By: Irene Zabytko Publisher: Algonquin Books Average Rating: Binding: Hardcover Label: Algonquin Books Number of Items: 1 Number of Pages: 280 Publication Date: March 31, 2000
Courageous Women I was impressed by the courage shown by the women in this novel. I read it as part of my own research on Chernobyl. I have relatives living in the Ukraine and decided to write a mystery story with the Chernobyl disaster as a backdrop Chernobyl Murders. Irene's novel helped me understand the victims in what would eventually become the exclusion zone more deeply.
Can't keep a good baba down! I must admit, I was initially drawn to this book because I myself derive from 100% Ukrainian lineage. As such, Zabytko's subject matter interested me. I thumbed through the book and thought "Hey, I've gotta read this." The story centers around the Chernobyl nuclear disaster of April 26th, 1986. The fallout from this tragedy is said to have been the equivalent of eight Hiroshimas! Yet, as though the tragedy in itself were not bad enough, the government at that time chose to suppress information to the residents of villages surrounding Chernobyl, and to the nation at large. Folks were kept in the dark concerning the actual extent (and far-reaching effects) of the radioactive contamination. As a result, much PREVENTABLE damage was done to people at the time, and even to the children that would be born to those who survived. The Unwashed Sky focuses on the situation facing the widow Marusia Petrenko, her son, daughter-in-law, and two grandchildren. By the time they flee their village of Starylis, it is too late. Their lives will never be the same. Marusia decides to return to Starylis. She is not even aware that it has been declared a "forbidden zone"... all that she knows is that this is her village, the only home she's ever known, and since everything dear has been torn from her, this feeling of "home" may be the only thing she can yet embrace as her own. She returns, and finds that her only companion is an old mangy cat. She keeps a perpetual fire, hoping that the smoke from her chimney will tell others of her presence. And slowly, some of her old friends do begin to trickle back. One by one, these old women (and one man), drawn by the same sense of a need to belong to their beginnings, return to rebuild their lives. These tenacious Starylis "babysi" band together and draft a letter of demands that causes the Chernobyl officials to cede to their requests, and admit to certain wrongdoings, however late in the day! (Even then, they grant the women's wishes only because of how good this will look in the newspapers). Zabytko paints a sensitive, touching picture of this time of loneliness and desolation, of undeserved and unwarranted hardship... a time when even the dirt rejected seed and the water tasted of metal. I loved the authentic Ukrainian vernacular running through the book... I could hear my own grandmother clearly. A wonderful testimony of the enduring power of the human spirit and its will to survive... a point made all the more sobering when one considers the non-fictional source of the author's inspiration. In an interview with Rebecca Brown, Irene Zabytko said: "I hope that anyone who reads it comes away with the feeling that despite the cultural exoticisms, we're still part of one planet, and the endurance of the human spirit persists in all." I think she succeeds in this.
terrible disaster-easy to read Irene Zabytko in this book presented the consequences of the worst civilian nuclear disaster in the world in a "humanely-digestible" way.The reader is initially reluctant to start reading this book, but later on , the author makes it more plausible and presents the deeply human feelings of the victims. Excellent work, Ms Zabytko!!
A small and brave masterpiece A short book, that can be read in one day, The Sky Unwashed is a highly important book in two respects. Foremost, this is one of the first full pictures we got about what really happened to the residents in the Chernobyl region and Kiev in April, 1986, albeit in fiction, but borne out now in articles and TV documentaries. Secondly, the lyrical beauty and masterful storytelling should elevate this novel to the stature of high literature. It is almost a year since this book came out and I read it, but it still haunts me. There are several themes interwoven and coalescing in the overriding struggle for life versus death's inevitability, the largeness of the nuclear accident, its cataclysmic proportions versus the helplessness of mankind or of the individual, of course another metaphor for the big Soviet Union and the communist ideal versus the individual. Although ironically the political and scientific disasters are of mankind's creation.
The novel plays out in snapshots: We see people working at the factory before the nuclear accident because it looks like a better life or the best alternative; the aftermath of the accident, the government putting people on buses in a hurry, telling them they can go home in a few days, but to leave everything behind; a skin rash or a burn or a breathing problem, just that, a denial of radiation sickness; Marusia and her friends planting a garden.
What can a person do when faced with a moral dilemma over which they seem to have no control and from which there is no escape, where it doesn't matter whether you are a hero or a coward, because you will die anyway? The novel asks this in several ways and on several levels, and the answers are as different as the personalities involved.
The grandmother Marusia, her daughter-in-law Zosia, and two grandchildren crowd the hospital in Kiev, where her son, Zosia's husband, lays dying, people crammed into hallways for weeks fight over blankets and food and toys, the train station is stampeded. Zosia escapes the hospital for awhile to watch a parade, to look at clean streets and flowers, and to try pretend that it's all a bad dream, even while plotting to get her children out of Kiev. Marusia takes a different route. She and other elderly women friends go back to their village and live life on their own terms with the time they have left. This is where the novel really takes its philosophical wing and its song. It is the heart and soul of the book.
As the sky becomes dirty and unnaturally clouded over Chernobyl, a society's vision gradually becomes clear and unclouded. One makes the inevitable connection to the collapse of the Soviet Union a few years later. We will never really know for sure, but the issue of handling nuclear energy safely is one that is relevant to everyone on the planet.
Nuclear family: Struggling to survive Chernobyl The 1986 Chernobyl nuclear disaster scared the world witless. We all worried what might happen to us. But what became of those who lived there? It would be a mistake to read Irene Zabytko's The Sky Unwashed as a documentary novel, because, despite its commonplace beginning, it tells its story with characters who come to matter to us for their own sakes, not for what they can tell us about Chernobyl. Even so, Zabytko, a Ukrainian-American born in Chicago, writes from experience as well as imagination, for she has relatives and friends in Chernobyl, has spent time with them there and has taken their stories into herself.
The novel opens with a too-journalistic narrative of a Ukrainian family's dispirited life, pre-disaster, in a village where people seem to be going through the motions of life in a dying culture. Weddings are not celebrated festively so much as mockingly, less cheer than jeer. For young people, working at the nearby Chernobyl plant offers a chance to escape from ancestral poverty. Older ones, even in the gentler Gorbachev times, take a different view. They've lived through Stalin's engineered Ukraine famine; war; oppression. "The old women in babushkas who kept the old ways alive with their icons and litanies ... knew that the hard times never end," the prologue says.
The Petrenko family represents both attitudes. Old Marusia lives with her weak, dull son, whose wife, Zosia, nurses a vital spark that leads her into unhappy affairs in search of vibrant life. We don't like Zosia much at first. Irritable, nasty, she appears selfish despite having two young children. But after Chernobyl blows, her overbearing ill-temper and sharp tongue come in handy when the radiation-poisoned family encounters sneering incompetence at a Kiev hospital. Zosia bribes and browbeats her way to medical treatment for her husband; of course, we fear for those who lack such survival skills.
Yet it's the aged Marusia, with her traditional, lumbering ways, who carries the novel into our hearts. She goes along with the evacuation because there's no choice. When in the ensuing chaos she finds herself alone, though, she realizes that home is the only place to go. Arriving there after a hard journey, "She sank to her knees on the ground, and she made the sign of the cross. She uttered a prayer of thanks to be back on the land where her mother and grandmother had lived."
How Marusia survives in a deserted, radioactive village where the water tastes "like coins" is harrowing and fascinating. It's the center of the novel, much as the primacy of home and religious faith is Marusia's center. Eyes itching and red, body aching strangely, she goes to her church to ring its deafening bells every day. She tills her garden, aids a dying cat. Loneliness tries to crush her spirit. A few other residents return, bringing relief from isolation but also moral dilemmas and the pain of an old wrong that Marusia is now expected to forgive. She leads some villagers to an effective (but not very convincing) showdown with Soviet officials over basic demands. (It should be noted that this is a strong-women novel -- the men all tend to be weak, stupid or dead. Is that necessary to show that women are strong?)
The author resists any temptation to lard her story with lectures on the evils of nuclear power. A lesser writer would have introduced a character whose job was to pontificate instructively on radiation dangers and communist inefficiency (a lethal combination, for sure). Instead, Zabytko concentrates on showing what happens to her characters and how they respond, in their human particularity, to the terrors they face. Incidents affect them, and move us, without any sense of piling-on or wallowing in pathos. There are even mica-glints of humor.
Mainly we're left with astonished pride at human endurance, coupled with anguish and anger at what the novel shows so unflinchingly without preaching: that by accepting dangerous technologies, we risk irreversibly poisoning not only our bodies but also our very ground of being -- land, home, family.
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