Serhij ZhadanReseñas

This is an earlier collection from the previous one I reviewed at the end of 2023. These poems were translated from the Ukrainian in 2019, from poetry written by Zhadan between 2001 and 2015.

The poems in this collection are somewhat longer than those in the new volume, but it didn't deter me. They are a good introduction on the poet and his work. I love this guy's poetry. Period.
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"TAKE ONLY WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT"

Take only what is most important. Take the letters.
Take only what you can carry.
Take the icons and the embroidery, take the silver,
Take the wooden crucifix and the golden replicas.

Take some bread, the vegetables from the garden, then leave.
We will never return again.
We will never see our city again.
Take the letters, all of them, every last piece of bad news.

We will never see our corner store again.
We will never drink from that dry well again.
We will never see familiar faces again.
We are refugees. We’ll run all night.

We will run past fields of sunflowers.
We will run from dogs, rest with cows.
We’ll scoop up water with our bare hands,
sit waiting in camps, annoying the dragons of war.

You will not return, and friends will never come back.
There will be no smoky kitchens, no usual jobs,
There will be no dreamy lights in sleepy towns,
no green valleys, no suburban wastelands.

The sun will be a smudge on the window of a cheap train,
rushing past cholera pits covered with lime.
There will be blood on women’s heels,
tired guards on borderlands covered with snow,

a postman with empty bags shot down,
a priest with a hapless smile hung by his ribs,
the quiet of cemetery, the noise of a command post,
and unedited lists of the dead,

as long that there won’t be enough time
to check them for your own name.

———————————————————½

Voroshilovgrad, an hallucinatory novel by Ukrainian Serhij Zhadan novelist and poet Serhij Zhadan, was written several years before the Russian invasion of the country. And yet, the book is rife with a feeling of the precariousness of the Ukrainian state in the post-Soviet era. Our protagonist Herman has a steady if somewhat shady job in a large city. But he gets a call from an old friend that his brother has suddenly disappeared, presumably to Amersterdam, urging Herman to come out to his home town and "take care of business" in his brother's absence. The "business" turns out to be a small but profitable gas station on the outskirts of the town, located on Ukraine's eastern steppes, now known as Luhansk but formerly known, during the Soviet Era, as Voroshilovgrad. The station is under seige from mysterious forces who want to force Herman to sell it, perhaps (although exact reasons remain obscure) because there is natural gas to be found in the area. There is barely a character in the story who is not mysterious and rough around the edges. Stories of the past are always blurred by secrets and mythology. The representatives from the federal government who make periodic appearances are more likely to be gangsters than legitimate government officials. Or else they're both. Travels across the empty stretches of this country are always hazardous. The people Herman runs into could be from anywhere, and the sights that pass before his eyes, especially at sundown and after dark, swirl into hallucinations and dreams.

Gradually, though, Herman begins to find a sense of purpose as he gains a sense of comradeship with the old friends he reconnects with, and through the stories they tell him. What he'd thought would be a quick in and out to "take care of business" before returning to his old life becomes a commitment to this off-kilter community. At one point, an old soccer team, on which Herman had been a young player on a team of old veterans, reassembles for a rowdy game against a local rival. Later, Herman comes upon the graves of some of these teammates in the local cemetery. Had he been playing soccer with ghosts? It is central to the essence of the novel that this question is never taken up again. Herman seems to simply shrug the discovery off as irrelevant.

The writing is often laced with multiple metaphors that don't quite work. A metal rod brought down on the hood of a car makes a sound like to tolling of Easter Bells. Spider webs described as floating in the air, as if anchoring a metal fence to the ground. The come, at times, so fast and furious that eventually I could only decide that the effect was purposeful, as if telling us that no impressions can be trusted. Although the metaphors can also be precise: "He was giving me an angry, prickly look, but it was somehow detached from his personality, as though he was wearing anger-tinted contact lenses."

The overall theme of the book to me seemed clearly to be the struggles of these far flung areas of Ukraine to make sense of their post-Soviet existence, already several decades in the past but still casting a difficult shadow over everything. It's obviously no coincidence that the book's title harkens back to the town's Soviet name. And then there is this seeming (from our current remove and perspective) foreshadowing of events to come:

"It was obvious what Ernst was thinking. Ernst was thinking, 'Something bad is going to happen, something real bad is definitely going to happen. For now, nobody can really tell--they all think that the worst is behind us and that the storm has passed. But that's not true at all.' Ernst was very famlliar with the feeling, with the sense of impending danger. It was coming, all right, and there was no0 way to avoid it. They'd have to run this gauntlet one way or another. There would be no way to sped the process up of avoid it altogether. All you could do was look the ominous beast in the eye and wait. Its terrible snout would sniff you for a while, then it'd just walk away, leaving fear an stench behind. Ernst almost immediately had a flashback to when he once felt the rotten breath of brewing trouble. He recalled that trapped feeling that filled his lungs, he recalled that seep-seated fear that encroaches upon new territory like swollen rivers in March. . . . "

Often, reading this novel is like stepping through thin ice and falling into a dream. But the sense of time and place is solid, and the current of hope and compassion carried me along. Highly recommended.

[The Orphanage : A Novel] by [[Serhiy Zhadan]] (Ukraine, 2017, English translation 2021

March, Wartime, Kharkiv, Ukraine. Pasha is a relatively young high school teacher of Ukrainian. He shares an apartment with his father. His sister asks that Pasha to make a three day trek to pick up her son from the orphanage there (where she put him as she has a drug problem) Pasha is a good guy and leaves to get the kid.

Did I say this is in wartime? Pasha’s journey is not easy and he faces many challenges but he does make it to the orphanage and collects his 17-year nephew, (who he doesn’t really know, so they will get to know each other) and heads back with just enough juice in his cell phone for one phone call.
————-]

This is a unusual book, and I think it requires flexibility from the reader. While reading this I thought of other books…other kinds of books i.e. ]post-apocalypse, madcap, epic …. I began to dog-ear page corners (gasp!)

Pasha’s journey reveals the absurdity and messiness of war, and yet, in some way the story is part bildungsroman, and or a hero’s journey. Wild and non-stop, but what a splendid, moving, crazy read.

War in Ukraine (not the present one) a school teacher (who teaches Ukranian) goes to the city to collect his nephew who is at an orphanage. Beautifully written about a dark dank rotting subject: not just war, but urban war. It’s scary, gross, upsetting, but the first person monologue aspect of the book is very good, the disoriented way that memories of one’s life the sum of the parts gurgle up while going through all these other things. It all hits a sort of horrible apex and then the narrator switches suddenly to the young boy. The brief glimps into his perspective is sweet and lovely. Very sad, especially given the present state of Ukraine, but very moving too.

60. Sky Above Kharkiv: Dispatches from the Ukrainian Front by Serhiy Zhadan
translation: from Ukrainian by Reilly Costigan-Humes & Isaac Stackhouse Wheeler (2023)
OPD: 2022 (on Facebook)
format: 195-page hardcover
acquired: October 24 read: Nov 3-5 time reading: 3:47, 1.2 mpp
rating: 4
genre/style: journal theme: random
locations: Kharkiv, Ukraine, Feb 24 to Jun 24, 2022
about the author: A Ukrainian poet, novelist, essayist, musician, translator, and social activist, born in 1974 in Starobilsk, Luhansk oblast, Ukraine.

Although Israel has taken over the headlines, the unprovoked Russian invasion of Ukraine continues, Ukraine's unexpected offensive stalled.

Zhadan is a poet and band leader in Kharkiv, Ukraine. On February 24, 2022, as Russia began to invade Ukraine, immediately intending to take or siege Kharkiv, he started posting encouraging posts on Facebook. And he kept going, posting sometimes a few times a day, documenting his own aide efforts, raising money for supplies for soldiers and civilians, and occasionally performing to raise money or morale. This book is his Facebook journal, composed in real time, and simply collected here. It's a positive boost of energy, but one can feel the war come, and ebb, and stall. Zhadan was constantly active, prominently, through this period. According to the book editor, he continues to post daily on Facebook (in Ukrainian). This is a powerful document of a city of Russian and Ukraine language, culture, and history, unified in war, and not yet taken.

2023
https://www.librarything.com/topic/354226#8281321

This volume of poetry is a fab introduction to the Ukraine poet and all-around renaissance man, [[Serhiy Zhadan]]. The English translation of this work is relatively smooth and well done. Here is one of my favorites from the collection:How Fire Descends: New and Selected Poems: New and Selected Poems
by Sethiy Zhadan, 2023

[[How Fire Descends: New and Selected Poems]] (2023 translation)
Serhiy Zhadan (Ukraine)

“Maybe the Most Important Thing”

Maybe the most important thing I’ve see
in my life are the stones in the city from which
trees grow. The granite foundation of Scandinavian capitals,
stability and a landscape full of love.

The dubious joy of being a tree,
the dubious honor of holding the spine straight,
while feeling beneath the deadly cold of your homeland;
standing in the wind teaches restraint
and makes you hold on the hardness like a last hope.

My friends the trees,you have been cast onto stones,
like preaches thrown to the lions,
did you ever regret
you were born here, to this trouble,
never knowing the ease
of Mediterranean shores?

My friends the trees, did you ever complain
about the wind that made you so indestructible?
Did you ever complain about your place,
formed by the winds of your homeland?

We will tale everything we can get from life.
We will shout words of thanks to the sunlit skies of our cities.
We will cry with joy
and laugh at the impossibility of changing anything.
We will strengthen our place:
a country cold as stone,
a people warm as trees.

(translated from the Ukranian by Virlana Tracz and Wanda Phipps)


Sky Above Kharkiv: Dispatches from the Ukrainian Front
Serhiy Zhadan, 2022

Serhiy Zhadan is a celebrity in Ukraine—a poet, author and musician (just three of his talents), When the war started he was living in the city of Kharkiv, on the border with Russia. Zhadan volunteered to do whatever was needed in the community all while trying to keep his fellow Ukrainians from despair.

This book is a collection of his FaceBook posts between February 24th, 2022 when the war started, and June 24th (five months later). One gets a vivid picture of a city and its inhabitants during wartime, and life does go on.

I found it fascinating, riveting and powerful. Zhadan is admirable (not your average FaceBook posts!) If I could, I would buy you all a copy (I hope Yale University donates the proceeds … )

More) : https://www.wordsforwar.com/serhiy-zhadan-bio

“War sharply changes ways of seeing, changes feelings. Above all, it immediately changes the weight of a great many things, things that seemed necessary and obvious just a day ago.” -Introduction by the author, Sky above Kharkiv: Dispatches from the Ukrainian Front

Sky Above Kharkiv: Dispatches from the Ukrainian Front comprises a series of social media posts written by Ukrainian writer-activist Serhiy Zhadan (translated from the original Ukrainian by Reilly Costigan-Humes and Isaac Stackhouse Wheeler) through which he documents the first four months of the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

“Reminds me of the Second World War. I’m referring to the occupiers’ ideology and moral imperative, first and foremost. They’ve come here to liberate us from us. They don’t even have a compelling narrative for those with weak stomachs. They simply want to destroy us, just in case, just because.” (excerpt from author’s post on March 2, 2022)

Originally posted on the writer’s Facebook account between February 24 and June 24, 2022, these segments provide a first-hand account of life in Kharkiv during the first four months of the Ukrainians’ armed resistance against the Russian onslaught and a glimpse into the day-to-day lives of civilians and servicemen in a city being ravaged by war. Zhadan writes about his city and his homeland, the atrocities of war and the devastation he witnesses day in and day out while driving around the city with his friends and associates, arranging and providing humanitarian aid to civilians, assisting in evacuations from bombed areas as well as sourcing gear and other supplies for the servicemen, the Territorial Defense Forces. The writer, also a musician, also writes about organizing concerts with his band in the subway where people are sheltering to provide some moments of respite amid the chaos all around.

Zhadan expresses immense pride in the bravery and the resolve displayed by the men and women of his city who chose not to leave despite the constant fear of being annihilated. The author talks about their efforts to support one another and their attempts to restore a sense of normalcy in their lives - cleaning debris from the bombarded streets, and opening up shops and markets whenever there is a lull in the attacks, despite food shortages and constant shelling and bombardment. Zhadan also is effusive in his praise for medical professionals and first responders. He shares heartwarming anecdotes revolving around random acts of kindness, kinship and humanity in the face of war. The author’s tone varies between emotional and deeply personal and reflective to matter-of-fact and irrespective of how devastating the event of the day might have been he concludes most of his posts on a hopeful note with either “Ukrainian flags flutter above the city.” or “Tomorrow, we’ll wake up one day closer to our victory.” Interspersed throughout the text are a handful of photographs that captures the indomitable spirit of the city and its people. This isn’t an overly lengthy book, but it is vivid and informative. This is not a light read but definitely is an important book that I would not hesitate to recommend.

“A Ukrainian defeat in this war will be a defeat for the whole civilized world. Contrarily, a Ukrainian victory will be a testament to the fact that honor, conscience, and responsibility still carry weight in the world.” ( excerpt from the writer’s post on April 6, 2022)

Many thanks to Yale University Press and NetGalley and for the much-appreciated digital review copy. All opinions expressed in this review are my own.

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Ein Mann holt seinen Neffen aus einem Internat im Donbas, während um ihn herum der Krieg tobt. Entsetzlich, traurig und unter dem Aspekt, dass dort nun wieder Krieg herrscht, besonders bedrückend.½

Schon vor über zehn Jahren wurde dieses Buch geschrieben. Man merkt zum Beispiel, dass von den handelnden Personen noch niemand ein Smartphone hat. Aber erst jetzt, im Zuge des unsäglichen Kriegs und der Auszeichnung des Autors mit dem Friedenspreis des deutschen Buchhandels, wird das Buch wieder mehr gelesen. Anders als "Mesopotamien" fand ich dieses Buch gut lesbar, wenn auch nicht gerade stringent. Phantasie und Wahrheit gehen ineinander über, etwa bei einem Fußballspiel, bei dem sich später herausstellt, dass von den Mitspielern eigentlich keiner mehr lebt. Man fragt sich öfter wie Hermann selbst auf Seite 321: "In der Tat - wie war es wirklich gewesen?" Diese überbordende Handlung ist aber nicht wirklich irritierend, man kann gut folgen, was vor allem an den klaren Figuren liegt, dem Priester, dem Versehrten, Olga, Katja...
Es geht um Hermann, der sich um die Tankstelle seines Bruders kümmern soll. Jener ist wohl nach Amsterdam abgehauen. Hermann fährt also in den Donbas und kümmert sich. Und aus einem kurzen "Vorbeischauen" werden Wochen und Monate. Das Buch ist in meinen Augen ein Männerbuch, was sich an einer eher harten Sprache zeigt, die auch nicht mit dem N- oder dem Z-Wort spart. Zudem gibt es viel Sex, der eher so ist, wie Männer es sich wünschen. Auch die Frauenfiguren sind eher so, wie Männer sich Frauen vorstellen. Die Botschaft aber (Dankbarkeit, Zusammenhalt) ist universell.
Ich mochte die Sprache auch gern. Metaphern wie "Anfang Oktober sind die Tage kurz wie eine Fußballerkarriere" fand ich sehr amüsant. Ich mochte auch viele Szenen, etwa das Zusammentreffen mit den Mongolen oder die Szene mit dem Feuerzeug des Priesers ganz am Ende.

Anhand von mehreren Personen, die lose miteinander verbunden sind, schildert der Autor das Leben in Charkiw in den beginnenden 2010er Jahren. Es sind Tagträumer, Halbkriminelle, Boxer, Punks, die hier porträtiert werden. Mesopotamien, so heißt es in den Rezensionen, heißt das Buch deshalb, weil es auch hier um ein Zweistromland geht, zwischen dem ukrainischen Dnjepr im Westen und dem russischen Don im Osten. Aber Mesopotamien kommt im Buch auch vor, denn Jura beschäftigt sich mit der Tierwelt Mesopotamiens in einem Artikel, den er im National Geographic liest. Und schwer ist es nicht, hier eine Parallele zu den Menschen zu ziehen, die Zhadan beschreibt.
Trotz des interessanten, kraftvollen Settings ist mir das Buch schwer gefallen. Die Frauenfiguren und überhaupt das Frauenbild fand ich sehr schwierig, Heilige und Huren, ganz klassisch. Ich konnte schwer die Verbindungen knüpfen, obwohl ich eigentlich schon konzentriert gelesen habe. Die Sprache ist reichhaltig und assoziativ, aber für mich war die Handlung deshalb nicht stringent genug. Ich war im Endeffekt froh, als ich Mesopotamien gestern Abend dann verlassen konnte½

Of course, I do not pretend to understand Ukraine, in any specific or detailed way. I suppose that in a general way, I understand that places that get in the news generally do not get there for being travel destinations or retreat locales; I suppose that, in the latter case, if you are really not afraid to live, to die, to be in pain, to go without, then the world is your parish— but in the more conventional sense of the former, places like Ukraine do not have, as a rule, the sort of things people would choose to have, and indeed you’d find there not so much the grand abstractions of conflict, as the trauma of war—only it wouldn’t sound so grand as it does, stated in the abstract.

I suppose, more specifically that in The Orphanage we find an awkward war story, you know. It’s not like some 1940s-themed story, where everyone is patriotic and informed, and the men are capable and confident, and the women trust the men, and the children are good little victims and good students, and when people are in trouble, it’s because they got shot or got captured, heroically, probably, or at least with great flair. In Serhiy’s story, if people are reading it is probably some middlebrow British or American novel, probably in Russian translation, and generally they don’t read, or get informed or involved, or care about their job, even if they’re a teacher or whatever, and so on down the list.

It’s an awkward war story. I’d say it’s for an awkward time, although I suppose there was a fiasco or two in the forties, too. —Never an honest word, ah, but that was when I ruled the world.

…. And, yes, I finished this on Christmas Eve. I finish a lot of books, so some of them get finished on funny dates. (Though of course a holiday is often the opposite of a holy-day, in actual fact; it’s a day we tell God and the rules to go shove out, and perhaps wake up to reality again a week later.) I did read a seasonal devotional this year for Christmas, (Advent with Our Lady of Fatima), and a collection of Dickens Christmas novellas, and incidentally I guess tomorrow (I watch movies in stages, like books) I’ll finish watching “Father Goose” and finish up a Ralph Nelson collection, (one movie isn’t long enough to be a book), that film being incidentally a bit like a sort of “coastal Christmas” type of vibe. I don’t object to it, as such—inherently, you know.

But the world does not stop and become more artificial and conventional for however long because of Christmas. (Possibly, it becomes even more crazed.) And although I do not Love To Read News Articles the way some people do, certainly I know that many people in world suffer, and many of them are Ukrainian.

I suppose sometimes the world does not ask us out permission before hitting the Not Easy button, even if we are over-polite, right.

Zhadan offers not to make sense of a senseless world, but how to make peace with our unquenchable love for it. Sit with his poetry ruminating on the grief and horror of war, and you will find an indefatigable yearning for life, a tenderness for all the tired souls who have passed through this world. Zhadan invites you to sit with that feeling for a bit, to acknowledge your own mortality and be here now.

I think I checked this novel's publication date five times during the week I spent reading it. Published in 2017 -- long before the current Russian invasion and war. Reflective of some contemporaneous skirmishes but darker and I'd argue prophetic.

This is a difficult book to read. The details are sharp and vivid. The rendering of war claws at you. But it is worth reading to see one Ukrainian's take.

Pasha is a teacher who must travel through the military checkpoints of a rapidly exacerbating war to reach an orphanage and retrieve his nephew. Pasha's town was once a typical one; his career was once a rewarding one; his family was once a normal one. Now there's a war that worsens by the day and a journey through the hellscape of modern warfare.

Een enorm vrolijke reputatie heeft de Donbas, de oostelijke regio van Oekraïne, niet. Al eeuwenlang wordt het gebied bevochten door volkeren met expansiedrang, in de Sovjet-tijd was het een centrum van zware industrie en mijnbouw, en ook de recente oorlog van Rusland tegen Oekraïne is in dit gebied begonnen. Die somberheid is ook aanwezig in Vorosjylovhrad, een boek van de Oekraïense schrijver Serhi Zjadan, dat zich afspeelt in deze regio, overigens wel al in de tijd voordat de problemen met Rusland begonnen. Toch weet hij ook kleur en vrolijkheid in zijn verhaal te brengen.

Serhi Zjadan (1974) heeft enkele romans gepubliceerd, waarvan tot nu toe alleen Vorosjylovhrad in het Nederlands is vertaald. Voor zijn andere werk ben je aangewezen op Engelse of Duitse vertalingen. Naast schrijver is Zjadan bovenal ook dichter, iets wat je terugziet in de poëtische stijl waarin Vorosjylovhrad geschreven is. Daarnaast is hij muzikant in een punkband, is hij actief in de pro-Europese beweging en is hij een promotor van de Oekraïense taal. Vorosjylovhrad is in 2018 verfilmd als “The wild fields”. De foto op de voorzijde van de Nederlandse uitgave is een screenshot uit die film.

Het boek draait om de 33-jarige Herman, die is opgegroeid in de Donbas, maar daar al jaren geleden is vertrokken en een leven heeft opgebouwd in de stad Charkov. Tot op een nacht een compagnon van zijn broer hem opbelt en hem om hulp vraagt. De broer blijkt met de noorderzon vertrokken en Hermans hulp is nodig bij het tankstation dat deze broer met zijn compagnon bestierde. Herman denkt deze zaak in een weekendje op te kunnen lossen, maar het loopt anders.

De stijl van dit boek is een stijl waar ik aan moest wennen, maar waar ik uiteindelijk ook van gecharmeerd raakte. Enerzijds is het een schelmenroman, een avonturenboek vol met testosteron en stoere praatjes. Er wordt gevochten, uitgedaagd, gezopen, gescholden en gevreeën zonder al te veel romantiek of sentiment. Tegelijkertijd is het ook een lyrische lofzang op de omgeving, het licht, de natuur. Dat wordt weer afgewisseld met surrealistische koortsdromen, waarin overledenen een voetbalteam kunnen vormen en waarin treinen rijden over doodlopende sporen. Die grens tussen ‘werkelijkheid’ en koortsdroom is niet altijd duidelijk en wordt ook niet uitgelegd.

Door deze mix van stijlen voelt het boek als een achtbaan. Af en toe schiet het vreselijk uit de bocht, zeker naar het einde van het boek toe dat enkele passages bevat met vreemde perspectiefbreuken, alsof ze er ingeplakt zijn vanuit een andere tekst. Ook had ik moeite met de eendimensionale manier waarop de meeste vrouwen worden neergezet. De charme zit hem in de manier waarop Zjadan de Donbas en zijn inwoners kleur geeft. Dat doet hij heel letterlijk: op elke pagina komen verschillende kleuren voor, waarbij zwart het duidelijk wint. Maar ook figuurlijk: hij zet kleurrijke (ok, iets zwartgallige) karakters neer, die je in je hart kan sluiten vanwege hun loyaliteit aan elkaar en tegen de boze buitenwereld.

If Voroshilovgrad is well written (which it is), provides fascinating insights into Ukraine (which it does), and supplies appealing characters (which it did), why did I find myself more detached and disappointed as my reading progressed?

First, it seemed there were annoying minor inconsistencies in the text. As this could possibly be attributed to translation issues, I wasn't overly concerned. A much larger and consistent concern related to plot and structure. Many incidents seemed to be clumsily introduced with only minor connection to the overall plot. At times, it seemed the author just had some interesting anecdotes/scenes that he wanted to get in simply because they were interesting anecdotes/scenes. They were, but stringing a number of those in a row started to feel like a loosely connected collection of short stories.

Another minor annoyance were the sexual situations which often seemed artificial and contributed little if anything to plot or character development. Speaking of character development, it seemed some characters were introduced, explored, and then largely forgotten.

I know its pretentious and ubiquitous for me to say the book needed editing. But, I believe it could have been a much more impressive work with some editorial assistance. Zhadan obviously has enormous talent and has had fascinating life experiences. Moreover, his cultural observations are much needed in the West.

Definitely worth reading but not a polished piece of fiction.

3.7 stars. Voroshilovgrad is a dreamily brutal and brutally dreamy novel about a youngish Ukrainian man who returns to his native places after his brother, owner of a service station, disappears. This trippy novel is both bizarre and lovely, with a combination of all sorts of odd elements, from a reference to the yellow brick road to finding shelter in the Lenin room of a children's camp during a rain storm.

(There's more on my blog, here.)

In trying to save his brother's business (a gas station) Herman encounters thugs, gypsies, refugees, smugglers, ghosts, and various kinds of fanatics.Life is not easy in post-USSR Ukraine.

Depeche Mode is an interesting and disturbing novel about life in the Ukraine soon after the Soviet era ended. The story involves characters who attempt to get through their days looking for some modicum of structure and meaning. Of course, there is an existential void during the state transition so crackpot preachers draw large audiences of desperate citizens seeking quick answers to their confusion. The answers, however, are worse than the chaotic conditions of daily life. The younger adults use vodka as a way to numb their view of a pointless future. The alcohol has a horribly destructive effect on their bodies and souls. The illusion of Western values being superior to Soviet tenets is debunked by survivors having access to contemporary music on their radios. The music of the English band, Depeche Mode is played freely on Ukraine radio stations. Anthems of ache for the poor working bloke eking out a chaotic existence are the Depeche Mode (“fast news”) descriptions that fit the nihilism of the three main characters.

Under the influence, Dogg Pavlov, Vasia, and Zhadan confuse movement for action and realize they are ultimately strangers (ala Camus) who must accept their own life paths to a time when they look back in despair asking, “how did we end up here?” The prose of Zhadan is remarkably lyrical in shapr contrast with the hopelessness of the characters.