The very fact of the Book Garden exhibition, held at the Ukrainian Home, provides ample food for thought – primarily on two topics: the state’s capabilities to organize and carry out such a project on the appropriate level and whether it is worthwhile to do so. Apparently, it will have exponents as well as opponents, on the one and the other hand. People at the upper echelons of power will be all out for it; it is their daily bread, which they conscientiously work off in the line of duty lest anyone suspect that they are simply doing nothing. Also, the government-run publishing companies will be for rather than against it, because it is another opportunity to show precisely where all those meager sums collected from the taxpayers meant for various publishing projects have been channeled. On the other hand, an insatiable inner suspicion convinces one that the overwhelming majority of publishers that are professionally (!) engaged in publishing books (regardless of what kind of literature it is: classical, modern, Ukrainian, translations, etc.) will be against rather than for it, mildly speaking. They will not be against the idea itself, but will rather abide by the principle “if you can leave us out of it, please do.” If we have to be involved, all right, here is our smart money – in the form of a miserable exposition – so no one will accuse us of refusing to participate.
In actuality, that inner suspicion really means experience. And experience is a thing far more eloquent than a most carefully worded report on fantastic attainments in a given sphere, “productive activity,” “successfully mastering,” and “development of book-publishing.” Let us be honest: such an exhibit can only claim the status of public report (by government-run publishers to the structures that give them money; by those structures to the state embodied as the Derzhkominform [State Information Committee] and the Cabinet of Ministers; and by the latter to the head of state). Creative collectives from various regions of Ukraine likewise make their reports, although no one tries to jump higher than their own ears there. They come, sing, dance, and receive their portion of applause. Thanks a lot, everybody, goodbye! By a bitter irony, the organizers’ careless self-praise involuntarily revealed the essence of what was happening: “This exhibit gives one an idea of the book-publishing in Ukraine over the eleven years of independence.” One can only exert one’s willpower to restrain from comments on one’s idea about that book-publishing and its status.
Consider some statistics. According to the Book Chamber of Ukraine, the publishing houses and organizations of Ukraine put out 9,983 book and brochure titles last year (10,594,000 copies with abstracts) with a total print run of 46,407,000 copies. Of these 5,584 book titles (27,166,800 copies, or 55.9%) were in Ukrainian, the rest in the languages of ethnic minorities and foreign languages. These statistics, however, do not include editions which commercial publishers prefer to keep in the shadows. One can learn about them strictly off the record, but never for tax purposes or to add to the Book Chamber statistics. Such under-the-counter editions are mostly popular Russian fiction. Summing up the above arithmetic and allowing for the drawn-out process of collecting last census data, it is possible to state proudly that Ukraine does publish one book per capita per annum! Now seems time to recall the old slogan “We Shall Catch Up With the West and Get Ahead of It!” One can traditionally turn to Russia: 3.5 books, or to the West: 12 books in Poland (considered a good index).
However, one must be objective: book-publishing debates increasingly often take the form of specific proposals. Who to whom? For example, Derzhkominform to the more authoritative agencies. According to its chairman, Ivan Chyzh, they have worked out and submitted three book-publishing bills, but the ministries of finance, the economy, and state administration are unanimously against them. When asked why, one is led to understand that answering it would be divulging a state secret. Mr. Chyzh’s computations show that, by passing the bills, Ukraine would “lose 16 million hryvnias in a year but gain 400 million, and publishing books would become profitable.” The great thinker Lomonosov once proved that, if you have less of something in one place, you have more of that something somewhere else. Thus, if someone gets hold of that 384 million, someone else will have lost that money. This means they have good reason to be against it.
Ivan Chyzh spoke of all this at the opening ceremony, and such frankness, of course, should be regarded as a positive aspect of the project. He further informed that the Derzhkominform is against suppressing “those other books,” for this would “cause a negative response from those against whom this will be used.” Nevertheless, the state committee is valiantly combating book contraband from Russia, although it lacks the authority, submits statements, and so on. One is reminded of the previous parliament with its ad hoc committees of inquiry that tried to investigate something without having the proper authority, so their performance proved rather poor. Also, Mr. Chyzh said the state committee would monitor the television channels, checking for transgressions of the current legislation, and even threatened lawsuits
The exhibition left several general impressions: the apathetic presence of government-run publishing houses and absence of modern private publications (with few exceptions that only stressed the rule); colorful Turkish books and the loud design of the Russian United Russia; glaring misery of regional publishers, in terms of assortment, typography, topicality; the Crimean exposition with its books in Crimean Tatar, made to order and still using both the Cyrillic and Latin alphabets; eight Russian stands attracting nostalgic Kyiv bibliophiles happily buying pocket size soft cover pulp at 5.5- 7.5 hryvnias.
Finally, consider some more statistics. The 2001 state budget provided for a UAH 13 million appropriation for the national program of “socially significant publications.” The actual amount supplied was slightly over six million. This year, it is UAH 13.8 million and nothing remitted so far. The range of literature falling under the “socially significant” category rates a separate article. A small stand presenting publications made under the national program was very interesting. Two principal trends could be singled out: (a) good old Taras Shevchenko, being capitalized upon by one and all, begging for subsidies, getting some, reprinting something, making new compilations, etc., and (b) expensive art books in a coffee table format, with prices substantially reducing the number of potential customers, maybe a couple hundred that can hardly be described as “socially significant.” Things like that have to balance profit and loss, not be merely gifts made at state budget expense.
And so, is this project worthwhile or not? Probably it is, even if because of healthy contrasts born of the competition and serving everyone’s benefit. Another thing is the manner in which the participants are brought together. How can they profit from this? Who pays to organize all this? The old arguments about such projects being nonprofit and serving purely cultural purposes sound quite hollow. While we talk about cultural benefits, someone somewhere is taking care of our wallets. Part of the dividends thus received is immediately channeled into the adjustment of our cultural needs, making them even more susceptible to further manipulation, using grandiloquent and nonsensical notions. This seems a vicious circle. Perhaps it is time to stop buying others’ soap bubbles and start making our own.
