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From Consumption to Objectification in Viktor Pelevin’s “Akiko”

IRINA ANISIMOVA, UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH

O ne of the central themes of Viktor Pelevin’s works is the connection between technology, power, and subjectivity. In his early works, he explored these issues in the context of Soviet experience. For example, in his novel Omon Ra, Soviet life appears as a series of technological and ideological traps that constrain the protagonist; the central concern of the novel is the question of the survival of the indi-vidual’s subjectivity under these hostile circumstances.1 By contrast, his recent works present the gradual disappearance of one’s individu-ality and agency. Pelevin’s short story “Akiko,” published in the col-lection The Dialectics of the Transitional Period from Nowhere to Nowhere (Dialektika perekhodnogo perioda iz niotkuda v nikuda 2003), illustrates this evolution of Pelevin’s fiction well.

The story is suggestive of larger trends in contemporary Rus-sian literature, as it participates in what Sofya Khagi calls “contemporary Russian techno-consumer dystopia” presented in the works of many contemporary Russian writers (560). Different from earlier works where Soviet experience served as a foundation of the dystopian vision, the consumerism becomes the foundation of a new post-Socialist dystopia. For Pelevin, it is consumerism or “glamour” (glamur) that, combined with the power of discourse (discurs), enables complete disappearance of the post-modern subject.2 This tendency is especially important in light of the “intense subjectiv-ism” of Pelevin’s work, where the “mind creates reality” (Khagi 566).

Recent dystopian novels, such as Vladimir Sorokin’s Trilogiia (Trilogy, 2006), Ol'ga Slavnikova’s 2017 (2006), and Pelevin’s Ampir V (Empire V, 2006), establish a connection between consumerism, tech-nology, social elites, and totalitarian ideology. In these novels, perva-sive consumerism and modern technology result in contemporary society becoming totalitarian. Keith Booker describes dystopian fic-tion as “an ideal postmodernist mode,” arguing that dystopian literature is “a parodic ‘anti-genre,’” since by its very nature dystopian literature

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is intended as a parody of Utopian literature. Similarly, parody is a cen-tral technique of postmodernist art. He then distinguishes “postmodernist dystopian fiction” that “often takes a parodic ap-proach not only to Utopian literature but to dystopian literature as well” (117). While Booker applies his definition to the fiction of the 1980s and the 1990s, the works of Sorokin, Slavnikova, and Pelevin also present features of dystopia that are simultaneously parodically undermined and can be consequently classified as postmodernist dys-topias.3 Here, I agree with Mark Lipovetsky, who, in his book Parologii (Paralogs, 2008), argues that postmodernism does not disappear at the beginning of the twenty first century. Instead, it undergoes a transfor-mation, becoming more responsive to popular culture and social con-cerns.4

With its investigation of the interaction between virtual space and totalitarian regime, “Akiko” continues and contributes to the cen-tral preoccupations of Russian postmodernism: its emphasis on con-structed reality and its close connection to the totalitarian systems. While the notion of simulated or constructed reality first developed in the West, there it is primarily connected to consumerism. In contrast to this Western development, Russian postmodernist writers and the-orists emphasize the central role of the state, which becomes the prin-cipal simulator of reality. Soviet history, culminating in the dramatic collapse of the Soviet Union, demonstrates the constructed nature of any discourse. Even though, in the period of developed socialism, Soviet elites already experienced Soviet reality as constructed—as demonstrated by the conceptualist art, the collapse of the Soviet Un-ion was still a dramatic and traumatic experience. The disappearance of the Soviet Union was followed by disappointment in the ideals of Western democracy, which also appeared as an illusion. As a result, both post-Soviet scholars and writers constantly return to the notion of reality as an artificial construct.5

Though the protagonist of Pelevin’s story believes that he can freely enjoy the pleasures of consumption, his consumerist activities trap him in the systems of economic and political domination. Consumption is then controlled by totalitarian systems that appear even more totaliz-ing than that of the Soviet past. Pelevin’s “Akiko” takes the dystopian theme to its logical conclusion. The story appears even more pessi-mistic than other Russian postmodernist dystopian fiction due to the absolute disappearance of the protagonist’s subjectivity: consumption leads to the loss of agency; and the virtual space turns into a perfect

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instrument of surveillance. “Akiko” combines these preoccupations with the investigation of the peripheral position of Russia in the world economy.

The title of the story derives from the name of a character in a Hentai, or dating, simulation game set in medieval Japan; “Akiko” is the name of the game’s lead character, presumably a teenage Japanese girl.6 Even though the story has a protagonist, he appears under the username of “QWERTY”; the traditional name of a protagonist is replaced by a combination of random keyboard strokes. The protago-nist is known only through his gaming experience and his subjectivity is revealed through his growing dissatisfaction with his experience of the game. Initially, he complains that the pictures are of inferior quali-ty, and that the game demands his involvement too much, which de-tracts from his satisfaction. His complaints become more and more vocal as participation in the game requires increasingly more financial investment. However, even these complaints are mediated: they are presented through the directions and answers generated by the game, such as the following: “Чтобы перейти на вид б, щелкни мышью по худеньким полудетским бедрам Акико с другой стороны. Вот… Что? Опять не нравится? Что значит та же фотка вверх ногами?” (Pelevin).7 Judging from this response, the readers can as-certain that the protagonist feels that his investment should provide more “authentic” pleasure and that his experience with the game nev-er matches his expectations. The story can be described as a narrative experiment, as it is narrated through the voice of the game.

The narrative develops as QWERTY becomes more and more involved with the game. This involvement is initially represent-ed by the increase in his financial investment. In order to be a full participant, that is to see more, he has to become a full and then a “gold” member. Thus the protagonist is instructed:

С этого дня, ЙЦУКЕН, весенний ветер будет время от времени раскрывать у тебя на десктопе окно с текстом АКИКО hardcore! Хоть иконки выноси!. Фотография тайного места, которую ты там увидишь реальный скрин-шот из hardcore-версии. Если окно будет мешать, ты его просто закрывай и работай себе дальше. Нет, сейчас посмотреть не можешь. Для этого нужно золотое членство, а у тебя простое. Что, Все было сказано в свитке из сундучка terms and conditions, мелкий шрифт, страница 17. (Pelevin)8

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The game proves to be a complex mechanism for monitory extortion. The increasing financial investment results in increasing dissatisfaction with the experience, which, in turn, leads to the game’s hostility. It gradually becomes clear that the protagonist cannot simply terminate his engagement with the game.

The protagonist’s obsessive engagement with the game then becomes his singular characteristic. His subjectivity is absolutely inte-rior to the game; he is known only as a gamer. The readers have no way of gaining any information about him: the markers of a traditional literary protagonist, such as character traits, age, and social status, are conspicuously absent and are replaced with the information of an in-ternet user. The game records and reproduces his identification: “Здравствуй, ЙЦУКЕН. Мы с обезьянкой Мао хорошо тебя помним. IP-адрес 211.56.67.4, Master Card 5105 2486 0000 4051, cvc2-910, собственность «Альфа-банка», улица Маши Порываевой, дом 11” (Pelevin).9 The protagonist is gradually classi-fied through his gaming experience. All his internet activities have been tracked and recorded. This information is then used as the means of his entrapment. Thus, in response to the protagonist’s in-quiry concerning his recent unwarranted subscription (implied by the narrative’s context), he receives a reply:

Откуда предпочтения знаем? ЙЦУКЕН, ты загляни к себе в Recently viewed sites, какой там у тебя сайтик между газетой Завтра и Агентством русской информации, а? Hot Asian Boys. Был? Был. Ну вот мы тебя на принца Гендзи и подписали. Не волнуйся. Там все нарисованное, проблем с законом не будет фантазия художника. А вот с Hot Asian Boys могут быть, ЙЦУКЕН. Случайно зашел? Бывает такое. Бывает, бывает… Да ты не расстраивайся, ЙЦУКЕН, ты в этом мире не единственный педофил… (Pelevin)10

The subjectivity of the protagonist is inverted; it is accessible only as a result of tracking. Based on his internet history, the game claims to know everything about the protagonist. The responses of the game present the protagonist as absurdly perverse: “Какой педофил, ты спрашиваешь? Сейчас скажем, какой… Педофил-внутриутробник. Это такой педофил, ЙЦУКЕН, который хочет это самое сделать с ребеночком, который еще внутри животика…” (Pelevin)11 To the protagonist’s apparent objections, the game replies: “Чего? А что, по-твоему, мы в пятом главном

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управлении должны думать, если ты с Hot Asian Boys идешь на Pregnant Latino Teens, а с Pregnant Latino Teens на Hot Asian Boys?” (Pelevin)12 The veracity of the claims is never clear, especially because they become more and more absurd. It is important, howev-er, that the game attempts and succeeds in tracking, surveying, and gradually controlling its users. The protagonist is unable to deny any of the claims made by the game. It becomes clear that all his internet activities have been traced, recorded, and analyzed.

Significantly, the reference to the fifth department relates the game to the state. In Pelevin’s works, “fifth department” usually re-fers to state security. Whether this connection is real or made up, it keeps customers like QWERTY in line. The answers from the game become more aggressive, which is reflected in the stylistic shift. At the beginning of the story, the narrative is characterized by a mixture of orientalist clichés—“Вся жизнь земная лишь мгновение, лишь летний сон луны в пруду под песню птицы касиваги” (Pelevin)13

—and English computer terminology: “terms and conditions.” To-wards the end, however, the language becomes reminiscent of military or prison jargons: “Убого ему… Чего, обосрался? Лечь! Встать! Лечь! Встать! Лечь! Встать! Лечь! Встать! Все понял, говно? Лечь! Встать! Точно все понял?” (Pelevin)14 The gradual aggres-sion of the virtual space suggests the dystopian emphasis of Pelevin’s story, where the virtual space is presented as a part of an authoritarian system.

In the story’s conclusion, the protagonist’s supposed perver-sions are linked to terrorist activities:

Вот это и думаем, что ты педофил-внутриутробник из исламского джихада. Почему? А кто на сайте Kavkaz.org закладку сделал? Чеченские пословицы скачивал? Посмеяться захотел, да? Ага. Посмеешься. Реально посмеешься, сука. Уже много кто смеется, и ты будешь. (Pelevin)15

Reference to Islam and the Chechen war makes this surveillance espe-cially ominous, by referring to the contemporary instances of surveil-lance on the web. Moreover, Pelevin’s reference to Islamic jihad gives this type of surveillance a global character.

In its representation of global power relationships, the story investigates the interaction between consumerism and new colonial-ism. The setting of the game emphasizes the attraction of the primi-tive and exotic to the contemporary consumers. The exotic appeals to

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the desire for difference, which has become one of the driving forces of contemporary capitalism. Cultural theorist bell hooks describes this fascination with the exotic as “a contemporary revival of interest in the ‘primitive,’ with a distinctly postmodern slant” (344).16 The medieval setting of the game suggests a time of simplicity and male domination. The game’s narrative refers to QWERTY as “an experi-enced samurai,” which is especially ironic in light of the later develop-ment of the story, where the protagonist completely loses agency.

QWERTY’s erotic preferences can be traced through the websites he supposedly visits, such as “Hot Asian Boys” and “Pregnant Latino Teens,” sites that represent colonized or marginal-ized population groups and geographic spaces. The game favorably contrasts QWERTY to “less privileged” people, who do not have access to the internet, and are perhaps even unaware of the game’s existence: “Надо ценить то, что у тебя есть, ЙЦУКЕН, потому что в Африке, особенно в некоторых областях ее экваториальной части, люди об этом только мечтают” (Pelevin).17 Of course, this statement is ironic, since the story shows that participation in the game is not really a privilege.18

However, QWERTY’s geographic location and financial sta-tus, which are inextricably linked in the narrative, are also presented as a marginal or even colonized subject. The narrative constructs QWERTY as a member of Russian lower middle classes, who, while able to buy a computer and pay for some entertainment, still has a limited budget. Thus the game explains that he was born “ne tam” (“in the wrong place at the wrong time”). His capacity for finan-cial investment is limited, inhibiting the pleasure he derives from the game. In response to his complaints, the game replies:

Если ты такой требовательный, ЙЦУКЕН, добейся чего-нибудь в жизни и купи себе киберочки за пятнадцать тысяч долларов. Вот тогда будешь глядеть на мышь, а видеть вместо нее свой хи-хи-хи. А еще за пятнадцать тысяч можешь надеть на свой хи-хи-хи синхронный вибростимулятор с подогревом. Вот после этого начнешь водить мышью по столу, и будет полная иллюзия, что держишь себя за хи-хи-хи в реальном времени. Но для этого надо, чтобы черный Франклин сделал тебе хотя бы маленькое О-о-ой! А он тебе не делает. И вряд ли будет. (Pelevin)19

QWERTY’s presentation by the game points to the peripheral posi-

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tion of Russia via the global capital.20 This peripheral status is empha-sized by the computer terminology that is written in English (Latin letters) and the use of dollars as currency for the access of the game. The narrative uses dollars, “the black Franklin,” as a metaphor of wealth and success.

Colonization is connected to the West and technology. In his analysis of Pelevin’s Empire V, Lipovetsky points out that “the modern-izers in Pelevin’s novel are at the same time colonizers and that it is this posi-tion of theirs that invites the author’s sarcasm” (“Russian Literary Post-modernism” 20).21 It is symptomatic that the colonial position of QWERTY is mediated through the reference to the state, “The fifth department.” The connection of the state authority to the colonial power emphasizes the central role of the imperial state in the process-es of Russia’s internal colonization. It is this ambivalence towards the modernization and the state that connects Pelevin’s work to the Russian literary tradition.

The protagonist’s loss of subjectivity makes him similar to the “small man” (malen'kii chelovek) of Russian literature, such as Akakii Akakievich of Gogol’s “Overcoat” (“Shinel'”). The Managers of the game can identify him in these terms, and are able to exploit his weak-ness. Like the name of Gogol’s character, the username of QWERTY (ЙЦУКЕН) sounds rather indecent. It is even harder to identify with QWERTY than with Gogol’s clerk, due to QWERTY’s sexual inter-ests. Similarly, Akakii Akakievich’s intense relationship to an object, the overcoat, parallels QWERTY’s engagement with the computer game (both relationships proof quite lethal). Of course, the relation-ship to a virtual game has the potential of becoming much more in-tense than the relationship to a usual physical object. The protago-nist’s relationship to the game can be characterized as a “postsocial relationship,” described by anthropologists Knorr Cetina & Bruegger as “new kinds of bonds such as those constructed between humans and objects” (162). The authors explain that the notion of postsocial relationship presumes that “individuals in some areas relate to (some) objects not only as doers and accomplishers of things within an agen-cy framework but as experiencing, feeling, reflexive and remembering beings - as bearers of the sort of experiences we tend to reserve for the sphere of intersubjective relationships” (163). Significantly, like the fantastic spaces of Gogol’s Petersburg, the virtual space becomes increasingly aggressive. As a result of his intense relationship to the aggressive computer game, the protagonist’s objectification is much

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greater than that of the traditional “little man” character. This objecti-fication can be attributed to Pelevin’s bleak view of technology and consumerism.

Pelevin’s views of contemporary society and culture are large-ly influenced by post-structuralist theory. In his conversation with Lipovetsky, “The Salamander’s Return,” Etkind relates Pelevin’s analysis of symbolic violence to the contemporary post-Marxist political theory that gives most of its attention to the mechanisms for achieving power without direct violence (27).22 Pelevin’s presentation of the internet seems par-ticularly indebted to Michel Foucault. In the story, the internet ap-pears as a type of panopticon that enables surveillance and classifica-tion of the gamers. Suggested by the philosopher Jeremy Bentham, the panopticon was a multi-purpose building-plan designed to assist in the regulation of any part of the population that needed to be con-trolled, such as prisoners, factory workers, and school children.23 For Foucault, the panopticon is not very significant in itself—after all the structure was never actually implemented. Instead, its significance lies in its symbolic function. The panopticon symbolizes a new interest in the technology of power in its connection to surveillance: “For the beginning of the enlightenment, the practice of authority is defined as procuring for a small number, or even for a single individual, the instan-taneous view of a great multitude" (216).

While the panopticon was envisioned as a way to organize physical space, this idea can be also applied to the virtual space of the internet. Mark Winokur points out that while the internet is not “associated with a visible architecture, the simplified diagram for rela-tionship between surfer and Internet or intranet looks suspiciously like the schematics for Bentham's prison” (6). Developing this parallel between panopticon and the internet, Winokur explains:

Both panopticism and the Internet construct space with a spe-cial attention to the subject's internalizing a particular model of space, and a particular notion of how people are distributed throughout space in relation to one another, and with a special attention to the defining of the individual through the space she occupies. Further, both are intensely interested in the con-struction and distribution of authority over and within the sub-ject. (1)

On the internet, the processes of monitoring and control remain largely invisible, since the user does not precisely know when his/her activities are observed and recorded. Emphasizing the internet’s po-

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tential for perfect surveillance, Lawrence Lessig writes: “Left to itself, cyberspace will become a perfect tool of control" (5-6). We know that every step on the web can be tracked, yet we still believe in our abso-lute anonymity and freedom. The illusion of the privacy of our activi-ties on the net results from the fact that these activities usually take place in solitude. Similarly, panoptic arrangements separate the indi-vidual from a collective.

Pelevin denies cyberspace any democratizing value. Instead of giving freedom to its users, the internet makes them into objects of surveillance. Thus, while QWERTY might believe that he is watch-ing—after all pornography is intimately connected with voyeurism—he is actually being watched. An important aspect of the panopticon is that it makes power invisible. This invisibility of power is contrast-ed to the hyper-visibility of the earlier forms of power, such as dis-plays of sovereign authority. The panopticon hides the object of power, while simultaneously maximizing the effectiveness of surveil-lance. The invisibility of power can be extended to the internet, where the surveillance and control are dispersed and undeterminable. For Winokur, “the notions of authority and totality suggest that the Internet is capable of a perfect panopticism in a way that perhaps no oth-er social institution or form of representation is. Surveillance on the Internet is panoptically (if mischievously) democratized, and the Inter-net is capable of being the total experience to which other media can only aspire” (8).

In panoptic situations, surveillance becomes easy and efficient due to the belief in the omnipresence of power internalized by the subject: “He who is subjected to a field of visibility, and who knows it, assumes responsibility for the constraints of power; he makes them play spontaneously upon himself; he inscribes in himself the power relation in which he simultaneously plays both roles; he becomes the principal of his own subjection” (Foucault 5). Instead of simply turn-ing the computer off or closing the site, QWERTY tolerates the abuse, becoming the instrument of his own objectification. The game narrative demonstrates that the protagonist becomes more compliant:

Мао говорит, ты все понял, ЙЦУКЕН? Почему, можешь говорить. Иногда. Не очень громко и по делу. По делу, это когда надо. Вот например, когда Акико делает тебе Оох-ауу!, отвечай ей тихонько: Аа-ах! Аа-ах! Смотри только Аллах не скажи, тогда с остальными своими висяками точно не отмажешься. Даже обезьянка Мао не

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поможет. (Pelevin)24

Thus, the protagonist receives directions on the “correct” behavior that comes with expended financial investments.

The story ends with a curious reversal of the gaze. The game’s surveillance mechanism is finally represented not only by its ability to trace and record the protagonist’s movements on the web, but also by its ability to watch the gamer, who turns from being a sub-ject into an object of the gaze. The narrative refers to the game’s gaze (real or imaginary) directed towards the protagonist: “Вон как вспотел весь от удовольствия, глупыш. Акико с тобой хорошо, понял, нет?” (Pelevin)25 The protagonist is positioned as the object of the gaze.26 Although he probably does not sweat with pleasure, he continues to obediently move the mouse. Most importantly, the read-ers still have no access to the protagonist’s subjectivity and therefore cannot determine the extent of his subjugation to the game.

“Akiko” emphasizes the invisibility of power and control on the internet, since we cannot determine the nature of the game’s con-trol over the gamers. It seems that the game knows everything about the protagonist. The game’s knowledge extends even to the protago-nist’s living arrangements, such as his room, a “squalid little den,” and the proximity of his neighbors. Since the reader is unsure how this information was obtained, the power of the game acquires an unreal and fantastic quality. It is also impossible to determine the game’s connection to the state. Does the game represent a criminal business pretending to be affiliated with the state? Does it represent a crimi-nalized state that extorts money from its citizens? Does the game primarily target Russian customers or do its activities extend to inter-national customers as well? The narrative makes all these supposi-tions plausible and, in fact, encourages the most fantastic possibili-ties.27 The story’s worst nightmare would then be a criminal e-business controlled by a global government.

“Akiko” establishes a close connection between consumption and the loss of subjectivity. Denying any liberating or democratizing potential to the internet, the story investigates connection between technology and power. “Akiko” appears even more pessimistic, how-ever, as the virtual space presents infinite possibilities of surveillance and control. The story can be seen as a manifestation of the anxiety towards globalization and consumption expressed by many contem-porary Russian writers.

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Notes 1. For Mark Lipovetsky, the focus of Pelevin's early works was “the des-

perate search for freedom through isolation from all forms of power and all intentions to power, in other words, in blessed emptiness” (“Russian Literary Postmodernism” 46).

2. This theme is fully developed in one of Pelevin’s recent novels Empire V (Ampir V, 2006).

3. Aleksandr Chantsev notices that despite many dystopian features in the-se recent works, they cannot be characterized as “classical dystopi-as” (269). For Chantsev, the dystopian imagination of these works is too closely tied to the present moment. Moreover, these works lack any vision of or even possibility for a positive future.

4. Describing recent trends in Russian postmodernist literature, Lipovetsky writes: Эти изменения, очевидно, вызваны как новой социокультурной ситуацией, формированием новых, коммерческих и массовых, механизмов функционирования культуры, так и — в гораздо большей степени — общим наступлением неоконсервативных и неотрадиционалистских тенденций. Однако неотрадиционалистский поворот, а точнее, очередная попытка соединить архаизацию социума и политики с модернизацией экономики не только не снимает драматических вопросов о связях между культурой и насилием, поднятых русским модернизмом еще в конце 1920-х годов, но и придает им новую — на сей раз социальную — остроту. (25) [It is apparent that these changes are generated by the socio-cultural situation, by the formation of new—both commercial and mass—mechanisms in the way that culture functions, as well as—on a much larger scale—the general assault of neoconservative and neotraditional tendencies. However the neotraditionalist turn (or, to be more precise, the systematic attempt to unite social and political archaization with eco-nomic modernization) not only does not eliminate the dramatic ques-tions raised by the modernists by the end of the twenties about the con-nection between culture and violence, but lends them a new acuteness (in this case social).]

5. Alexander Genis argues that the post-Soviet culture tries to come to terms with the ability and even success of Soviet regime to construct its own reality. This realization is combined with the growing awareness of the generally constructed or virtual nature of reality (213).

6. A computer game under this name really exists. See the review of “Akiko” by Rowena Lim Lei at http://www.animetric.com/Review/Hentai-Reviews/Akiko.html?counter=1. However, Pelevin changes the

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content and character of the game. 7. [To switch to view B click the mouse on the other side of Akiko’s slim,

childish thighs. There… What?! You don’t like that either? What do you mean, it’s the same photo upside down?]

8. [From this day on, QWERTY, every now and then the spring breeze will open a window on your desktop with the message “Akiko hardcore! Icons weep but peep!” The photo of the secret place that you will see there is a real screen-shot from the hard-core version. If the window bothers you, simply close it and carry on working. No, you can’t see it right now. For that you need Gold Membership and you have only ordinary full membership. What’s that? It was all explained in the small print of the “terms and conditions” scroll in the chest on page seven-teen.]

9. [Greetings, QWERTY, little monkey Mao and I remember you well. IP address 211.56.67.4 MasterCard 5101 2486 0000 4051, cvc 2-910, prop-erty of Alpha Bank, number 11 Masha Poryvaeva Street.]

10. [How do we know about your preferences? Just take a look at your “recently viewed sites,” QWERTY. What site did you visit between “Russian Order” and the “Anti-Zionist Action Union”? “Hot Asian Boys” wasn’t it? You see! So that’s why we subscribed you to “Prince Genji.” Don’t worry. It’s all drawings on that site. No problems with the law—you know, artist’s fantasy. But you could have problems with “Hot Asian Boys,” QWERTY. Oh, you visited by accident? It happens. Sure it does, sure. But don’t let it upset you, QWERTY. You’re not the only pedophile in the world.]

11. [What kind of pedophile are you? You really want to know? We’ll tell you exactly what sort. You’re an intrauterine pedophile, QWERTY. That’s a pedophile who wants to do it to a little baby that’s still inside mummy’s tummy…]

12. [What’s that? Just what are we supposed to think in the Fifth Depart-ment, when you switch from “Hot Asian Boys” to “Pregnant Latino Teens” and from “Pregnant Latino Teens” back to “Hot Asian Boys”?]

13. [All earthly life is but an instant, merely a summer dream of the moon reflected in a pond while the Kasivagi bird sings]

14. [He thinks it's sordid! Shitting yourself, are you? Get down! Get up! Down! Up! Down! Up! Down! Up! Got the point now? Get down! Up! Think you've really got it?] The words “upal otzhalsia” are traditionally stereotyped as representing the most violent aspects of the army and state security.

15. [This is what we think: you’re an intrauterine pedophile from an Islamic jihad group. Why? Who was it bookmarked the “caucasus.org” site? You were downloading Chechen proverbs? Wanted to have a laugh, did you? Aha. I’ll give you a laugh. You’ll laugh for real all right, you bas-tard. There are plenty laughing already, now you’ll be laughing with

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them.] 16. Explaining the contemporary success of marketing difference, bell

hooks writes: “The commodification of Otherness has been so success-ful because it is offered as a new delight, more intense, more satisfying than normal ways of doing and feeling. Within commodity culture, eth-nicity becomes spice, seasoning that can liven up the dull dish that is mainstream white culture” (344).

17. [You should value what you’ve got, QWERTY, because in Africa, espe-cially in some parts of equatorial Africa, people can only dream about this.]

18. While it is true that access to the internet may be limited in some parts of the world, Pelevin’s presentation of the virtual reality problematizes the benefits of this access.

19. [If you’re so demanding, QWERTY, go make something of your life and buy yourself $15,000 worth of cyberoptics. Then when you look at the mouse, you’ll see your own ti-ti-ti instead. And for another fifteen grand you can put a synchronized vibro-stimulator with heating on your ti-ti-ti. Then when you start steering the mouse over the table you’ll have the complete illusion that you’re holding your own ti-ti-ti in real time. But for that you have to get the black Franklin to do at least one tiny “Ooh!” for you. Only he doesn’t do it, does he? And he’s not ever likely to.]

20. Russia’s peripheral status in relation to the West is a recurrent theme in Pelevin’s recent works. It is developed in his novel Generation P (1999) and other works in the collection Dialektika perekhodnogo perioda iz niotku-da v nikuda.

21. Here Lipovetsky draws on the ideas on Russia’s internal colonization developed by Alexander Etkind. In a number of articles, Etkind argues that Russian power structure and intelligentsia set about modernizing their own populace in the same manner as the European empires man-aged “civilizing” of their colonies. While Etkind’s theory explains the subaltern position of Russian population, especially the peasantry, it does not account for the ambivalence that the Russian intelligentsia has traditionally felt towards the modernization and the state.

22. Pelevin’s knowledge of post-structuralist thought is evident, for exam-ple, from his short story, “The Macedonian Critique of French Thought” (“Makedonskaia kritika frantsuzkoi mysli”) published in the same collection as “Akiko.”

23. This structure consisted of a surveillance tower surrounded by a circular outer building, which would be divided into individual cells. Each cell would have a window both on the wall facing away from the surveillance tower, to let in light, and on the wall facing the surveillance tower, so that the authorities could view the activities of the inmates at any time. Just as importantly, the surveillance tower was designed so that the in-

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mates could never see inside the tower, and thus could never know the moment when they were observed (Foucault 201).

24. [Aha. Mao tells me you understand everything now, QWERTY? Why, you can talk. Sometimes. Quietly and to the point. To the point means when it’s necessary. So, for instance, when Akiko goes “Oohaah!” for you, you can reply quietly “Aaah-Aaah.” Only make sure you don’t say “Allah”: with a record as long yours, you’ll never buy your way out then. Even little monkey Mao won’t help you then]

25. [Just look at you sweating away with pleasure, you little silly. Akiko likes it with you, have you got that? Got it or not?]

26. Jacques Lacan describes the gaze as not necessarily the process of look-ing. An actual observer can be absent: "The gaze is not necessarily the face of our fellow being, it could just as easily be the window behind which we assume he is lying in wait for us. It is an x, the object when faced with which the subject becomes object" (220).

27. In their recent works, Pelevin and Sorokin have depicted totalitarian regimes on a global scale. Both Sorokin’s Trilogiia and Pelevin’s Ampir V are reminiscent of a global conspiracy: a vampire oligarchy in Pelevin and the secret society of the people of ice in Sorokin.

Works Cited Booker, M. Keith. The Dystopian Impulse in Modern Literature: Fiction as Social

Criticism. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1994. Print. Chansev, Aleksandr. “Fabrika antiutopii: Distopicheskii diskurs v rossiiskoi

literature serediny 2000-kh.” Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie 86 (2007): 269-301. Print.

Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. London: Penguin Books, 1991. Print.

Etkind, Alexander. “Whirling with the Other: Russian Populism and Reli-gious Sects.” The Russian Review 62.4 (2003): 565-82. Print.

Genis, Alexander. “Borders and Metamorphoses: Viktor Pelevin in the Con-text of Post-Soviet Literature.” Russian Postmodernism: New Perspec-tives on Post-Soviet Culture. Eds. Mikhail Epstein, Alexander Genis, and Slobodanka Vladiv-Glover. Trans. Slobodanka Vladiv-Glover. New York: Berghahn Books, 1999. Print.

Gogol', Nikolai V. “Shinel'.” Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v 14 tomakh. T. 3. Mos-kva: Akademiia nauk SSSR, 1938. 139-174. Print.

Khagi, Sofya. “From Homo Sovieticus to Homo Zapiens: Viktor Pele-vin’sConsumer Dystopia.” The Russian Review 67 (2007): 559-79. Print.

Knorr Cetina, Karin and Urs Bruegger. “Traders’ Engagement with Markets: A Postsocial Relationship.” Theory, Culture, Society 19 (2001): 161-185. Print.

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Lessig, Lawrence. Code and Other Laws of Cyberspace. New York: Basic Books, 2000. Print.

Lipovetsky, Mark. Paralogii: Transformatsii (post)modernistkogo diskursa v russkoi kul'ture 1920-2000-kh godov. Moskva: Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie, 2008. Print.

---. “Russian Literary Postmodernism in the 1990s.” The Slavonic and East European Review 79.1 (2001): 31-50. Print.

Lipovetsky, Mark and Alexander Etkind. “The Salamander’s Return: The Soviet Catastrophe and the Post-Soviet Novel.” Russian Studies in Literature 46.4 (2010): 6-48. Print.

Pelevin, Victor. “Akiko.” Trans. Andrew Bromfield. Words without borders – The Online Magazine for International Literature (July 2007): n. pag. Web. 14 May 2011. < http://wordswithoutborders.org/article/akiko/>.

Pelevin, Viktor. “Akiko.” Sait tvorchestva Viktora Pelevina. N.p., n.d. Web. 6 June 2011. <http://pelevin.nov.ru/rass/pe-akiko/1.html>.

---. Dialektika Perekhodnogo Perioda iz Niotkuda v Nikuda. Moskva: Eksmo, 2003. Print.

---. Ampir “V”: Povest' o nastoiashchem sverkh cheloveke. Moskva: Eksmo, 2006. Print.

---. Generation “P”: Rasskazy. Moskva: Vagrius, 1999. Print. ---. Omon Ra. Zhizn' nasekomykh. Moskva: Vagrius, 1999. Print. Slavnikova, Ol'ga. 2017: Roman. Moskva: Vagrius, 2006. Print. Sorokin, Vladimir. Trilogiia. Moskva: Zakharov, 2006. Print. Winokur, Mark. “The Ambiguous Panopticon: Foucault and the Codes of

Cyberspace.” CTheory a124 (2003): n. pag.. Web. 14 May 2011. <http://www.ctheory.net/articles.aspx?id=371>.