Vasyl SHKLIAR: We know less about the 1920s than about Kyivan Rus’
In the often disingenuous Ukrainian media space people who stick to their positions and systematically defend them are almost heroes. Some even call them radicals. Vasyl SHKLIAR is one of those “radicals.” He gives off an “unformatted” impression, earnest to the point of rudeness, and prides himself in “calling things by their proper names.” This is probably because he spent most of the last 20 years browsing through archives, traveling to Kholodny Yar, communicating with the witnesses of the time, and writing his novel Black Raven, whose characters are versatile and “unformatted,” too.
Those “things called by their proper names” provoked a symptomatic explosive reaction in the Ukrainian media space (though they are almost a hundred years old) and an evident nervousness among certain groups of people. But there was also a positive social reaction, with tons of letters from eastern Ukraine, a three-hour queue for the author’s autographs next to the Kyiv bookshop Ye, and a whole “maidan” of Vasyl Shkliar’s admirers near Ivan Franko National University in Lviv. Meanwhile, Ukrainians have only started recalling the events in Kholodny Yar of the 1920s. Actually, Black Raven is the first fiction novel about them. It may encourage a lot of people to start learning about early 20th-century Ukrainian history and all the inaccuracies and irreparable mistakes tied to it. To learn more about the book and those events The Day presents an interview with the author of Black Raven.
Working on your novel Black Raven you researched the events of the 1920s. Why do you think the Ukrainian National Republic was defeated?
“There were many reasons for this. At that time the Ukrainian nation had just woken up from its lethargy and wasn’t ready to fight a dangerous enemy. Besides, Ukrainians didn’t have any reliable allies, just as now. The leaders appeared ‘on the run,’ showing weakness at crucial moments and making irreparable mistakes. The top was contaminated with socialist ideas and wholeheartedly believed in Russian democracy. There’s an indicative fact: at the end of August 1919 the Ukrainian army occupied Kyiv and hung the blue and yellow flag above the municipal council. When Denikin’s army advanced from the left bank, there was an absolutely criminal order, probably given by Petliura: not to shoot and start negotiations. Their hope to come to an agreement with Denikin’s army and to jointly fight against the Bolsheviks was vain, as the Russians, White or Red, regarded Ukraine as their colony. Finally, Denikin’s army disarmed the Ukrainians, robbed them, and our army ingloriously retreated. In my opinion, it was one of the fatal mistakes made by the Ukrainian leaders, and there were many. The Ukrainian army was more courageous and decisive than its chiefs. At the beginning of 1920 our army entered the ‘death triangle.’ Petliura relieved the army of its oath and allowed them to do what they wanted: to go home or abroad. However, this army, barefoot, starved and almost disarmed, headed by Mykhailo Pavlenko, decided to go on a partisan raid in the First Winter Campaign that would last from December till May. Meanwhile, Petliura went to Warsaw. Petliura’s army turned out to be more decisive than Petliura himself.”
It looks like these mistakes are being repeated. Can you draw any analogies between the 1920s and today’s situation?
“This is a complicated question. In similar situations I say unpopular things and I turn out to be guilty. For example, I was blamed for the promotion of separatist ideas. In fact, they took separate phrases out of the context. At the beginning of the 1990s I was the spokesman of the Ukrainian Republican Party. Then I said: If Ukrainians want to build an ethnic state, not to have problems with the occupation of the media and cultural space, and avoid the threats to the native language, it’s possible to create such a state in Dnipro Ukraine, Halychyna, Volyn and Slobozhanshchyna [around present-day Kharkhiv oblast. — Ed.]. If we want a state with a political nation, we’ll manage to build it in many decades, and if we get back to this in 20 years, we’ll see that we haven’t done a single step. That’s what I said then. It turned to be a bitter prediction, the truth, as it’s extremely difficult to restore national justice within the present Ukrainian borders and our rachitic democracy. The wise fathers of Ukrainian nationalism saw this threat. In particular, Mykola Mikhnovsky said: ‘a nation that won’t liberate itself before democracy comes, doesn’t have any chances.’ Now we feel his wise words on our own backs.
“As for the analogies with the 1920s, I see them in the fact that Ukraine is separated, it’s still divided into Ukrainians, Malorussians and Khokhols [ethnic slur mocking Ukrainian Cossacks. – Ed.], and not into the west and the east. That is why we can’t chose the leaders we would need now. The nation is very weak, it’s crushed, genetically-modified, and it has a corresponding leadership. That is why now we are so often humiliated and dishonored.”
Our present government’s policy is rather pro-Russian. However, it seems that Ukrainians are moving faster in this direction than even the leadership. Those who transformed from Khokhols into Ukrainians under Yushchenko, are now moving back. There are many warning signs: nationalism has become a dirty word, and the local inhabitants hardly commemorate the heroes of Kholodny Yar republic. Are we still dealing with some mutated form of the Soviet Union?
“By the way, you use the banned word ‘khokhol,’ just as I do… I’m accused of xenophobia, in particular for using in my novel the words ‘katsap,’ ‘moskal,’ ‘yid,’ and ‘khokhol.’ I found out that these words were banned in 1929 by the Popular Education Commissariat, whose modern analog is Tabachnyk’s ministry.”
“Modern Ukrainians are still afraid of the word ‘nationalism.’ We understand the word ‘nationalist’ as meaning ‘extremist’ or even worse. Regarding our criteria of nationalism, all European countries are nationalist. Sarkozy is a nationalist, Merkel is a nationalist, too, as she says things that the Ukrainian president would never say, like: every person in Germany that doesn’t speak the German language is undesirable for us. In our country her words would be classified as nationalism, or even fascism. The Ukrainians are afraid of this word and the corresponding thinking. The process of recalling basic things is very slow.
“You mentioned the people living in Kholodny Yar. I can say that, first of all, not all of them are the rebels’ descendants, as the direct relatives of the fighters were repressed or killed. Those who survived were the heads of village councils, members of poor peasants committees, various activists and their descendants, correspondingly. When we organized the first commemorative soirees for Kholodny Yars atamans, they were attended by six to eight people maximum and they were very cautious. When we hold the similar events now, they attract many more locals. I believe that the revival process is irreversible, but it progresses very slowly.”
Obviously, literature should play a significant role in this process. Your novel is the first fiction book about the dramatic events in Kholodny Yar. There are not many documentaries either. This may mean that we do not fully understand the 1920s. Do you think Ukrainian literature played its proper role over the last 20 years?
“Our literature is only approaching historical topics. When Ukraine gained independence, many writers just got lost, as they were used to writing within certain limits. Freedom was a serious challenge for them, and they weren’t ready to accept it. Many simply had a breakdown; others started working far from historical topics. I think that another reason is that the genre of historical novel is very complicated. Writers, especially Ukrainian writers, often have to move by touch. The historical novel requires that the writer be aware of more than just the chronicle of those events, the writer has to know a lot of details, even about women’s underwear in those times. Even if I don’t write about it, it has to be in my imagination.
“Ukrainian writers took up historical topics, but their works weren’t resonant. Roman Koval wrote a solid documentary about Kholodny Yar. He consulted me when I was writing Black Raven and he edited the novel. Those documentaries influenced society, but not as much as they could have.
“Probably, it will sound immodest, but Black Raven is the first novel that drew a wide response even before I was attacked. I think that Black Raven was unexpected even for many Ukrainian writers. It’s paradoxical that despite the fact that this novel has become a bestseller long ago and is read from the Crimea to Uzhhorod, nobody has written a serious review. Meanwhile, I get tons of letters from Donetsk, Berdiansk, Kirovohrad, Odesa, I mean, from the east and the south…”
What do the people write?
“They thank me for having opened their eyes and changing their ideas. By the way, they write in Russian. They send money for the filming of the novel. By the way, the first money for the film came from Alchevsk. Recently, a man from Novosibirsk sent 8,000 rubles, saying that he ‘originates from the Donbas.’
“Probably, one of the merits of my novel is that I was the first to call the things by their proper names, without any hinting or euphemisms. Some writers understood that they have to either destroy Black Raven, or burn down everything they have written before.”
Do you consider Black Raven your magnum opus because of its extreme honesty?
“The thing is that I come from Kholodny Yar, so to say, from this territory of courage, as Zvenihorod ataman Ivan Liutenko-Liuty said. This courage has been living in our people, even though they were afraid of talking about it for a long time, and many people didn’t know anything about it. However, I remember when I was a little boy, the adults would say when playing cards: ‘Ace!,’ ‘Holy!’ (naked), ‘Bosy!’ (barefooted). They called the cards by the names of the atamans, as in Kholodny Yar these were Ace, Holy and Bosy. I could also hear from a distance an old man telling to another: do you remember Trokhym Holy coming to our village? He saw the telegraph wires on the poles, took out his revolver, bang-bang, and the wires hung. I recalled similar details. Even when the people called the rebels bandits, it stirred up my imagination. Later I read Horlis-Horsky’s book Kholodny Yar, which impressed me a lot. Horlis-Horsky’s story finished in the spring of 1921, it was still the romantic period of our struggle, when hope for freedom remained, when the peasants supported partisans’ courage, gave them horses and food, and what was essential, their sons. Later hard times came. The New Economic Policy was introduced, the peasants started growing rich and said: ‘Guys, stop wandering in the woods! Come back! Get to work! We can live!’ Then some received amnesty, others used fake documents, notably those of dead Red Army soldiers, and went to the Donbas or somewhere else. Others managed to go abroad. However, there was a band of the most persistent that fought against the occupants till the end. My novel is about those people. About those who remained faithful to their slogan ‘Freedom of Ukraine or death’ during a time of despair and incredible fatigue. They fought for their idea — that the longer they hold out in the woods, the more hope there will be that their goal will grow from their graves.”
You worked a great deal in the archives. Did you manage to talk to anyone who could recall something else?
“I went to Kholodny Yar several times a year. For example, I went to the village of Dementsi to search for traces of the master of Kholodny Yar’s Haidamaks regiment Prokip Ponomarenko. I heard that he died not long time ago, somewhere around 1996. I thought: I could have met this man and he could have told me so much! In the villages bordering to the village of Zhabotyn I found people who told me a dramatic story: after Kholodny Yar republic had been liquidated, he went to the region of Kryvy Rih. However, he was so homesick that he came back to Dementsi. He started living with a woman he loved when he was young, but they didn’t stay together as they were very different. On the other hand, he had two friends, his sworn brothers from those heroic times. The three Cossacks didn’t work in a kolkhoz a single day, they worked in the forestry or as guards. For some reason the Soviet government didn’t disturb them anymore. In the 1970s Prokip Ponomarenko committed suicide, as he couldn’t integrate into the society. I was told a moving story: the two friends sat down with dead Prokip, hugged him and started singing.
“I heard a lot of similar stories. Certainly, not all of them are in Black Raven but all of them gave the novel its spirit. Starting a novel, one should know well the details of the time, much more than one writes. For example, when I wrote that the ataman was shooting a ‘Luis’ machinegun, I had to know the number of bullets it carried, its weight and other technical characteristics. I was so obstinate in my research that I was even offered to buy this rare machinegun.
“I can tell you one more story. The head ataman of Kholodny Yar rebels Vasyl Chuchupak organized his headquarters in Motrona monastery. By the way, now it’s subordinated to the Moscow Patriarchate, just as in those times. So, I read in one of the sources that in Chuchupak’s room an American Underwood typewriter was heard and expensive cigarettes were smelled. Where could they have gotten expensive cigarettes in the woods? Of course, they raided Denikin’s army. It’s interesting that Camel and Marlboro were expensive brands at that time.”
It looks like the novel influenced you a lot. You’ve even become more serious…
“I don’t think so. I’m just more tired than I was. My brother says nearly the same, that I still can’t leave the image of the Black Raven. I’m still fighting and making unexpected statements. Obviously, the novel influenced me. It took me a long time to get the feeling of my characters and it couldn’t have passed unnoticed.”
You mentioned that one of the atamans of Kholodny Yar’s republic committed suicide. This is somehow connected to the discussion around Lina Kostenko, about the clash between the times and a person living in them. Obviously, we cannot embrace the methods used by the Kholodny Yar fighters. What do you think is the best form of resistance today?
“It’s true that those methods are in the past. I discussed this with the famous soldier of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army Myroslav Symchych. ‘Father,’ said I, ‘aren’t we wasting our time? Maybe we should go to the woods?’ His reply was: ‘No!’ It’s clear that the world is absolutely different now, and the technical equipment is different as well. One helicopter can burn down the whole of Kholodny Yar. As for the methods of struggle, it’s a personal thing for everybody.
“The Cossacks of that time had a strong motivation for revenge. Valentyn Symiantsiv, a member of the Black Cossacks third squadron [military formation of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army. – Ed.] told me an interesting story about the Cossack Tereshko. The Reds killed all his family, and in those times families were large. By the way, they killed his baby brother with a bayonet in his cradle. Later, when Tereshko killed an enemy he put a mark on his butt. Ladym, one of Black Raven characters embroidered crosses on his hat corresponding to the number of enemies he killed. Those guys didn’t fear death. They only feared to die without accomplishing their plan, to make their enemies pay in full. A comparison with the samurai inevitably comes to mind: when Japan lost they said that they were fighting a personal war.
“Everyone has to fight their own war! According to their possibilities, profession, vocation, conscience, and, finally, conceit. I did it with my novel. I made a statement demanding to fire the minister of education because Black Raven drew the attention of not only my supporters, but of my enemies, too. When you’re in the center of attention you should say your decisive word, as there’s a chance to be heard.”
In one of the interviews you said that you had received a comment from the producer of the Russian Channel 5 (St. Petersburg). It’s quite significant. Did you get any comments from Ukrainian media workers? And how would you asses the reaction of the Ukrainian media space to your novel?
“I got very many positive comments from Ukrainian media workers. I have a lot of admirers among television journalists, especially in the Channel 5 and TVi. When I recall the channels that have the most of my supporters, the opposition media comes to mind. However, they are not alone: in fact, I have my grateful readers in all the channels, which is clear from their programs.”
How’s the film going? By the way, why did you choose a foreign director?
“When we created the committee to raise money for the film, I said during a press conference that I wanted to have a Ukrainian director. We organized a creative competition, a certain non-governmental tender. To be honest, there were a lot of applicants, mostly with experience in making short and documentary films at the end of the 1980s and beginning of the 1990s… Domestic cinema has degraded so much that it’s very difficult to choose. I addressed the young film directors. I thought: let it be someone unknown who would only get enthusiastic about this idea and want to make the film of his life, just as I did! I haven’t found such person so far. That is why I thought about Hoffman. My friends, the Polish writers Marek Wawrzkievicz and Ryszard Ulicki were in Kyiv. I told them about my idea and they discussed it with Hoffman. He became interested in this offer, but they needed a scenario. I wasn’t ready for this.
“Thinking that I will have a Ukrainian film director I decided that the book would be enough to start with. So, we’ll sit down together and will decide on the concept of the scenario… Meanwhile, a lot of reputable people say: ‘You shouldn’t be so skeptical about the Hollywood.’ We’re used to thinking that it’s something inaccessible. They say that Mel Gibson would love to take up this topic as he readily makes films on material from exotic countries…”
Have you raised enough money for the film?
“Of course we haven’t. We haven’t initiated any large action like auctions, etc… I know that there are many businesspeople ready to invest into this film: I received the ‘signals’ from people who could contribute to its realization. However, first of all we should have a working group and decide on the director, as people are used to giving money to reputable people. When we decide on everybody, we’ll start raising money.”
By the way, have you thought about who could play the role of the titular Black Raven?
“The director has to decide on this himself, as he’s the author of the film. I think, we should go to the provincial theaters, as our stars Ivan Havryliuk, Natalia
Sumska, Bohdan Beniuk, Anatolii Khostikoiev are older, and we need 20 to 30-year-old guys, though all the rebels looked older than they really were. The officials of Cheka wrote: “Denys Hupalo, aged about 35,” but in reality he was 24. They were marked by the load of a rebellious life.”
How many copies of the book have been printed for now, are you planning additional editions? It’s impossible to find the book in Kyiv or Cherkasy today…
“See, even such a powerful publishing house as the Family Leisure Club, working with the German investments and technologies wasn’t ready for such demand. They have printed about 50,000 copies for today, but it’s only the beginning… I find it difficult to give you the exact number, the more that the novel has been published by two publishing houses.”
What’s next, after you finished the “novel of your life”?
“Now I’m running out of time. I will definitely participate in the scenario for Black Raven. I also have the obligation to write a scenario about the Parisian period of Symon Petliura’s life and assassination till May. Oles Yanchuk will be the director of the film. It will be a full-length feature film in which the story will be told by Lesia Petliura, the daughter of the Head Ataman. However, my essential creative goal is a novel about the woman-ataman Marusia. I have previously said that I had already exhausted the theme of the rebel movement that I would repeat myself. But I learnt about this personality and thought that such a heroine, the Ukrainian Jeanne d’Arc would give me a fresh look at the events and a new style. We imagined the woman-ataman as a severe anarchist, but in fact she was a young 16-year-old girl, called Sasha Sokolovska from the village of Horbuliv in Zhytomyr raion. The Sokolovsky brothers lived there, all of them were very famous atamans, and this location is still called Sokolivshchyna. Oleksa, Dmytro and Vasyl Sokolovsky were killed one by one. The last one was substituted by their sister who adopted the pseudonym Marusia. She directed a thousand of Cossacks, 700 infantrymen and 300 horsemen. She obviously had some ‘witch’s’ abilities. Legends about her live on. Some say that she died, others say that she escaped. All the women in the Sokolovsky family were sorceresses, and now in the village of Horbuliv lives Liza Sokolovska, her granddaughter, a sorceress as well. She’s very wise and intelligent. She says: ‘Marusia didn’t die. She could have immigrated to Canada and adopt another name in order not to cast aspersions on relatives in Ukraine.’ I’ll have to look for the end of this novel, too, though she probably died.”
All those interesting things you’re talking about are poorly represented in Ukrainian intellectual life. Which fragments do you think need to be restored? Which issues should be studied in the archives, who should be interrogated?
“Unfortunately, we’ve lost the possibility to talk to the witnesses or even their children. All we have is legends. When people find out that I’m working on a novel about Marusia, they call me and ask: ‘Do you know how she died? My father told me that she died near Berdychiv.’ Another one writes in the letter: ‘I know how Marusia died. She was on the machinegun cart, she was attacked and shot back, but they killed her.’ This proves that Marusia became a legend and lives on in the national psyche.
“Personally, I’m most interested in the 1920s. It turns out that we know less about them than about Kyivan Rus’. Information about them was hidden; they even banned to curse the atamans in order not to mention them at all.”
Oksana Zabuzhko and Maria Matios have written prominent and glorious books about the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, you wrote a book about Kholodny Yar. In any other country such a success would give rise to a lot of followers, to a certain competition between authors. Do you think our writers will take up this topic?
“Yes, any success provokes a desire to follow it. Quality is another thing. The theme of Kholodny Yar is gaining popularity. Every year more and more people come to commemorate its heroes. NGOs named after Kholodny Yar appear. As for literature, it can’t have several strong books on one and the same topic.”
Who are your guides, the authors you have mental conversations with?
“I wouldn’t say that I always talk to somebody. Probably, I mostly think over something on my own. However, if we talk about my teachers, it’s definitely Hryhir Tiutiunnyk, who I was lucky to talk to and learn a lot of things from, which were important for me.”
By the way, I heard an opinion that your Key is similar to Tiutiunnyk’s works…
“I think that it’s not true for Key. At the very beginning of my creative work I was influenced a lot by Hryhir Tiutiunnyk. I wrote short stories then. I don’t think it was bad, as imitation can be different. Tiutiunnyk still remains a model writer for me.”
Are you going to publish those stories that aren’t in the book?
“Of course. For example, the one I told about Ponomarenko has already been published in the appendix of the new edition of Kholodny Yar by Yurii Horlis-Horsky…”
How in your opinion did those events reflect in the Ukrainian literature of the time, both Western and Soviet?
“I respect the literature of the rozstriliane vidrodzhennia (the Executed Renassaince), but I have a special piety for Malaniuk and Cherkasenko… It’s weird that during the 20 years when the rebels fought, writers gathered in Kharkiv and created VAPLITE, Pluh and Hart.”
Ukrainian literature also represents Ukraine abroad. Were there any offers to translate Black Raven into other languages?
“There were, even several of them. But I have my own approach to foreign publishers. I’m skeptical about the number of translations and I’ve never speeded it up. There’s a special situation with Russia, there they have bought the rights to the translation several times, paid me and the translators, but the books haven’t been published there since 1990. Yet they have published my selected works, so I don’t worry about it, I let them pay.”
Will Russia ever become a country where Black Raven will be read without convulsions?
“It’s hard to say. In my case the publisher has to take a risk. Viktor Yerofeiev wanted to publish my novel in his publishing house Zebra, but, unfortunately, it went bankrupt. One wealthy man suggested: ‘Let’s publish it in Russian and pelt the Crimea and the Donbas.’ I’m not ready for this expansion so far.”
Which compliment concerning Black Raven did you like the most?
“One nice girl told me: ‘You did a very crafty and unpleasant thing to me. After I read your novel, I can’t read anything else.’”
