Letter from Serge Deduline

Serge Prokofiev's "Diary" is the first magic gift that the 20th century extracted out if its secret depths and presented to those generations that consider themselves as belonging to the new third millennium. Though some fragments of this book so rich in facts, names, thoughts, and nuances, have already been available to connoisseurs of history of Russian and world music, but only now it opens to the supposedly experienced and sometimes even skeptical observer the whole of its brilliant entirety and its most subtle, expressive, tragic, and witty judgments.
     Aside from the main wide canvas dedicated, naturally, to the world of sound and to heroic attempts to overcome the primeval chaos by creative harmony, the reader suddenly sees - sketched by a precise, sure, original and caustic pen - geographical and political images, scenes of literary life, and many-colored fragments of that idiosyncratic cosmos to which it is customary to give general names of theater and visual arts world. Strikingly nontrivial observations concerning transient and age-old peculiarities of life in so different ends of the world as the European part of pre-revolutionary Russia and the Far East in the throes of the Civil War, Paris and London, Germanic and Romanic lands of Europe, East and West of the United States... All these riches, alas, still remain non-appreciated not only by the genera reading public of different countries, but also, as strange as it may seem, by specialists in such a worthy (in the full sense of the word) field as International Cultural Exchange.
     It seems that there is no such area of life and human activity that might resist to the literary power of Prokofiev the writer. Those short sketches of his, in which he outlines scenes of the ever-changing Nature - where from came this unheard-of capacity of vision, those unexpected creative strokes that seem to free of any influence from the outside? All attempts at comparing prove to be lame, so let us do without such customary attempts. I am convinced that the fragments dedicated to a sincere, bold, unreserved description of young friendship, love, crossroads and heights of family life, all belong to the best literary pages left to us as a gift by
the 20th century.