Ordinary People Don't Carry Machine Guns

Ordinary People Don't Carry Machine Guns/ Artem Chapeye
trans. from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins
NY: Seven Stories Press, c2025. 
128 p.

 Moving from yesterday's 1920s Kyiv to 2020s Kyiv with today's book. This set of essays by Artem Chapeye is a straight-talking, angry book about war and the way it affects a society. It was so powerful and striking in many ways. 

Chapeye was a leftist pacifist prior to Feb 22, 2022. But the reality of an invasion of his country led him to enlist shortly after the invasion began. He has been serving in the army since. 

The book is divided into three parts: “When Darkness Comes”, about the beginning and the incomprehensible reality of war arriving in a modern European country, and the way it immediately shook everything up. “It’s Necessary to Cultivate Your Garden” takes a look at everyday Ukrainians, their survival strategies and hopes for a return to a peaceful future. Then, “People Aren’t Divided into Brands" which examines the problems of elitism and the attitudes between different levels of Ukrainian society - how those who haven't enlisted often say that they can help elsewhere, with overtones of them being more important than those on the front lines. Chapeye has years, now, of serving in the army, and he worries about his wife and children, his country, and more, even as he doesn't waver from his role. 

I found Chapeye's earlier book, The Ukraine, memorable; a mix of fiction and reportage, it was published just as he had enlisted. This book is darker, more grounded in daily experience of war and the social issues it aggravates. It's a must read, as a fluent report of the day to day life of a Ukrainian soldier, one who is also an accomplished writer and journalist. Hard to read but so vital. 

The Sunflower Boys

The Sunflower Boys / Sam Wachman
NY: Harper, c2025.
352 p.

This novel, published as YA, is by an American writer with Ukrainian roots. It follows two young boys, Artem and Yuri, as the full scale Russian invasion arrives in Feb 2022. Their father is working in American, sending money home, while their mother and grandfather take care of them. 

Artem is an artist, drawing in his sketchbook constantly. He is a regular boy, with school hijinks, games, friends and so on. But as this book opens, he is realizing that he is also falling in love with his best friend. This theme of identity and self-awareness runs throughout the book, but there are bigger things to worry about once Russia arrives. 

After the first few days of hiding in the basement with the rest of their apartment neighbours, their mother decides that they are leaving the city to go to their grandfather's farm in the country. This seems like a good plan but it turns out to be a tragic decision. There is a horrific scene when the Russians find the house; it was very graphic and terrible, and perhaps readers should be aware that there is violence and terror in this book as well. 

Artem and Yuri escape and make their way across a hellscape of cold, dark countryside, trying to get to a city so they can flee to Kyiv. Eventually they make it, their father finally gets back into Ukraine and finds them, and they end up in Florida in the last chapters. But this trek is endless, full of difficulty, fear, hunger - and also the help of people they find along the way. Artem and Yuri stick together but as the elder brother, Artem is more permanently affected by his responsibility and awareness of what's going on. 

This was a striking and realistic read, a war novel that describes the realities of civilians caught in the middle of this invasion. It's also a humanising one; Artem's life and other concerns are still important to him, everything is not wiped by war coming. It was a powerful read, but readers should be prepared for some traumatic scenes, as Wachman doesn't hold back on the horrors of war. 

The City

 

The City / Valerian Pidmohylnyi
trans. from the Ukrainian by Maxim Tarnawsky 
Cambridge, MA: HURI, 2025, c1927.
504 p.

I read this recently, as it's a Ukrainian classic now available in English. It was written in 1927 and is considered one of the first urban novels (as per the title). 

The cover is evocative, as the story is about Stepan Radchenko, who comes to Kyiv from his village, to study and help build up socialism. He is ambitious, driven, sensitive to what others think of him, works hard and takes whatever advantage he can. He intends to climb the social/artistic ladder as high as he can. He doesn't have much emotional intelligence, but he knows how to play the game and advance himself wherever possible. I thought the story was quick moving, psychologically interesting, and definitely a great picture of 1920s Kyiv when Ukrainization was going strong -- before Stalin reintroduced russification and the generation of writers including Pidmohylnyi were killed -- the Executed Renaissance. 

However. I did not love this book. Stepan is a bit of a self-centred asshole so I had a hard time finding sympathy for him. He has three relationships with women once he arrives in Kyiv, all focused on his own needs and desires, not theirs. He forces himself on a girl from the village who had been stepping out with him, then drops her. He starts a physical relationship with his married landlady. And then he has a long-standing relationship with another young woman who he leads on to the point of proposing, only to then change his mind and drop her too. These women were only useful to him insofar as they helped him advance in some way. 

So Stepan's great ideal of socialism and equality only extends to men like him. The book thus made me feel conflicted; while I admired the writing style and some of the psychological insight into Stepan and his fellow writers and students, and the depiction of the arts scene in Kyiv, I was dismayed by the depiction of women's status and experience as being secondary and only important in relation to the men in the book.  Their rights of artistic growth and autonomy are not considered. At the same time, the writing itself is good, with quotable moments of insight and the evocation of an era. So this is a mid book for me -- the good is counterbalanced by the bad so it comes out just middling for me as a reader.  

2026 Challenges Ahead

And now, looking ahead into 2026! What reading challenges will I take up in the new year? 

I'll start with the continuous ones that run over the calendar year ends. There is the Canadian Book Challenge, which runs July 1 - July 1 every year, with the aim to read and review 13 Canadian books. I'm halfway through, and have 5 books to read and review by the end of this round. 

Then there's my ongoing Century of Books challenge. I wanted to start this one in 2025 because I really liked the symmetry of reading books between the dates of 1925 and 2025. Although this is supposed to be done in one year, I didn't finish it in 2025, so I'm keeping at it until I'm finished. Hopefully by the end of 2026 but we will see if I can read and review 73 books by then! 

Of course I will also continue with the Women in Translation readalong in August, and have two rounds of the Literary Sewing Circle planned for 2026 (the first one starting around March). 

And the fresh 2026 Challenges are as follows! 

I want to try the TBR 26 in '26 hosted by the Rose City Reader this year - I didn't do too well on the 2025 iteration but am going to try again ;) The goal is to read 26 books from your shelves that have been there prior to Jan 1, 2026. I have LOTS to choose from! 

Rose City Reader is also hosting the European Reading Challenge  - it runs the whole year too, and you can sign up at various levels. I'm signing up for:

• FIVE STAR (DELUXE ENTOURAGE): Read at least five books by different European authors or books set in different European countries.
  
  

And I am jumping on the Japanese Literature Challenge once more. This one is hosted by Dolce Belezza, and this is the 19th year it is running. The goal is to read and review at least one Japanese book during January and February. 

And there's one more that will be easy for me, but I still want to sign up and share this one! The Harvard Ukrainian Research Institute (HURI), together with the Ukrainian National Women’s League of America (UNWLA) and with support from the HUCUS Foundation, announced a new long-term campaign: the Ukrainian Book Challenge. The campaign makes a simple ask: to buy at least one book in English about Ukraine or by a Ukrainian author – at least once a year. Participants are encouraged to take a selfie or record a short video with their chosen book, post it on their social media, and challenge five friends to do the same using the hashtag #UkrainianBookChallenge. So consider this my challenge to you, as well -- I have tons of suggestions and reviews here on my blog for you to consider -- try the Ukraine tag if you aren't on mobile and can see them at the bottom of my posts! 

Do you enjoy reading challenges? Are you doing any great ones this year that you want to share? Let me know! 

Strong Roots

 

Strong Roots: a memoir of food, family & Ukraine / Olia Hercules
NY: Knopf, c2025.
288 p.

I devoured this memoir of food, family and Ukraine. Olia Hercules is a well known Ukrainian cook based in the UK. When the invasion happened in 2022, she took part in many fundraising activities, encouraging restaurants and foodies in UK to create events and raise money. 

In this book, she shares what happened in the aftermath of the invasion to her personally and to her parents as they fled Kherson, near Crimea. And she takes that beginning and moves back into three generations of her family, their lives, experiences, values. As she notes in her acknowledgements, "Not one generation of my family has escaped dispossession, deportation or war."

This is a beautifully written family history, full of longing for Ukraine, with evocative recollections of natural beauty, food and family, and alongside that, the realities of war over a century, deportations, violence - and the way those things were not often discussed openly. She covers many years of Soviet rule, and the breakup of the regime, from her parents' experiences to her own. Her writing is so powerful I feel like I can see the places she describes for myself. She has a talent for metaphor and imagery, for tucking dark facts into lovely settings.

This is not a foodie memoir but food plays a role. Places are described using food based metaphors -- and she talks about family dinners, family recipes, about making food for her parents as they first arrive in Italy from Ukraine in 2022 -- using whatever she could find in Italy for borsch, and making bread: "Kneading dough is a sensory repetition that forces you to observe the moment, to let go of the insistent buzz of anxiety."

This is a five star read for me. The combination of history, food, family stories with the fluid writing style that makes you feel that Hercules is talking to you directly, all make this a fantastic book. I can't recommend it enough. Anyone wanting to know more about Ukraine needs to read this gorgeous story.

And if you love food too, even better. Make sure you check out Olia Hercules' cookbooks, especially Summer Kitchens, my favourite. 

A Small Stubborn Town

 

A Small, Stubborn Town / Andrew Harding 
London: Ithaka Press, c2023.
140 p.

I read this one a while back, and have been hesitating to review it. While I thought it was interesting and certainly topical, it also felt a bit lacking in context, being written by a British journalist, and being fairly short. It feels more like it should/could have been a long article rather than a book -- there was room here to add a bit more, to flesh out the story a bit. 

However. I still found it an interesting read, with a lot to say about the town of Voznesensk in southern Ukraine. As the Russians invaded in 2022, their route came through the town - where they were expecting to roll through with no trouble. But the locals didn't think that was a plan they were going to get behind. So they did what they could to stop or slow down the movement through their town. 

There were pensioners, young men, lawyers -- ordinary people -- who stepped up to defend their town and by extension, their region. There were men who had volunteered for the Territorial Defense, but never expected to actually have to defend anything. 

It's written from the viewpoints of many of the residents, but primarily a grandmother, Svetlana, whose lazy husband and son have joined in on the defense as well. She is Russian who had come to Ukraine as a child, and can't quite believe what is happening. But she was now clear on who was "her side" -- the locals. 

It's a fast-moving, tightly written story, and as I mentioned, fairly short. It certainly keeps the reader's attention throughout, and touches on the personal stories and relationships between Russia and Ukraine. I found it a little too sympathetic to the Russian forces in some ways, but after three years of evidence I hope that readers can draw their own conclusions about invaders.

Anyhow, I did like it overall, and thought that the defense of the bridge in Voznesensk was a gripping story. Another angle on what happened in the first few weeks of the invasion. 

Diary of an Invasion

 

Diary of an Invasion / Andrey Kurkov
Dallas, TX: Deep Vellum, 2023, c2022.
282 p. 

Kurkov is probably one of the best known Ukrainian writers today; he speaks to the West very effectively. This is the diary he kept as the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began in February, 2022. It covers all those moments familiar to those following this war; the unexpected bombs, the realization sinking in that this was real, the widespread displacement of Ukrainians to the western part of the country in the first few days and weeks, which Kurkov was part of as well. 

It's a writer's diary, so this is a polished and literary representation of the immediacy of the weeks after the invasion. He describes the people they meet, those they've left behind, their longing for their home and the small things they had to leave without. It has that immediacy of a diary, but also a literary arc of sorts. In that sense it's quite different from the non-literary diaries that I've read by Yeva Skalietska or Katya Tokar, which are quite raw. And different again from the diaries of Olena Stiazhkina, who is another literary voice but had been dealing with the realities of war since 2014, since she lived in the Donbas. 

I thought this book was well balanced, though, and a good one for Western readers as Kurkov communicates well and is known to many readers outside of Ukraine already. He does capture the response of a family who is both fairly well off and who are Russian speakers; this invasion is shocking to them on many levels. 

There is a second diary out now, and a third coming, and I believe it's important to keep hearing lived experiences of this war started by Russia, and not to look away. So I'll be reading those as well, and I'm sure that Kurkov will be able to continue to draw literary parallels and connect history to current events, as he does so well in this volume. 

How Good It Is I Have No Fear of Dying

 

How Good It Is I Have No Fear of Dying / Lara Marlowe
NY: Melville House, c2025.
312 p.

This is the story of Lieutenant Yulia Mykytenko, as told by journalist Lara Marlowe. Mykytenko served in the Ukrainian armed forces, but was no longer serving when the full-scale invasion began. She knew immediately that she had to return, and re-enlisted just days later. 

This is a powerful story of her work in the armed forces, as a commander of a unit. Those who think women are not part of the Ukrainian army are sadly mistaken; this book shows how many ways that women are working with and for the Ukrainian armed forces, for the defense of Ukraine. 

I was interested to read a bit of a different perspective here, from a women who had served both previously and in this current moment. She is a long-time serviceperson and has so much experience that she has comparisons to make and a deep understanding of patterns and decisions. So she doesn't fawn over the current government, she sees that there are things that will need changing within Ukrainian society, but after this current existential threat is over. 

She is no-nonsense as well, she just gets things done and avoids unnecessary drama. Her story is another perspective on what happened starting in February 2022, from a demographic I haven't heard directly from before. I thought that Lara Marlowe, a war journalist from the US and France, did a good job of getting Mykytenko's voice across and finding the right details to fill out this story. Illuminating and engaging, there are no dry reportage bits here. Just a very personal and thoughtful sketch of a woman's experience in wartime. 

Endling by Maria Reva

 

Endling / Maria Reva
Toronto, ON : Alfred A. Knopf Canada, c2025.
338 p.

From old to new - I have moved on from reading older novels to picking a recent release. This one was on my list as soon as I heard about it, though - it's by Maria Reva, whose first book I enjoyed, and it's set in contemporary Ukraine. All reasons to read it. And now of course it is on the Booker Longlist - for once I've read a book on an awards list! 

The story starts out with Yeva, a single woman and scientist devoted to her mobile lab in which she chases down snail endlings - the last of their species - in an effort to find a mate and stave off extinction. When she finds that she really needs money, when a grant is refused, she crosses paths with sisters Nastia and Solomiya, who work with a 'Romance Tours' group bringing Western men to meet Ukrainian women. 

The plot thickens as Nastia comes up with a plan to kidnap some of these men, to draw attention to this industry (and really to get the attention of their activist mother, who had abandoned them). She sees Yeva's mobile lab as an opportunity. 

This story rolls along, until the author interrupts it. The full-scale Russian invasion began as Reva was writing this, and in her uncertainty about how to proceed with fiction in the light of reality, she begins including these thoughts and worries into a metafictional insert in this book. I found it clever, meaningful in light of events, and relatable. But I'm still not sure if I really liked it or not, as part of the novel. 

In any case, she does continue the novel, but the direction has shifted. Yeva, Nastia and Solomiya's plan to kidnap some Western bachelors goes awry as they have to drive through the night in unexpected directions and ways, as they face the night of February 24, 2022. And Yeva makes the fateful decision to drive into the warzone to rescue the one potential remaining snail that she's been looking for.  

This was a fantastic read, edgy, timely, with an unusual focus and narrative. I loved the scientific bits, and Yeva's world-weary voice. She has seen the stereotypes of Ukrainians through the eyes of her scientific compatriots in the west, and is over it. Nastia and Solomiya have seen the fetishization of Ukrainian women from another angle, and they are also over it. This brings in so many questions of identity, belonging, what home means, what decisions you might make under a crisis situation, what is worth living for, and so much more. 

This is worth reading for many reasons, but I feel it really does capture this moment in the world in a way I haven't seen often in contemporary American fiction. It really made me think. 

A Crash Course in Molotov Cocktails

 

A Crash Course in Molotov Cocktails / Halyna Kruk
trans. from the Ukrainian by Amelia M. Glaser & Yuliya Ilchuk
Cambridge, MA: Arrowsmith, c2023.
192 p.

I wanted to read some poetry for Women in Translation Month; this volume is one that I've had on my list for a while. I finally got a copy, and have been working my way through it over the last week. It is published with the original Ukrainian on the left hand page, and the English version on the right. I really liked this, even though I can't read Ukrainian myself - but it would be a really great element if you did. As it is, I still feel it added to the reading experience; there was the original poem, breathing right in front of you. 

These poems are stark, responding to the outbreak of full scale war in 2022. There are metaphors and imagery that evoke the visceral experience of living with violence and upheaval, and emotional threads that pull you in despite the brevity of the lines. This collection is powerful and moving, but also quite accessible, I thought. The poems are shorter, and are addressing universal concerns about war, life, literature, choices, through the lens of the Ukrainian experience. 

There were a couple of poems that really stood out to me, but all of them were solid - I don't think there was a weak link in this collection. There are stark statements about violence and death, and about the span of history; Kruk uses the Ukrainian past to illustrate the present in so many ways - from one poem:

we stopped digging deep long ago

in this uncertain field of ours-yours

because all kinds of junk can turn up:

human bones, horses’ heads, unexploded mines,

a battle ax, the peg that marked the border

between our side and yours...

There is so much to reread and think on in this collection. I would recommend it for anyone interested in poetry and how it both faces and repudiates war. 

You can read quite a bit of her poetry online; there are a few shared at LitHub, and there is a nice sampling from this book at the Griffin Poetry Prize site, where she was a nominee in 2024, both poems and video.

You can hear both Kruk and her translators read one of the poems, thanks the to Griffin Poetry Prize (this was a nominee) 

 

 And you can also listen to a lengthy interview with Halyna Kruk if you want to find out more about her writing and her poetic response to war, in this video from Razom.

 

The Way Things Were

 

The Way Things Were / Marko Vovchok
trans. from the Ukrainian by Maria K
TSK Group, 2018.
read by Susan Greenaway

When I saw this audiobook of Marko Vovchok's stories, I wanted to listen -- Vovchok (Maria Alexandrona Vilinskaya-Markevich) wrote many ethnographic stories starting in the 1850s, continuing for many years to write and then to translate a variety of languages into Ukrainian and Russian. Her short stories shared here show the lives of serfs, particularly those of women. They reveal the terrible structure of serfdom; people belonged to an estate, essentially, and had no freedom of movement, autonomy or rights. In one story, a girl is married to another serf by the owner's whim; in another, a young woman is given as a present to a visiting relative, and is taken away from her family without any say in it. These do reveal the day to day, of hard work, and the quality of life for these serfs fully dependent on the character of the land owner -- many of them spiteful and cruel. 

I found some of these stories very good, realistic and full of daily detail along with the emotional reactions of the characters. This servitude was a heavy burden to bear. A few of them were a bit too melodramatic for me, however, particularly "Nine Brothers & their sister Galya"; it was so ridiculous. 

But there were some important themes, and a couple of the stories really stood out to me with their strong characters and social commentary. So I'm glad I encountered them. 

However. I had difficulty finishing this collection, and that was entirely due to the odd choices in the translation, and the reader. Both felt amateur, almost at a Librivox level.  The translation uses modern phrasing and terms, maybe to bring the stories to a more relatable level, but it was a bit jarring that she always uses "kids" instead of "children", and "my dear" as a translation of any honorary address or diminuitive. It wasn't terrible, but it also wasn't really good. 

The reader was the biggest stumbling block for me. She has a British accent that was distracting, and her reading was stilted. There were pauses where it was clear a page was being turned in the middle of a sentence, or maybe she had lost her place for a second. The way the dialogue was presented was often wooden, and many, many words were mispronounced -- it took me quite a while to realize that when she was saying "Napier" she meant "Dnieper", for example. I was highly motivated to listen to these stories, so I persevered. But I can't really recommend this particular edition of Vovchok, because of the clunky translation and narration.   


If you're interested in checking out some stories by Marko Vovchok for yourself, you can find a collection of her folk tales online here from a 1983 translation made in Western Canada by N. Pedan-Popil. That's what I am going to read next! 

Valse Melancholique

 

Valse Melancholique / Olha Kobylianska
translated from the Ukrainian by Maria K
TSK Group, 2024, c1898
Read by Virginia Ferguson

I discovered this in my library's collection and was quite surprised to see it. It's a recent translation by a Russian-Ukrainian immigrant to the US, the multitalented Maria K. This is a classic, a novella from 1898 that I first read in a collection by Canadian publishers Language Lanterns, in their Women's Voices in Ukrainian literature series (highly recommended). 

I was intrigued and thought I'd revisit it in audiobook form. I found that I recalled the outlines of the story but had forgotten some of the details. So I enjoyed this! At first I wasn't sure about the reader; her accent was a bit unusual, until I finally figured out that she sounded exactly like Audrey Hepburn - not sure what kind of accent that is, but it was less distracting once I made that connection ;) 

In any case, this is a short novel, it comes in just under 2 hours when listening. It begins with a very good introduction giving a bio of Kobylianska (this is the generally accepted English spelling; this translation gives it in the Russian style). It places her in the context of the early feminist and progressive circles of that era and makes the story more understandable to anyone who has never heard of her before. I thought it was a great addition to this recording. 

The story is that of three young women, an artist, a musician and a student. Two of them are roommates but due to financial pressures, they find a third roommate -- the musician, Sofia, who also brings along her piano. Her arrival changes the tight duo that the other were used to; they both are dazzled by Sofia in different ways. There are many discussions in the story about art, about passion and committment to one's art, and about how to live. They decide that living without men, just being single women sharing flats and depending on one another for emotional and financial support is a great idea. They should do this forever. The artist even says something like, "we'll show them that being a single woman isn't something to be ashamed of."

But things get in the way of course. Each of them must follow their own path, whether that's marriage or something less traditional. But this brief moment of seeing them all burn bright is moving, and the vision of women being focused on education and self fulfillment in 1898 is powerful. There were a lot of Ukrainian women writing about freedom, self-determination and even the acceptance of same sex relationships at this time, it was a movement. There are deep roots in the Ukrainian drive for freedom, which still continues. 

Cecil the Lion Had to Die

 

Cecil the Lion Had to Die / Olena Stiazhkina
trans. from Russian and Ukrainian by Dominique Hoffman
Cambridge, MA: HURI, c2024.
200 p.

This is an interesting book for many reasons; one of them is that the author wrote part of it in Russian and part of it in Ukrainian. The original Russian is printed on black paper; the Ukrainian on white. There are phrases from both interspersed in the opposite sections, and those small bits follow this pattern as well. Harvard's Ukrainian Research Institute has published both her diary (reviewed here) and this novel, which she wrote as she was moving toward a switch to using Ukrainian after the Russian invasion. 

Aside from that, this was a read that I enjoyed due to its stylistic flourishes, structural concepts and large cast of characters. It follows a "made family" formed in 1986 when four women give birth and a local functionary bribes them into naming one of the children at least after German Communist leader Ernst Thälmann -- the result is a boy called Ernest and a girl called Thelma. And two others, Alyosha and Halyuska. Their parents are the last Soviet generation; these children are destined to be the first post-Soviet one. 

The book has a fragmentary style; each of the characters is followed from the 1986 through the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, into the calmer 2000s and then into the aftermath of 2014 as Russians invade the Donbas region. Each character takes a different trajectory; this shows the variety of individual response to this political and existential upheaval. The younger generations change their names and language to Ukrainian, some enlist, some move; the older generation makes other choices. This many characters across so many years means that we're only seeing snapshots, key moments of interior life or significant change are highlighted. The chapter headings give us a name and a date; the reader has to double check these, as well as the diagrams at the beginning, to keep everyone straight. But it is worth it. 

While the structure and lack of straightforward linear narrative can limit the connection to a character, Stiazhkina finds a way to create emotional depth, and I was getting attached to a number of the characters. The conclusion was powerful, one of those endings that sticks with you. I thought this was a fantastic literary novel, both in topic and style, and highly recommend it. It works especially well alongside Stiazhkina's diary of her experiences in Donetsk, but doesn't require the factual companion. It's a resonant novel that should be on all lists today.  

(For more on this book, I also recommend this review by a respected book critic who reads and writes in both English and Ukrainian as well as Russian.)

Ukraine, War, Love: A Donetsk Diary

 

Ukraine, War, Love: A Donetsk Diary / Olena Stiazhkina
trans. from the Russian by Anne O. Fisher 
Cambridge, MA: HURI, c2024.
296 p.

This is a powerful book, one that anyone unaware of the realities of the ongoing war against Ukraine, happening since 2014, should read. It's written as a diary, addressed to an unnamed "you", a you which feels like the Russian world that she had lived in prior to this invasion. 

Stiazhkina is from Donetsk, and grew up speaking Russian, in the specific milieu of this underserved region. When Russians invaded in 2014, they were able to take advantage of the existing resentments against the Kyiv government, feelings that Donetsk and the region as a whole weren't being given the benefits that other regions were. And of course they took advantage of those who felt a longing for a simple Soviet past. 

But Stiazhkina is not only a diarist, she's a fantastic writer. So this book has strong imagery and descriptions of things as they are happening; the locals who get involved (generally men) and the so-called "locals" who come in to stir things up as their day job, getting on a bus to head back to Russia at the end of the day. She also writes about emotion, the varied responses to what's happening -- disbelief, the expectation that it will blow over, anger, fear, and the growing realization of an occupation. 

This is a vital read for understanding the beginnings of the current conflict, what people felt and experienced in the moment, and how things progressed. It gives readers a way to understand how one step can lead to many more, and how to recognize them when they are happening. It's such an important read, and one in which the style carries the reader as much as the content. Really good. 

Looking at Women Looking at War

 

Looking at Women Looking at War / Victoria Amelina
Ukrainian sections translated by Daisy Gibbons and Uilleam Blakker
NY: St. Martin's, 2025.
320 p.

Starting off Women in Translation month with some serious subject matter. But I felt it was important to focus on some of the books about Ukraine that have been coming out, and stay aware of what is still happening there. 

This book is a collection of writing by Victoria Amelina, some finished pieces and some notes she had been making for her book, before she was killed in a Russian missile attack on a cafe full of writers. Her words and her dedication to pursuing evidence of war crimes are powerful. 

She wrote both in Ukrainian and in English; the Ukrainian prose in this book is translated by Daisy Gibbons, while the poetry is translated by Uilleam Blacker. The first half of the book is more traditional, in that it has some finished or mostly finished essays and topics. The second half is more a collection of notes for further writing, pieces that Amelina never got to write, being murdered by Russians before she could finish them. 

It's a tough read, in the sense that she is giving up her literary activities and home life to focus on going to dangerous places and gathering people's stories, to create evidence of war crimes. And it's tough reading because you know before you begin that she was killed in a missile strike before this could be finished. 

The complete essays are must reads. And the notes are gathered together in a fragmentary collection, but with many footnotes and explanations by the editors and translators. This does help to make sense of them, and place them in the context of what she had been planning to write about. The very fact that you are reading her notes drives home the violence and the very war crimes she was investigating. 

This book recently won the Orwell Prize for Political Writing, awarded posthumously to Amelina. 

The Silence of Trees

The Silence of Trees / Valya Dudycz Lupescu
Chicago: Wolfsword Press, c2010.
334 p.

Another story of Ukrainians in America for today's post. This one is from 2010, and it is about the Ukrainian American experience, even though the older characters recall their WWII and post war experiences throughout, and the effects on them are still clear. 

But their children, born in America, and their grandchildren, now completely American, do not have the same connections to their Ukrainian past or the longstanding distrust of Germans and Russians that their grandparents do.

However, this story is centred around Nadya Lysenko, 70 and living in Chicago, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. And around her secrets, many dark ones that she has kept from her family, and even husband, for decades. 

At 16, Nadya snuck out of her house to visit a fortuneteller in the woods; when she returned home, her family was dead, and home destroyed, by soldiers. Overwhelmed with survivor guilt, she flees, and eventually ends up in a DP camp in Germany. These traumatic experiences are revisited throughout the book, along with her time at the DP camp, where she also met her husband. 

The story investigates family, history -- both personal and wartime history -- and the power of folklore and myth in retaining a culture as well. The narrative weaves between present-day Chicago and Nadya's past in Ukraine and Germany, and shows how the wounds she suffered leave her with strong reactions to present day events, like when her granddaughter brings a boyfriend to dinner, who is of German descent. This causes a family furor. 

This is a meditative and reflective story, though, looking at how the events in a life shape a person, how not all of these events can be chosen or avoided. And it looks at the presence of the past in the current day, a preoccupation that I am always drawn in by in my reading. I thought this book was a fascinating combination of the past - war, tradition, myth, superstition, family, and a woman's examination of her own life. And beautifully written. Really loved it. 

A Sea of Gold

 

A Sea of Gold / Patricia Polacco
New York : Simon & Schuster, c2024
86 p.

I picked up this recent picture book in my library, for obvious reasons. It's about a family in Ukraine who are displaced by war, ending up in the US Midwest with relatives. 

But it's really not so simple. It focuses on three generations a family living in Cherinovska, Ukraine, who are sunflower farmers. The first generation marries and sets up a new farmstead; their daughter then marries and does the same. But their daughter ends up traumatized by war, only speaking again once she is in America with her great-uncle, once again planting sunflowers. 

This book started out just okay for me; the writing style is dense and expository, much like Polacco's other books, which I think are suited for older readers or for parent-child reading experiences. The illustrations are instantly recognizable as Polacco's work, with the loose linework and bright colours that are her hallmark. Really engaging, especially with all of the historical content around weddings and rituals - great opportunity to show off finery and colour. 

But what I didn't expect was the growing emotion in the story; by the last few pages I found myself unexpectedly moved. It was a powerful ending, to what is a pretty tragic story. After the men in their family do not return home when Russians bomb the nearby village, the three generations of women flee, eventually finding refuge with the grandmother's brother in America. But there is still their shared history to carry them through. 

I think this is a timely read, showing the lengthy history of war and trauma experienced by Ukrainians at the hands of Russians, happening now once more. But there is also the love of family, and hope that finishes off this story - based on Polacco's own Ukrainian heritage through her grandmother. Really touching. 

The Days of Miracle and Wonder

The Days of Miracle and Wonder / Irene Zabytko
Wheat Street Productions, c2020.
143 p.

I was pleased to recently find this book in my library's ebook collection. Zabytko is an American writer of Ukrainian descent, and this is a collection of stories, many of which are set in Ukraine or deal with Ukrainian characters. I really enjoyed it. 

I read one of her first novels years ago, and didn't really warm to it, but this collection shows the development of her writing, at least I think so. I found the variety in theme interesting, and there were some great settings and characters who came to life in just a few pages. There are 9 stories, most dealing with post-Soviet Ukraine, so not cheery tales overall (although one about a cowboy was quite funny!). But many of them reflect the bitterness of political upheaval, as seen in individual lives. There are a range of characters, from an embittered cosmonaut, an Elvis impersonator, or a former swimmer, to the trick rider already mentioned, and even the Devil himself. Most are realistic or slightly hyperbolic stories, often told by a narrator who is an observer, just outside of the main action. And this technique feels immediate, like someone is talking right to you, telling you stories about things that really happened - or that they want you to believe really happened! I liked this style. 

The one story that stands out as a bit different is The Midwife's Tale, an historical piece about a Slavic midwife who ends up helping Mary deliver Jesus. I thought this was well-paced, engaging, a wonderfully creative re-imagining of the Christmas story, and of course very seasonal, which was a pleasant surprise to find here! I believe this story has also been published as a standalone, which would be great to reread around the holidays each year. 

I thought this was an excellent collection and I would definitely reread it. Such a great find. 

Winterkill

 

Winterkill / Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch
NY: Scholastic, c2022.
266 p.

The last book I've read this week focusing on Ukraine and the Holodomor is Winterkill by Marsha Skrypuch. She is a well known author of middle grade fiction, who has written on many Ukrainian topics, as well as on some other historical tragedies such as the Armenian genocide. She balances hard stories with a writing style that is aimed at the younger reader, sharing difficult facts in an accessible way. 

This book focuses on the Chorny family, living in Ukraine in early 1930. There are collectivization efforts going on all around them, aiming at having all successful farmers give their land to the state and work the fields for the state (and as it turns out, not being paid or fed for the pleasure). We meet Nyl, a 12 yr old boy with two younger siblings, Slavko and Yulia. As the story opens, he finds two Canadians in his mother's kitchen, inventorying the farm's possessions for the Party. These are people of Ukrainian descent from Canada who decided that the Soviet plan was utopia so left Canada to return to Ukraine and work for Stalin's regime. One of them is Comrade Alice, a girl of Nyl's age, whom he tries to talk to normally. This encounter has long term repercussions for Nyl. 

There are many harsh moments in this story; violence, murder, starvation, death, cruelty. And they are told clearly, but without gratuitous detail. Skrypuch is able to express historical fact with compelling storytelling, at the right level for this audience. Nyl's family breaks down throughout the book, starting with his uncle who is murdered by a Party official. His sister betrays the family, his parents both slowly perish, and he takes his younger brother with him when he escapes his village of Felivka, heading for the larger town of Kharkiv and the possibility of some work (and food) at the tractor factory being built there. 

In Kharkiv, they meet up with Comrade Alice again, by this time quite disillusioned and trying to find a way to get home to Canada, taking photographic evidence of the terror-famine with her. She and Nyl pair up to try to walk out of the famine region of Ukraine to Moscow where she could flee - Nyl just wanting to go far enough to outwalk the famine, which somehow magically limited itself to the areas where Ukrainian peasants lived. (spoiler: it was Stalin's plan to destroy Ukrainian lives and culture). 

This is a book that just has one awful thing happening after another, but it doesn't feel hopeless. There is hope and grit in both Nyl and Alice, and they make it out. But it's not a sugary ending. There are loose ends, no satisfying justice, just survival. Still, there is a sense that there is a future for Nyl. I found this book fascinating, an absorbing read that I couldn't put down. The element of finding Canadians in it was a shock to me - I hadn't known that Canadian citizens had left Canada during the hard years of the Depression, thinking that the idealized Soviet Union would be a better bet. Bad gamble there. Definitely an informative read, which I also found full of daily detail that anchored the story in its time and setting. 

And one other note, about this cover -- I think it's brilliant, with the girl on the cover mirroring the commemorative statue outside the National Museum of the Holodomor-Genocide in Kyiv. 

To find out more about this book, you can watch Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch's interview with HREC.

The Photograph

The Photograph / Kat Karpenko
Pennsauken Township, NJ: BookBaby, c2020.
226 p.

I discovered this one online via my library; it's a story that was spurred by a family photo belonging to the author. It was a photo of her grandparents' full family, just before they left Ukraine for Canada in in 1928.

Karpenko has taken that photo, and some family stories, and created a novel that is deeply affecting. It's 1928, and the Karpenko family of Ukraine is feeling the looming pressure of the Stalinist government and its agricultural policies. Collectivization is going on, and any successful farmer is being branded an enemy of the state - their land and equipment should belong to the collective. Nicholai Karpenko sees no future except for more repression and state theft; he decides that his family should escape the Soviet Union and go to Canada. This is harder than it first seems, requiring some tricky planning for an escape. 

Not only that, but he can't convince any of his brothers or sisters to join them. In the end, it's only Nicholai, his wife Juliana and their three children who make their way to Canada, with a stop in Budapest to find the connections they need to leave Europe. The book is loosely arranged in three sections, starting with this emigration storyline. 

It then follows the rest of the family who stayed in Ukraine, over the years of 1929-1931, and then we experience the Holodomor, the terror-famine orchestrated by Stalin, over the years 1932-1933. These sections are historically accurate, and so quite horrific. The famine was severe, with millions of Ukrainians dying of starvation, a situation created by Stalin's policies - excessive grain quotas, restriction of movement of Ukrainian farmers, and genocidal intent. The book doesn't hide the truth, and we have characters suffering and dying. However, the book is written for school age readers, so the narrative style doesn't go into graphic descriptions. But it is clear what is happening. 

The terrible events are counterpointed by the love that this family has for one another, and the ways they try to help each other. Their survival is not assured but they keep on. And the connection with Canada in the end gives a longer view. 

This is hard-hitting but also a family story. It's well done, with a lack of overdone sentimentality, just a dose of reality. But the characters and their relationships make this a compelling read, one that brings forgotten history to life.  

To find out more about this book, you can watch Kat Karpenko's interview with HREC (Holodomor Research and Education Consortium).