Winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award
Winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature
A journalist by trade, who now suffers from an immune deficiency developed while researching this book, presents personal accounts of what happened to the people of Belarus after the nuclear reactor accident in 1986, and the fear, anger, and uncertainty that they still live with.
On April 26, 1986, the worst nuclear reactor accident in history occurred in Chernobyl and contaminated as much as three quarters of Europe. Voices from Chernobyl is the first book to present personal accounts of the tragedy. Journalist Svetlana Alexievich interviewed hundreds of people affected by the meltdownfrom innocent citizens to firefighters to those called in to clean up the disasterand their stories reveal the fear, anger, and uncertainty with which they still live. Comprised of interviews in monologue form, Voices from Chernobyl is a crucially important work, unforgettable in its emotional power and honesty.
The Nobel Prize in Literature was awarded to Svetlana Alexievich "for her polyphonic writings, a monument to suffering and courage in our time."
About the Author
Svetlana Alexievich was born in the Ukraine and studied journalism at the University of Minsk. Her books, including Voices from Chernobyl , document the emotional history Soviet and post-Soviet life through interviews. Alexievich has received numerous awards for her writing, including a prize from the Swedish PEN Institute for "courage and dignity as a writer." She was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 2015 "for her polyphonic writings, a monument to suffering and courage in our time."
Translator Keith Gessen was born in Russia and educated at Harvard. He is a founding editor of n+1 and has written about literature and culture for Dissent , The Nation , The New Yorker , and The New York Review of Books. He is the author of the novel A Terrible Country and a professor at the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism.
Read an Excerpt
Voices from ChernobylThe Oral History of a Nuclear Disaster
By Alexievich, Svetlana
PicadorCopyright © 2006 Alexievich, Svetlana
All right reserved.
Monologue about what can be talked about with the living and the dead
The wolf came into the yard at night. I look out the window and there he is, eyes shining like headlights. Now I'm used to everything. I've been living alone for seven years, seven years since the people left. Sometimes at night I'll just be sitting here thinking, thinking, until it's lights out again. So on this day I was up all night, sitting on my bed, and then I went out to look at how the sun was. What should I tell you? Death is more just than anything else in the world: no one can escape it. The earth takes everyone--the kind, the cruel, the sinners. Aside from that, there's no justice on earth. I worked hard and honestly my whole life. But I didn't get any justice. God was dividing things up somewhere, and by the time the line came to me there was nothing left. A young person can die, an old person has to die . . . At first, I waited for people to come--I thought they'd come back. No one said they were leaving forever, they said they were leaving for a while. But now I'm just waiting for death. Dying isn't hard, but it is scary. There's no church. The priest doesn't come. There's no one to tell my sins to.
Thefirst time they told us we had radiation, we thought: It's a sort of a sickness, and whoever gets it dies right away. No, no, they said, it's this thing that lies on the ground, and gets into the ground, but you can't see it. Animals might be able to see it and hear it, but people can't.
The police and the soldiers put up these signs. Some were next to people's houses, some were in the street--they'd write, 70 curie, 60 curie. We'd always lived off our potatoes, and then suddenly--we're not allowed to! For some people it was real bad, for others it was funny. They advised us to work in our gardens in masks and rubber gloves. And then another big scientist came to the meeting hall and told us that we needed to wash our yards. Come on! I couldn't believe what I was hearing! They ordered us to wash our sheets, our blankets, our curtains. But they're in storage! In closets and trunks. There's no radiation in there! Behind glass? Behind closed doors! Come on! It's in the forest, in the field. They closed the wells, locked them up, wrapped them in cellophane. Said the water was "dirty." How can it be dirty when it's so clean? They told us a bunch of nonsense. You'll die. You need to leave. Evacuate.
People got scared. They got fi lled up with fear. At night people started packing up their things. I also got my clothes, folded them up. My red badges for my honest labor, and my lucky kopeika that I had. Such sadness! It filled my heart. Let me be struck down right here if I'm lying. And then I hear about how the soldiers were evacuating one village, and this old man and woman stayed. Until then, when people were roused up and put on buses, they'd take their cow and go into the forest. They'd wait there. Like during the war, when they were burning down the villages. Why would our soldiers chase us? [Starts crying.] It's not stable, our life. I don't want to cry.
Oh! Look there--a crow. I don't chase them away. Although sometimes a crow will steal eggs from the barn. I still don't chase them away. I don't chase anyone away! Yesterday a little rabbit came over. There's a village nearby, also there's one woman living there, I said, come by. Maybe it'll help, maybe it won't, but at least there'll be someone to talk to. At night everything hurts. My legs are tingling, like there are little ants running through them, that's my nerve running through me. It's like that when I pick something up. Like wheat being crushed. Crunch, crunch. Then the nerve calms down. I've already worked enough in my life, been sad enough. I've had enough of everything and I don't want anything more.
I have daughters, and sons . . . They're all in the city. But I'm not going anywhere! God gave me years, but he didn't give me a fair share. I know that an old person gets boring, that the younger generation will run out of patience. I haven't had much joy from my children. The women, the ones who've gone into the city, are always crying. Either their daughter-in-law is hurting their feelings, or their daughter is. They want to come back. My husband is here. He's buried here. If he wasn't lying here, he'd be living in some other place. And I'd be with him. [Cheers up suddenly.] And why should I leave? It's nice here! Everything grows, everything blooming. From the littlest fly to the animals, everything's living.
I'll remember everything for you. The planes are flying and flying. Every day. They fly real, real low, right over our heads. They're flying to the reactor. To the station. One after the other. While here we have the evacuation. They're moving us out. Storming the houses. People have gone under cover, they're hiding. The livestock is moaning, the kids are crying. It's war! And the sun's out . . . I sat down and didn't come out of the hut, though it's true I didn't lock up either. The soldiers knocked. "Ma'am, have you packed up?" And I said: "Are you going to tie my hands and feet?" They didn't say anything, didn't say anything, and then they left. They were young. They were kids! Old women were crawling on their knees in front of their houses, begging. The soldiers picked them up under their arms and into the car. But I told them, whoever touched me was going to get it. I cursed at them! I cursed good. I didn't cry. That day I didn't cry. I sat in my house. One minute there's yelling. Yelling! And then it's quiet. Very quiet. On that day--that first day I didn't leave the house.
They told me later that there was a column of people walking. And next to that there was a column of livestock. It was war! My husband liked to say that people may shoot, but it's God who delivers the bullet. Everyone has his own fate. The young ones who left, some of them have already died. In their new place. Whereas me, I'm still walking around. Slowing down, sure. Sometimes it's boring, and I cry. The whole village is empty. There's all kinds of birds here. They fly around. And there's elk here, all you want. [Starts crying.]
I remember everything. Everyone up and left, but they left their dogs and cats. The first few days I went around pouring milk for all the cats, and I'd give the dogs a piece of bread. They were standing in their yards waiting for their masters. They waited for them a long time. The hungry cats ate cucumbers. They ate tomatoes. Until autumn I took care of my neighbor's lawn, up to the fence. Her fence fell down, I hammered it back up again. I waited for the people. My neighbor had a dog named Zhuchok. "Zhuchok," I'd say, "if you see the people first, give me a shout."
One night I dreamt I was getting evacuated. The officer yells, "Lady! We're going to burn everything down and bury it. Come out!" And they drive me somewhere, to some unknown place. Not clear where. It's not the town, it's not the village. It's not even Earth.
One time--I had a nice little kitty. Vaska. One winter the rats were really hungry and they were attacking. There was nowhere to go. They'd crawl under the covers. I had some grain in a barrel, they put a hole in the barrel. But Vaska saved me. I'd have died without him. We'd talk, me and him, and eat dinner. Then Vaska disappeared. The hungry dogs ate him, maybe, I don't know. They were always running around hungry, until they died. The cats were so hungry they ate their kittens. Not during the summer, but during the winter they would. God, forgive me!
Sometimes now I can't even make it all the way through the house. For an old woman even the stove is cold during the summer. The police come here sometimes, check things out, they bring me bread. But what are they checking for?
It's me and the cat. This is a different cat. When we hear the police, we're happy. We run over. They bring him a bone. Me they'll ask: "What if the bandits come?" "What'll they get off me? What'll they take? My soul? Because that's all I have." They're good boys. They laugh. They brought me some batteries for my radio, now I listen to it. I like Lyudmilla Zykina, but she's not singing as much anymore. Maybe she's old now, like me. My man used to say--he used to say, "The dance is over, put the violin back in the case."
I'll tell you how I found my kitty. I lost my Vaska. I waited a day, two days, then a month. So that was that. I was all alone. No one even to talk to. I walked around the village, going into other people's yards, calling out: Vaska. Murka. Vaska! Murka! At first there were a lot of them running around, and then they disappeared somewhere. Death doesn't care. The earth takes everyone. So I'm walking, and walking. For two days. On the third day I see him under the store. We exchange glances. He's happy, I'm happy. But he doesn't say anything. "All right," I say, "let's go home." But he sits there, meowing. So then I say: "What'll you do here by yourself? The wolves will eat you. They'll tear you apart. Let's go. I have eggs, I have some lard." But how do I explain it to him? Cats don't understand human language, then how come he understood me? I walk ahead, and he runs behind me. Meowing. "I'll cut you off some lard." Meow. "We'll live together the two of us." Meow. "I'll call you Vaska, too." Meow. And we've been living together two winters now.
I get bored sometimes, and then I cry.
I go to the cemetery. My mom's there. My little daughter. She burned up with typhus during the war. Right after we took her to the cemetery, buried her, the sun came out from the clouds. And shone and shone. Like: You should go and dig her up. My husband is there. Fedya. I sit with them all. I sigh a little. You can talk to the dead just like you can talk to the living. Makes no difference to me. I can hear the one and the other. When you're alone . . . And when you're sad. When you're very sad.
Ivan Gavrilenko, he was a teacher, he lived right next to the cemetery. He moved to the Crimea, his son was there. Next to him was Pyotr Miusskiy. He drove a tractor. He was a Stakhanovite, back then everyone was aching to be a Stakhanovite. He had magic hands. He could make lace out of wood. His house, it was the size of the whole village. Oh, I felt so bad, and my blood boiled, when they tore it down. They buried it. The officer was yelling: "Don't think of it, grandma! It's on a hot-spot!" Meanwhile he's drunk. I come over--Pyotr's crying. "Go on, grandma, it's all right." He told me to go. And the next house is Misha Mikhalev's, he heated the kettles on the farm. He died fast. Left here, and died right away. Next to his house was Stepa Bykhov's, he was a zoologist. It burned down! Bad people burned it down at night. Stepa didn't live long. He's buried somewhere in the Mogilev region. During the war--we lost so many people! Vassily Kovalev. Maksim Nikoforenko. They used to live, they were happy. On holidays they'd sing, dance. Play the harmonica. And now, it's like a prison. Sometimes I'll close my eyes and go through the village--well, I say to them, what radiation? There's a butterfly flying, and bees are buzzing. And my Vaska's catching mice. [Starts crying.]
Oh Lyubochka, do you understand what I'm telling you, my sorrow? You'll carry it to people, maybe I won't be here anymore. I'll be in the ground. Under the roots . . .
Zinaida Kovalenko, re-settler
Copyright © 1997, 2006 by Svetlana Alexievich
Preface and translation © 2005 by Keith Gessen
Excerpted from Voices from Chernobyl by Alexievich, Svetlana Copyright © 2006 by Alexievich, Svetlana. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
What a chilling book! I highly recommend this book to anyone who wants to know what it was like for the survivors of the Chernobyl disaster. It's not enough to learn the science of the disaster, but to read what some had to go through, is absolutely terrifying.
I am someone who NEVER re-reads books. I just don't. But Svetlana Alexievich's Voices from Chernobyl is a book I can't resist to read over and over. The stories are unbelievably touching. I felt the pain and I still do everytime I read it. I highly recommend this book. You will not regret it.
In her interviews, Svetlana allows the victims to tell their stories without interruption. The result is compelling. People who have lost everything have much to say and their word bring tears to my eyes.
This was a very good book. Keep in mind that it was not intended to give you the technical details and big picture of what happened. You should probably know something about Chernobyl before reading this book.This book tells the story through short interviews with different people who experienced many aspects of the aftermath.A few powerful themes ran through the book:1. The deeply personal tragedy of lost spouses, children, lovers, friends, and neighbors. 2. The ineptness, corruptness, and cruelty of the Soviet regime. You pick this up through the various interviews.3. The ordinary heroism of the young men who went to fight the fire or into the Zone to do what they were ordered to do. You always had a sense that these were good people sent in to help. And, as the reader, you know what danger they were getting into.4. Link to war. In the late 80's there were still a fair number of people who had lived through the horrors of World War II. The similarities were haunting at times, but what struck me was the fact that these people now had another horror to deal with.5. The strangeness of this tragedy. It is indirectly pointed out that in war, it is pretty clear that bombs are exploding and guns blazing. Here, there is what seems like an ordinary fire, but otherwise, a peaceful place. In the interviews, you hear people of all walks of life talking about all the details of radiation. It starts to sink in that so many people should not have to know about these kinds of things. Especially tragic was the older farmers who simply could not leave the land and had no where to go even if they wanted to get away from the radiation.This book is touching.
This book collects the words of people whose lives were affected by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster: People who were evacuated. People who weren't evacuated. People who, seeking refuge from war and having nowhere else to go, moved into contaminated areas abandoned by everyone else. Soldiers who were sent in, inadequately protected, to clean up afterward. Family members of people afflicted by radiation poisoning, or birth defects, or cancer. Scientists who tried to warn people, and one who lives with the shame of having trusted the authorities and looked the other way. There are long, rambling stories and short, bitter outbursts. Some are sophisticated and philosophical, others inarticulately emotional. Many of the most personal narratives are heartbreaking and horrifying, but, taken all together, they also paint an enlightening portrait of what it was like to be a citizen of the Soviet Union in 1986, and of the all too fallible ways in which human beings and human institutions can react to disasters that they don't fully understand. It's a painful book to read, but a very worthwhile one, and the way that Alexievich presents these transcripts, without context or comment, somehow just makes them all the more powerful.
This book doesn't give a play by play of what happened that fateful night. What it does do is explain the aftermath of Chernobyl and how it impacted so many lives. People from so many walks of life bravely tell their stories. Even though its heartbreaking at times, it really is something that should be read.
A peek behind the curtain of the former Soviet Union after the Chernobyl disaster in 1986. This book is a collection of stories from a wide range of people; a "Parliament Briefing - outlawing criticism", stories from soldiers that had to clear "the Zone", Liquidators who worked at the accident site & regular farmers who worked the land surrounding the reactor. There is even a story from a staunch Communist complaining about the fall of the Soviet Union. What I didn't know & found most chilling were the stories of known radioactive milk and meat being processed, packaged, transported & sold to unsuspecting consumers outside of the contaminated zone. I suppose the government (which is where the orders originated) wanted to fool the people that the disaster was not a big deal. It's amazing how the government downplayed the emergency through the "official" news agencies, telling the people to disregard the news broadcasts of "the enemy". What it shows is a blatant disregard for safety & casual disregard for the citizens of Russia. The book does not go into the disaster's how's & why's but shows what happened mostly outside of the accident site; a glimpse into daily Russian life at the time. A head shaking, eye opening read!
This book is so realitstic and heartwarming. It tells the story of chernobyl in the view of the people.
This is an important book. It truly takes you into the hearts and minds of the people that were there, and brings that picture vividly into the reader's mind.If there is a lesson to be learned here , it is that mankind must be more careful in its endeavours.