Catching The Phantomic Rabbit

Let the absence howl

Editor’s Note:

Here at Apocrypha, we take it as read that literary prizes such as the recently announced Nobel are trivialities of no consequence, little more than popularity prizes or status baubles. Indeed, we would go as far as to suggest any claim to determine quality via committee is tautologically doomed: the average taste of any group of individuals will necessarily be average. To top a list of the “100 greatest X”, or to be awarded a prize in the arts is to be identified by your peers as mediocre, middlebrow, even, perhaps, a midwit. Having said that, we understand all too well that the economics of the internet deem it necessary for this newsletter’s “growth”, “relevance”, and/or “reputation”, to occasionally wade into the murky waters of The Discourse™, and in the run up to the Nobel’s announcement over the last few weeks nothing has been the subject of more feverish discussion than the decision of a few Swedish academics. Many tried and failed to predict the eventual winner. Dozens of names were bandied around, some of them writers. One author on many lips, as he has been for many years now, is the elusive Russian writer known to the world as Yakov Yasninsky. Of course, current geopolitics prevents any Russian national from ever winning such a centrist, bourgeoisie award, but as I hope I made clear, we are not interested in anyone who has a serious chance of actually winning the prize; anyone with a Nobel is necessarily unworthy of attention. Hence we dispatched our own Russian pen, Vanya Bagaev, to investigate his countryman and greatest literary inspiration, Yakov Yasninsky.

There are only a few facts known about Yakov Yasninsky and only one record of his public appearance, and most of the former define or redefine the latter. What we know for sure: he’s a contemporary Russian author; in 2002 he wrote a novel called “Phantomic Rabbits” that has already become a matter of cult and controversy in Russian literary circles; we know that he praises Dostoevsky and perhaps draws inspiration from the master’s work, though few connections between their writings can be found; we know that he has a wife. All of those facts are rather blurry and don’t provide us with a definite picture of who Yakov Yasninsky is rather than an archetypical author, for the video corresponding to the podcast of his only public appearance cannot be called trustworthy, and nobody can trust anything these days. It was believed that Yasninsky was a shy introvert, a hermit, or even an anon: someone afraid or having no desire to be in public, however, the only interview illustrated and convinced many, that Yasninsky is self-confident, calm, and his seclusive lifestyle is a personal well-thought strategy rather than necessity dictated by the peculiarities of his character. Many don’t trust that either, saying he could’ve hired an actor.

When the podcast was announced in 2014, the public decided that Yasninsky would finally give more interviews, appear on TV, make an autograph session, or deliver a lecture at some university for aspiring literary achievers, but alas (!) — after that occasion, he disappeared into thin ether, and no one heard anything about him ever since. Scarce reports declare him being seen in a hut in Norwegian fjords, some say the same about a farm in Switzerland, some say he lives in Canada and teaches people skiing, those who aren’t even aware of who he is. In his X-Twitter, a man named aRn@B108 even claims that Yasninsky has become a monk, an adherent of the Armenian Apostolic Church, and now lives in isolation in a remote monastery hidden in Armenian mountain forests, and he, aRn@B108, has a photographic evidence of it. The truth keeps being what she is and, per usual, shields herself from being what she truly should be.

The reader may speculate, try to hunt or stalk Yasninsky, unleash the hounds after him, but we believe that this is impossible, for his planet-scale and reality-scale hide and seek has always been his plan, from day zero, and “Phantomic Rabbits” isn’t just a novel, but an art project, which makes the book paradoxically both free to graze on its own, open to a reader’s interpretations, and inseparable from Yasninsky’s persona.

Today we shall provide the reader with detailed explanations, that, though being a theory like most of the things known about Yasninsky, describe what happened and why and how Yasninsky’s plan has always been on the surface if the reader paid enough attention to his book.

Just one word can bend reality, flip it upside down, as if we said this piece was written by Yasninsky, where “Yasninsky” is indeed that word that introduces confusion and chaos to the discourse. We cannot prove or deny this statement. The public doesn’t even know whether “Yakov Yasninsky” is his real name and whether he’s real at all (though his publisher is eager to confirm that). However, we want to state clearly that Yakov Yasninsky is real. It’s easy to believe that something is not real, given a lack of evidence or even counterfactual evidence, and this is exactly how Yakov wanted the public to behave. He has a deep understanding of the human psyche, how the world and words work, and in his life and his book, he was able to orchestrate them in a way that reality herself started doubting her true nature.

Now, we are to unpack Yakov Yasninsky’s approach and, even though we cannot justify the promising title of “catching” the rabbit in its usual sense, give the reader the main idea behind Yakov Yasninsky’s disappearance, for that is what he is — an idea, or rather, a meme.

“Phantomic Rabbits” starts with the following passage:

All her life, all Neonida wanted was to pet a rabbit, but rabbits were always too skittish. Living next to a charming petting zoo, her days were spent attempting to interact with the adorable, elusive creatures, their plump tails flicking like fleeting apparitions ascending an ethereal staircase. The mischievous animals would sometimes draw near, but always managed to dodge her touch, vanishing like phantoms when she reached for them. It seemed to her as though the hardest thing in the world was to hold on to one for even the shortest of moments, reminiscent of the Greek hero chasing the fabled tortoise, every day, step by step, attempting to reach it. This began a lifetime of fruitless pursuit for Neonida, and with each passing day, her determination swelled.

This passage not only introduces the protagonist, a girl named Neonida, but also demonstrates Yakov’s deep appreciation for literary and pop culture canon, further weaving them seamlessly into his story, displaying a sort of intertextuality that delights devoted readers so much. Thus, the Matrix and, obviously, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, appear first. The white rabbit from Lewis Carroll’s classic novel is the major influence on Yasninsky’s “Phantomic Rabbits”, inspiring fantastical elements and evoking themes of mystery, illusion, and self-discovery, which immediately relates to the Wachowski’s cult film, bringing to “Phantomic Rabbits” similar themes of perception, reality, illusion, as well as the struggle between fate and choice. Other prominent works that the novel “talks” to include Bulgakov’s “The Master and Margarita”, which, like “Phantomic Rabbits”, explores the allure of the unknown, the temptation of forbidden knowledge, and the complexities of human nature (”Master and Margarita” is, however, such a dense text, nay a hypertext, and it’s hard not to find a novel that wouldn’t in one way or another reference it or touch upon similar themes); “Donnie Darko”, exploring themes of troubled youth, supernatural occurrences, and underlying complexities of our existence; the old Hollywood classic “Harvey”, touching themes of friendship, loneliness, and mental health; and, unmistakably, Beatrix Potter’s “The Tale of Peter Rabbit”, which later in his novel Yakov Yasninsky completely reimagines, providing a darker, more intricate interpretation of it. As the reader can see, copious other references appear in the book; in fact, almost every sentence may contain a reference. Should the reader venture to visit genius.com, they will indeed find a decent crowdsourced guide to the novel and its charted uncharted territories.

Despite, or because of, all the references, few people understand that the core theme of the book is one’s identity, personal story, fame, and labels attached to one by society. He knew, should one become an author, a public figure, one’s life will be given to the hands of the public. Should one become “known” for once, one becomes something taken for granted and, from that moment, one can’t break the shackles of the public’s thoughts, for, as Yasninsky specifically mentions in the novel, thoughts of others are as potent as one’s own. Yasninsky, however, is a free man and would prefer complete freedom, and to be completely free for him is to be unknown, which, being a cult author, is a hard task to accomplish. When no one knows anything about you, nothing they say can be considered a lie, you don’t have to explain everything to everyone, your work cannot be seen through the lens of “you”, you don’t give anyone any expectations regarding youself or your work, hence no one can be disappointed in any of your cancellable actions! Clearly, all Yakov Yasninsky wanted was to make his work be interpreted for what it is and not who he is, for not knowing where the rabbit is hiding is better than pretending as if we know everything about the rabbit.

Perhaps not from the beginning, but Yasninsky understood that and decided to weave a mist around himself. The book masterfully implements a binary opposition of Yakov vs non-Yakov, where Yakov is a rabbit, an evasive, phantom and uncatchable, and non-Yakov is Neonida, a little girl with an innocent face and, as we learn later in the novel, quite a carnivorous nature. So we believe that Yakov Yasninsky did, and keeps doing, exactly what consistently happens in his book: the rabbit revealed himself to Neonida and as soon as her little bloodthirsty hands reached for the animal, the rabbit — *poof!* — vanished.

When his book was released and instantly gained success, he felt that he became too real, under the pressure of his readership forming a simulacrum of his innermost self instead of just being who he was, and thus he started erasing himself. There appeared, however, an new obstacle of an insurmountable type — the internet. One can erase oneself from reality, but one cannot erase oneself from the internet that easily. So, Yasninsky developed a new, hitherto unused method of becoming invisible in the world where everyone is under the radar. He knew that the public should know nothing about him, but it was even better if the public knew several things which were quite wrong. We are sure Yasninsky doesn’t use a pseudonym because using a pseudonym means creating a new story for oneself, while Yasninsky desires to have no story whatsoever and erase the existing story he had. He carefully curated the scarcity of his public appearances to just one podcast, and managed to maintain an air of enigma, which made his single appearance even more valuable and intriguing. Then he meticulously created false digital footprints, making it difficult to discover or piece together his actual identity. Some facts can still be found, but they contradict each other and often represent the game of Chinese Whispers. This is also a part of his plan. If something cannot be erased, it should be replaced with something else contradicting it, better so multiple times, until it becomes impossible to say what’s true and what’s not.

The culmination of these elaborate strategies succeeded in virtually erasing Yakov Yasninsky from reality. In a masterstroke of performance and anonymity, Yasninsky situated himself in a realm where only the most determined could attempt to find him, a space between truth and fiction. He knew that any author’s woe is constant demand for explanation of everything to everyone yet at the same time trying to grip on the novelty of what they do. Yet it’s impossible to keep novelty novel and freshness afresh after everything is explained, so the author has no choice but to lie to move forward.

The novel thus ends as a warning, not for the reader but for Yasninsky himself:

Her hand lunged, snatching the white rabbit with a vice-like grip. Its terrified squeaks were quickly silenced as Neonida brought the creature to her mouth, her teeth sinking into its soft flesh. Blood splattered across her face as she tore into the rabbit, the taste of iron filling her senses.