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Yahoo
2 days ago
- Politics
- Yahoo
Wondering where to start with Dostoevsky? Try his Ukrainian contemporaries instead
Since the start of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, a growing debate has emerged over the cultural and political legacy of Russian literature — particularly the global reverence for classic Russian authors, which critics argue has long served to promote the imperial narratives embedded in their work. As Ukrainian author Oksana Zabuzhko wrote in the Times Literary Supplement in 2022, their works of literature are 'the camouflage net' for Russian tanks in Ukraine. Among the most famous classic Russian authors is 19th-century Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821–1881). More than a century after his death, Dostoevsky remains a dominant figure in the world literary canon, his name recognized even by those who have never read his work. This April, Penguin Books reissued an English-language edition of his short story 'The Dream of a Ridiculous Man,' while his novella 'White Nights' continues to enjoy popularity among online literary communities. Defenders of Dostoevsky maintain that his writing transcends politics, focusing on existential and psychological themes. They argue that interpreting his work through a nationalist or imperialist lens oversimplifies the complexity of his ideas. But many scholars and commentators point to Dostoevsky's spiritual vision of Russia's destiny — a vision that portrays the country as a moral, unifying force against a 'decaying' West that was, at the time, heading toward the Gilded Age. They draw parallels between this worldview and that of contemporary Russian ideologues like Alexander Dugin, who frame Russian aggression in near-religious terms. As the war continues, it remains to be seen whether Russia's literary past can be disentangled from its politics. Rather than calling for a boycott of Russian authors, the Kyiv Independent wants to raise a more illuminating question: Why do so few English-language readers know the Ukrainian authors who were the contemporaries of Dostoevsky? The lack of global recognition for Ukraine's classic writers is not coincidental. It reflects a legacy of imperial domination, during which the Russian Empire frequently suppressed the Ukrainian language and culture, the same empire that Dostoevsky often praised in his writings. Some of the most influential voices in the history of Ukrainian literature were active during the same period as Dostoevsky. Others who came just before him, like Mykola Gogol, are known worldwide but have long been misclassified as 'Russian.' Literary figures such as Lesia Ukrainka and Ivan Franko, who came to the literary scene just after Dostoevsky's time, are now reemerging in English translation — their essential works poised to resonate with a global audience, just as they once did across the European intellectual landscape. Although there is no evidence that Dostoevsky knew his Ukrainian contemporaries, they did interact with some other famous Russian authors. Below is a brief overview of three Ukrainian authors of the 19th century and the themes that shaped their work. The purpose of this list is not to outright dismiss Russian literature, but rather to remind people of the selective nature of the global literary canon, and to draw attention to the Ukrainian voices that have long been overlooked or marginalized. Born a serf, Ukrainian national icon Taras Shevchenko gained his freedom thanks to his artistic talent. But liberation did not end his struggle — instead, it sharpened his focus on the plight of his people under Russian imperial rule. A pioneer of ethnographic art and literature, Shevchenko used both pen and brush to document the everyday lives of Ukrainians, casting a critical eye on their subjugation and the erasure of their culture. Published in 1840, 'Kobzar' is widely regarded as Taras Shevchenko's defining work. The collection takes its name from traditional Ukrainian musicians who sang of Cossack heroism while playing the kobza, a stringed instrument. The poems reflect on the cultural and political struggles of Ukraine under Russian rule. In 'To Kvitka-Osnovianenko,' Shevchenko pays tribute to the writer Hryhorii Kvitka-Osnovianenko, an early advocate of Ukrainian as a literary language, and mourns the destruction of the Zaporizhzhian Sich, the Cossacks' last stronghold, in the 18th century. Another poem, 'Kateryna,' tells the story of a young Ukrainian woman seduced and abandoned by a Russian imperial soldier, highlighting the personal toll of imperial domination. Shevchenko was deeply influenced by ideas of national identity, language, and self-determination — views that drew the ire of the tsarist authorities. He was arrested in 1847 and exiled to military service in a remote part of Kazakhstan. According to historical accounts, Tsar Nicholas I reportedly ordered that Shevchenko be restricted from writing or painting. However, Shevchenko still managed to create art and later returned briefly to Ukraine before his death. Read also: Looking to read Ukraine-related books? We picked the best of 2024 Kulish's politics were somewhat complex, perhaps even contradictory to some. In his early years, he was affiliated with the Brotherhood of Saints Cyril and Methodius, a short-lived secret political society that existed between 1845 and 1847. The group championed the federalization of the Russian Empire, a Ukrainian language and culture revival, and the abolition of serfdom, among other initiatives. Over time, however, Kulish's stance diverged from mainstream Ukrainian thought, particularly as he advocated for the preservation of a distinct Ukrainian culture while simultaneously supporting a political union with Russia. This position ultimately led to his marginalization in many Ukrainian intellectual circles, both in Russian-controlled Ukraine and the parts of Ukraine under the rule of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Despite this, Kulish continues to be respected and read by many Ukrainians today for his literary achievements. His novel 'The Black Council' (1857) is considered the first historical novel in Ukrainian literature. Set against the backdrop of the Ruin — the tumultuous period following the death of Cossack Hetman Bohdan Khmelnytskyi in 1657 — it delves into the power struggles that ensued. The novel draws inspiration from the Black Council of 1663, a pivotal gathering in Nizhyn in modern-day Chernihiv Oblast, where nobles and commoners alike converged to elect a new hetman for left-bank Ukraine. The novel not only captures the fierce internal conflicts among Cossack leaders but also explores the deep social rifts that defined one of Ukraine's most fractured and tragic eras. Excerpts of the novel have been translated online. However, a full publication of the book in English translation has yet to materialize. Among Ukraine's most talented female writers was Marko Vovchok, whose 'Folk Stories' was published in 1857, shortly after the ascension of Tsar Alexander II, initially seen as a reform-minded ruler compared to his father, Nicholas I. However, while the serfs were liberated under his rule in 1861, it could be argued that the liberal period of his rule, at least for Ukrainians, was short-lived: a decree in 1863 banned Ukrainian-language publications, followed by the stricter Ems Ukaz of 1876. Vovchok's collection gained even greater significance in this repressive climate. Focused on the suffering of Ukrainian peasants — especially women — under serfdom, the stories were informed by her early work assisting her husband's ethnographic research. She gathered material directly from villagers, preserving oral traditions. Russian writer Ivan Turgenev translated the stories into Russian, sparking additional debate in literary circles over the realities of serfdom. Shevchenko is said to have recommended her work to Turgenev, declaring her 'the most powerful in our language.' In the short story 'The Cossack Girl' from the collection, Olesia, a free woman, falls in love with a serf and chooses to marry him, ultimately sacrificing her freedom. Her family warns her that marrying a serf will disgrace their village and its Cossack heritage, even suggesting that she might as well 'drown herself.' Olesia insists that love is more important than social status. The marriage, however, proves disastrous, with Olesia, her husband, and their children enduring significant hardship. Under empire, happy endings are a rarity — if they exist at all. Hi, this is Kate Tsurkan, thank you for reading this article. Here at the Kyiv Independent, we don't put stories behind a paywall, because we believe the world needs to know the truth of Russia's war. To fund our reporting, we rely on our community of over 18,000 members from around the world, most of whom give just $5 a month. We're aiming to reach 20,000 soon — join our community and help us reach this goal. Read also: 10 authors shaping contemporary Ukrainian literature We've been working hard to bring you independent, locally-sourced news from Ukraine. Consider supporting the Kyiv Independent.
Yahoo
20-03-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Ukrainian author Oksana Zabuzhko on why Ukrainians ‘don't have to respect Pushkin'
Over the past three years of full-scale war, Ukraine's cultural figures have shifted from focusing solely on their craft to becoming diplomats, advocating for their culture abroad as the Russian army continues its relentless attempt to destroy it. At the same time, within Ukraine itself, a resurgence of national identity that began in 2014 has been accelerated by the full-scale war. Ukrainians en masse are reclaiming and reconnecting with their heritage, immersing themselves in a culture that Russia has spent centuries trying to suppress. Oksana Zabuzhko, one of Ukraine's most prominent authors, has been at the forefront of the country's cultural revival since its independence in 1991. Her novel 'Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex' is regarded as one of the most significant works of independent Ukraine and her books have been translated into multiple foreign languages. In an interview with the Kyiv Independent, Zabuzhko discussed why Ukrainians should not feel obligated to respect Russian literature, the rightful place of classic Ukrainian female authors in the global literary canon, the challenge of self-censorship during wartime, and why it's wrong to share a stage with Russian authors while the war continues. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. The Kyiv Independent: During the past three years of the full-scale war we've seen an increasing amount of global attention directed at Ukraine and Ukrainian culture. But what does the West still not understand about Ukraine?Oksana Zabuzhko: Well, I wouldn't place all the blame on the West. A significant share of it does lie there, but I don't see it as my role to act like some kind of global teacher. Honestly, I hate that role, even though I often find myself having to play it. There are still many things about Ukraine that Ukrainians themselves have yet to fully understand. We're still in the process of self-discovery — learning about our own history, and identity. Right now is a particularly interesting time, with this major tectonic shift happening. For the first time since 1945, Europe is being forced to confront its security system on its own. In a way, (U.S. President Donald) Trump and his administration served as a wake-up call for Europe, and suddenly, we're seeing all these fascinating discussions — both Ukrainian and international — taking place in Kyiv. For years, Ukraine was seen as an axis between East and West — between Poland and Russia — interpreted through frameworks like Samuel Huntington's 'clash of civilizations' or other similar narratives, which, frankly, I consider nonsense. But now, we're witnessing a shift: Ukraine is becoming an axis that runs North-South. I call this project 'Mazepa's Europe,' after (Ukrainian) Hetman (Ivan) Mazepa, who once envisioned it. His vision ultimately failed in the early 18th century, but it was rooted in an older, historically significant route — the path from the Varangians to the Greeks, which has long played a vital role in both Ukrainian and European history. This idea of an "Intermarium" — linking the Baltic and Black Seas — is not a hierarchical model where great powers dictate terms to smaller nations. Instead, it's a democratic Intermarium, where states and nations collaborate as equals, forming temporary alliances and working together on their own terms. It stands in stark contrast to the old model of power, where decisions about smaller nations' fates were made over their heads by the so-called great powers — like in Yalta (in 1945). It's a different approach — very European, I would say. It's deeply anti-superpower, anti-imperial, and at the same time, unmistakably Ukrainian. After all, we have always existed along this historic route from the Varangians to the Greeks. Mazepa's project is something generations of Ukrainians were never taught in school. Our heavily Russified, colonial education system conditioned people to believe that Mazepa was a villain simply because he defied Peter I. (Russian poet Alexander) Pushkin wrote that he was a traitor, and so we were taught to respect Pushkin. But we don't have to. This is part of the broader decolonization process — learning about ourselves from a long-term perspective, whether across three centuries or even a millennium. There's still so much we have yet to share with the world, and many new textbooks are still waiting to be written. It's an exciting subject. The Kyiv Independent: Building on this idea, I have to say that I recently read Olha Kobylianska's short story 'Valse mélancolique' (1898) for the first time, and as a foreigner, I was struck by the strong tradition of feminist thought in Ukrainian literature. The line, 'We shall live not as mothers or wives, but as women,' has stayed with me ever since. It seems to me that if the world were more familiar with Ukraine's classic female writers, they would rightfully earn their place in the global literary canon. Oksana Zabuzhko: Thank you so much — I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you just said. It's something I've been emphasizing for years: we still need to 'sell' this idea to the West, to convince Western audiences — however loosely we define them — that without Olha Kobylianska, and even more so Lesia Ukrainka, the landscape of European literature is incomplete. (Ukrainian writer) Lesia Ukrainka was, in many ways, half a century ahead of her time compared to her Western European female contemporaries. That's an undeniable truth. What makes Ukrainian culture particularly unique in gender terms? Perhaps it has to do with Ukraine's long history as a frontier. Here's a simple way to put it: we never burned our witches. Of course, there were practices like trial by water — drowning women to determine if their souls were pure — but the ancient pagan tradition of strong, wise women endured in Ukraine far longer than in most of Europe. Even in the 20th century, every village still had a healer or 'witch' who cured people. But it's not just about the survival of pagan traditions. Ukrainian folk culture has always had a powerful female voice. Early 19th-century ethnographers were surprised to discover that two-thirds of Ukrainian folk songs were told from a female perspective — something highly unusual at the time. These songs weren't just lyrics; they chronicled the entire arc of a woman's life. More importantly, Ukrainian women historically had legal rights that were rare in Europe. They could own property and pass it down through the female line — a practice known as 'materyzna.' This inheritance, whether money, land, or real estate, was untouchable by husbands and meant to be passed from mother to daughter. Compare that to the impact of the Reformation on women's rights in Western Europe, and it's easy to see why Ukraine has such strong female and even feminist voices. Lesia Ukrainka and other Ukrainian feminists of the time didn't just advocate for women's rights; they saw the legal and social restrictions placed on women in European culture as entirely artificial and absurd. Just read her letters — they should be translated into every European language. She was, in a way, the blogger of her time, writing five or six letters a day while traveling. Because of her tuberculosis, she spent much of her life in sanatoriums across Europe. Her letters form an intellectual diary of the Belle Époque, particularly the decade before World War I. And unlike many of her contemporaries, she had a chilling premonition that this beautiful world was on the brink of collapse. Her perspective is deeply European, unmistakably Ukrainian, and distinctly female — something that is still missing from the broader European literary canon. And it's absolutely fascinating. The Kyiv Independent: Would you say that there are any major taboos that exist in Ukrainian literature today? Oksana Zabuzhko: That's a difficult question — a really difficult one. I wouldn't say we're fully ready to discuss how exactly the war has affected our writing. In terms of genre, yes, there's already some discussion. Poetry, for instance, always survives — it's the art of quick reaction. Essays, too. This is a strong time for poetry and essays. But when it comes to longer forms, like the novel, it's much more complicated. And speaking of taboos, there's something I think it's time to acknowledge. One of the biggest challenges for a writer in a country at war is that you lose many privileges — but perhaps the most profound loss is the ability to freely criticize your own country. It's a form of self-censorship, and it's a real problem for free thought, for imagination, for writing itself. When your country is under attack — when someone is trying to erase it from existence — you start to think in terms of security above all else. Criticizing your country suddenly feels like siding with the enemy, with those who want to destroy it. And then you realize that being able to openly critique your own country is a privilege. A privilege that disappears in wartime. Because now, you feel mobilized. You feel a duty to strengthen your country, to contribute to its resilience. Anything that exposes its weaknesses can be twisted, weaponized by those who seek to annihilate it. That, I would say, is what makes me most uncomfortable in my own writing right now — this imposed self-censorship. But that's war. That's war. The Kyiv Independent: Right now in the West, we have a troubling situation where people are eager to humanize Russia, including Russian soldiers fighting in Ukraine. They seek a kind of normalization. Perhaps you heard of the documentary, 'Russians at War,' in which soldiers are portrayed as simple, helpless men. I know Ukrainian authors don't particularly want to be diplomats; they want to write. But how do we confront this moving forward? Oksana Zabuzhko: There are, of course, different shades of propaganda, and 'Russians at War' — a documentary that many of my Western friends didn't even recognize as propaganda — was a shocking example of their naivety. A simple question: Do you really think a filmmaker with a camera would be allowed to move freely among Russian soldiers without permission from someone higher up? When I asked this, the response was always the same: 'Oh, really? I didn't think about that.' This lack of awareness is alarming. The war is at their doorstep too, yet they fail to ask the most basic questions. When they see Russian soldiers being filmed by an allegedly independent filmmaker, the first thing they should ask is: How did this filmmaker get access? Of course, it was approved and paid for from the top. This is all part of Russia's soft power and propaganda — this push for normalization is a key part of their cultural strategy. So what can Ukrainians do? Just yesterday, I was discussing this with my agent, who is arranging interviews for me at the Leipzig Book Fair. A journalist asked if I would consider a public dialogue with a Russian writer — someone respected, someone who has written a book against the war, not just a statement or an open letter. And this, too, exposes an important distinction: a writer's stance on war is not just what they say in interviews. It's what they put in their books. If a writer has spent years romanticizing the Russian Empire, glorifying (Soviet dictator Joseph) Stalin, or celebrating its imperial past, how can they now claim to be against the war? It's as absurd as imagining a so-called 'anti-fascist' German writer in the 1930s praising (Holocaust architect Heinrich) Himmler's leadership while condemning (Nazi leader Adolf) Hitler in interviews. The reality is, I might have a drink with one of these so-called 'anti-war' Russian writers in a bar — some of them I've known for years — but I won't share a stage with them in public discussion. And here's why: in three years of this full-scale war — the largest in Europe since World War II — there has been no collective Russian action against it. Yes, many Russians fled abroad. Yes, some join Ukrainian protests in Berlin or other cities. But have they organized their own protests against Russia's war? Have they released any collective statement against it? No. Not one. But when you put them next to us, when you invite them to share the stage with Ukrainians, you legitimize them. You try to place them in the same category of suffering, as if their situation is comparable to ours. And I'm sorry, but it's not. Not until they take a real stand. So yes, I might have a private conversation with them, but a public discussion? No way. Not until after our victory. Hey there, it's Kate Tsurkan, thanks for reading my latest interview. Oksana Zabuzhko is truly a living legend, one of the greatest figures of contemporary Ukrainian culture, and I was so thrilled to not only finally meet one of my literary heroes but share our conversation with you. Now more than ever it is important to support Ukrainian culture, as Russia seeks to dismantle it. If you like reading this sort of thing, please . Read also: Historian Marci Shore: Putin's obsession with denazification is 'Freudian projection' We've been working hard to bring you independent, locally-sourced news from Ukraine. Consider supporting the Kyiv Independent.
