No matter how sad it is to realize this, the world is increasingly at the mercy of consumer instincts and literary consumer goods are overwhelming the book market. Against the background of the criteria eroded by this consumer goods, it is increasingly difficult to answer the question: is it entitled to be called literature much of what is reproduced in millions of copies on printing presses? And how long will such creations of their authors survive? Will they burn? Won't they melt? Will the era dissipate into dust?