{"id":17894,"date":"2024-12-11T15:22:21","date_gmt":"2024-12-11T15:22:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/?p=17894"},"modified":"2025-07-17T12:59:42","modified_gmt":"2025-07-17T12:59:42","slug":"non-fikshn-nadzyonnaya-zadacha-vyrvaczcza-z-pastki-kultury-kultu-plachu","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/2024\/12\/11\/non-fikshn-nadzyonnaya-zadacha-vyrvaczcza-z-pastki-kultury-kultu-plachu.html","title":{"rendered":"Non-fiction: an urgent task \u2014 to break free from the trap of a culture (or cult) of lamentation"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Three out of six books on this year\u2019s Jerzy Giedroyc Prize shortlist are works of non-fiction. It is worth noting that in recent years, the top award of Belarus\u2019s most prestigious literary prize has consistently gone to authors working in this genre. This year\u2019s laureate was Valyantsin Akudovich with his book We Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy<\/em>; last year, Hanna Kandratsyuk won for her collection of stories about the people of Belavezha; the year before, the prize went to Siarhiej Ablamejka for Unknown Minsk<\/em>, followed by Siarhiej Dubaviec with Tantamareski<\/em> and Zmicier Bartosik with The Landowner\u2019s Talkative Sparrow<\/em>.<\/p>\n

This trend was one of the main reasons why PEN Belarus organized a dedicated panel at the Berlin Intellectual Book Festival, featuring a conversation with Nobel laureate Svetlana Alexievich, Alexander Lukashuk \u2014 both renowned figures of contemporary non-fiction \u2014 and Vika Biran, a representative of the new generation of Belarusian documentary writers. The discussion was moderated by Taciana Niadbaj.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Non-fiction: not following tradition<\/strong>
The book \u201cI Dance\u201d by Vika Biran<\/em><\/p>\n

Vika Biran:<\/strong> So far, I\u2019ve written only one book, but I have considerable experience working with the Belsat website \u2014 and in my mind, non-fiction is closely intertwined with real-time journalism; the two stand side by side. This blend subtly frees the mind from the overwhelming emotions, thoughts, and reactions to the difficult realities of today\u2019s world. At the same time, through creativity, I feel a portal opening in me \u2014 a passage to something new that prevents me from getting stuck in the past. It’s essential to get out of it, because life is dynamic, and I want to be part of everything.<\/p>\n

Svetlana Alexievich:<\/strong> Already as a journalism student, I began to discover the genre that my ears and eyes were attuned to. These settings, however, had been forming since childhood: I especially loved the evenings when, after a long day of chores, the village women would gather on a bench and start chatting about what was on their minds \u2014 love, death, the latest village happenings\u2026 It was incredibly fascinating! None of the books, even though our house was full of them (we were a teacher\u2019s family), left such a deep impression on me. That\u2019s how I learned to listen, to trust what I heard \u2014 to the voice of the heart. This is where my trust in life was born.<\/p>\n

And then there was a decisive encounter with Ales Adamovich. I was assigned to do an interview about his famous book I Am from the Fiery Village<\/em>. In that brilliant work, the weakest parts, perhaps, were the author\u2019s commentaries \u2014 and we discussed that at length back then.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve long been convinced: in non-fiction, there should be very little of the author \u2014 I say that categorically! Because what you personally say quickly sifts away with time. But the words spoken by others, those who have grasped something from the chaotic flow of life events, never grow old.<\/p>\n

One of the most powerful episodes from Adamovich\u2019s book for me is this: people are burning, and a boy \u2014 who later manages to escape the hell \u2014 hears his little sister cry out in despair, \u201cMama, but I have my galoshes on\u2026\u201d And the mother replies, \u201cGod, why did I put those on you \u2014 your feet will burn longer\u2026\u201d No writer, not even Dostoevsky, could have written something more piercing \u2014 because such things cannot be invented. My work as a journalist further confirmed my belief in the power of the voices of real people.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s something else that is both very important and very difficult in non-fiction (and perhaps this sounds heretical): not following tradition. Yes, that\u2019s right! Because tradition, in the sense of normalizing the course of things, often becomes banality. And when you look out the window \u2014 what you see is the raw, unfiltered reality that leaves you stunned, bewildered.<\/p>\n

If you want to get closer to reality \u2014 break out of habitual, stereotypical ways of thinking about events, out of the clich\u00e9s of everything you\u2019ve read. Anything that comes purely from your own head, purely from the books you\u2019ve read, makes you weaker. You\u2019re no match for what\u2019s happening outside the window.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s why I spent such a long time at the beginning searching for my own voice.<\/p>\n

On the other hand, a stream of consciousness is not a book. For a non-fiction author, it\u2019s incredibly rare \u2014 and a true blessing \u2014 to find not just a narrator swept along by the biological current of life, but a person of talent, someone who has truly reflected on their experiences.<\/p>\n

And that leads to another great task \u2014 to find meaning in every life.<\/p>\n

Sometimes people imagine non-fiction as not quite literature. At events after I received the Nobel Prize, many journalists would attend and speak to me as if they, too, had received a kind of permission to do something on equal footing. And that made me happy. Because you should never think that you are just yourself. In reality, you are made up of everything \u2014 of books, of what you\u2019ve seen, of what you\u2019ve heard.<\/p>\n

So, first, you have to search for the word.<\/p>\n

No \u2014 first, search for yourself. And then the word.<\/p>\n

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\u0421\u0432\u044f\u0442\u043b\u0430\u043d\u0430 \u0410\u043b\u0435\u043a\u0441\u0456\u0435\u0432\u0456\u0447, \u0422\u0430\u0446\u0446\u044f\u043d\u0430 \u041d\u044f\u0434\u0431\u0430\u0439, \u0412\u0456\u043a\u0430 \u0411\u0456\u0440\u0430\u043d. \u0424\u043e\u0442\u0430: \u0444\u0435\u0441\u0442\u044b\u0432\u0430\u043b\u044c \u0456\u043d\u0442\u044d\u043b\u0435\u043a\u0442\u0443\u0430\u043b\u044c\u043d\u0430\u0439 \u043a\u043d\u0456\u0433\u0456 \u00ab\u041f\u0440\u0430\u0434\u043c\u043e\u0432\u0430\u00bb<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
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Non-fiction: how to live up to the standard of \u201csuper-literature\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

Aliaksandr Lukashuk:<\/strong> I have a big question: does non-fiction even exist?<\/p>\n

Personally, I\u2019ve always believed that when journalism reaches its highest level, it becomes literature \u2014 all while preserving journalistic standards. At that point, we\u2019re dealing with documentary literature, or what we now call non-fiction. Just recently, Tatsiana Niadbaj published a translation of Homer\u2019s Iliad<\/em>. And in the context of our discussion, we might ask: isn\u2019t that also non-fiction? Look: Heinrich Schliemann discovered Troy precisely because of those texts! It was essentially a factual document that helped archaeologists literally dig down to the truth.<\/p>\n

On the other hand, in Homer\u2019s case, we\u2019re probably not talking about documentary literature but about something else entirely.<\/p>\n

Svetlana Alexievich:<\/strong> Ales Adamovich coined the term super-literature<\/em> \u2014 which he applied to documentary writing. How do you feel about that?<\/p>\n

AL:<\/strong> Adamovich, a brilliant literary scholar, recognized and named something in the mid-1970s that had previously gone unnamed. Super-literature<\/em> \u2014 it\u2019s a genius phrase, both from a marketing perspective and as a conceptual label. It took the Nobel Committee forty years to understand what he was talking about \u2014 but in the end, we got the result!<\/p>\n

If you read Adamovich\u2019s own texts closely, you realize that his novels are actually documentary \u2014 though the \u201cdocuments\u201d were imagined. Still, they influenced reality. To this day, not a single commander of a nuclear submarine or operator of an underground nuclear installation has pressed the red button\u2026 because Adamovich foresaw various modern dangers and warned us through his books. In a sense, he was a demiurge \u2014 a kind of demigod \u2014 shaping reality through literature.<\/p>\n

Vika Biran:<\/strong> When it comes to the \u201cjournalism\u2013literature\u201d standards, I recall countless discussions about Svetlana\u2019s texts. Many try to separate what she writes into categories, but in my opinion, that boundary isn\u2019t necessary. Of course, it\u2019s a different matter when analyzing from a literary studies point of view. But from a reader\u2019s perspective, it\u2019s simple: a great text becomes a powerful story that resonates with us and helps people. So the debates over whether it\u2019s literature or journalism, whether it\u2019s true, and how much fiction is in this non-fiction \u2014 in the end, those arguments aren\u2019t what matter most.<\/p>\n

SA:<\/strong> Still, meaning must be embedded in form. It\u2019s never just a slice of life. Titian once painted a portrait of a merchant, who then wanted to buy it. But the artist liked it so much that he didn\u2019t want to sell it. The merchant said, \u201cBut it\u2019s me!\u201d And the artist replied, \u201cNo, it\u2019s me and you.\u201d<\/p>\n

VB:<\/strong> Yes, form is essential. But we have no right to demand anything further from the author. They\u2019ve already done their part and don\u2019t owe anyone additional explanations.<\/p>\n

SA:<\/strong> When your manuscript, Vika, came to the publishing house, I thought with envy: how wonderful it is to write your first book! That kind of book, where life itself becomes the form. The writer is<\/em> the form, shaped through their own words. Everything is still so fresh that it can be written down in full. Even if there\u2019s no professionalism yet \u2014 no theory \u2014 it\u2019s just you and time. That\u2019s powerful.<\/p>\n

But I still need to think about form\u2026<\/p>\n

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Non-fiction: we must think all the way through<\/strong><\/p>\n

AL:<\/strong> I\u2019d also like to highlight another vital aspect of non-fiction \u2014 the phenomenon of memory. After the 2010 presidential election in Belarus, more than 700 people were thrown behind bars. At Radio Svaboda<\/em>, we invited prominent figures to simply read aloud the names of these political prisoners during our New Year\u2019s broadcast\u2026 The readings opened with George Bush and concluded with V\u00e1clav Havel. Major intellectuals around the world wanted to say those Belarusian names. And as a follow-up, together with PEN, we came up with the Aleh Aliachnovich Prize. The laureates were astonished to learn that their experiences were needed \u2014 that what had happened to them was of interest not only to themselves, but to the public as well.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n

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Non-fiction: the responsibility to think things through to the end<\/strong><\/p>\n

I touched on the topic of memory politics during a recent conversation with Francis Fukuyama. In his reflections, the renowned thinker emphasized that without memory, there can be no healthy construction of democracy.<\/p>\n

This isn\u2019t just a compelling thought, but a response to real-world practice. In Europe, over the last fifty years, around 200 laws have been adopted to regulate memory processes \u2014 from Portugal to Estonia. This has also affected Russia. In Belarus, 2022 was declared the \u201cYear of Historical Memory,\u201d and just five days after Lukashenka\u2019s corresponding decree, a law \u201cOn the Genocide of the Belarusian People\u201d (covering 1941\u20131949) was passed. Half a year later, the Prosecutor General, Andrei Shved, published a book \u2014 its final chapter dedicated\u2026 to the year 2020. This is how laws about memory shape current political agendas.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not just \u201cbad actors\u201d who engage in memory regulation. The first known document of this kind was adopted two and a half thousand years ago, when after the Peloponnesian War, the Spartans captured Athens. Soon the tables turned, and the Athenians issued a decree about the Thirty Tyrants \u2014 a ruling that essentially meant: let us forget them, and thus resolve the issue of lustration.<\/p>\n

Just recently, the courageous intellectual Vladimir Kara-Murza spoke at a major democratic forum in Prague and concluded with a quote from Soviet dissident Vladimir Bukovsky: \u201cNo one will divide us, because we all came out of the same concentration camp.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was stunned listening to this. There could hardly have been a more inaccurate statement at that moment. Because in the Russian concentration camp, people either die \u2014 like Navalny \u2014 or they are swapped, like Kara-Murza himself, or\u2026 what do the others do? They go to war in Ukraine: to rape, plunder, and kill.<\/p>\n

So how can anyone claim, \u201cWe came out of the same camp, and that unites us\u201d? That is simply not true.<\/p>\n

And what does this all lead to? Here I want to recall the most important legacy of Ales Adamovich: \u201cYou have to think things through to the end.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vika Biran:<\/strong> I recently visited the sites of former concentration camps in Buchenwald, Auschwitz, and Birkenau. And you know what I saw? Souvenir shops selling all kinds of items, entry tickets with price tags\u2026 There\u2019s even a VIP service that lets wealthier visitors skip the lines: pay extra and walk through a special fast-track corridor. There\u2019s also selective remembrance \u2014 some victims are acknowledged, others not. There\u2019s an understanding of today\u2019s world where some people have the right to remember \u201cthis and that,\u201d while others must forget. Some are granted full access to information; others are not. There\u2019s still a claim that \u201cwe honor all victims equally,\u201d but in reality, that\u2019s simply not the case. For one theme I see five exhibitions; for others, like the persecution of homosexuals, not a single one\u2026<\/p>\n

To me, non-fiction allows one to be brave \u2014 first and foremost, with oneself. It gives permission to entertain thoughts that may not fit neatly into the dominant public discourse. And for that alone, I think we should be grateful for the genre. It affirms honesty, openness \u2014 with oneself and with others.<\/p>\n

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Non-fiction: not confusing truth with a plausible version<\/strong><\/p>\n

Alexander Lukashuk:<\/strong> There are three types of memory: episodic \u2014 about what happened; semantic \u2014 about the meaning of what is remembered, in other words, interpretation; and procedural \u2014 how things are done, the methodology, so to speak. You see, even here it\u2019s already complex, although it often gets presented as simplification. Because the moment you become a narrator of the past, you also become a kind of writer. The reality that, for example, Svetlana (Alexievich) immersed herself in for decades \u2014 she reshaped it. And again, I recall Adamovich: you must ruthlessly think through what this or that really means.<\/p>\n

Vika (Biran) told horrifying stories, and it reminded me of the time I decided to publish the names of the perpetrators at Kurapaty \u2014 NKVD employees who operated the execution machinery. I had brief access to some previously classified archives. Eventually, I compiled and published a list. Only one person complained \u2014 he said his father\u2019s name was there and that he had just been a courier. Everyone else remained silent \u2014 like water off a duck\u2019s back.<\/p>\n

I also remembered another moment: in early 1993, the Belarusian Supreme Soviet reinstated the Communist Party. Again, not a single leader or rank-and-file member was held accountable.<\/p>\n

So, what conclusion can we draw from this? Forgiveness is not an option. No one has the right to speak on behalf of the victims or let their killers off the hook. When a democratic country avoids lustration, what we see is the resurgence of exactly what we\u2019re witnessing today in Belarus and Russia.<\/p>\n

Ukraine opened its archives a long time ago \u2014 and just look at the upheaval that followed.<\/p>\n

The takeaway from our observations today \u2014 and perhaps a sobering truth \u2014 is this: some form of punishment is inevitable, even if it\u2019s just the public naming of names for the historical record.<\/p>\n

Svetlana Alexievich:<\/strong> While I was writing Secondhand Time<\/em>, I very much wanted to find a living executioner. After all, not everyone in their 80s or 90s has Alzheimer\u2019s\u2026 And during one of my trips to former Gulag sites in Magadan, someone tipped me off about an elderly woman who had once worked as a caretaker for the children of \u201cenemies of the people.\u201d I had already heard how mercilessly cruel these \u201ceducators\u201d were. They directly terrorized the children, telling them they not only could<\/em> be beaten, but should<\/em> be killed \u2014 simply because of who their parents were.<\/p>\n

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Non-fiction: engaging with the present from the vantage point of the future<\/strong><\/p>\n

Svetlana Alexievich:<\/strong> I also tried to speak with some of the perpetrators from 2020. One of them agreed. I showed him a photo from that August \u2014 people brutally beaten, unrecognizable \u2014 and asked, \u201cHow could you treat your own people this way? What have you done?\u201d He simply replied, \u201cThat\u2019s the job.\u201d And that was it. No further reflection, just a wall.<\/p>\n

For someone\u2019s consciousness to shift, something in the collective worldview has to change. When Gorbachev\u2019s era began, it was difficult, but I could slowly reach people\u2019s personal memory. Now, when I approach these \u201cdiligent workers,\u201d the chances for truth are slim. They still live in the recent past \u2014 emotionally and mentally. Time hasn\u2019t yet become history; it hasn\u2019t turned into distance, which allows us to see more clearly. As long as they\u2019re still clinging to the immediate experience, all they can offer is banal phrases.<\/p>\n

I once visited the mother of one of the security officers. She immediately began to cry: \u201cWait until my son comes home \u2014 you\u2019ll see how good he is! Nearly two meters tall, handsome\u2026 Just the other day, someone wanted to buy our apartment. But when they learned who the owner was, they ran away. Aren\u2019t we people too?\u201d<\/p>\n

Again, we\u2019re living in a time when most people are still trapped in everyday, domestic understanding of historical events. They haven’t reached a deeper, more reflective level.<\/p>\n

Still, it\u2019s worth trying to tap into memory now \u2014 what we extract from it is all we\u2019ll have. I can see that people are living in a state of tense, exhausting anticipation. For instance, the hope of returning home. Their memories of suffering are still vivid.<\/p>\n

But I still haven\u2019t fully grasped what we\u2019re extracting from ourselves about our national tragedy\u2026 It feels like we\u2019re still stuck in a culture \u2014 or a cult \u2014 of mourning.<\/p>\n

The challenge in my new book, which is about our most recent collective tragedy, is to answer the question: Why did we descend into that hell?<\/em> That should be the central question \u2014 not merely recording pain. Of course, we can\u2019t avoid it, but above all, we must ask \u2014 what for<\/em>?<\/p>\n

Yes, I deeply felt the social aspects of it all: people looked beautiful, we felt like a nation, there was a sense of unity\u2026 But again, we must draw out something more.<\/p>\n

Even I haven\u2019t yet found the words for it. So how can I expect clarity from others if I myself don\u2019t yet fully understand how to help them process it? People are more likely to uncover something meaningful from within if they sense contemplation and thoughtfulness around them.<\/p>\n

Alexander Lukashuk:<\/strong> Svetlana spoke about the semantic role of memory \u2014 the meaning behind it. But if we narrow it down, I\u2019d say this:<\/p>\n

In true literature, there is always one subject, one task, and one outcome. That outcome is the future. Non-fiction is a conversation with the past, from the standpoint of the future. According to Einstein\u2019s theory, the non-fiction writer is always positioned in the future relative to the events they write about.<\/p>\n

And in fact, we are all in the future \u2014 right here, right now, relative to our lives. But here\u2019s the catch: that doesn\u2019t mean we have time to spare.<\/p>\n

SA:<\/strong> But how can you live in tomorrow if it\u2019s so unpredictable? Just look at the last thirty years: nothing in this country has happened the way we expected. Or take our personal lives \u2014 total chaos! You live calmly, and suddenly you meet someone who turns your whole fate upside down. So where is that \u201cfuture\u201d you speak of?<\/p>\n

AL:<\/strong> Svetlana, you\u2019ve answered your own question. The truth is, unpredictability belongs not only to the future \u2014 but also to the past.<\/p>\n

SA:<\/strong> Yes, that phrase is now often said about Russian history.<\/p>\n

AL:<\/strong> It\u2019s said about ours, too\u2026 When I was writing my book on Lee Harvey Oswald, I realized: you don\u2019t just see what\u2019s outside the window when facing forward \u2014 you see it just as well when facing backward. No matter how you look \u2014 forward or backward \u2014 you\u2019re still moving ahead with the train.<\/p>\n

In the end, it\u2019s the past that remains truly unpredictable.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Three out of six books on this year\u2019s Jerzy Giedroyc Prize shortlist are works of non-fiction. It is worth noting that in recent years, the top award of Belarus\u2019s most prestigious literary prize has consistently gone to authors working in this genre. This year\u2019s laureate was Valyantsin Akudovich with his book We Must Imagine Sisyphus<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":117,"featured_media":17896,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4092],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17894","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-news-friends"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17894","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/117"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17894"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17894\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19858,"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17894\/revisions\/19858"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/17896"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17894"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17894"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/penbelarus.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17894"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}