Stoyan Ts. Daskalov

They say about me that I didn't like criticism. I didn't listen to it. But who loves criticism! And what criticism don't I listen to? I have heard it more than once among colleagues: do we have any criticism at all today? Principled, in-depth, that would make you reevaluate and draw conclusions. The question always arises - who is the one who sits down to advise you? What does he know and where does he know it from - from life, from books, from the gossip in the cafes or from the prejudices of the literary islands? Many people claim in conversations, although they don't have the courage to state it openly, that today we don't have such criticism that would objectively examine, fairly assess our contemporary literature, so as to leave aside what some have suggested to themselves that they should lead and guide it. The names of the few established critics have not been associated much with the works of current writers lately. It is as if they have lost themselves in their professional and editorial sections. It is enough to open a literary magazine or newspaper, and we will be convinced that the criticism of contemporary works is engaged in by the most mediocre amateurs, publicists, journalists and not just any omniscient "truths". They often affirm what the people affirm or vice versa - they are silent about or deny what the people affirm. More than once it has come to a contradiction between critics and the people. Critics have emerged as scribes, cut off from life; instead of moving forward, they lag behind its conflicts and problems, studying its changes from newspapers and reports. In theory, they admit that they - the critics, and not only the writers - must know life. Otherwise, how will they find out how truthfully life is reflected? And in practice, the opposite happens. They write about everything - both what they know and what they do not know. Placing themselves above the creators, they administer justice, without embarrassment or remorse in all directions. And with such a sense of arrogance and self-aggrandizement that if you just touch them, they immediately come up with long defenses of their honor. If they insult a writer and he tries to respond, they will say: "That's what he is, he lacks a sense of modesty, he speaks for himself. He quotes himself. He calls his heroes to help!" And when it comes to their turn, they open entire discussions, turn the pages of magazines into battlefields. They were not understood, their wisdom was not quoted accurately, their thoughts were twisted, they were humiliated before society. And long and overlong self-defenses follow one another, the purpose of which is to highlight themselves, to make noise, so that they may be paid more attention. Thus discussions about so-and-so and against so-and-so were born. I invite our entire writing community to hold referendums for Mulyo or Pulyo, because if we don't take a stand on this issue, we will die. It turns out that ethics is only needed for writers, but not for critics. And since this is the case, who will listen to such criticism?