriously, the deeply dissatisfied Belinsky immediately launched another round of harsh criticism.

Fortunately, this matter counted as an opportunity; by a twist of fate, Nekrasov entered Belinsky's circle, was taken around by Belinsky to eat and drink for free, and because of this, the later 3p legend came about.

Of course, let's put that aside for now, because in another day or two, Mikhail will soon be involved.

Hmm, it was eating and drinking for free, not 3p.

Returning to the present, seeing Mikhail's calm and composed demeanor, Nekrasov once again realized in his heart just how great the gap between people is; while admiring Mikhail, Nekrasov also secretly made a resolution in his heart.

I must also align myself with the respected Mikhail in this regard!

After visiting Mikhail, Nekrasov hurriedly left to attend to his own affairs.

It must be said that Nekrasov was not a talent-type writer like Dostoevsky, who was extraordinary with his first stroke, but he was indeed a workaholic, almost as if a person had grown on his liver.

At this very time, due to survival issues and some ambitions in other areas, Nekrasov took on almost any job and wrote anything; according to incomplete statistics, in the era of handwritten manuscripts, this guy wrote at least ten million characters in his lifetime, with countless pen names and countless aliases, so many that even he himself would probably forget them.

After seeing off the workaholic Nekrasov, Mikhail also began to check a novel he had recently prepared for submission.

The act of writing is basically equivalent to building reputation; as long as a writer can continuously produce good works, once accumulated to a certain extent, they can gradually win great fame and social status.

According to Mikhail's current plan, he temporarily intends to release one or two short stories at a frequency of about two months; as for long novels, they will probably be placed in the anthology he is collaborating on with Nekrasov.

Also, calculating carefully, Old Dostoevsky seems to be about to appear in the literary world; his works should also be put into the anthology.

While Mikhail was thinking about these things and writing manuscripts, two days passed quickly, and on the morning of this day, the old maid Nastasya knocked on Mikhail's door.

"Mikhail, your letter has arrived; it seems to be an invitation to go somewhere."

(End of this chapter)