I have a difficult time now ... unpleasant, or something. Betrayal of loved ones, loneliness, irritation from communication even with those whom you have known for twenty years. Get rid of depression different ways, because the thoughtless lying of the fifth point on the couch is not for me. Reading is one of them. I’m just not pulling novels now, I can’t concentrate for a long time, all thoughts are pulling back, there, into this conversation that killed me morally ...

I read short stories, children's funny books. Sometimes I turn to modern fantasy. Ochen, very rarely comes across something worthwhile.

And here it is .... Mike Gelprin's second story in a month, which plunged me into a stupor. From pity, anger, understanding that you can’t change anything, my heart breaks out, I physically feel how it hurts mentally. This described world is already on the threshold, with a boot or a branded boot, it is ready to open its doors wide open, and to declare all conscientious, compassionate and thinking people to be archaic and put them on welfare so that they don’t die of hunger, but also don’t get confused under their feet, decadent. But not even a meager minimum torments you, but what is happening in my life now - you know that no one in this world needs you anymore, you are a relic of the pre-digital era, and your profession is outdated forever.

And here you are sitting in a cold unfriendly apartment, staring at the telly, drinking cold tea. You really want to die from the longing that tears your heart. And suddenly one evening there is a frightening harshness at the doorbell, and you go crazy from what you hear - “Do you give literature lessons?”

Maybe one day, when my current feelings and emotions fade, someone will ring my doorbell too.

"I'm here. I want to live".

Score: 9

Everyone here admires this story, but I see only a banal pressure on pity. Moreover, in a world where the problem is exaggerated and exaggerated so ridiculously that you can believe in it only for the very feeling of pity for the hero, just to be imbued with the type. Literature will always be read, the book is only an informing carrier, and not knowledge itself, so the electronic version will not kill literature, but rather make it accessible. If it was necessary to somehow raise the problem of society and books, then to bet on the fact that they read little of the classics and gradually forget it under pressure modern literature, that is, more specifically and realistically specify the problem. From here it was worth starting from the story, and not from all literature as a whole. And yet, with what fright did these children become interested in such non-childish serious books? It is enough to remember yourself and your interests at that age, and even more so if you take a wide range of future entertainment. Children, there are children and they want to play, run, jump and have fun, and not read something that obviously will not bring any joy.

The main character is irritated by his cowardice. Moreover, I had no desire to feel sorry for the hero, since they offered him to retrain, but he did not want to, because you see, he does not like it. So what now, let's feel sorry for everyone who has to work where they don't like it, or those who are on welfare for this reason? Marasmus.

Thank you for your attention. Criticism of anything and everything is welcome.

Score: 5

I was lucky to read the story "from scratch", not knowing anything about it ahead of time. First impression: a variation of the classical scheme, undertaken by the author quite consciously and even defiantly (later I found out that the work was written for a competition on a predetermined topic). Secondly, it turned out so vividly, individually, in its own way... And the story turned into the very "Ghost in the Shell", a unique combination of a rigid structure and a living, restless flame... the flame of a candle.

The review is not a place for discussion, but: was it worth concentrating on the specific lines of Pasternak that gave the title to the story? The candle is one of the symbols, even archetypes, that has stood the test of centuries (long before the poem). Candle - faith (not necessarily in God). Candle - creativity. A candle is the transience and fragility of human existence. Candle - a sign of wandering in the darkness. And the poem by Boris Pasternak here is also not a few literal stanzas about how someone is with someone in February, but a kind of mantra, if you like, a shibboleth, by which in the pragmatic world exiles who have lost their spiritual homeland - Literature can identify each other - and carefully, like the flame of a candle, carrying it in their hearts. Not for themselves, but to pass this quivering flame on.

off beyond the scope of the review: and the topic of the competition, it turns out, was this: “Narrow specialist”. Amazing. Perhaps I’ll even add an assessment to the story in the light of new knowledge :) Andrey Petrovich is very recognizably written out, a mixture of pity and annoyance, not so unwilling, but unable to adapt to the “brave new world”, in which he has no place. And I once, driven to despair, tried to sell my favorite books (by a strange coincidence, it was a four-volume Japriso, which is visible and recognizable on the avatar-photo of the author of the story “The Candle Was Burning”, over there, behind the left shoulder of MG). Fortunately, the potential buyer turned out to be wiser than me. She just gave me the money, saying: “You will return it when you can. And I can always borrow books from you to read.

We return when we can. Knowledge. I believe in myself. Feeling. Books.

Score: 10

“Literature died because it did not get along with progress. But here are the children, you understand... Children! Literature was what molded minds. Especially poetry. The one that determined inner world man, his spirituality. Children grow up spiritually, that's what's scary, that's what's terrible, Maxim! - here she is, the main idea and story idea. The idea is very ambiguous, so my attitude to the story is also ambiguous.

On the one hand, I, as a person who grew up in the "book" era, share the bitterness of the author and the hero about the disappearance of books from our world. Together with them, something good really leaves, people leave. But is it connected with the loss of spirituality? Does spirituality have anything to do with reading? Literature is a product of the spiritual life of people at a certain stage of development. It is preceded by oral folk art, followed by... I don't know what, but I'm sure something follows. Perhaps, the expansion of the literary component of virtual games, or the deepening of some foundations of cybernetics, quantum mechanics, electrodynamics, high energy physics. After all, these are not just scientific disciplines. They study the foundations of the universe. How can one manage without spirituality at such a level?

What is literature in the context of spirituality? This is a way of expressing the inner life of a person in fictional stories, fixed with the help of letters. Oral folk art performed the same function, only relied on human memory. At the next stage, something else will take the place of written stories, perhaps the functionality of the same virtual games, which will require the participation of the player in creating worlds, characters, plots. It's not the form that matters, it's the content. The inner world of a person can be conveyed not only through a book.

While not sharing Andrei Petrovich's views on the loss of spirituality, at the same time I understand him and sympathize with this character. The world has changed, and he could not fit into the changes. So it was in Russia in the notorious nineties, when people accustomed to the Soviet way of life were forcibly thrown into what was called the "market economy". Not everyone was ready, many were left behind, in poverty, in social isolation. This is exactly what happened to Andrei Petrovich. He could not stay on the wheel of life, went to the side of the road, closed himself in his apartment and is nostalgic for the times when the trees were big and the children read books. Being a man of science, he puts a social basis for this - progress has supplanted spirituality. The worst thing is that he noticed the process correctly, but incorrectly diagnosed the cause.

It is not the disappearance of books that poses a threat to spirituality. The inner world of a person is reflected in some other forms that Andrei Petrovich simply does not see from his shell. And we, the readers, do not see it either. The threat lurks in the rupture of ties between people. The robot tutor is the real threat. When children are raised by robots, and not by mom and dad, grandparents, uncles and aunts, kids grow up in psychological isolation. They cannot feel like part of the family, the most beloved part. They do not hear their mother's voice before going to bed, it is not their father who plays virtual games with them, it is not their grandfather who goes for a walk. All this is done by a robot. mechanical world. In such a world, spirituality is replaced by functionality. And the disappearance of books has absolutely nothing to do with it. If books are read by a robot to which parents entrusted their kids, spirituality will be replaced by functionality even if libraries are preserved.

Andrei Petrovich inherited paper books from his mother. This is one of the reasons why they are so dear to him. Books have become a connecting thread between the dead mother and the aging son. When we, the readers of today, sort through our home libraries, many books make us remember grandfathers and grandmothers who have already passed away, friends lost at the crossroads of years: they gave us books, read them with us, discussed, preferred some authors to others, which something severely condemned and tried to expel from home bookshelves. Books are a part of our life, connecting us with our close invisible threads. Books could connect Anechka and Pavlik only with a robot, and with an eccentric professor who was frightened of life. The last link is really valuable. Not only for children, but also for Andrey Petrovich. Suddenly the guys will pull it out of the sink. Education is a two-way process.

In this vein, the ending of the story is wonderful. Completely crushed by life, a man who has decided to commit suicide, on the way to the instrument of self-destruction, suddenly sees two children who have come to him. It is more valuable than any book. And this is not taught by books, but only by people, in the stories of Mike Gelprin there are also robots that are very similar to people.

So the candle didn't burn. She's on fire. Only instead of a wick, she has a tungsten antennae. And the light is still bright. If you get out of your lair, talk with people, kill a goat or play chess with a neighbor, exchange a couple of electronic messages with a humanist colleague thrown out of the perimeter and get out together in the park, talk about life and literature, burning candles will immediately come out of the darkness ignorance, uselessness and fear. So Maxim knew what he was doing when he sent Anechka and Pavlik to Andrei Petrovich. The teacher needs these children as much as he needs them, and perhaps much more so that he does not sit in the dark.

This is how this small, provocative, one-sided story is somehow perceived, one-sided, in the sense that the world of the future is shown in it only from one side - from the position of an aging person who does not fit into this world. But there is a world, and there are curious children in it, and they came to the house of a lost teacher to save him from loneliness.

Score: 7

“For twelve years now he has been living on a beggarly allowance. Ever since the day he was fired." * not so beggarly, since he lived for 12 years, did nothing, but did not die of hunger. I wish I could live on a pension of 4,000 rubles, like our old people, who have worked for 30-40 years, are paid ... * minus the rent, just about 4,000. And no 12 years.

“The savings quickly ran out, and Andrei Petrovich had to tighten the belt. Then sell the air car, old but reliable. Antique service, left from my mother, behind him things. And then ... Andrey Petrovich felt sick every time he remembered this - then it was the turn of books. Ancient, thick, paper, also from my mother. Collectors gave good money for rarities, so Count Tolstoy fed for a whole month. Dostoevsky - two weeks. Bunin - one and a half.

“For a couple of years, he knocked on the thresholds of gymnasiums, lyceums and special schools. Then he stopped. I spent half a year on retraining courses. When his wife left, he left them too.

A tear from me is pressed and pressed. Clumsily, but diligently.

*But in vain. Chesslovo in vain. I am unable to sympathize with a pretentious male being who is unable to feed himself.

Yes, - said Andrey Petrovich firmly. - I'll teach.

He stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, concentrated.

Pasternak,” he said solemnly. - It's snowy, it's snowy all over the earth, to all limits. A candle burned on the table, a candle burned ...

*I laughed at this

It's snowy, it's snowy all over the earth to all limits! - [b]suddenly the girl suddenly shouted out //:tired: *yeah, here they are praising "impeccable style". “Suddenly a girl” is definitely strong. and in combination “suddenly shouted loudly”: facepalm:

too much difference between the level of quotes and the story itself. If the author had jumped, he would have broken his legs.

PS. it is really amusing that only the first, "slogan" quatrain for the school intelligentsia sounds.

it’s scary to imagine what could have been, read the kids beyond these four lines. but we'll try anyway

“Shadows fell on the illuminated ceiling! - the girl suddenly shouted loudly

Andrei Petrovich grabbed his heart, swallowing convulsively, stuffed it, pushed it back into his chest.

Are you kidding? He spoke softly, barely audibly.

The plexus of hands, the plexus of legs, the fate of the plexus, - the boy said firmly. - This is what he ordered to pass, Max. Will you teach us?"

:insane::blush::haha::haha::haha:

Rating: 1

“It’s not easy for me to talk about it,” he said at last. – I realize that the process is natural. Literature died because it did not get along with progress. But here are the children, you understand... Children! Literature was what molded minds. Especially poetry. That which determined the inner world of man, his spirituality. Children grow up spiritually, that's what's scary, that's what's terrible.

A heartfelt story about current trends in society. It is difficult for me, as a reader, to imagine a world without literature. However, the modern rhythm of life is accelerating, there is catastrophically little time left for oneself. We are running somewhere and in this race we forget to have breakfast first, and then read ... No, I don’t think that the future awaits us without books, as in the story, but without paper books, it may well be. The world is changing, realities are changing - this is inevitable. And that is why both Pasternak's lines and Gelprin's story sound prophetic.

Candle - capacious and multifaceted image, rather, even a symbol found in almost every poet and writer. A symbol full of depth of meaning: it contains hope, faith in the future, faith in humanity, rebirth and awakening. But first of all, it symbolizes light - light in the darkness of life, the light of learning, the light of spirituality.

The story is lapidary, everything in it is in its place. Andrei Petrovich is vividly written - a sort of classic loser, but a plus sign. On the one hand, it is a pity that he could not get a job after his profession had sunk into oblivion, on the other hand, there is annoyance that he did not want to make an effort to adapt to the new realities of the time. He became stagnant in his book world, and books became him more expensive than people. However, it is impressive that he is selflessly devoted to his work and believes that there are people with similar views, even if he does not attempt to find them or bring literature to the masses. Too indecisive and soft Andrey Petrovich. Perhaps due to his conservatism, or maybe because of the blind joy that seized him from the realization that there is someone who shares his point of view, he did not see a robot in Maxim. Or didn't want to...

This short story touches to the core. It would seem that the world is hopeless, that spirituality has left it. Without literature, the world seemed to be orphaned, dimmed, but no one noticed this in the race for progress and technology. However, as long as such Andrey Petrovichs exist, the world has a chance.

Score: 9

Yes, the author knows which strings to pull. And everything seems to be right until the toothache. But somehow it didn't really catch on. I did not like this pretentious Andrei Petrovich. I didn't like the ending... Well, how could you not recognize the robot in a year and a half? I do not believe! Again, the world is not thought out. A high-tech future - and suddenly a gas stove with burners ... Okay, Petrovich is a lover of antiquity, let him be. But the children would probably have to explain what a “candle” is and how it “burns”. As well as a bunch of other unfamiliar words, concepts, phenomena. After all, literature is not a spherical horse in a vacuum; it cannot exist in isolation from history, geography, and so on. In the world described, they, like literature, were supplanted by technical disciplines. Is it possible to understand the same Dostoevsky without having any knowledge of his era? (the very selection of authors, by the way, also raises questions).

And, of course, the statement about the connection of literature with moral qualities, with spirituality looks very doubtful.

Score: 6

"It's snowy, it's snowy all over the earth

To all limits.

The candle burned on the table

The candle was burning."

B. Pasternak

I can say one thing right away - if I read Gelprin in a crowded place, someone will definitely stop to ask: “What is the matter with you young man?” Because how can you read something that rips the soul without any emotions? For myself, I decided - no way! It would seem that you can write this on ten pages? It turns out there is a lot to write about. The future, old age, mentality, poverty, sorrow, pain, despair, love, hope, joy and much more that words simply cannot convey. A person with a soul will not be able to remain indifferent after reading this story.

The story talks about the future and already, oh contemporary issues literature and its perception. In the future, interest in literature disappeared. It has been replaced by innovation. The main character was an unemployed teacher of literature. To which, already 20 years after his dismissal, a student came with a request to study a literature course.

I would like everyone to read this story, and no one remained indifferent.

Score: 10

I read the story late in the evening. The unexpected ending to goosebumps cheered up the dormant organism. And even something with the eyes ... Resentment. Pride. Hope. I fell asleep with this.

The next morning I read it again. No goosebumps, lots of questions. Reminds me of Fathers and Sons. Eternal theme. But…

There are facts in the story, you can’t argue against them. “But even in the electronic version, the demand for literature fell - rapidly, several times in each new generation compared to the previous one. As a result, the number of writers decreased, then they disappeared altogether – people stopped writing.” And then Andrei Petrovich continues: “Literature was what shaped minds. Especially poetry. That which determined the inner world of man, his spirituality. Children grow up spiritually, that's what's scary…”

People have stopped writing, and children grow up spiritually unspiritual. The first, from today's positions, is terrifying. The second seems to be the end.

Andrei Petrovich, with his reclusive way of life, saw trouble in a crisis, because of which there was no time (?). In the victorious attack of technicians on the humanities. In the shift of interests to computer games.

And if you look at the priorities now, what stands out? Yes, they read less and play more and more. But the absolute king was communication. Mobile phones and social networks. This is happening before our eyes. The level of communication is growing all the time. Who thinks that now spirituality is falling? I remember again Fathers and children. This topic is thousands of years old. Morality has long been in deep minus should be.

Where will priorities shift in a hundred years? two hundred? God knows. I think that Andrei Petrovich did not say everything about his time. He noted only that he was hollowed out. And I didn’t notice much, because the hermit crab.

And the robot tutor? He didn’t hide, his opinion doesn’t count? - On account. I'm just wondering - how did he understand that children grow up spiritually? What did you compare it to? How does he know what they are - spiritual, where does spirituality come from? For example, I don't know. But I would not undertake to call the millions of peasants who lived under the tsars and hardly read anything unspiritual. In those days, there were communication priorities.

But what about the children? After all, "The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning." Yes, they will carry this candle and, I am sure, they will pass it on. And generally speaking:

“... not everything is lost yet,

until the light fades, until the candle burns.

Score: 8

The bell rang when Andrei Petrovich had lost all hope.

Hello, I'm on the ad. Do you give literature lessons?

Andrei Petrovich peered into the screen of the videophone. A man in his thirties. Strictly dressed - suit, tie. He smiles, but his eyes are serious. Andrei Petrovich's heart skipped a beat, he posted the ad on the net only out of habit. There were six calls in ten years. Three got the wrong number, two more turned out to be old-fashioned insurance agents, and one confused literature with a ligature.

I give lessons, - Andrey Petrovich stammered from excitement. - H-at home. Are you interested in literature?

Interested, - nodded the interlocutor. - My name is Max. Let me know what the conditions are.

"For nothing!" almost escaped Andrey Petrovich.

Pay by the hour, he forced himself to say. - By agreement. When would you like to start?

I, in fact ... - the interlocutor hesitated.

Let's go tomorrow, - Maxim said decisively. - At ten in the morning will suit you? By nine I take the children to school, and then I am free until two.

Arrange, - Andrey Petrovich was delighted. - Write down the address.

Speak, I will remember.

***

That night Andrey Petrovich did not sleep, walked around the tiny room, almost a cell, not knowing what to do with his shaking hands. For twelve years now he had been living on a beggarly allowance. Ever since the day he was fired.

You are too narrow a specialist, - then, hiding his eyes, the director of the lyceum for children with humanitarian inclinations said. - We appreciate you as an experienced teacher, but here is your subject, alas. Tell me, do you want to retrain? The lyceum could partially cover the cost of education. Virtual ethics, the basics of virtual law, the history of robotics - you could very well teach it. Even cinema is still quite popular. He, of course, did not have long left, but for your age ... What do you think?

Andrei Petrovich refused, which he later regretted a lot. new job could not be found, literature remained in a few educational institutions, the last libraries were closed, philologists one after another retrained in all sorts of things.

For a couple of years, he knocked on the thresholds of gymnasiums, lyceums and special schools. Then he stopped. I spent half a year on retraining courses. When his wife left, he left them too.

Savings quickly ran out, and Andrei Petrovich had to tighten his belt. Then sell the air car, old but reliable. Antique service, left from my mother, behind him things. And then ... Andrey Petrovich felt sick every time he remembered this - then it was the turn of books. Ancient, thick, paper, also from my mother. Collectors gave good money for rarities, so Count Tolstoy fed for a whole month. Dostoevsky - two weeks. Bunin - one and a half.

As a result, Andrey Petrovich had fifty books left - his most beloved, re-read ten times, those with which he could not part. Remarque, Hemingway, Marquez, Bulgakov, Brodsky, Pasternak... Books stood on a bookcase, occupying four shelves, Andrei Petrovich wiped dust from the spines every day.

"If this guy, Maxim," Andrey Petrovich thought randomly, nervously pacing from wall to wall, "if he... Then, perhaps, it will be possible to buy back Balmont. Or Murakami. Or Amada."

Nothing, Andrey Petrovich suddenly realized. It doesn't matter if you can buy it back. He can convey, that's it, that's the only important thing. Hand over! Pass on to others what he knows, what he has.

***

Maxim rang the doorbell at exactly ten, to the minute.

Come in, - Andrey Petrovich began to fuss. - Have a seat. Here, in fact ... Where would you like to start?

Maxim hesitated, carefully sat down on the edge of the chair.

What do you think is necessary. You see, I'm a layman. Full. They didn't teach me anything.

Yes, yes, of course, - nodded Andrei Petrovich. - Like everyone else. Literature has not been taught in public schools for almost a hundred years. And now they no longer teach in special schools.

Nowhere? Maxim asked quietly.

I'm afraid it's nowhere. You see, the crisis began at the end of the twentieth century. There was no time to read. First to the children, then the children grew up, and there was no time for their children to read. Even more once than parents. Other pleasures appeared - mostly virtual ones. Games. All sorts of tests, quests... - Andrey Petrovich waved his hand. - Well, of course, technology. Technical disciplines began to replace the humanities. Cybernetics, quantum mechanics and electrodynamics, high energy physics. And literature, history, geography receded into the background. Especially literature. Are you following, Maxim?

Yes, please continue.

In the twenty-first century, books stopped printing, paper was replaced by electronics. But even in the electronic version, the demand for literature fell - rapidly, several times in each new generation compared to the previous one. As a result, the number of writers decreased, then they disappeared altogether - people stopped writing. Philologists lasted a hundred years longer - due to what was written in the previous twenty centuries.

Andrei Petrovich fell silent, wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead with his hand.

It’s not easy for me to talk about this,” he said at last. - I realize that the process is natural. Literature died because it did not get along with progress. But here are the children, you understand... Children! Literature was what molded minds. Especially poetry. That which determined the inner world of man, his spirituality. Children grow up without spirituality, that's what's terrible, that's what's terrible, Maxim!

2. "The candle burned."

3. 11th grade.

4. Story.

5. The story was written in 2011.

6. The action of the work takes place in the distant future, approximately in the 23rd century, when books lost their significance for people, robots worked and lived along with humans, and art practically disappeared.

Main characters

Andrei Petrovich is an elderly man, a former teacher of literature in general educational institutions for children with humanitarian inclinations, who, due to scientific and technological progress, was fired from his workplace. Andrei Petrovich adheres to traditional views on the attitude to literature, he saves classic books to the last in order to pass on at least a piece of the past and his knowledge to future generations. He is very upset and disappointed that the further progress goes, the more people stop thinking about things like literature and art, which have the power to evoke different emotions and feelings within each person.

Maxim is a man in his thirties, who later turned out to be a robot tutor.

Has two children - Pavlik and Anechka. Maxim became a student of Andrei Petrovich. Throughout the classes, Maxim delved more and more into the content of literature, understood its purpose and the reasons for its appearance, began to understand and perceive human feelings, began to talk with others about childish lack of spirituality and decided to fight it, began to teach children outside the school curriculum, as a result of which its owners suspected something was wrong and, as a result, disposed of.

Brief story

The world is dominated by the latest technology, and books, music, painting have lost their popularity and, as they say, "even the cinema does not have long left." At this very time, a student (Maxim), who saved the teacher from starvation, is enrolled in a former teacher of literature (Andrei Petrovich), who is making ends meet. During the classes, the teacher opens up like a flower, he re-emerges hope for a brighter future for future generations, that people still continue to show interest in literature. After some time, Maxim stops visiting Andrei Petrovich without warning about anything, and the teacher begins to worry and worry. He doesn't know what to do, he doesn't understand where to go - should he call the morgues? And with what question? After all, he knows practically nothing about his student ... Andrey Petrovich decides to go outside, where he meets his neighbor, who reports bad news: the news reported that that Maxim is not a person, but a home robot, which the owners decided to dispose of after learning about his secret activity. For the teacher, it was a blow to the heart, the thought “everything is down the drain!” Flashed through. Just as he was about to commit suicide, the doorbell rang. These turned out to be the children of Maxim, to whom he passed on everything that his teacher told him about. Pavlik and Anya asked to study with Andrey Petrovich and he let them in.

Review (my opinion)

In my opinion, the story perfectly conveys the situation that may happen in the future, because today most people stop seeing anything around them besides their gadgets, today technology replaces reading, visiting museums, viewing works of art, walking with friends, relaxing with family. I read the story good and informative, the author's thought really makes you think about what is happening now and what will happen next.

It was difficult for me, so loving Pasternak, not to read this story. By name, of course. And you can also make it a practice to constantly read reviews of your friends in order to unexpectedly stumble upon such excellent reviews, such interesting books and stories. Lena, thank you!
Is it that awkward case when a review is written at two? three? four? times longer than the entire story. A story for 10 minutes of leisurely reading.
Do you remember what was the last book you read? And do you like to read? Do your children like to read? And how often? All these questions, asked to non-LL readers, for the most part, will find only a simple shrug of the shoulders.
A sad story, really about modern realities. Although I believe that there will always be people who will read, and then I return to reality, I look at my non-reading friends, I am horrified and start to feel sad. And how many children of reading parents do not like to read and do not read at all? Or read under the yoke of their parents.
God! How can you hate books? How can you hate reading? I do not presume to judge where it comes from. After all, even a century of scientific progress could hardly push the most reading nation to unpresentable places. Maybe it’s the oppression of parents and schools that is to blame, maybe the banal “didn’t find my genre”, maybe “yes, I just don’t see the point”, and this is really sad. Why, a person can immediately see what he is worth, having talked with him for at least 10 minutes. And for those who do not like to read, neither the Internet nor the box will be able to give the knowledge and experience that books give.
So what, what is escapism? Going to another world is not a crime, and not the worst thing to do. A different look at feelings and relationships, laws and principles, why not? In our time, to say that you love to read is to provoke people into sidelong glances. They put a stigma on you - an introvert, they say, what to take from him. Introvert, so what? Books are the last hope for salvation during periods of complete disappointment in reality, in others and even in oneself. And give me the opportunity to run into this world as much as I want, and with the intensity that is subject to me! Please, this is the most important and most valuable thing!
Books are sacred! Books are everything! There is history, and architecture, and painting, and discoveries, and everything that was and is available to man! Do you want to ignore this, thereby lock yourself in a deaf crypt and learn almost nothing about the magnificent world? Excuse me, but this is not our destiny! Read and know, for there is truth in books! Reading is one of the last strongholds of science, progress and a reasonable society.

And how, HOW CAN YOU IMAGINE A WORLD WHERE THERE IS NO PLACE FOR BOOKS? What will happen then? Probably, a person gets used to everything, and we are not at all surprised that it has long been possible to order tickets via the Internet, send an application to the registry office, and even order food .. Let's try to imagine when the hectic rhythm of life and progress will lead to that literature will cease to be needed, will wither away and remain only in the hearts of devoted anachronistic people?
But the world is heading towards rudeness, ugliness and some moral degradation. In scientific progress - yes, there is no price, everything moves in big steps! And in the moral aspect - and I don’t always feel like talking. Even my peers don’t want to read anything, because it’s much easier, better and maybe more important for them to click on likes on VKontakte, instead of saying a couple of nice words, sometimes so necessary and important. Even during the times of turbulent teenage activity, I found time not only for gatherings in the stairwell and drinking alcohol, but also for reading an extra page a day. You know, it's an invaluable experience. And I think you understand what I mean.
It's sad to see how some people think that reading is boring and unnecessary. It's not even sad, it's very, very scary when people treat books with indifference. What can you talk about with such a person? But a person without a foundation of knowledge and experience of generations is nothing, a particle of dust in the nostril of our long-suffering planet.
It's a shame that I don't have many friends to discuss books with, but luckily I do. However, I still sincerely hope that in the future young people will return to reading books.
L.N. spoke correctly. Tolstoy: "When a person stops reading, he stops thinking."

Friends! Book lovers! And, probably, the best thing we can do after reading the story “The Candle Was Burning” is to promise ourselves that we will do everything possible so that our children and grandchildren read, love and respect this priceless cultural monument called “books”.

Problems:
- the role of literature in human life;
- the role of the teacher in human life;
- what is the essence of man and his humanity;
-what is altruism;
- what fills human life meaning, what is the meaning of life (on the example of a teacher).
-technical progress (can technology replace everything? is there a place for culture and art in the world of science and technology?)
-negative consequences of NTR

THE CANDLE WAS BURNING

The reading time of the story is 14 minutes.

The candle was burning. Mike Gelprin

The bell rang when Andrei Petrovich had lost all hope.
- Hello, I'm on the ad. Do you give literature lessons?
Andrei Petrovich peered into the screen of the videophone. A man in his thirties. Strictly dressed - suit, tie. He smiles, but his eyes are serious. Andrei Petrovich's heart skipped a beat, he posted the ad on the net only out of habit. There were six calls in ten years. Three got the wrong number, two more turned out to be old-fashioned insurance agents, and one confused literature with a ligature.
"I give lessons," said Andrey Petrovich, stammering with excitement. - N-at home. Are you interested in literature?

Interested, - nodded the interlocutor. - My name is Max. Let me know what the conditions are.
"For nothing!" almost escaped Andrey Petrovich.
"Pay by the hour," he forced himself to say. - By agreement. When would you like to start?
- I, actually ... - the interlocutor hesitated.
- The first lesson is free, - Andrey Petrovich hastily added. - If you don't like it...
"Let's go tomorrow," Maxim said decisively. - At ten in the morning will suit you? By nine I take the children to school, and then I am free until two.
- Arrange, - Andrey Petrovich was delighted. - Write down the address.
- Tell me, I'll remember.
That night Andrey Petrovich did not sleep, walked around the tiny room, almost a cell, not knowing what to do with his shaking hands. For twelve years now he had been living on a beggarly allowance. Ever since the day he was fired.
- You are too narrow a specialist, - said then, hiding his eyes, the director of the lyceum for children with humanitarian inclinations. - We appreciate you as an experienced teacher, but here is your subject, alas. Tell me, do you want to retrain? The lyceum could partially cover the cost of education. Virtual ethics, the basics of virtual law, the history of robotics - you could very well teach it. Even cinema is still quite popular. He, of course, did not have long left, but in your lifetime ... What do you think?
Andrei Petrovich refused, which he later regretted a lot. It was not possible to find a new job, literature remained in a few educational institutions, the last libraries were closed, philologists one after another retrained in all sorts of things. For a couple of years, he knocked on the thresholds of gymnasiums, lyceums and special schools. Then he stopped. I spent half a year on retraining courses. When his wife left, he left them too.
Savings quickly ran out, and Andrei Petrovich had to tighten his belt. Then sell the air car, old but reliable. Antique service, left from my mother, behind him things. And then ... Andrey Petrovich felt sick every time he remembered this - then it was the turn of books. Ancient, thick, paper, also from my mother. Collectors gave good money for rarities, so Count Tolstoy fed for a whole month. Dostoevsky - two weeks. Bunin - one and a half.
As a result, Andrey Petrovich had fifty books left - his most beloved, re-read ten times, those with which he could not part. Remarque, Hemingway, Marquez, Bulgakov, Brodsky, Pasternak... Books stood on a bookcase, occupying four shelves, Andrei Petrovich wiped dust from the spines every day.
“If this guy, Maxim,” Andrey Petrovich thought randomly, nervously pacing from wall to wall, “if he ... Then, perhaps, it will be possible to buy Balmont back. Or Murakami. Or Amada.
Nothing, Andrey Petrovich suddenly realized. It doesn't matter if you can buy it back. He can convey, that's it, that's the only important thing. Hand over! Pass on to others what he knows, what he has.
Maxim rang the doorbell at exactly ten, to the minute.
"Come in," Andrey Petrovich fussed. - Have a seat. Here, in fact ... Where would you like to start?
Maxim hesitated, carefully sat down on the edge of the chair.
- What do you think is necessary? You see, I'm a layman. Full. They didn't teach me anything.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Andrey Petrovich nodded. - Like everyone else. Literature has not been taught in public schools for almost a hundred years. And now they no longer teach in special schools.
- Nowhere? Maxim asked quietly.
- I'm afraid it's nowhere. You see, the crisis began at the end of the twentieth century. There was no time to read. First to the children, then the children grew up, and there was no time for their children to read. Even more once than parents. Other pleasures appeared - mostly virtual ones. Games. All sorts of tests, quests ... - Andrey Petrovich waved his hand. - Well, of course, technology. Technical disciplines began to replace the humanities. Cybernetics, quantum mechanics and electrodynamics, high energy physics. And literature, history, geography receded into the background. Especially literature. Are you following, Maxim?
- Yes, please continue.
- In the twenty-first century, they stopped printing books, paper was replaced by electronics. But even in the electronic version, the demand for literature fell - rapidly, several times in each new generation compared to the previous one. As a result, the number of writers decreased, then they disappeared altogether - people stopped writing. Philologists lasted a hundred years longer - due to what was written in the previous twenty centuries.
Andrei Petrovich fell silent, wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead with his hand.
"It's not easy for me to talk about it," he said at last. - I realize that the process is natural. Literature died because it did not get along with progress. But here are the children, you understand... Children! Literature was what molded minds. Especially poetry. That which determined the inner world of man, his spirituality. Children grow up without spirituality, that's what's terrible, that's what's terrible, Maxim!
- I myself came to this conclusion, Andrey Petrovich. And that is why I turned to you.
- Do you have children?
- Yes, - Maxim hesitated. - Two. Pavlik and Anya, good weather. Andrei Petrovich, I only need the basics. I will find literature on the net, I will read. I just need to know what. And what to focus on. You learn me?
"Yes," said Andrey Petrovich firmly. - I'll teach.
He stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, concentrated.
"Pasternak," he said solemnly. - It's snowy, it's snowy all over the earth, to all limits. A candle burned on the table, a candle burned ...
- Will you come tomorrow, Maxim? - trying to calm the trembling in his voice, asked Andrey Petrovich.
- Absolutely. Only here ... You know, I work as a manager for a wealthy couple. I run the household, do business, set up accounts. I have a low salary. But I, - Maxim looked around the room, - I can bring food. Some things, perhaps household appliances. For payment. Will it suit you?
Andrei Petrovich involuntarily blushed. It would suit him for free.
“Of course, Maxim,” he said. - Thank you. I'm waiting for you tomorrow.
“Literature is not only what is written about,” Andrey Petrovich said, pacing around the room. - This is also how it is written. Language, Maxim, is the same tool used by great writers and poets. Here listen.
Maxim listened intently. He seemed to be trying to memorize, to memorize the teacher's speech.
"Pushkin," Andrey Petrovich was saying, and he began to recite.
"Tavrida", "Anchar", "Eugene".
Lermontov "".

Baratynsky, Yesenin, Mayakovsky, Blok, Balmont, Akhmatova, Gumilyov, Mandelstam, Vysotsky...
Maxim listened.
- Aren't you tired? Andrey Petrovich asked.
- No, no, what are you. Please continue.
The day changed into a new one. Andrei Petrovich perked up, awakened to a life in which meaning suddenly appeared. Poetry was replaced by prose, it took much more time, but Maxim turned out to be a grateful student. He caught on the fly. Andrey Petrovich never ceased to be surprised how Maxim, at first deaf to the word, not perceiving, not feeling the harmony embedded in the language, comprehended it every day and learned it better, deeper than the previous one.
Balzac, Hugo, Maupassant, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Bunin, Kuprin.
Bulgakov, Hemingway, Babel, Remarque, Marquez, Nabokov.
Eighteenth century, nineteenth, twentieth.
Classics, fiction, science fiction, detective.
Stevenson, Twain, Conan Doyle, Sheckley, Strugatskys, Weiners, Japriso.
One day, on Wednesday, Maxim did not come. Andrey Petrovich spent the whole morning waiting, persuading himself that he might fall ill. I couldn't, whispered an inner voice, stubborn and absurd. Scrupulous pedantic Maxim could not. He never missed a minute in a year and a half. And he didn't even call. By evening Andrey Petrovich could no longer find a place for himself, and at night he never closed his eyes. By ten in the morning he was completely exhausted, and when it became clear that Maxim would not come again, he wandered to the videophone.
“The number is out of service,” the mechanical voice said.
The next few days passed like one bad dream. Even his favorite books did not save him from acute anguish and the reappeared feeling of his own worthlessness, which Andrei Petrovich did not remember for a year and a half. Call hospitals, morgues, an obsessive buzz in the temple. And what to ask? Or about whom? Did a certain Maxim act, about thirty years old, excuse me, I don’t know his last name?
Andrei Petrovich got out of the house when it became unbearable to stay within the four walls.
- Ah, Petrovich! - welcomed the old man Nefyodov, a neighbor from below. - Long time no see. Why don't you go out, are you ashamed, or what? So you don't seem to mind.
In what sense am I ashamed? Andrey Petrovich was taken aback.
- Well, what about this, yours, - Nefyodov ran the edge of his hand across his throat. - who visited you. I kept thinking why Petrovich, in his old age, got in touch with this audience.
- What are you about? Andrey Petrovich felt cold inside. - With what audience?
- It is known from what. I see these pigeons right away. Thirty years, count, worked with them.
- With whom with them? Andrey Petrovich pleaded. - What are you talking about?
- You really don't know? - Nefyodov was alarmed. “Look at the news, it’s all over the place.
Andrei Petrovich did not remember how he got to the elevator. He climbed up to the fourteenth, with trembling hands fumbled in his pocket for the key. On the fifth attempt, he opened it, minced to the computer, connected to the network, scrolled through the news feed. My heart suddenly skipped a beat. Maxim looked from the photo, the lines of italics under the picture blurred before his eyes.
“Caught by the owners,” Andrey Petrovich read from the screen, focusing his vision with difficulty, “of stealing food, clothing and household appliances. Home robot tutor, DRG-439K series. Control program defect. He stated that he independently came to the conclusion about the childish lack of spirituality, with which he decided to fight. Arbitrarily taught children subjects outside the school curriculum. He hid his activities from the owners. Withdrawn from circulation ... In fact, disposed of .... The public is concerned about the manifestation ... The issuing company is ready to suffer ... A specially created committee decided ... ".
Andrei Petrovich got up. On shaky legs, he walked into the kitchen. He opened the sideboard, on the bottom shelf was an open bottle of cognac brought by Maxim as payment for tuition. Andrey Petrovich tore off the cork and looked around in search of a glass. I didn’t find it and pulled it out of my throat. He coughed, dropping the bottle, and staggered back against the wall. His knees gave way, Andrei Petrovich sank heavily to the floor.
Down the drain, came the final thought. All down the drain. All this time he trained the robot.
Soulless, defective piece of iron. He put everything he has into it. Everything that is worth living for. Everything he lived for.
Andrey Petrovich, overcoming the pain that seized his heart, got up. He dragged himself to the window, tightly wrapped the transom. Now the gas stove. Open the burners and wait half an hour. And that's it.
The knock on the door caught him halfway to the stove. Andrei Petrovich, clenching his teeth, moved to open it. There were two children in the doorway. A boy of ten. And the girl is a year or two younger.
- Do you give literature lessons? - looking from under the bangs falling over her eyes, the girl asked.
- What? - Andrei Petrovich was taken aback. - Who are you?
- I'm Pavlik, - the boy took a step forward. - This is Anechka, my sister. We are from Max.
- From ... From whom ?!
"From Max," the boy repeated stubbornly. - He told me to deliver. Before he... how his...
- It's snowy, it's snowy all over the earth to all limits! the girl suddenly cried out loudly.
Andrei Petrovich grabbed his heart, swallowing convulsively, stuffed it, pushed it back into his chest.
- Are you kidding? He spoke softly, barely audibly.
- The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning, - the boy said firmly. - This is what he ordered to pass, Max. Will you teach us?
Andrei Petrovich, clinging to the door frame, stepped back.
“My God,” he said. - Come in. Come in kids.