On occasion of the 70th birth anniversary of this outstanding Ukrainian writer, Ukraine’s National Museum of Literature has opened an exhibit dedicated to his work.
Valerii Shevchuk’s works are a kind of research into the nature of things and yet his attention is always focused on man, be it a human in a closed space or one traveling far and wide, obsessed with a thirst for knowledge. The scope of themes in Shevchuk’s works is vast, but all of them — good and evil, life and death, the beautiful and the ugly — focus on man as the measure of all things. The surrounding world is just a way of reproducing the complex world of the human soul in its relationship with the human world, nature, God, and the devil.
At the exhibit, The Day was able to speak with Shevchuk, who is generally extremely reluctant to give interviews, but on this occasion he made an exception for our paper. The writer eyed the recorder suspiciously—he uses a typewriter instead of a word processor. We began our conversation with the author’s boyhood memories.
“My childhood abounded in events and impressions. As a boy, I was always taking trips and getting lost. People also used to call me ‘a little liar’ for my wild imagination and fibs.”
Was it your wild imagination that prompted taking up writing, or was it something else?
“At first, it was my elder brother who got interested in literary work. As a child he was often sick. He had rheumatism and a congenital heart disease, so he had to stay in bed for months on end. Father would borrow books from the local library, and those were adult books. He went through Zola and Balzac, and later he would give me a detailed account of all the stories. In the seventh grade, when his illness was at its worst, my brother wrote a story about childhood experiences. We would discuss each episode and agree on what had to be written the next day. In fact, it was only my brother who did the writing.
“In the ninth grade I began to admire Heine’s poetry. I even tried to write poems which my brother justly ridiculed, for they had neither rhyme nor images. To tell the truth, I didn’t have a clue how to write poetry. When I was in grade ten, I ‘went into’ prose. I wrote a story on the history of my city, Zhytomyr. These were my first steps in literature.”
You identify yourself as a baroque writer. Does this trend still determine your work now?
“My first passion, my first love was writing. I was absorbed in it, gave it as much (or even more) energy, time, ardor, as I gave to the research, to the Renaissance and Baroque epochs.
“I am one of those men who tend to use baroque traditions, but in their modern interpretation. I seek to cognize man to the best of my abilities. And I’d be happy if someone else could do the same with my help.
“There is a long-established tradition to believe that our literature starts with Hryhorii Skovoroda. But what was there before him? Were we a culturally sterile land? These questions used to disturb me a lot. There was a vast cultural stratum before Skovoroda in Ukrainian culture, which wasn’t duly appreciated back then and whose name is the Ukrainian baroque period. We can see it in Kyiv: Saint Sophia, the Kyivan Cave Monastery, and Podil. So there arises a question: Where did it all come from and what is its essence? It is not Italian or Polish — it is purely and authentically Ukrainian and, at the same time, it is part and parcel of European culture.
“I admired this literary trend and started with translations. Today I have an entire bookshelf of my works on pre-Skovorodian epoch — from Ukrainian epic poems to a monograph on Skovoroda.
“I found out that the literature of those olden times had everything: the sublime and the base arts, wonderful music, poetry, amazing architecture, and graphic arts (the so-called Kyivan school of graphics. — O. R.). In a word, there was everything we were deprived of in the times of totalitarianism.
“One telling incident happened as I tried to have a book published about the poets of the 17th and 18th centuries. One official in Kyiv explained to me why I had been turned down. He said that Russians didn’t know anything of the kind.
“I have been wondering why we should always be dumber than Russians and our art worse than the Russian art. Every nation subjugated to Russia felt like a slave. Just think of all the rich and original cultures, say, those of Armenia, Georgia, or Central Asian nations!
“So all my work as a writer has been permeated with this boundless passion for the baroque. That is what shaped me as a scholar and author.”
Apart from literature, you also have a passion for theater and cinematography.
“I have been attracted by theater since I was a boy. I am a native of Zhytomyr. There used to be an old theater in our town and next to it, a tall red tower where my mother worked. The theater was small and had a tiny lobby. Acts used to have five to eight scenes back then, so during the intermission the spectators would pour out into the street. And then my brother and I would mix with the crowd and got inside to see the plays for free. I fell in love with theater.
“I can say that I sought the theater, whereas the cinema found me on its own. But I chose to split with it and even refused to write screen adaptations of my works. Cinematography is a mass art and doesn’t appeal to me.”
What do you think of the modern mass media?
“Modern television is absolutely horrible. It is a triumph of bad taste and everything that can be labeled as commonplace and anti-Ukrainian.”
What is your opinion of the younger generation of Ukrainian writers?
“There are no bright minds, only text producers. No great writers. I used to think that the young would start serious literature instead of merely scandalizing the audience.”
ow come that you’re not a public person?
“I don’t fancy rostrums and microphones. I start feeling like I’m in a case. The very word ‘rostrum’ brings sad associations. In my opinion, a serious author can’t be popular.”
Do you take any interest in politics nowadays?
“I think a writer should keep a distance from politics, otherwise partisanship will only hinder his work.”
You write fairy tales. Who prompted you to do that?
“I got inspiration from my daughters who helped me invent stories and characters. These fairy tales are meant be red to children by adults.”
Do you enjoy your work?
“You can only enjoy working if you are totally absorbed in it. My fate as an artist wasn’t quite serene, but I never complained. I have sought glory for our nation and literature, rather than personal fame.
“We are all but guests in this life. But we are all building our own temples, to the best of our abilities. This temple is your soul, your pure heart. All things pass; everything disappears and perishes; only love is eternal. Love is the nurturing power of our spirit that urges us to work and live.”
Are you a happy man?
“I’m Skovorodian in spirit. I profess Skovoroda’s philosophy of life. You don’t need to seek happiness—it is inside of you. What you have to do is understand yourself, choose the path you’re born for, and devote yourself to it. Then you are considered to be doing good.
“Happiness is multiplying the light and sending it into this world, rather than hiding it away. So I am a happy man.”
