The Bazaar Puts Everything In Its Place

By long habit, all Kyiv residents come to buy books at the Petrivka book market. Mostly they are students and people of all ages trying to gain knowledge in some particular field: from the art of being beautiful and merry to pet care or the history of tank building. There is one more important category: people who have not lost their ability to read. Perhaps this category is the most valued, since there is no compulsion or visible incentive for them, except for their thirst for the word, text, knowledge, and experience. Unfortunately, we have to admit that this thirst is minimal. And if we examine the quality of the literature consumed by this last category, the result will be rather sad: mostly it is pocket books decorated with hearts, guns, thighs, and other attributes of cinematic casino life. In the final analysis, everybody strives for beauty to the extent of his or her understanding of this metaphysical concept.

What does the biggest Kyiv book market look like today? For the average consumer unburdened with an understanding of the book trade it is a true paradise. Here are mountains of books, a relatively wide choice of topics, you can haggle over the price (discounts vary from 1 to 30 hryvnias, depending on the original price), and if you are really pressed for money, you can always go to the market’s far end and rummage through used books where everybody can find something for himself. Petrivka gained a certain weight in terms of quantity long ago; however, the other scale, quality, is merely powdered with the dust of despair and occasional decent samples. Certainly, quantity had always surpassed quality, but not in such horrible disproportion. This article could start with an epigraph, which I unintentionally overheard and wrote down at the market: “Buying something is such a big problem...” or “You come to this damned market once in a blue moon, and...” These remarks are evidence for not only normal, so to speak common attitude of customers toward this agglomeration of books, but give a precise characterization of its structure and inner way of life.

Among books there are many stands selling CDs (thank God, it is not sausage, though there are plenty of cigarettes which had once been in Ukrkharchoprom [Ukrainian Food Industry] storehouses). I stand looking over them. Suddenly there comes a quiet ingratiating voice from behind my back: “Do you need a 09 base” [a list of all the telephone numbers including secret ones, we suppose —Ed.]” Turning around, I see a fellow with a frightened look trying to figure out whether I belong to the security services. I mechanically turn him down, but then, recalling my journalistic duty, ask him how much. He says that he will show me the place, and then I can make a deal there. But still — how much? Well, we were thinking about forty hryvnias, but wait, don’t rush, we can discount, it’s an excellent new base... Of course, such bootleg trade looks ridiculous compared to any other market, club, or hotel. But remember, this is the place where they sell books. Generally, Petrivka gives one the impression of a disorganized beehive, something unknown in the nature. There is no division by subjects, publishing houses, or any other criteria. Everything is mixed together like at our Afghan or Chinese friends’ stands the in clothing markets. Rare exceptions are places selling heaps of foreign language textbooks and dictionaries (including original Oxford ones), books and magazines on cars, school supplies, and the pocket books mentioned. Children’s books stands are more or less well organized, with Rosman Publishers and its so-called privileges evidently dominating. There are also dozens of fiction books in English, ten hryvnias each. Paper quality is low, and cover’s soundness isn’t worth mention, but the price... I ask why so cheap. The slightly irritated bookseller explains that they also cost г1 in Great Britain. Anything not clear? There are Japanese lyrics in Russian and a masterpiece of eternal actuality, How to Survive in Prison. Here in the bazaar it costs 18 hryvnias; in there such a sum is probably not be enough to pay off, while, as the saying goes, nobody is safe from prison or beggary. It is clear without mention that nine of every ten books I have seen there are either in Russian or published in Russia. It is not even an expansion but a total market occupation. Laziness and an ingrained habit of waiting for instructions, which is cultivated with us under the name of hospitality, are expressively represented at Petrivka. Various book chambers and associations have open their doors for...

The most expensive book I have found in the bazaar costs two thousand hryvnias. My first thought was that it contains a built- in laptop, but it appeared that it was just that it had a leather cover and case. The name of the book is Russian Painting. The same book without leather costs seven hundred hryvnias. Two volumes of Van Dyke, also with case, are eleven hundred hryvnias. The Golden Names of Ukraine is only three hundred. The market sorts everything out.

I direct my steps towards the only stand selling exclusively Ukrainian books issued by local publishers. Here everything is in order, arranged according to publisher. Everything is painfully familiar here, since the range of books has changed very little for the last few months. The salesman admits that basically they are doing well. Products of the Osnovy [Fundamentals], Kalvariya [Calvary], Litopys [Chronicles], Universe, and Smoloskyp [Torch] publishers are in most demand. Speaking about single authors, Kozhelianko and Andrukhovych are most popular. People demand many things, some of them I would not want to tell you about. I inquire whether there is any competition for this monopolistic bookstand. The salesman answers rather ironically in the affirmative, but without specifying. I found their competitors myself. Their selection of goods was poor as a church mouse.

At the above mentioned used books market I found a unique photomechanical edition of 1840 Shevchenko’s Kobzar for one hryvnia.

Bookselling Petrivka is as much an anachronism as the shabby kiosks with bubble gum and chocolate bars scattered “from the southern mountains to northern... preserves.” In fact, the issue is much more profound. Even if some House of Books is constructed somewhere in Ukraine’s capital, roomy and convenient, I am not sure that the next day people will go buy books there (there is, underground by the Park of Glory in Pechersk, and, yes, people do seem to be buying books there — Ed.). This is about a common consumer culture. People have gotten used to very little, not to say paltry and low-grade content. They prefer to wade through mud, get wet in the rain, freeze in winter, and lurk in the shadow of polyethylene tents in summer, to feel themselves a part of a big crowd rather than free individuals coming to buy books. There are plenty of such habits, and it might take many years to overcome them: Moses led his people through the desert for forty years. Taking into consideration that ten years had already passed, and information technologies made a step forward, there is a hope of at least halving the canonical term. There is also another way, enlisting the Kyiv mayor known for his constructing activities. He was able to build this eighth wonder of the world, the Kyiv railroad station, and will probably be able to erect a book palace. People do not usually book railroad tickets just for the hell of it, but they might want to buy a book as a souvenir from their excursion to the ninth wonder of the world. Sales will rise, taxes will be paid, and a sound reputation will be built. Under the current situation this method of encouraging the Indians (the conquerors of America diddled the natives with shiny colored glass) may appear most effective. But they say that His Honor has his sights set on Verkhovna Rada, and once you get there (Will Rogers once said that America has no native criminal class..., except Congress, of course — Ed.). All writers say that the current regime does not need words, books, or writers at all. What if they write the truth, and the people read it and rise up? So we might be able to say goodbye to our chances for a House of Books. And maybe nobody really needs it?