Extracurricular reading lesson based on M. Gelprin's story “The candle burned. Blog archive "VO! circle of books" M gelprin candle burned on the table summary

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 in your lifetime ... 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 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 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. The one that determined inner world man, his spirituality. Children grow up spiritualless, that's what's scary, 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.

Certainly. 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, - Andrei 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 said and began to recite.

"Tavrida", "Anchar", "Eugene Onegin".

Lermontov "Mtsyri".

Baratynsky, Yesenin, Mayakovsky, Blok, Balmont, Akhmatova, Gumilyov, Mandelstam, Vysotsky...

Maxim listened.

Not 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, - said the mechanical voice.

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?

Do you really not 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 am Pavlik, - the boy took a step forward. - This is Anechka, my sister. We are from Max.

From… From whom?!

From Max, - stubbornly repeated the boy. - 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.

The book tells about the former literature teacher Andrei Petrovich. The teacher quit his job a long time ago and dragged out a miserable existence. He went around the thresholds of all gymnasiums, lyceums and special schools, hoping to find a job. After the money ran out, Andrei Petrovich sold his air car, which he did not want to part with. After he sold things and antiques. When the money ran out, he had to part with the expensive service received from his mother as an inheritance. He couldn't forgive himself for this. Then he sold old and thick books left over from his mother. He had only those books that he read several times. The remaining books occupied 4 shelves in the closet. Tolstoy's collections fed him for a month. Dostoevsky's books are 2 weeks old, and Bunin's are a month and a half.

When Andrei Petrovich was sitting in despair and did not know what to do, the bell rang. Andrei Petrovich received a call from a young man of 30 who introduced himself as Maxim. Maxim wanted to sign up for a private lesson with a poor writer. Andrei Petrovich was very happy and did not know what to say. Maxim said that he knew nothing about literature and asked to be taught everything. Thus, Andrei Petrovich asked him to come tomorrow at 10 am. After the call, Andrey Petrovich could not find a place for himself, walked around the room and was very nervous.

Morning has come. Maxim came exactly at 10 without delay. When talking to his newly minted student, Andrey Petrovich explained the importance of literature in modern world. According to him, everyone completely forgot about literature. The subject was replaced by new technologies, neurophysics, mathematics, biology, astronomy, robotics, etc. After the story, the teacher offered Maxim to partially pay for the education. In response, the guy said that he works as a house manager and receives a small salary. In return for training, he offered to bring food, household appliances and essentials.

Andrei Petrovich gladly agreed to such a proposal. Maxim began to come every day. Andrey Petrovich forgot about his sadness. So it's been 1.5 years. One day Maxim did not come to class. The teacher was very worried, suddenly something happened. He didn't sleep at night. So 3 days passed. The hero decided to take a walk and left the apartment. Nefedov's neighbor told him the bad news and recommended him to read the news feed. Andrei Petrovich ran home, turned on the computer and read that Maxim was accused of theft and embezzlement. In addition, Maxim was a robot, not a man. The poor teacher got sick. He intended to poison himself with gas, when someone knocked on the door. The boy Pavlik and the girl Anya were standing outside the door. The boy said that Maxim had sent them. They asked to study with Andrei Petrovich.

Picture or drawing Gelprin - The candle burned

Other retellings and reviews for the reader's diary

Brief summary of the Case of Kukotsky Ulitskaya
The book tells the story of the life of Dr. Kukotsky. Pavel Alekseevich, being a hereditary doctor, specialized in gynecology. He was excellent at diagnosing, because the doctor had intuition and the ability to see the diseased organs of his patients.
Summary of Dovlatov Ours
This work is autobiographical, even more so, in it the author tells the story of his ancestors: grandfather, father ... There are twelve stories in total, each dedicated to one relative, his life path.
Summary of Bulychev Stone rebus
A mysterious black stone of unknown origin falls into the hands of Alisa Selezneva. To uncover his secret, the girl goes in search of adventure.
Summary of the fairy tale Fox-sister and the wolf
Grandfather and grandmother lived in a distant land. One fine day, grandfather went fishing in a wagon, caught fish and on the road home along the middle of the way, the fox lies
Summary of The Wizard of Oz (Baum)
In the Canadian steppe stood a small wooden house. He was grey. Everything that was in the steppe acquired such a boring color. Even people became gray and sad, like the aunt and uncle of a girl named Dorothy.

A story about our future without books and love of reading

What book have you read recently? And when was that? We have no time to read, no time to think, no time to give free rein to our imagination, no time to enjoy language, style, history. We postpone and postpone everything. But what if we try to imagine what will happen when the hectic rhythm of life and progress will lead to the fact that literature will cease to be needed, will die out and remain only in the hearts of devoted old-fashioned people?

Mike Gelprin wrote the short story "The Candle Was Burning" in which he described a similar situation. Read it, please, and in the evening after work, go to the bookshelf, choose something interesting and read.

***

The bell rang when Andrei Petrovich had lost all hope.

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

"I give lessons," said Andrey Petrovich, stammering with excitement. — N-at home. Are you interested in literature?

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

"For nothing!" Andrey Petrovich almost escaped.

“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. "Will ten in the morning suit you?" By nine I take the children to school, and then I am free until two.

"He'll arrange it," Andrey Petrovich rejoiced. - Write down the address.

- Tell me, I'll remember.

“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 foundations 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 much time left, but for your age ... 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.

As a result, Andrei Petrovich left fifty books - his most beloved, re-read a dozen 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 fellow, 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.

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. The 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 spiritualless, that's what's scary, that's what's terrible, Maxim!

“I came to that conclusion myself, 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," Andrey Petrovich said 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. The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning...

— Will you come tomorrow, Maxim? Andrey Petrovich asked, trying to calm the trembling in his voice.

- Absolutely. Except... 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 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 said, and began to recite.

"Tavrida", "Anchar", "Eugene Onegin".

Lermontov "Mtsyri".

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.

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.

“The number is out of service,” the mechanical voice said.

Andrei Petrovich got out of the house when it became unbearable to stay within the four walls.

“Ah, Petrovich! - Greeted 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 over 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, do you?" Nefyodov was alarmed. “Look at the news, it’s all over the place.

“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 incur... A specially created committee decided...».

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.

Mike Gelprin
Candle burned (story)

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 spiritualless, that's what's scary, 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 about what is written, - 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 Onegin".
Lermontov "Mtsyri".
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.

about the author
Mike Gelprin
Country: USA
Born: 1961-05-08
Aliases: G Mike
Biography:
Mike Gelprin, also known under the pseudonym G Mike, was born on August 5, 1961 in Leningrad. Graduated from the Leningrad Polytechnic Institute in 1984 with a degree in hydraulic engineering. In 1994 he moved permanently from St. Petersburg to New York. Changed many jobs and professions. Lives in Brooklyn.
Literary creativity Gelprin started in 2005 as a writer of humorous stories, but quickly switched to science fiction. His stories and novels appeared in the Russian magazines Vesi, Ural Pathfinder, World of Fiction, Noon XXI Century, Ukrainian Threshold and Reality of Fiction, American Seagull and I, German Partner-Norde” and others.
Gelprin is the representative of the Yekaterinburg magazine "Vesi" in the United States.

Lesson summary extracurricular reading

Mike Gelprin

The story "The candle burned"

(development lesson critical thinking in grade 9)

Goals:

To acquaint with the work of M. Gelprin "The candle burned"

Formation of UUD

1. Personal : the formation of value relations to each other, the teacher, the authors of discoveries and inventions, learning outcomes

2. Metasubject : the formation of skills to perceive, process and present information in verbal, figurative, symbolic forms, analyze and process the information received in accordance with the tasks set, highlight the main content of the read text, find answers to the questions posed in it and state it

3. Regulatory UUD : Determine the sequence of intermediate goals, taking into account the final result, Accept the cognitive goal, keep it when performing educational actions, regulate the entire process of their implementation and clearly fulfill the requirements of the cognitive task

4. Communicative UUD : Communicate and interact with partners in joint activities or exchange of information, learn to act taking into account the position of another and coordinate their actions, work in a group, Adhere to the moral, ethical and psychological principles of communication and cooperation

5. Cognitive UUD : They search and highlight the necessary information, Consciously and arbitrarily build speech statements in oral and written form, Extract the necessary information from the listened texts of various genres, analyze the text according to the model.

DURING THE CLASSES

introduction teachers.

Dear children, today we will read with you the story of the writer Mike Gelprin.

Do you know the works of this author? Do you want to get acquainted?

Country: USA
Born: 1961-05-08
Aliases: G Mike
Biography:
Mike Gelprin, also known under the pseudonym G Mike, was born on August 5, 1961 in Leningrad. Graduated from the Leningrad Polytechnic Institute in 1984 with a degree in hydraulic engineering. In 1994 he moved permanently from St. Petersburg to New York. Changed many jobs and professions. Lives in Brooklyn.
Gelprin began his literary work in 2005 as an author of humorous stories, but quickly switched to science fiction. His stories and novels appeared in the Russian magazines Vesi, Ural Pathfinder, World of Fiction, Noon XXI Century, Ukrainian Threshold and Reality of Fiction, American Seagull and I, German Partner-Norde” and others.
Gelprin is the representative of the Yekaterinburg magazine "Vesi" in the United States.

Gelprin began his literary work in 2006 as an author of stories about gambling, which he played professionally for a long time. In 2007, he switched to science fiction. For seven years, he wrote and published 110 stories in magazines, almanacs, collections and anthologies. Another dozen or three are waiting for their turn, and fifty have been destroyed by the author as not of sufficient quality.

To date, Gelprin considers the story “The Candle Burned” to be his most significant work, but he hopes that his best work has not yet been written.

For reasons of principle, Gelprin asks not to be called a writer and does not consider himself one. Creativity for him is rather a disease, graphomania, from which he tried many times to recover, but so far he has not succeeded.

Call stage.

1. Work with the wordcandle . What is the key word in the title of the story? What are your associations with this word?

We write on the board. (Lights, warmth, light, hope, etc.)

2. Work with the title.

Gelprin's story is called The Candle Was Burning. What do you think it will be about? Make your guesses.

Students make suggestions about what the story might be about.

Filling in the table:

My assumptions

I want to know

I learned, I was amazed, I was surprised ...

The stage of comprehension.

Stop reading.

1. The bell rang when Andrei Petrovich had already lost all hope.

- What is the key word?

- What did A.P. lose hope for?

( Student Assumptions )

2.- 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 of them got the wrong number, two more turned out to be old-fashioned insurance agents.

- I give lessons, - Andrey Petrovich stammered from 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.

3. That night, Andrei 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.

- Why was A.P. fired from his job?

( Student Assumptions )

4. - 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?

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.

What savings did the hero live on?

( Student Assumptions )

5. 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…

-What happened next?

( Student Assumptions )

6. - then it was the turn of the 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.

“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 BalmO nta. 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.

What words struck you?

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

- What universal human problem is raised by the writer?

-What are the key words?

( Student Assumptions )

8. - 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 spiritualless, that's what's scary, 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 about what is written, - Andrei 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.
"Pushkin," Andrey Petrovich was saying, and he began to recite.
"Tavrida", "Anchar", "Eugene Onegin".
Lermontov "Mtsyri".
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.

Balzac, Hugo, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Bunin, Kuprin.
Bulgakov, Hemingway, Babel, Remarque, Nabokov.
Eighteenth century, nineteenth, twentieth.
Classics, fiction, science fiction, detective.
Once, on Wednesday, Maxim did not come ...

- Guess what happened to the characters next?

( Student Assumptions )

9. Andrey Petrovich spent the whole morning waiting, persuading himself that he could get sick. 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. 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.

- Why didn't Maxim come?

( Student Assumptions )

10. Andrey Petrovich got out of the house when it became unbearable to be within 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.
- What are you about? - Andrey Petrovich got cold inside. - What are you talking about?

- Do you really not know? - Nefyodov was alarmed. “Look at the news, it’s all over the place.

- What do you think A.P. will learn from the news?

11. 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.

12. "Caught by the owners , - with difficulty focusing his eyesight, Andrey Petrovich read from the screen, -in the theft of 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 ... ".

- Was your prediction justified?

- What surprised you? Struck?

-What phrase?

(A.P. taught the robot...

…independently came to the conclusion about childish lack of spirituality, with which he decided to fight ...)

13. 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 everything...

- What will follow the ellipsis?

( Student Assumptions )

Stop 14.

14. The doorbell caught him halfway to the stove. Andrei Petrovich, clenching his teeth, moved to open it.

- Your prediction, who rang the doorbell?

( Student Assumptions )

15. . 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...

Reflection

Did you expect such an ending to the story? There is an ellipsis at the end of the story...

- Guys, what do you think the author wanted to say with this story? What is it about?

( A story about our future without books and love of reading,)

Happy ending? (Children on the threshold of A.P.'s apartment - this is optimistic)

Against the background of the romance Candle B. Pasternak.

We have no time to read, no time to think, no time to give free rein to our imagination, no time to enjoy language, style, history. We postpone and postpone everything. But what if we try to imagine what will happen when the hectic pace of life and progress lead to the fact that literature will no longer be needed, will die out and remain only in the hearts of devoted anachronistic people?

Composing a syncwine

Based on the analysis and perception of Mike Gelprin's story, compose a syncwine for the wordLiterature .(reasons for the disappearance of literature)

My version

Literature .

Disappeared, virtual

Falls, does not read, dies

Literature did not get along with progress

lack of spirituality

The book is also a very ancient source of information. He is about 2.5 thousand years old. At the beginning of the last century, new sources of information began to appear - cinema, radio television, and people began to read less. Here appeared the prophecies that the book becomes a relic of the past and is about to die. With the advent of the Internet, book lovers have become even smaller, it seems, a little more - and the book will be completely buried. But... Do you think books are in danger of dying soon? And if not, why not?

D / z Composition - miniature "Will the book become a relic of the past?