Charniakevich: Don't expect a triumphant march of Belarusian literature across Europe

Belarusian literature in emigration has found new breath and achieved 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 this is only the visible tip of the iceberg.

Beneath the surface, entirely different processes are taking place, which may not only delight fans of domestic books 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 already? Will Belarusian literature be able to conquer Europe in a decade or two?

BGmedia seeks answers to uncomfortable questions together with Tsikhan Charniakevich, editor-in-chief of bellit.info and press secretary of the International Union of Belarusian Writers.

— Our literature of recent years exists between two very different expectations. On the one hand, Europeans are looking for new forms and new themes. On the other hand, the Belarusian reader expects artistic reflection on the year 2020 from their authors. Have Belarusian writers found themselves caught between these two poles?

— Writers always face challenges – that's their job. Writers read foreign literature, their contemporaries – and choose the most appealing way of writing for themselves, determining their own path. Every writer can face not two, but ten or more challenges; if there are none, then, probably, one can speak not of literature, but of a hobby. Poetry, prose, cinema, theater, painting – in the life of an artist from any field, their work takes up a large part of their life. Therefore, challenges are a normal, absolutely natural, though stressful, environment.

Why has a book about the events of 2020 not yet been written?

— Why do we still not have an artistic work that would reflect on 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 end of the war, sometimes artistic works appear decades after the events conclude. And the history of 2020 is, in fact, not finished, because the outcome we are striving for and everyone is waiting for has not yet arrived.

Even regarding the Ukrainian war, of course, books are 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 famous film director Volodymyr Yatsenko, who honestly admitted that such cinema is currently impossible: the war needs to end. Then it will be possible to comprehend or invent stories that will not be propaganda, not entertainment like Rambo – none of the normal film directors want to make such films. Which is absolutely understandable: propaganda is not at all the kind of film 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 some passive role: the war hasn't ended, you're hit every day and you can't tell something from an active position, as someone 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, analyzing the past period is very difficult. Therefore, probably, people 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 documentaries. To what extent have these expectations been met? Should literature today bear witness to what has been experienced or analyze it?

— Expectations have been partially met, as books are being published. Mikalai Dziadok recently published a book, Mikalai Statkevich's essays were printed, and Maksim Znak said he intends to prepare a new work. Although his prison literature was smuggled out, published, and even translated while he was still behind bars. These are just a few examples among many. Prison poetry and prose, unfortunately, continue to appear, as many have been affected by repressions, people share their own experiences – both as testimony and as auto-therapy. Sometimes – in the form of books, sometimes in the form of extensive interviews or videos. This experience enters the information space, even if not in the form of fiction, but educational or essayistic. If we take the works of Seviarynets 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 artistic literature is still something else.

— However, has prison creativity now established itself as a distinct and full-fledged direction in Belarusian literature?

— It never disappeared. Last year, I compiled an anthology of classical prison poetry "Vershy na Volyu" (Poems for Freedom) of 400 pages: it included works by Yakub Kolas, Ales Harun, Maksim Tank, Uladzimir Zhylka, Larysa Hienijush. 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 absolute independence of the country has not yet been achieved: political prisoners, both 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 no great social novel about 2020 has appeared, seemingly "minor" genres – detective fiction, young adult, fantasy – are developing very interestingly. Can it be said that the most interesting artistic quests in Belarusian literature are happening there today?

— Algierd Bacharevich, who won the Leipzig Book Prize last year, wrote a long essay about how we are drawn to fairy tales. It's not particularly appropriate in today's situation to create fairy tales – absolutely invented worlds with entirely fictitious creatures, or about some undefined 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 Giedroyc Prize full list, it becomes clear that it is precisely "fairy tales," in one way or another, that creators are writing today. Imaginary 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, on the contrary, it can destroy the psyche and its defense mechanisms, so people escape into imaginary worlds in which they try to find answers to pressing questions. Whether they succeed in escaping reality, or whether good or mediocre literature emerges from the creators' pens – that's another conversation. Imaginary works today are like this, and if you want non-imaginary ones – buy autofiction, about what is happening here and now.

— Belarusian poetry responded to the events almost instantly, dramaturgy also found its intonation. Why did prose turn out to be much more inert? The argument that a novel needs more time doesn't hold: six years is a long period... Is this about the peculiarity of the genre or a sign of a deeper crisis?

— I would say that even in poetry, the revolutionary theme is losing its positions. Visual culture is related to the fact that the traumatic history of 2020 is more understandable for those who invest in these projects. And they, as a rule, are very expensive: both performances and films, which require dozens of people and large venues. These are grand narratives, including tragedies, which can be presented in a way suitable for understanding by a conventionally "average" European viewer or listener.

In prose, internal experience, an individual story that is not necessarily tied to a specific time, let alone 2020, is still more valued. Although here and there one can find allusions, parallels; someone, even writing fantasy or dystopia, might subtly portray 2020. Indeed, self-censorship is still active for many, as people worry: who will read the work, how widely will the book circulate, will it be possible to take it to Belarus and pass it on to parents – such precautions still stop 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 play can also be watched, but a book needs to be transported. These precautions are at play.

Language is changing, language is becoming impoverished

— 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 fact that the language exists in a closed space, it is clearly becoming impoverished. That is, people write quite regularly, and a big plus is that dozens of absolutely new authors (both male and female) have appeared, there are various initiatives, reading clubs, book blogs. For 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 feel the context of usage, basic orthography and punctuation – this is obvious to anyone who follows the process, consumes content, and generally picks up books. Therefore, publishing houses play a very large role here, their abilities in editing, 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 see that Belarusian-language content interests readers, so some run their Russian-language texts through Chat GPT.

There are known cases where texts are submitted that are clearly 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 becoming poorer, the language is changing... Editorial workshops capable of training new specialists could partially rectify the situation, and this work itself should be better paid. Because we have encountered a real problem.

— The shortage of good editors is evident today?

— Yes, it is felt. The main "pool" of editors, as far as I know, is swamped with work. Besides, 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 language, and I predict that it will increase year by year both in Belarus and in the diaspora. Perhaps, if the "Law on Languages" of 1990 begins to be implemented, the situation will slowly start to change, and in thirty years after that, we will see a different picture. But for now, everything remains, let's say, the same – both in Minsk and in conditional Warsaw.

The creation of the Association of Belarusian Publishers is a success story

— Belarusian publishing houses are also trapped today. Small print runs mean high book costs, and a narrow market doesn't allow working according to the laws of a large book industry. Can we already speak of a full-fledged Belarusian book industry in exile, or is this still a story of cultural survival?

— What is there to say, all our literature is a story of survival, the history of Belarus is a history 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, books in the Lithuanian language. Lithuanians laid these bricks and built an independent state. This is an enviable success story.

In other words, the story of survival has not left us, because the conditions remain very difficult. Access to readers is extremely limited, it is very difficult to send anything to Belarus, accordingly, publishers largely have to work with our compatriots in the diaspora who may still buy books.

— So, the creation of the Association of Publishers (the Association of Belarusian Publishers is the first professional organization of independent publishing houses in emigration, officially registered in June 2026 in Krakow, uniting 11 publishing houses) — is also a story of survival for book publishers?

— The creation of the Association was discussed 10-15 years ago. But back then, the publishers themselves didn't understand: why do this? I remember such meetings, including those initiated by the writers' union. The current conditions have significantly worsened, the crisis has intensified, and there has been an understanding that it's easier to face challenges together, as the saying goes. Therefore, the Association finally took shape, and active communication is taking place among publishers: joint trips, joint projects. This is excellent!

I would say that the publishing sphere has shown the entire emigration of the 2020s a positive example: they managed to adapt to the situation, began to develop and grow, and their number has multiplied.

Today one can even say that they have "divided" readers among themselves: someone publishes more poetry, someone deals with translations, someone pays more attention to children's literature, and someone promotes debut authors. There is obvious development in publishing, and the story itself is interesting – beautiful books can already be written about the Belarusian book publishing market. This is a success story, and far from always do immigrant spheres have many such stories; rather, there are enough 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 increasingly prominent place in publishing plans. Is this a testament to the maturation of Belarusian culture or a symptom of the crisis in 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 published translations and original literature was at best 50 to 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, USA, Portugal – and they calmly publish translated literature. So, there is no need to fear translations.

— Can an independent Belarusian publisher today afford to publish only books of high artistic merit, or does economic reality increasingly force them to think about commercial success?

— I think very few Belarusian publishers are interested in books of low artistic merit. If it's a translation, then it needs to be a hit, roughly speaking, an iPhone that people will want to buy, have at home, read, and then buy the new version. It could also be a classic text, like Yanushkevich's "Harry Potter" or Tolkien. But no one will publish a pig in a poke – neither a translated nor an original book. 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 very often they invest their scarce money and don't want to risk too much. You won't get far with low-quality literature.

The other thing is average quality, the average temperature in the hospital – that's another question. Here it's a matter of the publisher's taste – what they consider high-quality literature.

— What is the approximate ratio of translated to original works in contemporary Belarusian literature?

— Perhaps there are publishers who are largely focused on translations (I think "Yanushkevich" publishing house can be considered such), on literary hits that can be sold, cover expenses, salaries, and, naturally, not go bankrupt. Someone takes on translated projects with support: when some country (Lithuania, Poland, Germany, Sweden, etc.) can pay for printing, rights, translation – and this is the biggest, most expensive line in the budget. Then you can run an advertising campaign, sell the book, and earn something.

In other words, translated literature is sustained, partly thanks to the support of other countries that want to convey their achievements to Belarusians.

Another matter is that Belarusian works are poorly translated into other languages – this is historically rooted, because we simply lack institutions that support translations into foreign languages. There are a few good examples, such as Alhierd Bacharevich with Yulia Tsimafeeva, Eva Vezhnavets, whose novella "Where are you going, wolf?" spread across the world and hit a nerve (the book has been published in 10 languages). These are success stories, but there are very few of them, and they come with incredible effort, including from the authors.

— After the death of Svyatlana Kurs, many spoke of a great loss for Belarusian literature. But can we generally name the writers who set the tone for contemporary Belarusian prose today? Or has the era of "literary leaders" already passed?

— From a historical perspective, one can say that everything is important: debut authors, average quality texts, and very different genres are all crucial. But for a competitive environment, which literature inherently is, leaders are still present there. To categorize authors into canons, to determine a top-10 or top-20 of all time, as people often like to do, is personally very difficult for me, because you read dozens of new books every year, so you have a demanding and specific attitude. The other day, a post about the three best Belarusian books "went viral" on Threads, as they say. 70-80% of the recommendations concerned school classics (Karatkevich, Bykau, Kolas), some more knowledgeable people named executed poets, and those who remembered nothing beyond the school curriculum stubbornly pushed Ivan Shamyakin. Among current writers, Bacharevich and Horvat were most often remembered. Svyatlana Kurs, who, unfortunately, is no longer with us, was also mentioned.

This sweet and somewhat naive roll call showed me a cross-section of a broad audience that had heard at least a little something about Belarusian literature. But leaders exist – we're talking about classics and several authors who are writing now.

Our readers are players on the same field

— The Belarusian reader also lives in a new reality today. Emigration is increasingly perceived as life "for real and for a long time." How does this change the attitude towards Belarusian books?

— Our readers are both abroad and in Belarus.

Belarusians who have been abroad for a long time create book clubs, their own ecosystems (publisher—bookstore—presentation—discussion—authors). The same thing, but on a smaller scale and with smaller reach, exists in Minsk. There are authors who write, cooperate with Russian publishers, attend presentations – accordingly, they create their own systems. And there is the classic literature that covers everyone, which is reissued both here and there, and is valued both here and there: Karatkevich is bought in Minsk, Vilnius, and Warsaw.

In principle, they are all players on the same field, although now publishing a book in Minsk is a natural quest, if not an arcade game. Well, some still risk printing, some return to state publishing houses, because there are almost no others left in the country. Here we can start discussing the topic of compromise. To what extent 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: here there are avant-garde movements, partisan, samizdat. For example, the "Lysy Cherap" (Bald Skull) publishing house...

— I hear about that for the first time.

— They've published about a dozen books, maybe. Very outrageous, on the verge of foul play, in the spirit of DIY 1990s. But these books are printed because they sold 20-50 copies of the previous print run, and with the money earned, they printed a new book. So, there are publishing projects that bypass all barriers: both interesting and completely unreadable things can appear there.

Children's literature is a very painful spot

— If a family already understands that their children will grow up in Poland, Germany, or Lithuania, they increasingly buy books for them in the local language. Won't children's reading 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 reducing investments means an immediate drop in quality: you cut costs on paper, on artists, you cut costs on 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 small children read very quickly, they can devour several books a day. Accordingly, you need at least 10-15 books a month. And so, step by step, from cardboard books that a child flips through at 2-3 years old, to books for 15-year-old teenagers – a whole huge layer of books needs to be built. In Sweden, for example, there has long been a state program for children's reading culture: there are tons of books for every age. It also outlines support for artists, authors, publishers – for example, money is paid every time someone takes a book from the library, and this helps a lot.

In Lithuania, there are also 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 normal fee for each performance at school, and there can be several dozen performances per year – you can live off this. This is normal European practice – to allocate large financial flows to children's reading.

With our crisis and partisan situation, where every book published 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 the families live. But if parents identify themselves as Belarusians, then it would probably be best if they first speak Belarusian with their child, and second, at least dilute 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 books, with good paper and cool illustrations.

— How can we attract a 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, from time to time, turn to Belarusian texts. Just as they turn to Belarusian plays, Belarusian YouTube, supporting their compatriots. As for those who will drift by inertia or endlessly criticize everything or demand a Dostoevsky-Tolstoy-esque work, perhaps only the grave will fix them.

Don't expect a triumphant march of Belarusian literature across Europe

— What needs to happen for Belarusian literature to be talked about again in ten years as one of the most interesting literatures of Eastern Europe?

— I don't know, I simply wouldn't expect that at all. As a pessimist, I think it won't happen. But a good reception for some good books in European countries is entirely probable. And not only books, but also various cultural projects – from theatre to cinema. Indeed, this is already happening, but not on such a scale as it could if the situation were healthy. Unfortunately, I would not 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 most 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 can appear that hit the nerve of the time: the same Alexievich caught the nerve of the collapse of the Soviet system, and in her cycle, she showed the breakdown of a large construct multi-faceted from different angles. This very circumstance sparked interest in many regions of the world; some responded to military events, some to feminist motifs, some to radiation.

Eva Vezhnavets' novella "Where are you going, wolf?", which has already been published in 10 countries, touches upon many themes understandable to the average European reader: war, the fate of women, the Holocaust. Perhaps, if someone wants to create a formatted cycle of Belarusian novels for a European audience, I would advise first studying what people in your chosen country 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 issue of Belarus will not be in the first place – that's 100 percent. The issue of Belarus generally concerns very few people in the world. More universal things are needed, which, by the way, risk being very banal. The issue of Russia, for example, is much more engaging. That's why Sasha Filipenko's books are so popular, because he has long responded to readers' interest in Russia. And before that, he worked exclusively for the Russian reader for years.

— What book do Belarusians miss 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 children's books, beautifully designed. A dozen children's books – with a great story, excellently illustrated. And I believe that society would respond to this, because everyone loves their children; if a hit in Belarusian appeared – that would be wonderful.

— But do we have high-class children's writers for this?

— I think we do. Maybe something is preventing someone from daring to do so. In our situation, writers often say that it's a meaningless activity, they don't believe it's needed by anyone. Friends, acquaintances, loved ones, and relatives have to persuade them to finish and publish a book. People don't believe in themselves, they engage in much self-criticism. However, this is also not a bad topic for a plot.

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