Culture Writer Heidi Fogden debuts our new feature In Defence of Non-fiction, praising Svetlana Alexievich’s use of interviews in Second-Hand Time
Trigger warnings for Second-Hand Time: mental health issues, war
Reading non-fiction books outside of our degrees can seem tiring, intimidating, and not easily accessible. Yet I have felt a sense of guilt for not being able to understand different histories or historical contexts in the news. The new feature ‘In Defence of Non-fiction’ looks at different non-fiction books and discusses key ideas and advice for engaging with them, as well as reviewing how accessible the non-fiction book is for busy students. The aim of this feature is to encourage students to feel more comfortable tackling books that may seem dense, but still ignite our interests.
In Defence of Non-fiction: Second-Hand Time by Svetlana Alexievich (translated by Bela Shavevich)
To the untrained eye, a 695-page book on post-Soviet society seems like a daunting task. Indeed, most literature on post-Soviet history and experiences would seem like a headache for those trying to give context to Putin’s supporters, understand where patterns of violence and punishment today stem from, or comprehend why names like Navalny have circulated the news. However, Second-Hand Time (translated by Bela Shayevich and published by Fitzcarraldo Editions) is a masterpiece in tackling this headache, given Svetlana Alexievich’s intricate attention to the power of voices, interviews, and the street conversations of normal people. Combining such a journalistic approach to dense history enables Alexievich to craft a painfully human portrayal of the Soviet era, and the years following it, by those who lived through it.
In Second-Hand Time, Alexievich characterises the USSR as a kind of ghost itself. Reading interviews of witnesses to gulags, the stories of family tragedies, and (most poignantly) the utter confusion and crises of mental health issues in Yeltsin’s nineties, is almost like watching a documentary. Alexievich’s interviews feel so raw, yet, in such conversations, an aura of normalisation and nonchalance is simultaneously present. Encompassing this idea of having to ‘numb the pain.’ For those wondering, ‘how can Russians support Putin?’ or ‘why is the Soviet era still talked about?’, this visibly intimidating book reads like a page turner—thrilling and horrifically fascinating. Utilising the core theme of memory, or what we choose to remember, Alexievich presents the history we don’t learn in secondary school in a patchwork-like fashion, prioritising the experiences of normal people. The fantastic use of footnotes in the volume meant reading flowed easily, avoiding the quick google search of ‘what is a Khrushchyovka?’.
For the busier reader, Second-Hand Time‘s quick bullet pointed sections of conversations are ideal for dipping in and out of, since the thinking is presented to the reader, instead of the reader having to work to understand what they are being told. The scale of Alexievich’s content is powerful. From snippets of happy childhood memories of the Soviet kitchen, to the terrors of poverty in the streets of Moscow, quilted with early Soviet nostalgia and the Second Chechen War, all sewn up in antithetical happiness and pain. The monologues make the history feel real, prioritising feelings and sympathies over textbook facts, including voices that we don’t see on the news.
For those with any interest in Soviet experiences and context behind Russian politics today, the interview style, told through jokes, anecdotes, and recordings, really made the content of Second-Hand Time less intimidating to access. Whilst I would recommend skimming the content warnings, Second-Hand Time really succeeds in telling history through real-life character studies, making it an impressively engaging read.
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