A Hamlet Called America

 

The Hamlet Called America / Khrystia Vengryniuk
trans. from the Ukrainian by Kate Tsurkan & Dmytro Kyyan
South Portland, ME: Sandorf Passage, c2026
224 p.

I was sent an advanced reading copy of this book by the publisher; it will be released mid-October of this year. I'm obviously quite interested in this thanks to it being a Ukrainian novel, newly translated. 

It's an intriguing read, something quite different from my recent reading. It's set in the near past, no mention of the war here, but focuses on the lives of a small group of eccentric villagers. 

I saw someone describe it as a Ukrainian version of the village of Macondo from 100 Years of Solitude, and I guess I could see that connection - it does have an element of magical realism, with a few inexplicable things going on that people seem to just accept. And there is a long history to the hamlet, where time seems a little unreliable.

The hamlet is isolated and sticks to itself; the exception is the priest up the hill, a healer who draws people to area. One of our villagers ends up there herself near the end, with an unusual health status to be managed. 

There are characters who come and go, as well, mainly the younger family members of the residents. A grandson or granddaughter here, a bevy of daughters there, coming for visits from the city. There is even a beautiful stranger dumped on the road at night and taken in by one of them. Lots of intrigue to follow. 

It reads like a heightened folktale, with stock characters who are somehow made into complex people in their own right. There are bits of superstition, folklore, unexplained moments, and a bit too much familial togetherness. In some ways I found it reminiscent of Tanja Maljartschuk's Biography of a Chance Miracle -- that novel also plays with expectations of reality, and it is set in a Ukrainian town named San Francisco. But while that novel has a main character, this one really has a cast of characters all as important as the next. Their stories intertwine and depend on one another's stories to exist. 

It's an unusual, earthy read, with a lot of the story so dependent on the setting and the characters' life stories. I am sure I missed some of the nuance because I'm not as familiar with the context. But it was a compelling read that I had to finish. Look for it in October! 

A Brief History of a Long War

 

A Brief History of a Long War / Mariam Naiem
illus. by Yulia Vus & Ivan Kypibida
trans. from the Ukrainian by Nata Hrytsenko
New York : Ten Speed Graphic, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, ©2026
105 p.

This is a short graphic novel that aims to give an overview of how long Ukraine has been resisting Russian aggression, for those who don't know Ukrainian history. Hint: this book starts in the Middle Ages and moves up to 2022 and the start of the most recent Russian attacks on the country. 

Written by an award-winning journalist, scholar and activist, it covers a variety of flashpoints in Ukrainian history. The illustrations are all done in tones of black/grey, white and orange, which reflects the role of the colour orange in freedom movements that the reader will learn about -- it also reflects the nighttime fire and destruction wrought by war.  

For those new to Ukrainian history, this will be a good introduction to the fact that Russia has been oppressing and attacking the country for a very long time. Moving from the middle ages and the rise of the Cossacks, to 19th C. Imperial decrees banning the Ukrainian language in a linguicide, then to the 30s and the Stalin-led Holodomor (death by famine), and continuing into the present invasion, this book will give a sense of Ukraine and all it has stood against for centuries. 

There is a bibliography, noting some of the writing that Naiem consulted for this book, including a couple of very respected Ukrainian historians - and one Ukrainian-Canadian one, too. This provides good resources for readers who are interested enough to read further and find out more about any of the things she shares in this graphic novel. 

I found that the text and imagery in this book worked well together; it was memorable and covered all the information without sounding like a dry list or textbook. There is a focus on the experiences of people during these events and what current wartime is like. Really solid intro, not too overwhelming. 

A short interview with the author, about creating this book, can be found at DTF Magazine. 

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 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.  

Letters of the Alphabet Go To War

 

Letters of the Alphabet Go to War / Lesyk Panasiuk
trans. from the Ukrainian by Katie Farris & Ilya Kaminsky
Louisville, KY: Sarabande, c2026.
32 p.

I can't say too much about this forthcoming poetry collection here, as I have already reviewed it at Library Journal. But I wanted to share it so that others can hear about it, as it was a top read for me. 

It was haunting and powerful. It's a small book, almost a chapbook, published by Sarabande, but I was pleased to find something by a Ukrainian author who I didn't know yet. The poems are so personal and investigate language, poetry, literature, culture, all in the face of a violent war. 

I really loved it. I thought the approach was unique, and the poems themselves are accessible to a Western audience. Intelligent, emotional, and beautifully done. The translation is much appreciated as well. Search it out once it's published, you will be richly rewarded.

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.)

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. 

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. 

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). 

Philipovna, Daughter of Sorrow

 

Philipovna, Daughter of Sorrow / Valentina Gal
Gananoque, ON: MiroLand, c2019.
285 p.

Yesterday was Holodomor Memorial Day, as I shared in my last post. This was a manufactured famine, created by Stalin with genocidal intent. But it's still not widely known, and often denied. So I thought I would share a few novels which I've read, dealing with this event. 

I'm starting with this fictionalized memoir which was based on the author's mother's stories. And it is very powerful. It's told from the viewpoint of Vera Philipovna, a young orphan who is sent to live with her Aunt Xena's family in another small village in Ukraine. But this is the early 30s, and Stalin's famine-genocide is about to begin. 

The story covers three years of Philipovna's life, and they are hard and tragic. Most of her family dies of starvation; she is sent away to an orphanage in a town in hopes that she will survive there - in the end she is one of the few members of her family to live past the famine. But life in the orphanage is no treat. There is horrific abuse and mistreatment of both children and the women caring for them.  

This book is both hard and easy to read. Hard because of the content: there is such clear description of violence and cruelty of all kinds, all based in experiences of Ukrainians like the author's mother. Easy because the writing is fluid and clear, and in its simplicity it holds so much power.

But the book also shares details of Ukrainian culture and daily life at the time, and this is also so valuable. We see the family structures and the habits, routines, rituals, customs and traditions which Ukrainians are trying to hold on to and hide from the abusive state and its figureheads. The evocation of life before this tragedy is strong and memorable. Philipovna is lucky enough to be taken in by a loving Aunt & Uncle, and cousins too. Their life together was warm and connected, if not for the political events coming to disrupt everything about life and community. 

There is so much loss and grief here, however. It's a memorial to all those who weren't as lucky as Gal's mother and who didn't make it out of Ukraine. Gal is a Canadian writer who was encouraged to write this after taking a creative writing class, and I'm grateful that she did. It's moving, unforgettable, and rings with truth. 

Holodomor Memorial Day

 

Every year on the fourth Saturday in November, Ukraine, Canada and the world commemorate Holodomor Memorial Day. We gather in our communities to remember and honour the millions of victims of the Holodomor. Holodomor stands for forced hunger, and this day commemorates the genocidal famine created by Stalin. At 7:32 pm, we light a candle and hold a minute of silence to remember the victims of the Holodomor.

To find out more, please read the statement by the Ukrainian Canadian Congress or read some of the documentation collected by the Holodomor Research and Education Consortium, a project of the Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies.

Statue from National Museum of the Holodomor-Genocide, Kyiv

Forgottenness

 

Forgottenness / Tanja Maljartschuk
trans. from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins
NY: Liveright, 2024, c2016.
272 p.

Last year I read Tanja Maljartschuk's Biography of a Chance Miracle, and enjoyed it. At that time I heard that a translation of Forgottenness was coming soon, and I preordered a copy so I'd be able to read it immediately. I'm so glad I did, this was a wonderful read. 

It's an examination of time and identity, told by a woman who is trying to understand her own past (and anxious illnesses) by studying the Ukrainian past by way of Viacheslav Lypynskyi. He was Polish but chose to be Ukrainian and worked for the Ukrainian cause throughout his life (1882-1931). His eventful life was counterpointed by his own constant illnesses, and the narrator sees some resonance between the two of them. 

The book weaves back and forth by chapter, first her voice, then Lypynskyi's story. The range of discussion covers social, familial and political elements of Ukraine across the late 19th and early 20th century. As Lypynskyi was an intellectual, there are also multiple artists, journalists, writers, and politicians who he encounters in his activities. You can skim the names or you can stop and look them up - you will learn a lot about the intricacies of Ukrainian intellectual/political life of the time either way. It really gives a strong vision of the roiling issues that have shaped a lot of Ukrainian politics and history, and I was fascinated by it all. 

But among the more straightforward historical storytelling, and the contemporary narrator who is struggling with illness, romantic relationships, and creative output all at once, there is the writing itself to consider. This book is beautiful; flowing, contemplative, quotable, the writing stands out for me. There are questions of time, memory, identity, and leaving a mark on the world, all brought up in ways that tie so many of the themes together across both eras. This question of time and the evanescence of human life is brought up directly a few times in the book; near the beginning there is this quote that I've marked: 

    I suddenly began to think about time as the thing that unites an endless rosary of senseless events; and also about the fact that only in the sequence of these events is there meaning; and that it's not God, not love, not beauty, not the greatness of intellect that determines this world, but only time -- the flow of time and the glimmering of human life within it.

    Human life is its sustenance. Time consumes everything living by the ton, like a gigantic blue whale consumes microscopic plankton, milling and chewing it into a homogenous mass, so that one life disappears without a trace, giving another, the next life, a chance. Yet it wasn't the disappearance that grieved me the most, but the tracelessness of it. I thought to myself: I've already got one foot there, out in complete forgottenness. 

I was really affected by this book, by the ideas of the past, and history, and time. I also found the overview of Ukrainian history absorbing, with the characters vibrant and memorable. This book won a couple of European book awards, and I can see why. It's thoughtful, unique and folds two distinct lives into one compelling story. 

Translation Thursday

It's Translation Thursday! Each Thursday this month I'm going to share the translation I'm currently reading plus a few more on my reading list. Here's today's list:

Currently Reading:

Forgottenness / Tanja Maljartschuk
trans. from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins

To Read:

Love Life / Oksana Lutsyshyna
trans. from the Ukrainian by Nina Murray

My Women / Yuliia Iliukha
trans. from the Ukrainian by Hanna Leliv 

A Crash Course in Molotov Cocktails / Halyna Kruk
trans. from the Ukrainian by Amelia M. Glaser & Yuliya Ilchuk

On Sunday Morning She Gathered Herbs

On Sunday Morning She Gathered Herbs / Olha Kobylianska
trans. from the Ukrainian by Mary Skrypnyk
TO: CIUS Press, 2001, c1909.
179 p.

This book is an older Ukrainian classic that I've been meaning to read for a while now. I first read some of Kobylianska's work in a collection of women's writing by Language Lanterns Press, But the Lord is Silent. 

She has a specific style that reflects her period; a bit flowery, a bit mannered. In this book, she takes a folksong and fleshes out its bare lyrics into a full novel. The folksong is about a young man who loves two women; out of jealously one poisons him. But out of a couple of verses, she creates a dense novel with a dark sense of inevitability to it. 

As it is based on this kind of source material, the story does get a bit melodramatic at times; perhaps that's also the influence of the German romanticism of the late 1800s/early 1900s that she knew so well. She grew up in the far west of current Ukraine, and was schooled in German, writing many of her early works in German, until she became part of the women's movement in Ukraine and consciously switched over to writing in Ukrainian. (short bio here if you're interested) I feel like some of the literary trends of the era reveal themselves in this book. 

The book tackles social conventions and sexual mores, mostly as they affect women. The story opens as a woman is cast out of her gypsy community for giving birth to a 'white' child. The violence of the opening sets the tone of toxic masculinity that reverberates through the book, with other men also beating or threatening women or expecting them to take whatever the man wants to do. 

It also brings up issues of personal desires as opposed to community responsibilities. Mavra, the woman from the opening, had an infant son who was taken from her and adopted by a rich landowner who didn't know his background. This boy, Hryts, grows up to form the love triangle foretold in the folksong, having a sweet girl from his village that he intends to marry until he comes across the dark Tetiana, daughter of the woman who took Mavra in all those years ago. Drama!! 

I didn't think much of his wooing - on first spying Tetiana in a mountain meadow he threatens to hit her or force his attentions on her if she doesn't talk to him. Oh boy, what a catch. But Tetiana falls for him, hiding their meetings from her mother, and eventually loses her grasp on reality when she realizes that Hryts is marrying another woman and has just been toying with her. 

I did find this a quick read, even if it's a bit dense. The drama keeps it moving. And the content about Carpathian customs, households, and landscapes was really interesting. There is a description of young girls and the romantic traditions for Kupala Night, which are fascinating.

There are a few flaws, in a book that is from 1909 you have to expect some bits that are unpalatable to today's reader. The biggest invention that Kobylianska added to the folksong to make a novel is the gypsy background for Hryts, and it is a bit over the top. But definitely of its time. 

Still, I actually really liked this and found it had a lot of psychological insight and a focus on women's lives in a constrained society. And the writing was poetic, a bit elaborate at times, but enjoyable nonetheless. Great read for a classic! 

Apricots of Donbas

 

Apricots of Donbas / Lyuba Yakimchuk
trans. from the Ukrainian by
Oksana Maksymchuk, Max Rosochinsky & Svetlana Lavochkina
Scio, OR: Lost Horse Press, 2021, c2015.
166 p.

I'm starting off my Women in Translation month with some unusual (for me) books. I generally read a lot of novels, so I'm branching out a little to include some poetry today.

I'm not sure how to talk about poetry, so will just say that I found this collection moving and interesting. Yakimchuk is writing about the experience of the 2014 Russian invasion of Donbas, where she and her family had lived for generations.

She creates imagery of her past and of the current situation of bombs and invaders, of fleeing and remembering her home, with evocative mentions of the apricots of the region as a symbol. 

She plays with language, breaking it up into its parts (and I have to recognize the skill of the translators here, able to render this into English with the intention of the original coming through). The poems are not opaque, they are readable and understandable, even while they manipulate language to express the intent of a poem. I had to read slowly, and reread a couple, but I found this a cohesive and meaningful collection. I have read a few of Yakimchuk's poems in other collections, like Words for War or The Frontier, so it was nice to have her work gathered together this way to really experience it fully.

If you're interested in women's voices responding to war, and want to encounter a popular Ukrainian poet, I recommend this strong collection. 

Absolute Zero

Absolute Zero / Artem Chekh
trans. from the Ukrainian by Oksana Lutsyshyna & Olena Jennings
London: Glagoslav, 2020, c2017.
154 p.

This collection of short reflections on Chekh's time in the Ukrainian armed forces is hard to categorize. It's reportage, personal essays, but he is a writer who can capture images and experiences with beautifully composed language, even talking about war, boredom, nationalism, identity and dislocation. The tone of the book is personal but with a kind of distance as he watches what is going on around him and tries to capture it while it is ongoing - he states directly that he has to write it down before it disappears. 

The book is made up of short chapters, each looking at a specific moment or a specific topic. It's based on his diary that he kept while serving during the war in Donbas. There is no discussion of actual combat or violence, rather he focuses on the little moments of his days -- mice in the trenches, going to buy food at the nearby town when off duty, having volunteers bring unnecessary things to the soldiers, seeing the effects of war of his colleagues, even meeting up with his wife during some time off and how strange it felt. He has an eye for the poignant moment, and somehow creates emotion with calm language. It's reserved writing but all the more memorable for it. He captures the feeling of being a soldier, and the day to day banality of wartime. 

I thought this was compelling reading, interesting for the factual elements but readable because of his style and technique, making each day's entry a complete story. Very interesting book and one I'd recommend.