Chernyakevich: Don't expect a triumphant procession of Belarusian literature across Europe
It so happened that a book about 2020 has not yet been written, and children's literature is going through not the best of times.
Belarusian literature in emigration has gained new momentum and reached unprecedented flourishing. Such an impression might be formed by those who follow Belarusian social networks and are interested in numerous presentations and festivals. It turns out that only the visible part of the iceberg looks so beautiful.
Beneath the surface, entirely different processes are taking place, which can not only delight lovers of national literature but also sadden them. Guess what is the most painful spot in our literature? Why have prison works not left Belarusian literature for three centuries? Is Belarusian literature capable of conquering Europe in a decade or two?
BGmedia seeks answers to uncomfortable questions together with Tsikhan Chernyakevich, editor-in-chief of bellit.info and press secretary of the International Union of Belarusian Writers.
— Our literature in recent years exists between two very different expectations. On the one hand, Europeans are looking for new forms and new themes. On the other, the Belarusian reader expects their authors to offer an artistic interpretation of 2020. Have Belarusian writers found themselves caught between these two poles?
— Writers always face challenges – that's their job. Writers read foreign literature, their peers – and choose the most appealing way of writing for themselves, defining their path. Each writer can face not two, but ten or more challenges; if there are none, then one can probably speak not of literature, but of a hobby. Poetry, prose, cinema, theatre, painting – in the life of a creator from any field, their work takes up a large part of their life. Therefore, challenges are a normal, absolutely natural, albeit nervous, environment.
Why hasn't a book about the events of 2020 been written yet?
— Why do we still not have an artistic work that interprets the events of 2020? Was there not enough time, or were there no brave souls ready to tackle this tragedy?
— As history shows, such complex topics require time. All literature about World War II appeared after the war ended, sometimes artistic works emerge decades after the events concluded. And the history of 2020 is not yet finished, as the outcome we are striving for and everyone is awaiting, is not yet here.
Even about the Ukrainian war, books are, of course, being written by soldiers, medics, journalists who go to the front. But artistic books, novels – not non-fiction, not memoirs, not biographical works – are very few.
I recently listened to an interview with Serhiy Zhadan and the well-known film director Volodymyr Yatsenko, who frankly admitted that such cinema is currently impossible: the war needs to end. Then one can comprehend or invent stories that will not be propaganda, not an agitprop, not Rambo-like entertainment — no normal film director wants to make such films. Which is absolutely understandable: propaganda is not at all the kind of cinema a decent film director wants to make.
A serious prose writer doesn't want to write such literature. Because, it turns out, the creator acts in a somewhat passive role: the war hasn't ended, you're hit daily, and you can't tell something from an active position, as a person who participated in the ending of the story.
The same can be applied to the Belarusian situation. I repeat, the story itself is not yet finished, and analyzing the past period is very difficult. Therefore, people probably now write more about what is happening to them here and now – autofiction.
Prison literature existed in the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries
— After the release of political prisoners, many expected a powerful wave of prison documentary literature. To what extent have these expectations been met? Should literature today bear witness to what has been experienced, or should it already be analyzing it?
— Expectations have been partially met, as books are being released. Recently, Mikalai Dzyadok published a book, the essays of Mikalai Statkevich were printed, and Maksim Znak announced that he plans to prepare a new work. Although his prison literature was smuggled out, published, and translated even while he was still behind bars. These are just a few examples out of many. Prison poetry and prose, unfortunately, continue to be released, as many have been affected by repressions, and people share their own experiences — both as testimony and as autotherapy. Sometimes — in the form of books, sometimes in the form of lengthy interviews or videos. This experience enters the information space, even if not as fiction, but as educational or essayistic literature. If we take the works of Sevyarynets or Statkevich, these are more likely essays or even philosophical-essayistic works reflecting on what should have been done and what needs to be done here and now.
Reflection is very good, but fiction is still something else.
— Has prison creativity now become a distinct and full-fledged direction in Belarusian literature?
— It never disappeared. Last year, I compiled a 400-page anthology of classical prison poetry, "Vershy na Volyu" (Poems for Freedom), which included works by Yakub Kolas, Ales Harun, Maksim Tank, Uladzimir Zhyłka, Larysa Hienijus. Prison literature is a very old tradition, so I started the book from the Philomats of the 19th century (Chachot, Tamash Zan, "Maryska Charnabrova" by Kastus Kalinouski). Siberia, Valadarka, Lukishki, Beryoza-Kartuzskaya, Lubyanka, Amerikanka, Gestapo, GULAG. Only poetry written specifically behind bars and in exile was included. You see, we have serious and strong traditions here with a large number of texts and dozens of names. The reason is that the country's absolute independence has not yet been achieved: political prisoners in the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries are effectively fighting for the same rights and freedoms.
Belarusians are drawn to fairy tales — it's an attempt to escape reality
— While a major social novel about 2020 has not yet appeared, ostensibly "minor" genres like detective, young adult, and fantasy are developing very interestingly. Can it be said that the most interesting artistic explorations in Belarusian literature are happening there today?
— Algerd Bakharevich, who received the Leipzig Book Award last year, wrote a long essay about how we are drawn to fairy tales. It's not entirely appropriate in the current situation to create fairy tales — entirely fictional worlds with completely fictional beings, or about some unspecified time (be it the 5th century or the 35th). But, unfortunately or fortunately, the situation exists. If you flip through the books from this year's complete list for the Giedroyc Award, it becomes evident that it is precisely "fairy tales," in one way or another, that creators are writing today. Fictional worlds — these are dystopias, sometimes fantasy or quasi-scenarios. Apparently, this is a peculiar form of escape from reality, because the surrounding reality does not provide inspiration to write; rather, it can destroy the psyche and its defensive mechanisms, so people escape into fictional worlds where they try to find answers to pressing questions. Whether one manages to escape reality, or whether good or mediocre literature comes from the creators' pens — that's another matter. Fictional works today are like that, and if you want non-fictional ones — buy autofiction, about what is happening here and now.
— Belarusian poetry responded to the events almost instantly, drama also found its intonation. Why has prose turned out to be much more inert? The argument that a novel requires more time doesn't hold: six years is a long period... Is this about a genre peculiarity or a sign of a deeper crisis?
— I would say that even in poetry, the revolutionary theme is losing its positions. Visual culture is connected to the fact that the traumatic history of 2020 is more understandable to those who invest in these projects. And they, as a rule, are very expensive: both theatrical performances and films, which require dozens of people and large venues. These are grand narratives, including tragedies, which can be presented as suitable for the understanding of the hypothetical "average" European viewer or listener.
In prose, internal experience and individual history, which are not necessarily linked to a specific time, especially 2020, are still more valued. Although here and there one can find allusions, parallels; someone, even writing fantasy or dystopia, might subtly portray 2020. Quite often, cautiously. Of course, many still employ self-censorship, as people worry: who will read the work, how widely will the book circulate, whether it can be taken into Belarus and given to parents — such precautions still deter both writers and readers. Because a book is still a hard copy, paper, an object; a movie can be watched on YouTube, music can be played, a performance can also be seen, but a book needs to be transported. These precautions are at play.
The language changes, the language impoverishes
— Has the Belarusian literary language itself changed after 2020? Has the Belarusian artistic text become different — not only thematically, but also aesthetically?
— I think so. Due to the language existing in a confined space, it is clearly becoming poorer. That is, people write quite regularly, and a big plus is that dozens of completely new authors (male and female) have appeared, there are various initiatives, reading clubs, book blogs. To those who have been involved in the literary sphere for decades, it is obvious that the new wave also makes many mistakes: often they don't know how to spell a word, they don't feel Russianisms, they don't grasp the context of usage, basic orthography, and punctuation — this is evident to anyone who follows the process, consumes content, and generally picks up books. Therefore, publishing houses play a very significant role here, with their editing capabilities and good proofreading. Sometimes even they cannot cope with the problem, because there is so much to correct and rework. But nevertheless, this is a regularity, because we have probably never had so many writers.
People come from a Russian-speaking environment, but they see that Belarusian-language content interests readers, so some run their Russian-language texts through ChatGPT.
There are known cases where texts are submitted that have clearly been translated into Belarusian by artificial intelligence; the person did not translate it themselves but put it through a program and submitted the Belarusian version.
Naturally, the language is impoverishing, the language is changing… The situation could be partly remedied by editorial workshops capable of training new specialists, and this work itself should be better compensated. Because we have encountered a real problem.
— Is the shortage of good editors evident today?
— Yes, it is felt. The main "pool" of editors, as far as I know, is overwhelmed with work. Besides, the competition with the Russian language has not disappeared. I would say that in emigration over the past five years, Belarusians have published 10 times more fiction in Russian than there was in "pre-revolutionary," "pre-harvest" times. It's easier for them that way, they breathe that way, they feel that way. All this is understandable, considering how much Russian-speaking urban population there is in Belarus, from which, of course, writers also emerge. Therefore, the drift of professionals will be towards the Russian-speaking side, and I predict it will increase year by year, both in Belarus and in the diaspora. Perhaps, if the 1990 "Law on Languages" starts to be enforced, the situation will gradually begin to change, and thirty years after that, we will see a different picture. But for now, everything remains the same, so to speak – both in Minsk and in a hypothetical Warsaw.
The creation of the Association of Belarusian Publishers is a success story
— Belarusian publishers are also trapped today. Small print runs mean high book costs, and a narrow market does not allow operating according to the laws of a large book industry. Can we already speak of a full-fledged Belarusian book industry in exile, or is it still a story of cultural survival?
— Oh, well, all our literature is a story of survival; the history of Belarus is a story of survival. Right now we are sitting in Cathedral Square in Vilnius, which is an example of how Lithuanians managed to survive, thanks in part to schools, thanks to the press, and books in the Lithuanian language. Lithuanians laid these bricks and built an independent state. This is an enviable success story.
In other words, the history of survival has not left us, because the conditions remain very difficult. Access to readers is extremely limited, and sending anything to Belarus is very complicated. Consequently, publishers largely have to work with our compatriots in the diaspora who might still buy books.
— Does this mean that the creation of the Association of Publishers (the Association of Belarusian Publishers — the first professional organization of independent publishing houses in exile, officially registered in June 2026 in Krakow, uniting 11 publishing houses) is also a story of publishers' survival?
— The creation of the Association was discussed 10-15 years ago. But back then, it wasn't clear to the publishers themselves: why do this? I remember such meetings, including those initiated by the writers' union. Current conditions have significantly worsened, the crisis has intensified, and there's a realization that it's easier to fight together, as the saying goes. Therefore, the Association has finally taken shape, and there's active communication between publishers: joint trips, joint projects. This is excellent!
I would say the publishing sector has shown a positive example to the entire emigration of the 2020s: they managed to adapt to the situation, started to develop and grow, and their numbers have increased many times over.
Today one can even say that they have "divided" readers among themselves: someone publishes more poetry, someone focuses on translations, someone pays more attention to children's literature, and someone promotes debut authors. There's clear development in book publishing and the story itself is interesting — one could already write beautiful books about the Belarusian book publishing market. This is a success story, and it's by no means always abundant in emigrant circles, where there are often entirely different narratives: defeats or scandals, quarrels, divisions....
Much translated literature is published, but Belarusian literature is rarely translated
— In recent years, translations have occupied an increasing amount of space in publishing plans. Is this a sign of the maturation of Belarusian culture, or still a symptom of the crisis of contemporary Belarusian prose?
— This is an absolutely natural thing: at all times, all nations had more translated literature than original works. In interwar Lithuania (this is the period I am currently studying), the ratio between the publication of translations and original literature was at best 50/50. Literature was translated from Russian and Polish, among other languages. Just the other day, I saw a post from the Lithuanian Writers' Union about what they will be publishing in the next four months. There is not a single Lithuanian author on that list! They bought interesting copyrights from various countries: from Asia, Latin America, the USA, Portugal — and they are calmly publishing translated literature. Therefore, there's no need to fear translations.
— Can an independent Belarusian publishing house today afford to publish only artistically significant books, or does economic reality increasingly force them to think about commercial success?
— I think that few Belarusian publishers are interested in books of low artistic merit. If it's a translation, it needs to be a hit, roughly speaking, an iPhone that people will want to buy, have at home, read, and then buy a new version. It could also be a classic text, like Janushkevich's "Harry Potter" or Tolkien. But no one will publish a pig in a poke — neither a translated nor an original book — no one will publish. There must be at least some expert evaluation, and every sensible publishing house has it. Regularly reading interviews, you see that publishers reject more than 50%, some even up to 90% of manuscripts. You see, they publish one out of ten books — the best of those submitted. Because they often invest their limited money and don't really want to take risks. You won't get far with low-quality literature.
Another matter is average quality, the average temperature across the hospital — that's a different question. Here, it's a matter of the publisher's taste — what they consider highly artistic literature.
— What is the approximate ratio of translated to original works in contemporary Belarusian literature?
— Probably, there are publishers who are mostly focused on translations (I think the "Janushkevich" publishing house can be considered one such), on fiction hits that can be sold, cover expenses, pay salaries, and not go bankrupt, naturally. Someone takes on translation projects with support: if a country (Lithuania, Poland, Germany, Sweden, etc.) can pay for printing, rights, translation — and this is the largest, most expensive line item in the budget. Then you can run an advertising campaign, sell the book, and make some profit.
That is, translated literature sustains itself, partly thanks to the support of other countries that want to bring their achievements to Belarusians.
Another thing is that Belarusian works are poorly translated into other languages — this is historically the case, as we simply lack institutions that support translations into foreign languages. There are a few good examples, for instance, Algerd Bakharevich with Yulia Tsimafeeva, Yeva Vezhnavets, whose novella "Where are you going, wolf?" travelled the world and struck a nerve (the book was released in 10 languages). These are success stories, but there are very few of them, and they are achieved with incredible effort, including by the authors themselves.
— After the death of Sviatlana Kurs, many spoke of a great loss for Belarusian literature. But can we even name writers today who set the tone for contemporary Belarusian prose? Or has the era of "literary leaders" already passed?
— From a historical perspective, one can say that everything is important: debut authors, texts of average quality, and very different genres. But for a competitive environment, which literature inherently is, leaders are still present. Personally, I find it very difficult to categorize authors into canons, to define a top 10 or top 20 of all time, as people here like to do, because I read dozens of new books every year, so I have a demanding and specific attitude. The other day, a publication about the three best Belarusian books "took off," as it's called, on Threads. 70-80% of the recommendations concerned school classics (Karotkevich, Bykau, Kolas), some more knowledgeable individuals named executed poets, while those who remembered nothing beyond the school curriculum stubbornly pushed Ivan Shamiakin. Among current writers, Bakharevich and Horvat were most often mentioned. Sviatlana Kurs, who, to our great regret, is no longer with us, was also mentioned.
This sweet and somewhat naive exchange showed me a cross-section of a broad audience that has at least heard a little about Belarusian literature. But leaders do exist — we're talking about classics and several contemporary authors.
Our readers are players on the same field
— The Belarusian reader today also lives in a new reality. Emigration is increasingly perceived as living "seriously and for the long term." How does this change the attitude towards Belarusian books?
— Our readers are both abroad and in Belarus.
Belarusians who have long been abroad create book clubs, their own ecosystems (publisher—bookstore—presentation—discussion—authors). The same, but on a smaller scale and with less reach, exists in Minsk. There are authors who write, collaborate with Russian publishers, attend presentations — accordingly, they create their own systems. And there is classical literature that covers everyone, which is reissued both here and there, and valued both here and there: Karatkevich is bought in Minsk, Vilnius, and Warsaw.
In principle, all of them are players on the same field, although publishing a book in Minsk today is a real quest, if not an arcade game. Well, some still risk printing, some return to state publishing houses, as there are almost no others left in the country. Here, we can start discussing the topic of compromise. How much does unfreedom affect the quality of literature and to what extent can it even be called literature in some places. And abroad, say whatever you want, if there's someone to listen: there are avant-garde movements, partisan, self-published. For example, the "Bald Skull" publishing house...
— I'm hearing about that for the first time.
— They've probably published about a dozen books. Very provocative, on the verge of foul play, in the spirit of 1990s DIY. But these books are printed because they sold 20-50 copies of the previous print run, and with the proceeds, they printed a new book. That is, there are publishing projects that bypass all barriers: interesting things can appear there, as well as completely unreadable ones.
Children's literature — a very painful spot
— If a family already understands that their children will grow up in Poland, Germany, or Lithuania, they increasingly buy them books in the local language. Won't children's reading specifically become the main challenge for Belarusian books in the coming years?
— Children's literature has always been a painful spot, because it's a very expensive book: it's much closer to art, and it's simply expensive to publish. And a reduction in investment means an immediate drop in quality: you reduce costs for paper, for artists, you reduce costs for graphic editing — and it's immediately visible in the book. This is a very painful topic; Belarusian-language literature is needed for children. And a lot of it is needed, because young children read very quickly, they can go through several books a day. Accordingly, a minimum of 10-15 books per month is required. And step by step, from a board book that a child flips through at 2-3 years old, to books for 15-year-old teenagers — building a huge layer of books. In Sweden, for example, a state program for children's reading culture has long been in place: there are countless books for every age. It also specifies support for artists, authors, publishers — for example, money is paid every time someone borrows a book from a library, and this helps a lot.
In Lithuania, too, there are major competitions in children's literature. If an author wins a competition, their book is published in a print run of, say, 50,000 copies, the state pays the author a decent fee for each appearance at a school, and there can be several dozen appearances per year — one can live off of this. This is normal European practice — to allocate large financial flows to children's reading.
Given the Belarusian crisis and "partisan" situation, where every published book is a breakthrough, this is a completely incomparable situation. Therefore, it is absolutely natural that children will be bought books in the languages of the countries where their families live. But if parents identify themselves as Belarusians, then perhaps it would be best if they first spoke Belarusian with their child, and second, at least supplemented their reading with books in Belarusian.
In our crisis situation, this is a natural path. And the books, though there won't be many of them, should be quality literature, on which no expense would be spared. Great ones, with good paper and cool illustrations.
— How can we attract the casual reader today — someone who chooses a book not out of a sense of national duty, but simply because it's interesting?
— I think if Belarus is important to a person, they will, at least from time to time, turn to Belarusian texts. Just as they turn to Belarusian plays, Belarusian YouTube, supporting their compatriots. And whoever floats along by inertia or endlessly denigrates everything or demands a Dostoevsky-Tolstoy figure, only the grave will fix them.
Don't expect a triumphant procession of Belarusian literature across Europe
— What needs to happen for Belarusian literature to be spoken of again in ten years as one of the most interesting literatures in Eastern Europe?
— I don't know, I simply wouldn't expect that. Not at all. As a pessimist, I don't think that will happen. But a good advance of some good books in European countries is entirely probable. And not just books, but also various cultural projects — from theatre to cinema. Indeed, this is already happening, but not on the scale it could if the situation were healthy. Unfortunately, I wouldn't expect any magical explosion of interest in Belarusian literature (for example, France translating 20 volumes of our authors, or Belarusian bookstores appearing in London, or the New York Times analyzing our works). Large countries that hold the global book market are mostly interested in themselves, in their own literature. And foreign literature makes up a very small percentage: the larger the country, the smaller the percentage. Sometimes books might appear that strike a nerve of the time: the same Aleksievich caught the nerve of the collapse of the Soviet system, and in her cycle, she multifacetedly, from different angles, showed the collapse of a great construct. It was this circumstance that aroused interest in many regions of the world; some responded to military events, some to feminist motives, some to radiation.
Yeva Vezhnavets' novella "Where are you going, wolf?", which has already been released in 10 countries, touches upon many themes understandable to the Central European reader: war, the fate of women, the Holocaust. Probably, if someone wants to create a formatted cycle of Belarusian novels for a European audience, I would advise them to first study what people in the country chosen for conquest are generally accustomed to reading, what is valued there. Otherwise, your brilliant idea risks appearing absurd to a foreign publisher or publishing expert.
The question of Belarus will not be a priority — that's 100 percent. The question of Belarus generally concerns very few people in the world. More universal things are needed, which, however, risk being very banal. The question of Russia, for example, is much more captivating. That's why Sasha Filipenko's books are so popular, because for a long time he addressed readers' interest in Russia. And before that, for years, he worked exclusively for the Russian reader.
— What book do Belarusians lack the most today? What book has not yet been written, but has already become a public expectation?
— I would give my projection — a good series of beautifully designed children's books. A dozen children's books — with great stories, wonderfully illustrated. And I believe society would respond to this, because everyone loves their children; if a hit in Belarusian were to appear — that would be excellent.
— But do we have high-class children's writers for this?
— I think we do. Maybe something is preventing someone from deciding to do so. In our situation, writers quite often say that it's a pointless endeavor, they don't believe it's needed by anyone. Friends, acquaintances, close ones, and relatives have to persuade them to finish and publish a book. People don't believe in themselves, they engage in a lot of self-criticism. However, this is also not a bad topic for a plot.