On this day, Ukraine celebrates the 33rd anniversary of its independence. On August 24, 1991, the Act of Declaration of Independence of Ukraine was adopted by the Supreme Soviet of the Ukrainian SSR. Following international recognition and the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Ukraine became de facto a sovereign state in December of that year.

Today, on the 914th day of the full-scale Russian invasion, Ukraine is still bravely defending its independence and existence. Against all odds, publishing in the country is getting stronger. Only in 2023, 270 new publishers appeared on the Ukrainian book market, and book production increased by 73% in 2023 compared to 2022. According to the Ukrainian Book Chamber, as many as 6,951 monographs and brochures were published in the first half of 2024. In this blog, I would like to mark Ukrainian Independence Day by featuring a small selection of books that we received in the latest consignment from our vendor in Ukraine.

One of the most striking titles we have acquired is a posthumous edition of Viktoriia Amelina’s poetry Svidchennia (‘Testimony’) (Lviv: "Vydavnytstvo Staroho Leva", 2024). In April 2023, Viktoriia visited the British Library and took part in a panel discussion on the role of writers during times of war. Some readers of this blog might remember her passionate and emotional presentation. Viktoriia Amelina died on July 1, 2023, as a result of injuries received in a Russian missile attack on Kramatorsk. You can watch a recording of the event in her memory organised by the Ukrainian Institute in London and the British Library here.

Cover of Svidchennia by Viktoriia Amelina

In her short interview with the Ukrainian online media Chytomo.com, the head editor of the publishing house Vydavnytstvo Staroho Leva Sofiia Cheliak commented on their decision to choose illustrations to complement Viktoriia’s poetry: “we wanted [the illustrations to convey] sacredness, for me it was the only possible option for the illustration, so that it sounded in unison with the poetry. Looking at the layout, we realized how much it was the right decision <...> This book is what my broken heart looks like."

One of the poems in this book is titled A word in the dictionary (Future), and it reads:

Future – is what we ask
each other about in silence:
Do you see it?
Can you see it?
Here she asks and explains:
because I don’t see it, I don’t.
She squints.
Recently – she says, –
I’ve started seeing a little bit of
“tomorrow”, and beyond that – nothing.
And all the way to the end of her darkness we are walking through the sunny
Obolon: two women
and a dog.
(Translation: Katya Rogatchevskaia)

In 2021, Viktoriia organised the first literary festival in the small town of New York in the Donetsk region. She suggested the theme “De-occupation of the Future” for the following one, but it appears to be even more relevant for the post-war times. Apparently, today the town is under Russian occupation. We strongly believe that the festival will soon return to Ukrainian New York, where people will rebuild their future and remember Viktoriia's life and legacy.

Another book that stood out to me is Pisnia vidkrytoho shliakhu (‘Song of the Open Road’) by Artem Chekh (Chernivtsi, 2024). At the beginning of the full-scale Russian invasion, the author, who took part in the war in Donbas in 2015-16, joined the Ukrainian army. The new book was presented at the International Literary Festival Meridian Czernowitz held in Chernivtsi.

Cover of Pisnia vidkrytoho shliakhu by Artem Chekh

As literary critics tell us in their reviews, the book is about a war, but not about the current war, as readers might expect. The action takes place in the 19th century, and the main character is a former serf from the Russian Empire who is trying to escape from his master. His adventures take him through Europe, Great Britain and eventually to America, where he finds himself just before the start of the Civil War. Critics agree that the symbolic meaning of the novel is a long, difficult, bloody, but open road to freedom and identity.

Among research publications, I would like to single out a new fundamental chronological overview of Ukrainian visual arts by two prominent Ukrainian art historians, Paola Utevs’ka and Dmytro Horbachov, Budynok iz levamy: Narysy istorii ukrains'koho vizual'noho mystetstva XI–XX stolit' (‘The House with Lions: Essays on the History of Ukrainian Visual Arts, 11th -20th centuries’) (Kyiv: Vydavnytstvo "Dukh i Litera", 2024).

Cover of Budynok iz levamy: Narysy istorii ukrains'koho vizual'noho mystetstva XI–XX stolit' by Paola Utevs’ka and Dmytro Horbachov

The monograph focuses on the formation of the main artistic movements and techniques and touches on all visual arts, from architecture to book illustrations and graphic design. It is also important that the authors analyse primarily artworks located in Ukraine, among them works by Taras Shevchenko, Petro Levchenko, Mykola Pymonenko, Oleksandra Ekster, Oleksandr Bohomazov, Anatol Petrytskyi, Oleksandr Arkhipenko, and Kazimir Malevich. This book is especially timely now as the world is making the acquaintance of Ukrainian art from a new perspective, for example, through the current exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts ‘In the Eye of the Storm’.

In this blog, I have highlighted just three titles out of over 300 received in the last five months. The books are being processed, and we are working hard to make them available to our readers as soon as possible.

Ukrainian books awaiting processing by our cataloguing team

Meanwhile, I would like to draw your attention to a recent publication by Vernon Press. In June 2024, they released a volume edited by Lada Kolomiyets and titled Living the Independence Dream: Ukraine and Ukrainians in Contemporary Socio-Political Context. We will make sure to add this important contribution to our collections.

Katya Rogatchevskaia, Lead Curator East European Collections

The British Library’s collection of Franco-Prussian War and Paris Commune caricatures (shelfmarks 14001.g.41, Cup.648.b.2, Cup.648.b.8) exemplifies how artists from a variety of diverse national, political and cultural backgrounds engaged with l’année terrible.

Broadly speaking, 1870-71 prints can be split into two formats. Single-sheet images produced by small teams of editors and artists were sold on the street, pasted onto buildings and displayed in shop windows. On the other hand, pre-existing publishing houses – including those which produced weekly satirical journals, like Le Charivari (1832-1937), designed sets with print collectors in mind. This latter form was adorned with title pages, and arguably maintained a higher artistic sophistication. Artists did not limit themselves to just one category: for instance, Faustin Betbeder (1848-1914), who claimed that his first single-sheet image sold more than 50,000 copies, also created multiple sets during 1870-71, several of which can be found in the BL’s collections.

Both formats touched on the same topics. For example, references to Christianity shaped both single sheets and co-ordinated sets. Their use most frequently relied on the ironic comparison of biblical figures or parables with their contemporary parallels. The BL’s fifth volume (14001.g.41) holds a set of three images which each parody three scenes from the Bible immortalised in famous works of art. The first, drawn by F. Mathis, is a spoof of Leonardo’s Last Supper mural.

F. Mathis, La Nouvelle Cène (The New Last Supper), (Paris, 1871) Volume 5 14001.g.41.

It is an almost stroke-for-stroke reproduction, but for the substitution of Jesus and John with figures wearing a Phrygian-cap and an allegory of Paris, respectively. Further, Jesus’s apostles are replaced by figures of the twelve members of the ephemeral and unpopular Government of National Defence, which led France following the fall of the Second Empire in September 1870 until a new government was formed by Adolphe Thiers (the bespectacled figure on the far left of Mathis’s print, ominously peeping through the door) in February 1871.

The gesticulating guests at Leonardo’s Last Supper respond to Jesus’s proclamation that one of his disciples will soon betray him. Conversely, La Nouvelle Cène (‘The New Last Supper’) insinuates that all of the members of this flimsy government will betray France – if they had not already. Paris suffered under a winter of Prussian siege, before the government capitulated in late January. To make matters worse, their humiliation was ratified by the signing of a peace treaty which included the secession of the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, a significant war indemnity, and a Prussian military march through Paris – augmenting an already biblical sense of betrayal. This theme was central to the set’s second print, in which Jules Favre plays the familiar role of Judas Iscariot, again drawn by Mathis.

The final print from the set, this time drawn by Charles Vernier (1813-92), is a little more complex. Though still a send-up of a famous Italian painting of a biblical scene – Paolo Veronese’s The Wedding Feast at Cana , hung in the Louvre – Vernier mixes the story of Jesus’s first miracle, the turning of water into wine, with the narrative of a popular French song Le Baptême du p’tit ébéniste (‘The Baptism of the li’l ebonist’).

Paolo Veronese, Nozze di Cana (The Wedding Feast at Cana), (Venice, 1563), (Picture from Wikimedia Commons)

The scene is transformed from a wedding to a baptism, that of the latest French Republic (the Third, which lasted until 1940), with a couplet from the song in the image’s caption noting how France is like ‘a bouquet of flowers’ – in other words, that is made up of many colourful – and contradictory – parts.

Jesus is replaced by Thiers holding the baby Republic aloft, while monarchs of Europe, including Süleyman the Magnificent and Mary I of England from Verones’s painting are exchanged for representatives of various contemporary French political currents. These include the deposed Emperor Napoleon III, several of the aforementioned National Government of Defence, and even a pétroleuse – that mythical figure in anti-Communard discourse who had apparently delighted in setting Paris alight in the final days of May 1871.

 Noces de Cana, (Paris, 1871) Volume 5 14001.g.41.

Single sheet images designed for public consumption and debate were not below making biting allusions to religious iconography to mock political figures during 1870-1. The most popular trope, inevitably, was drawing any of the members of the National Government of Defence as Judas.

Other prints were more erudite. An obvious example from the BL’s second volume at 14001.g.41 is A. Baudet-Bauderval’s Une fuite en Egypte en passant par la Prusse (‘A flight to Egypt via Prussia’), the seventh print of Grognet’s 87-strong Actualités (‘Current Events’). The set was printed unevenly from the outbreak of the war to the final days of the Commune – sometimes publishing as many as ten images in a single day – and comprised several artists, meaning the sets had little ideological or topical coherency.   

A. Baudet-Bauderval, Une Fuite en Egypte en passant par la Prusse (A Flight to Egypt via Prussia), (Paris, 1870) Volume 2 14001.g.41.

Following his surrender at the Battle of Sedan in early September 1870, Napoleon III was taken prisoner at Wilhelmshöhe Castle in Kassel. Shortly after news of his capitulation reached Paris, the Empress Eugénie and their son Louis fled the city. In Baudet-Bauderval’s sketch, the imperial family replicate the flight of Christianity’s holy family to Egypt – another popular artistic motif, perhaps most famously rendered by Giotto at the Cappella degli Scrovegni in Padua.

Despite its hasty construction – and its design to invite public consumption over private collection – Une fuite en Egypte includes a subtle yet ingenious attack. The Emperor and his son wear two large yellow hats which resemble sombreros, the wide-brimmed hat typically associated with Mexico. This addition not only lampoons the halos which crown the imperial family in Giotto’s Flight to Egypt, but also imbricates a mockery of the Emperor’s disastrous campaign to install a French-friendly monarchy in Mexico, a failure itself famously memorialised by Édouard Manet’s Execution of Maximilian.

In the aftermath of the War and the Commune, partisans of the Church claimed that the disasters of 1870-71 were the inevitable result of the anti-clericalism which coursed through some strands of French radicalism and the materialistic opulence of the Second Empire. Yet religious metaphors, iconography and scenes, particularly those preserved in art, could just as easily be employed by satirical artists to mock the powerful throughout 1870-71.

Anthony Chapman-Joy, CDP Student at the British Library and Royal Holloway

Further reading:

Hollis Clayson, Paris in Despair: Art and Everyday Life Under Siege (London, 2002), YC.2002.a.15995

Morna Daniels, ‘Caricatures from the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and the Paris Commune’, Electronic British Library Journal, (2005), pp. 1-19

John Milner, Art, War and Revolution in France, 1870-1871 (London, 2000), LB.31.b.19108

Bertrand Tillier, La Commune de Paris: Révolution sans images? (Paris, 2004), YF.2004.a.14526

Unlikely as it sounds, until the middle of the 20th century, amateur writers, painters, musicians, sculptors and architects battled for the coveted Olympic gold. The art competitions, consisting of five cultural disciplines and nicknamed the ‘Pentathlon of the Muses’, were the pet project of the French aristocrat and founder of the modern Olympics, Pierre de Coubertin. Baron de Coubertin saw the athletic pursuit in classical terms and sought to restore the Olympics to their former glory by reuniting “a long-divorced couple - muscle and mind”. His idea, drawing on ancient Games, came to fruition at the 1912 Olympics in Stockholm, where none other than de Coubertin took top honours in the literature event for his poem ‘Ode au Sport’ (‘Ode to Sport’). In the ensuing years, the popularity and prestige of the competitions gradually declined and by the 1952 Olympics, the practice of awarding medals for sport-inspired art was finally abandoned. Today, the winning Olympic artworks have been largely forgotten, and the artists relegated to the shadows. In this blog, I would like to revisit the creative output of Polish laureates of the Olympic art competitions, particularly writers, who have etched their names in the annals of the bygone tournaments.

The rebirth of independent Poland in 1918 triggered a surge of interest in physical activity among the Poles, evidenced by over 200 sports periodicals published until the beginning of the Second World War. At long last, Poland made its first appearance at the Olympic Games in 1924. The expectations were high as Olympic success was widely seen as a measure of national prowess and progress. Between 1924 and 1948, Polish artists bagged three gold, two silver and three bronze medals, finishing seventh (out of 23 entries) in the medal table. Zbigniew Turski was awarded gold in the music category for his Symfonia Olimpijska (‘Olympic Symphony’, 1948). In painting competitions, Janina Konarska won a silver medal for her woodcut Narciarze (‘Skiers’, 1932), while Stanisław Ostoja-Chrostowski and Władysław Skoczylas earned bronze for Dyplom Yacht Klubu (‘Yachting Club Certificate’, 1936) and Łucznik (‘Archer’, part of the winning series Plakaty (‘Posters’, 1928), respectively. In sculpture, Józef Klukowski received the highest prize for Wieńczenie Zawodnika (‘Sport Sculpture’, 1932) and four years later a silver medal for the relief Piłkarze (‘Football’, 1936). Finally, in the field of literature, Kazimierz Wierzyński was decorated with gold for his slim volume of poetry Laur Olimpijski (‘The Olympic Laurel’, 1928), and Jan Parandowski clinched the bronze for the novel Dysk Olimpijski (‘The Olympic Discus’, 1936).

Janina Konarska and her woodcut work ‘Skiers’ (Image from V&A. Photograph of the artist from Wikipedia)

Władysław Skoczylas and his woodcut ‘Archer’, from Tadeusz Cieślewski, Władysław Skoczylas. Inicjator i twórca współczesnego drzeworytu w Polsce (Warszawa, 1934) 7863.ppp.46. (Photograph of the artist from Wikimedia Commons)

Józef Klukowski and his work ‘Sport Sculpture’ (Images from Culture.pl)

Since his sterling performance at the 1928 Olympics, the athletic and well-versed in sports matters author of Laur Olimpijski has been dubbed ‘the best poet among sportsmen and the best sportsman amongst poets’.

Kazimierz Wierzyński and his volume of poetry Laur Olimpijski (Warsaw, [1930]) X950/3682. (English translation: Selected Poems, (New York, 1959) 11437.l.22. (Photograph of the author from Wikimedia Commons)

Born in 1894 in Drohobych, Wierzyński studied in Cracow, Vienna and Lviv before settling down in Warsaw and taking up the prestigious post of editor-in-chief of Przegląd Sportowy (Warsaw, 1946-1958) MFM.MF1210P). His Olympic cycle, published in 1927 and translated into seven languages by 1930, is among the few noteworthy literary pieces ever presented at the Olympic art competitions. It comprises 15 individual poems, each portraying athletes in action and applauding sport for its aspirations to transcend human frailties. In paying homage to hurdles and runners, Wierzyński honours the Greek ideal of the athlete, as in the beautiful poem Nurmi:

My pace, a dancer’s thread -
my steps beat like a heart;
clock-tower of breath, I hover
in air, tall and apart.

Poems ‘Defilada Poetów’ (‘Parade of the Athletes’) and ‘Skok o Tyczce’ (‘The Pole Vault’) from: Laur Olimpijski (Warszawa, [1930]) X950/3682.

The poet glorifies the virtues of ancient Greece but at the same time creates a new mythology aided by the pantheon of heroes belonging to the era of the modern Olympics, among them the glorious goalkeeper Ricardo Zamora, the winged pole-vaulter Charles Hoff, and the omnipotent sprinters Charlie Paddock and Arthur Porritt. A keynote theme of the collection is man’s potential for heroism and his ability to transfigure life and achieve divinity through athletic excellence.

Wierzyński’s peer, Jan Parandowski, was born in 1895 in Lviv. He was educated at a classical gymnasium and received a solid foundation in Greek and Latin cultures. The First World War interrupted his studies in the philosophy department at Lviv University, and he received his degree in classical philology and archaeology only in 1923. Already in 1924, over a decade before the launch of the 1936 Berlin Olympics, Parandowski’s interest in antiquity resulted in the publication of ‘Mythology’ (Mitologia. Wierzenia i podania Greków i Rzymian (Warsaw, 1962) 04422.f.19.), a canonical read for all subsequent generations of Poles, at least up to the turn of the twenty-first century.

Dysk Olimpijski (‘The Olympic Discus’, 1933), the writer’s only novel translated into English, is another brilliant example of Parandowski’s lifelong passion for classical antiquity. The author saw sport as an activity of utmost importance for the ancient Greeks, reaffirmed by the fact that many poets and philosophers, including Plato and Euripides, were keen athletes. The novel takes us back in time to Hellas and the 76th Olympiad when the Greeks engaged in joyous celebrations of their victory over the Persians.

Jan Parandowski and his Dysk Olimpijski (Jerozolima, 1944) YF.2013.a.12040. (English translation: The Olympic Discus: a Story of Ancient Greece, (New York, 1964) 76/18461 (Photograph of the author from Wikimedia Commons)

The reader of Dysk Olimpijski becomes a spectator, the past and traditions of the Olympic Games unfolding before his eyes. Parandowski indulges in detailed descriptions and provides thorough depictions of the stadium, the sports equipment, and athletic contests. He picks one instance in Greek history, but by putting it in a historical context, he places it against a broader canvas of Greek life. His narrative is taut, but with the greatest economy of means, he manages to conjure up images reminiscent of intricate paintings on ancient Grecian vases.

By the early 1950s the art competitions had run their course, and de Coubertin’s union of flesh and spirit did not stand the test of time. The ‘Pentathlon of the Muses’ saw thousands of dubious entries, saccharine poems, ugly statues and failed paintings, the vast majority of which have slipped into oblivion. Nevertheless, the tournaments also attracted the talent of the likes of Wierzyński, Parandowski and Skoczylas, whose works remain, and for good reason, well-established in the Polish national consciousness.

Hanna Dettlaff-Kuznicka, Interim Curator of Slavonic and East European Collections

References/further reading:

Ireneusz Bittner, Adam Bryk, O sporcie i kulturze fizycznej, poezji i medycynie czyli o etosie ciała ludzkiego (Lodz, 2003) YF.2007.a.4610

Introduction by George Harjan. In: Parandowski Jan, The Olympic Discus: a Story of Ancient Greece (New York, 1964) 76/18461

Tadeusz Cieślewski, Władysław Skoczylas, inicjator i twórca w spółczesnego drzeworytu w Polsce (Warsaw, 1934) 7863.ppp.46

Barry Keane, Skamander: the Poets and their Poetry 1918-1929 (Warsaw, 2004) YD.2005.a.3982

Bernhard Kramer, Richard Stanton, ‘The Olympic Laurel of Kazimierz Wierzyński’, in Journal of Olympic History, vol. 23, no 2 (2015), pp. 50-56. 

Richard Stanton, The Forgotten Olympic Art Competitions: The Story of the Olympic Art Competitions of the 20th Century (Victoria, 2000) m02/36119

Nicolaos Yalouris (ed.), The eternal Olympics: Art and History of Sport (US, 1979) f81/0940

Architects’ games. What do you want, a medal?, Architectural Review, 11 July 2024

Why did the Olympics ditch their amateur-athlete requirement?, The Economist, 20 July 2021

Fans of basketball in Lithuania and Latvia will be glued to their screens during the 2024 Summer Olympics as both countries’ men’s teams qualified for the basketball 3x3 competitions. The two nations faced each other on the first day of the games and both have now reached the semi-finals and could potentially face each other again in the final. Basketball is very popular in both countries, in Lithuania bordering on obsession; it’s even called Lithuania’s second religion. But how did it all start, and why did a 1939 basketball match divide the two nations?

In both countries basketball arrived in the 1920s, just after Latvia and Lithuania had gained independence. In an uncertain political landscape, the new sport was a unifying factor and an opportunity to present the nations as strong and athletic. In Latvia, basketball was popularised by representatives of the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), who came to the country from the U.S. to organise training for sports instructors. It quickly gained popularity. As early as 1924, Latvia took part in its first European national team game, beating Estonia. When the International Basketball Federation (FIBA) was created in 1932, Latvia was one of eight countries signing the founding act. In the interwar period, the country had one of the strongest teams in Europe. Significantly, the men’s team under coach Valdemārs Baumanis won the first European basketball championships, EuroBasket 1935, defeating Hungary, Switzerland and Spain.

Latvian national basketball team, EuroBasket 1935. (Image from Wikimedia Commons)

Their victory was immortalised in Latvian filmmaker Aigars Grauba’s 2012 film Dream Team 1935, based on events which took place during the tournament – “an amazing true story of impossible odds, improbable heroes, and an incredible moment in history”.

Poster for Dream Team 1935 on cover of Sapņu komanda: laika stāsti (Rīga, 2013) YF.2017.b.89

Lithuanians played their first international game in 1925. Unsurprisingly, they lost to Latvia, which had the benefit of international coaching. A lack of a suitable sports arena didn’t help, and further defeats followed. Decisive action was needed. The authorities reached out to Lithuanians living abroad. A group of American-Lithuanian athletes came to the World Lithuanian Congress in 1934, demonstrated their basketball skills and suggested intensive and regular training. Two of the players stayed after the congress and coached the national team. The coaching was very successful. Lithuania became a member of FIBA in 1936 and took part in EuroBasket 1937, beating Latvia for the first time and winning the championships. Their team owned their victory in large part to Pranas Lubinas, a Lithuanian-American coach and basketball player who, with his U.S. team, had won gold in the first Olympic basketball tournament in 1936.

Lithuanian basketball team, 1938. In the centre, Pranas Lubinas, ‘the grandfather of Lithuanian basketball’. Cover of Europos auksas Lietuvai, 1936-1939: iliustruota krepšinio kronika (Vilnius, 2007) YF.2015.a.5157.

When it was announced that Lithuania would host the 1939 European Basketball Championships, the Lithuanian government made a huge effort to make sure that the event was a success. The first and the second European Basketball Championships were held in adapted buildings which were not suitable for basketball matches; for the 1939 EuroBasket, a new sports arena was built in Kaunas in record time, no expense spared. It was based on a design by Anatolijus Rozenbliumas. The impressive structure, with 3,500 seats and the capacity of 11,000 people, cost a huge sum of 400,000 litas. It was the first sports arena in Europe designed specifically for basketball.

Kaunas sports hall, from Kaunas: an Architectural Guide (Vilnius, 2017) YD.2018.a.4721

EuroBasket 1939 opening ceremony. (Image from Wikimedia Commons)

The games were opened by the Lithuanian president Antanas Smetona, patron of the event. During the eight days of competition, high-scoring matches attracted huge crowds to Kaunas and the newly-opened sports hall. The sporting tournament was not without controversy. Although some of the teams taking part in the third Euro-Basket had emigrants returning from abroad, the Lithuanian team had several players born in the USA. This was met with protests from other participating countries. There was also confusion about the rules on the height of the players. At the time, the official rule was that players were divided into two groups: up to and above 1.90 metres tall, although the rule was never put into practice. There were two players taking part who were over 1.90 metres: Lithuania’s Pranas Lubinas and Estonia’s Ralf Viksten. Just before the competition, the Technical Committee of FIBA decided to allow players of all heights to take part. Understandably, the decision was very unpopular with other teams.

Poster advertising the 1939 European Basketball Championships in Kaunas. ‘When basketball gained the status of a second religion’, from Imagining Lithuania: 100 years, 100 visions: 1918-2018 (Vilnius, 2018) [awaiting shelfmark]

The first day saw the most important match of the competition. Lithuania was playing against Latvia. The match was tense and very even, with both teams taking turns to score. The first half was won by Latvia with the score 17:15. The match, dramatic to the end, was won by Lithuanians by one point (37:36), thanks to the efforts of Pranas Lubinas, who scored in the last few seconds. As Lithuania became the 1939 FIBA EuroBasket champions, winning by just one point, Latvia protested, unhappy about Lubinas’ height and the fact that he was born in the USA.

Pranas Lubinas at the EuroBasket 1939 (Image from Wikimedia Commons)

The relations between the two countries deteriorated to such an extent that Latvia refused to take part in sporting events with Lithuania. The Baltic Cup football tournament, planned for later that year, was cancelled. However, clouds were gathering on the political horizon. Months later, the Second World War broke out, and the sporting disagreement paled into insignificance. But the match hasn’t been forgotten; it still elicits strong emotions in basketball fans in both countries.

Winning gold in two European championships by the men’s national team and silver by the women’s team in 1938 sparked national celebrations in Lithuania. It was the beginning of Lithuania’s love affair with basketball. The Lithuanian poet Justinas Marcinkevičius summed it up well: “As if in return for our undying love, basketball has earned the greatest renown and glory in Lithuanian sports arenas, satisfying our national ambitions, and our joy and pride”.

What more would one want from a sport?

Good luck to all the teams taking part in the competitions!

Ela Kucharska-Beard, Curator Slavonic and East European Collections

References and further reading:

Ilze Zveja, Aigars Grauba, Andrejs Ēķis, Sapņu komanda: laika stāsti (Rīga, 2013). YF.2017.b.89

Guntis Keisels, Latvijas basketbola vestūre (Rīga, 1998). YA.2000.b.1152

Guntis Keisels, Latvijas sporta lepnums 100: personības, notikumi, procesi (Rīga, 2018). LF.31.b.15331

Norbertas Černiauskas, ‘When basketball gained the status of a second religion’, in Imagining Lithuania : 100 years, 100 visions: 1918-2018 (Vilnius, 2018) [awaiting shelfmark]

Almantas Bružas, Julija Reklaitė, Kaunas: an architectural guide (Vilnius, 2017). YD.2018.a.4721

Arūnas Brazauskas, Lithuania: a success story: politics, economy, culture, information society, sports, tourism (Vilnius, 2006). YD.2009.b.1533

Stanislovas Stonkus, Sportas tarpukario Lietuvoje (Kaunas, 2007). YF.2012.a.1580

Feliksas Paškevičius, Europos auksas Lietuvai, 1936-1939: iliustruota krepšinio kronika (Vilnius, 2007). YF.2015.a.5157

The godfathers of Lithuanian basketball - FIBA EuroBasket 2022 Qualifiers - FIBA.basketball

In 1936 Germany hosted what would be the last Olympic Games before the Second World War, an event that became infamous as a showcase for Nazi Germany. At the first Games after the war (1948) Germans were banned from participating, but in 1950 the International Olympic Committee (IOC) formally recognised a new German National Olympic Committee, paving the way for German participation in the 1952 Games.

However, there was one major problem: by 1950 there were officially two German states, the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG) in the West and the German Democratic Republic (GDR) in the East. The FRG had founded the Olympic Committee and claimed that it represented the whole of Germany, in keeping with its policy of not recognising the GDR as a legitimate state. The GDR quickly set up their own National Olympic Committee and also sought recognition from the IOC, but this was refused. Instead, the IOC suggested that the two states should form a single committee and compete as a single team, but NOC members on both sides, under political pressure from their governments, refused, and only West Germany took part in the 1952 Games. (Although the Saarland, later to become part of the FRG but in 1952 a French Protectorate, also competed for the only time as a separate entity.)

The IOC, and in particular its new Chairman, Avery Brundage, felt that the situation in 1952 went against the ‘Olympic spirit’ of international and apolitical camaraderie in sport. In the years leading up to the 1956 Games they sought a solution. In 1954 the East German NOC was given provisional recognition on the understanding that the two German states would still compete as a single team. This time both sides accepted the compromise, and in 1956 what later became known as the ‘Unified German Team’ took part as ‘Germany’ in both the summer and winter Olympics.

Members of the East and West German Olympic Committees during negotiations over the 1956 Games. From Grit Hartmann, Brigitte Berendonk, Goldkinder: die DDR im Spiegel ihres Spitzensports (Leipzig, 1997) YA.2000.a.19519

This may have solved one problem, but it threw up several others, including that of which flag and anthem the team would use. The flag issue was not initially too hard to solve since in 1956 both countries used the same black red and gold tricolour as their national flag, but by 1960 the GDR had superimposed its national emblem of a hammer and compass in a garland of corn onto its flag. After some wrangling, it was agreed that from then on the team would compete under a German tricolour with the Olympic rings displayed in white in the central red panel. Meanwhile, the Ode to Joy from Beethoven’s 9th Symphony was chosen as the anthem for the team. Team members were selected in qualification competitions held in both Germanies, and it was agreed that the state with the highest number of qualifying athletes would provide the team’s ‘Chef de Mission’ and flag-bearer.

The flag of the German Unified Team, used at the 1960, 1964 and 1968 Olympic Games (Image from Wikimedia Commons)

When the Unified Team first appeared at the 1956 Olympics, Brundage triumphantly declared that in uniting the two German states in this way, the IOC had “succeeded where the politicians could not”. He would continue to express similar sentiments throughout the lifetime of the Unified Team, but the reality for German politicians, athletes and fans was somewhat different. Politicians in both East and West Germany tried to use participation in the Games to promote their own ends. For the FRG this was primarily to boost its the claim to be the only legitimate German state; conversely, for the GDR it was to gain recognition on the international stage. On the personal level too, the Unified Team was far from united. The athletes from East and West generally lived and trained separately in the Olympic villages and had little personal contact. Sports fans, used to watching the two Germanies compete as rivals in other situations, probably felt a closer allegiance to their own athletes than to those of the other state or to any concept of a united Germany.

The German Unified Team at the 1960 Summer Olympics in Tokyo (Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-C1012-0001-026 / Kohls, Ulrich / CC-BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons)

This separation grew more marked over the years as the political situation between the two states deteriorated. Uta Andrea Bailer, writing about the Unified Team, describes its history as “also the history of the continued drifting apart of the two German states.” By 1964 this had come to a head following the building of the Berlin Wall three years earlier. In a dissertation on the team, Eike Birck quotes West German Olympic skier Rita Czech-Blasel: “Who came up with this crazy idea? A ‘unified German team’! The Communists put up a wall, finally chopped Germany in half, and we athletes were supposed to act as if it was all sweetness and light ...” Also in 1964, for the first time the GDR had more qualifiers for the Games, giving them the coveted post of Chef de Mission, something seen in the FRG as a serious humiliation.

Cover of Matthias Fink, Das NOK der DDR - zwischen Olympia und Politik: die olympische Bewegung der DDR im Spannungsfeld der deutsch-deutschen Geschichte 1945-1973 (Göttingen, 2012) YF.2015.a.21269

In the following years, the IOC bowed to the inevitable. In 1965 the East German NOC was given full recognition, and in 1968 a separate East German team competed, although they were still required to use the flag and anthem of the Unified Team. By 1972 the separation was complete and both the FRG (the host of that year’s summer games) and the GDR competed as separate countries under their own flags. It was around this time that the GDR began the state-sanctioned doping programme that brought spectacular Olympic success throughout the 1970s and 80s but had devastating effects on the lives and health of East German athletes.

In 1992 a single German team once more appeared at the Olympics, but this time it was representing a newly politically unified Germany. Despite Brundage’s hopes of sport achieving what politics could not, it was in the end politics that brought German Olympians truly together again.

Susan Reed, Lead Curator Germanic Collections

References/further reading

Uta A. Balbier, Kalter Krieg auf der Aschenbahn: der deutsch-deutsche Sport, 1950-1972: eine politische Geschichte (Paderborn, 2007) YF.2007.a.31226. Also available online at https://digi20.digitale-sammlungen.de/de/fs1/object/display/bsb00052124_00044.html

Uta A. Balbier, ‘“Flaggen, Hymnen und Medaillen”. Die gesamtdeutsche Olympiamannschaft und die kulturelle Dimension der Deutschlandpolitik.’ In: Susanne Muhle, Hedwig Richter und Juliane Schütterle (ed.), Die DDR im Blick: ein zeithistorisches Lesebuch. (Berlin, 2008), pp. 201-209. YF.2010.a.1880. Also available online at https://www.bundesstiftung-aufarbeitung.de/sites/default/files/uploads/files/2021-06/balbier_flaggen_hymnen_und_medaillen_ddr_im_blick.pdf

Christian Becker, Edelfrid Buggel, Wolfgang Buss, Der Sport in der SBZ und frühen DDR: Genese, Strukturen, Bedingungen (Schorndorf, 2001) YA.2003.a.25310

Eike Birck, Die gesamtdeutschen Olympiamannschaften – eine Paradoxie der Sportgeschichte (Doctoral dissertation, University of Bielefeld, 2013) https://pub.uni-bielefeld.de/download/2638227/2638228/Dissertation_Eike_Birck.pdf

Horst Geyer, Olympische Spiele 1896-1996: ein deutsches Politikum (Münster, 1996) YA.1999.a.12770

Juliana Lenz, Zwischen Politik, Protokoll und Pragmatismus: die deutsche Olympiageschichte von 1952 bis 1972 (Berlin, 2011) YF.2013.a.15633 (Original dissertation available online at https://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/resolve/id/rosdok_disshab_0000002138)

David Maraniss, Rome 1960: the Olympics that changed the world (New York, 2008) m08/.26791

In November 1959, Frank Vadasz, a former citizen of pre-war Czechoslovakia, wrote to Josef Josten, a renowned Czech journalist in exile in London. In his letter, conceived a few months ahead of the Winter Olympic Games in Squaw Valley (now Palisades Tahoe), California, Vadasz asked Josten to lobby the US Postmaster General, Arthur Summerfield, to make a certain stamp official postage for the Olympic Games. Vadasz had heard that in March 1960, the US would issue two stamps depicting Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk, a pre-war statesman and father of Czechoslovak independence, as a champion of liberty. He wanted the stamp to be printed earlier to coincide with the Games and make it the only stamp available in the Olympic Village. He argued: “It would be great propaganda by the US Post Office and a slap in the face to the Czechoslovak communist regime if all the participants of the games had to write letters home with a Masaryk stamp (and the Olympic symbol). The Czechoslovak post would not be able to return such letters!” Unfortunately, Vadasz’s plan did not work, and the stamps were issued in March as planned. However, there were other, more successful, Czechoslovak attempts to use the Olympics as a platform for protest before and after Vadasz’s plot.

A letter from Frank Vadasz to Josef Josten, Josten Collection of Second World War Government in Exile material formed by Josef Josten (1913-1985), donated to the British Library Philatelic Collections in 1986. 

Marie Provazníková, coach of the Czechoslovak women’s gymnastics team at the 1948 Summer Olympics in London, where her team won the gold medal, decided to defect to protest the lack of freedom following the 1948 coup d’état by the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia. An activist in the Sokol Movement and a believer in democracy, she was a supporter of former president Edvard Beneš. Provazníková joined a group of six Czechoslovakian and two Hungarian Olympic team members who refused to return to their homelands. After settling in the USA, she continued to work actively for Sokol, promoting its ideals and writing about its history and principles. 

Miroslav Tyrš and Jindřich Fügner, co-founder of Sokol. Illustration from Josef Kučera, Dějiny tělocvičné jednoty Sokol v Londýně : o předběžným pojednáním o minulých spolcích londýnských (Prague, 1912), RB.23.b.8302

The 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City witnessed another story of resilience and quiet protest by Provazníková’s compatriot, Věra Čáslavská. The Czech gymnast became a symbol of defiance against Soviet oppression. Following the Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia, Čáslavská faced many challenges. Her training facilities were seized, forcing her to improvise her regimen in the forests of the Hrubý Jeseník mountains: she lifted potato sacks for weights and balanced on logs as beams, trying to maintain her peak condition. 

Cover of Vratislav Blažek, Věra Čáslavska. (Prague, 1968), X.441/1143

An outspoken critic of Communism, during Prague Spring, Věra signed the ‘Two Thousand Words’ manifesto protesting the Warsaw Pact troops’ invasion of Czechoslovakia. This act of defiance forced her into hiding in a remote mountain hut at Vřesová studánka, only securing her passage to the Olympics at the last moment. Despite everything, Čáslavská dominated the 1968 Olympics, winning medals in all six events.

Čáslavská's achievements were particularly poignant because of the political turmoil in Czechoslovakia. During the medal ceremonies, she protested the occupation with a symbolic gesture while standing on the podium alongside a Soviet competitor: she turned her head away and looked down while the USSR’s anthem was playing, showing her defiance against Soviet politics. Věra’s was not the only act of defiance in Mexico, with Tommie Smith and John Carlos’s black power salute from the podium being one of the most iconic images engraved in history.

Cover of Harry Blustein, Games of discontent: protests, boycotts, and politics at the 1968 Mexico Olympics (Montreal; Kingston; London; Chicago 2021), YC.2022.a.5826.

After the Velvet Revolution, Čáslavská became an advisor to President Václav Havel and the chairwoman of the Czechoslovak and later the Czech Olympic Committee, further solidifying her legacy as both a sports icon and a symbol of resistance.

The Olympic Games have long been a stage for athletes to promote democratic values and protest oppressive regimes. Although officially Rule 50 of the Olympic Charter states that “no kind of demonstration or political, religious or racial propaganda is permitted in any Olympic sites, venues or other areas,” the Games highlight the power of sports as a platform for advocating democracy and human rights. In Beijing in 2022, just before Russia’s full-scale invasion, Vladyslav Heraskevych flashed a blue-and-yellow sign reading “No War in Ukraine” after competing in a skeleton race for his country. Although the Games are apolitical in principle, the Olympic spirit goes beyond competition and includes a commitment to global justice and freedom. 

Olga Topol, Curator Slavonic and East European Collections, with thanks to Richard Morel, Curator Philatelic Collections

Further reading:

‘Ord om frihet. Två dokument från Tjeckoslovakiens folk. Två tusen ord och Medborgarnas budskap’ = ‘Dva tisíce slov.-Poselství občanů předsednictvu ústředního výboru komunistické strany’ (translation: Eva Lindekrantz and Ulla Keyling), in: Literarní Listy: týdenník věnovaný literatuře, uměni, poučení a zábavě. Redaktorové: F. Schulz a ... E. Grégr, no 1-3. (Gothenburg, 1968) X.708/6288

Josef Kučera, Dějiny tělocvičné jednoty Sokol v Londýně: o předběžným pojednáním o minulých spolcích londýnských, Praha 1912. RB.23.b.8302

International Olympic Committee, Olympic Charter (Lausanne?, 1991) 6256.404730

As we know, Russian and Belarusian athletes will not take part in the opening ceremony of the 2024 Olympics in Paris. The International Olympic Committee has banned athletes from both countries following Russia's invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. Nevertheless, some sportsmen from Russia and Belarus have been allowed to compete as AINs (Individual Neutral Athletes). Unfortunately, totalitarian regimes weaponise sports and international competitions to promote their own narrative of superiority and success. At the end of the blog, I will offer several titles that might be of interest to those readers who would like to learn more about the research in sports, politics and society in Belarus and beyond. Before that, however, I would like to relive the best moments associated with sports in Belarus and find out more about the individuals linked to the Belarusian land who made lasting contributions to the Olympic movement.

The first person I would like to mention was not a sportsman but an engineer - Zygmunt Mineyko (Greek: Ζigkmοynt Μineiko). A Polish-Lithuanian nobleman, born as a Russian Imperial subject in the territory of present-day Belarus, he lived and worked in France and the Ottoman Empire and then settled in Greece. Mineyko was imprisoned and sent to Siberia for fighting for Polish independence in the 1863 January Uprising. He later wrote a book about these years, From the Taiga to the Acropolis.

Zygmunt Mineyko, Z tajgi pod Akropol: Wspomnienia z lat 1848-1866. (Warsaw, 1971) X.808/7446.

Mineyko was born in the region of Hrodna, which later became one of the major centres of Belarusian sports. After moving to Greece, he served as a chief engineer for the country's Public Work Ministry and took part in constructing the Olympic facilities for the first modern Olympic Games in 1896. He was one of the engineers responsible for restoring and refurbishing the Panathenaic Stadium, which hosted the Games that year.

Panathenaic Stadium. (Image from Wikimedia Commons)

In 1888, three years before Mineyko settled in Athens, another man destined to leave a mark on the history of the Olympic Games was born in Hrodna. Karol Rómmel (Russian: Karl Rummel, German: Karol von Rummel) was the son of the Russian Imperial Army general Karol Aleksander Rummel. He followed in his father's footsteps and joined the ranks of the Russian Army. Karol studied in Odesa and Saint Petersburg and soon became interested in equestrian sports. He took part in the 1912 Olympic Games in Stockholm as a member of the Russian team.

Report on the Olympic Games published in the magazine Russkii sport. 1912, No 28 (8 July). P. 7. Digital copy of the Russian State Historical Public Library

The above report mentions the results but does not tell the dramatic story behind Rómmel’s Olympic performance. Almost at the end of the track, his horse Ziablik caught a beam and fell, crushing his rider. Despite the serious injuries, the sportsman managed to get back into the saddle and finish the race.

The section on Riding Competitions from The Olympic Games of Stockholm 1912 Official Report. (Stockholm, 1913) 7904.e.2. Available online via the Digital Olympic Official Reports Collection.

After the Russian Revolution, the athlete changed his surname from Rummel to the more Polish-sounding Rómmel and joined the Polish Army in its fight against Bolshevik Russia. The next Olympic Games he participated in were held in Paris (1924) and Amsterdam (1928), where he, together with Józef Piotr Trenkwald and Michał Antoniewicz, claimed the bronze for Poland in team competitions.

Photograph of K. Rómmel from The Olympic Games of Amsterdam 1928 Official Report accessible at
 Digital Olympic Official Reports Collection

The first Olympic medal for Belarusians —  as part of the USSR team — was silver, awarded in 1956 to hammer thrower Mikhail Krivonosov (1929-1994). In 1976, Elena Novikova-Belova (b. 1947) became the first female fencer to win four Olympic gold medals. Although born in Khabarovsk Krai in the Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, she spent much of her career in Belarus and became the Honoured Trainer of Belarus in 1994. A native of Minsk, Sviatlana Bahinskaia (b. 1973, lives in the USA) is one of the few world-class gymnasts who competed in three Olympic Games. She was a member of three Olympic teams: USSR (1992, Seoul), The Unified Team of former Soviet republics (1992, Barcelona) and Belarus (1996, Atlanta). The first gold Olympic medal for independent Belarus was won in rowing by Katsiaryna Khadatovich-Karsten (b. 1972, lives in Germany). She is a two-time Olympic and six-time World Champion in the single scull.

But of course, the legend of Soviet Belarusian sports was Olga Korbut, born in Hrodna in 1955. Although her professional career in sports lasted only for eight years, as she retired from gymnastic competition at the age of 22, Korbut’s influence and legacy have been profound. The hero of Soviet and Belarusian sports is now a US national. She left Minsk in 1991 and has lived in the USA for almost as long as in the Soviet Union. Although much research has already been done on the Korbut phenomenon, she remains the focus of academic projects. As Timur Mukhamatulin concluded in his article on women’s gymnastics and the Cold War, “Korbut’s image was so influential for American sports followers that, in 1994, long after she had retired, and in the wake of the Soviet Union’s collapse, Sports Illustrated included Korbut in its list of forty athletes who had altered sports over the course of the magazine’s forty years of existence. An article honouring Korbut declared that ‘this little Russian girl’ put a ‘different, human face on her Communist country.’”

Olga Korbut at the 1972 Olympics on an Azerbaijani stamp (Image from Wikipedia)

Katya Rogatchevskaia, Lead Curator, East European Collections

Further reading:

[Please note that because of the recent cyberattack on the British Library, not all titles are currently available in our reading rooms. The BL is working hard to restore access, and you can find information and updates here] 

Sport and international politics: [the impact of fascism and communism on sport], edited by Pierre Arnaud and James Riordan. (London, 1997) ELD.DS.22220

Sport, Culture, and Ideology, edited by Jennifer Hargreaves. (London, 2014) X.529/52184

George Harvey Sage, Globalizing Sport: How Organizations, Corporations, Media, and Politics are Changing Sports. ([London], 2015) ELD.DS.41952

Race, Gender and Sport: the Politics of Ethnic Minority Girls and Women, edited by Aarti Ratna, Samaya F. Samie. (London, 2017) ELD.DS.186619

Aristea Papanicolaou-Christensen, The Panathenaic Stadium: its History over the Centuries. (Athens, 2003)

Londa Jacobs. Olga Korbut: Tears and Triumph. ([S.l., 1974) 81/5549

Justin Beecham, Olga: Her Life and her Gymnastics ... With photographs by Alan Baker and others, and illustrations by Paul Buckle (New York, [1974]) X.611/3888

‘Olga Korbut and the Munich Olympics of 1972’, in Cold War Cultures: Perspectives on Eastern and Western European Societies, ed. by Annette Vowinckel, Marcus M. Payk, Thomas Lindenberger (New York, [2012]) YC.2013.a.328, Chapter 5

Timur Mukhamatulin, Women’s Gymnastics and the Cold War: How Soviet Smiles Won Over the West. Jordan Centre Blog, published on 16 February 2023

Rebekka Lang Fuentes, Olympism and Human Rights: A Critical Analysis Comparing Different National Olympic Education Programmes in Europe. (Wiesbaden, 2022) Online resource (subscription only)

Aka Morchiladze is a widely recognised and much-loved writer from Georgia. He has authored some best-selling novels, and a series of short stories and essays mainly concerned with Georgian history and literature. He has been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature this year for his powerful and artistically unique contribution to Georgian literature.

Morchiladze has an incredible ability to tell a story and bring the reader into his world, always engaging with new themes, new areas of experience, and, above all, new technical challenges.  He tells stories from the point of view of an outsider, but he sees the world as one of  his characters might see it. He pays thorough attention to the distinctiveness of the speech of each character.  His stories with a wide variety of voices are emotional, subtle and complex, sometimes even grotesque.

His writing technique allows mixed perception of the text: a literary text can be perceived on various levels. For some readers, it could be simply a detective story. For others, a narrative full of unique historical details, the picture of a particular era. Moreover, it could be the contemplation of the differences between past and present, the relationship and interdependence of history and memory, history and mentality, and their roles in culture. In manipulating a continuous parallel between past and present, modernity and antiquity, he uses stories and themes from Classical literature and places them in a modern context and circumstances.

Morchiladze has won a number of literary prizes in Georgia. His works have been translated and published in several countries, including Germany, Italy, Serbia, Mexico, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Egypt, USA, Sweden, Azerbaijan and Switzerland. 

His two novels, Journey to Karabakh and Of Old Hearts and Swords, have been translated into English by Elizabeth Heighway.  

His first novel, Journey to Karabakh (მოგზაურობა ყარაბაღში), was published in Georgia in 1992 and brought him immediate success. The novel depicts events in Georgia and the Caucasus, which took place at the beginning of the 1990s. It tells of an adventure of two young Georgians who accidentally get involved in the Karabakh conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan.

Cover of Elizabeth Heighway's translation of Journey to Karabakh. H.2016/.7513

Of Old Hearts and Swords (ძველი გულებისა და ხმლისა) was published in 2007. It is a novel about nineteenth-century Georgia, re-creating the atmosphere of a culture almost lost in time. Its themes are loyalty and courage, love, friendship and war. It narrates the story of a Georgian nobleman who travels from Tbilisi to the West in search of his missing brother.

 

Cover Of Old Hearts and Swords in Georgian. YF.2008.a.20364

Morchiladze’s work Georgian Notebooks (ქართულის რვეულები) (2013) has recently been translated into English. It was published in 2022 with the title Character in Georgia. The book is a collection of stories about poets, politicians, outlaws and many other Georgians. Their personalities are different, and yet, symbolising Georgian character, they have something in common. Living in the pages of this book, they follow their unique way of behaving. Their inner lives collide with real events and become the stuff of history and legend.

The English edition (Character in Georgia), unlike the Georgian original, provides more information and context around the events and people, presenting and explaining stories for non-Georgian readers. This new approach to the original text was suggested by the English editor, Peter Nasmyth. It was finally decided to put both writers’ names on the title page.

 

Cover of Character in Georgia (awaiting shelfmark)

The British Library’s collections hold most of Morchiladze’s works, including his best novels mentioned above, as well as English translations. On several occasions, he has been invited to the British Library as a speaker and talked about Georgian literature. We look forward to seeing him at a future European Writers' Festival.

Anna Chelidze, Curator, Georgian Collections

References:

Donald Rayfield, Georgian literature in Encyclopædia Britannica https://www.britannica.com/art/Georgian-literature/The-20th-century 

Donald Rayfield, The Literature of Georgia: History (London: Garnett Press, 2010). 

The Endangered Archives Programme project on Bulgarian minorities’ culture in the 20th century has created a digital archive which documents the traditions and customs of minority communities in Bulgaria.

Karakachan family in front of their 'Kaliva' thatched winter cabins in Karnobat region, Bulgaria. 1950. EAP500/1/1/2.

The objective of the project was to improve the accessibility and exposure of this digital archive to a wider audience of researchers and stakeholders.

A Tatar-Turkish family celebrates the national holiday May Day in pre-1989 Bulgaria on the 1st of May in their village of Vardim, located in the Svishtov region in 1957. Their daughter, looking on and dressed as a young pioneer in a red scarf, represents a new generation of Bulgarian people. EAP500/13/3/1.

The project focused on various ethnic and religious communities in Bulgaria, including Turks, Tatars, Pomaks, Jews, Armenians, Old Believers, Alevis, Aromanians, Karakachans, and Vlachs. This project continues the work initiated in the previous project, which was smaller in its scope.

Turkish families celebrate the holiday of ‘Trifon Zarezan’, also known as the holiday of the grapes and wine. 1967. EAP500/13/3/11.

The captured documents serve as valuable sources of information regarding the cultures and traditions of the Bulgarian minority communities, which were often obscure beyond the confines of their respective regions.

Turkish women during grape harvest in the village of Novgrad (mixed Bulgarian-Turkish village) in Svishtov region. 1963. EAP500/13/3/17.

The project’s investigations have uncovered these images in private and local government collections. The project established that local archives didn’t hold these types of records. This deficiency primarily stemmed from the mono-centric state policy, which historically prioritised Bulgarian ethnic tradition and culture to the exclusion of minority groups.

Traditional Turkish dresses presented by Turkish women part of the Turkish group ‘Berlik’. 1950s. EAP500/13/3/122.

These communities, both geographically and culturally isolated, frequently experienced marginalisation from mainstream Bulgarian society. Despite this, they continued to preserve numerous traditional elements of their culture, which are passed down through generations.

Karakachans' costumes in everyday life and festive tradition in Karnobat region, Southeast Bulgaria, during the 1950s through to the 1980s period. EAP500/3/1.

The project has surveyed underexplored and little-known aspects of the lifestyles, customs, and rituals of minority groups in Bulgaria. Many of these elements hold significant research value as they retain pre-industrial characteristics, often maintained and practised clandestinely during the socialist era in Bulgaria.

The photo presents Armenian tobacco workers from Haskovo city. 1930. EAP675/9/1/25.

Russian Old Believers and their guests from Romania in Kazashko village. 1950s. EAP675/26/1/45.

Alevi dancers in traditional costumes from Yablanovo village. 1970s. EAP675/1/1/13.

The geographic and cultural isolation experienced by these groups, who remained largely unaffected by modern influences, often resulted in their exclusion from mainstream Bulgarian society. Regardless of this, these communities diligently preserved numerous traditional elements of their culture, which have persistently endured and been passed down from one generation to the next.

In Medovets, a Turkish wedding unfolds as the bride and groom patiently await at the table to receive congratulations, gifts, and monetary blessings from the wedding guests. 1980s. EAP500/12/1/269.

The bride departs for her new home accompanied by her trousseau. 1970s. EAP675/7/1/49.

The project concluded that, prior to 1989, Bulgarian state policies were actively geared towards the forced assimilation of minorities. As a result, the project states, there has been a gradual erosion or deliberate destruction of photographs and photographic collections belonging to various minority communities, with a particular impact on the Muslim minority during the "Revival process" in Bulgaria from the 1960s to the 1980s.

During this period, the Bulgarian state implemented a policy of forced assimilation targeting Muslims, involving the destruction of all official, personal, and family documents verifying their minority identity. Despite these repressive measures and deliberate destruction of archival materials, the project reveals that many documents were covertly preserved, although frequently under unfavourable conditions and in a deteriorated state.

The first public Evangelical protest by Protestants from different parts and churches of Bulgaria for the free manifestation of religion and religious practices in South Park in Sofia. One placard reads: “We want the Nativity of Christ and Easter as public holidays.” 1989. EAP675/47/1/62.

The photo presents Pomak traditional women's costumes from Yagodina village at the local folklore fair. 1970s-1980s. EAP675/46/1/52.  

The project has digitised documents that serve as invaluable sources of information about the cultures and traditions of these minority communities, which often remain scarcely known beyond the confines of their respective regions. The digitised copies of the material have been deposited in the Studii Romani Archive at the Institute of Ethnology and Folkloristic Studies and the Ethnographical Museum at the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Sofia. The British Library also holds a digital copy of this valuable material.

Milan Grba, Lead Curator South-East European Collections

Ismail Kadare, the best-known contemporary Albanian writer and intellectual, one of the most remarkable European authors of his generation, died on 1 July 2024 at the age of 88.

Ismail Kadare (Image from Wikimedia Commons)

By coincidence, the news about Kadare’s death came when I was reading his novel Broken April (1978) about the moral responsibilities of intellectuals: “Your books, your art, they all smell of murder [...] you look here for beauty so as to deed your art. You don’t see that this is beauty that kills [...]”.

Cover of Ismail Kadare's Broken April (London, 1990) Nov.1990/1482

Kadare’s body of work consists of over 80 titles translated into 45 languages. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature 15 times and received numerous awards. However, my personal encounter with the author happened quite late in my life. I learned about him first in 2016 from the blog post by Christina Pribichevich Zorić, the former Chief of Conference and Language Services at the UN International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia. But it was not until I got stuck for over six hours at Tirana International Airport, waiting for my flight to London and having plenty of time to read, that I finally had a chance to savour the mastery of his literary genres, narratives, themes and literary devices. The range of his works available in all major European languages at a small airport bookshop was impressive, and I ended up buying several of his books.

All of Kadare’s novels create imaginary worlds out of a wide variety of myths, legends (The Three Arched Bridge), and stories of the distant past (The Castle). He worked with political parables and satire (The Concert), antitotalitarian dystopias (The Palace of Dreams), offering commentary on the recent history (The General of the Dead Army, Broken April) and openly criticising Hoxha’s dictatorship and the regime that immediately succeeded it (Agamemnon's Daughter, The Successor). Having studied in the Soviet Union just before Albania's breaking of political and economic ties with the USSR, Kadare wrote a book of memoirs about his time in Moscow in the late 1950s in the style of political satire (Twilight of the Eastern Gods). His last novel, The Doll (2015, English translation – 2020), is also a semi-autobiographical coming-of-age story. Whenever he wrote, he would always write about his beloved Albania. As he put it in one of his poems: “Me ka marre malli per Shqiperine tone” (“I was filled with longing for Albania”, translated by Robert Elsie).

Kadare, like the Albanian dictator Enver Hoxha 28 years before him, was born in the museum-like town of Gjirokastër. Looking at the photo below, it is strange to think how Good and Evil could come from one place.

The city of Gjirokastër in Albania (Photograph by Katya Rogatchevskaia)

The earliest book by Kadare that I found in the British Library collections was his poem The Princess Argjiro, published first in Tirana in 1958 and later in 1967.

Cover of Princesha Argjiro. (Tirana, 1967). Shelfmark X.950/15359

Page from Princesha Argjiro by Ismail Kadare

Based on a 15th-century local legend, the poem tells the story of a young princess who jumped with her child off the walls of the Gjirokastër Castle to avoid captivity by the Ottomans. As the spirit and message of the poem were not in line with the conventions of socialist realism and the Communist Party of Albania’s interpretation of the country’s history, the work was denounced, and Kadare was criticised for not following socialist literary principles.

The Gjirokastër Castle (Photograph by Katya Rogatchevskaia)

But this was only the beginning of Kadare’s opposition to the political and aesthetic tenets of the Albanian dictatorship. Influenced by Kafka, Gogol, Sartre, Camus, Orwell and other writers and thinkers, he kept writing books that were banned, criticised and censored, while the author himself was once nearly shot. His international fame saved him many times, but even after Hoxha’s death, he had to flee from Albania and seek refuge in France in 1990 after criticising the new government. He later returned to Tirana and continued writing. Like Vaclav Havel, Kadare was invited by his people to become president, but unlike Havel, he declined.

The search on Kadare as an ‘author’ yields 257 entries in the British Library catalogue – we hold his books in Albanian, English, French, German, Bulgarian, Polish, Dutch, Romanian, Serbian, Croatian, Slovenian and even Arabic.

Whether you are a devoted admirer of Kadare’s work or you are just at the beginning of your journey into his wonderful but challenging world, I would like to leave you with the author's reading of his 1961 poem Edhe Kur Kujtesa (And when my memory).

Ndarja erdhi,
Po iki larg prej teje.
Asgjë e jashtëzakonshme,
Veç ndonjë natë
Gishtat e dikujt do pleksen në flokët e tu
Me të largëtit gishtat e mi, me kilometra të gjatë.

The division came
I'm leaving you ...
Nothing extraordinary,
Except for one night
Someone's fingers will curl into your hair
With my fingers far, miles long ...

C'est l'heure de se séparer.
Je vais m'en aller loin de toi.
Rien là qui puisse étonner.
Pourtant, une autre nuit, les doigts
d'un autre dans tes cheveux viendront
s'entrelacer aux miens, mes doigts
de milliers de kilomètres de long.

Anthology of Modern Albanian Poetry, edited and translated by Robert Elsie (London: Forest Books, 1996)

Katya Rogatchevskaia, Lead Curator, East European Collections

Further reading:

Ismail Kadare obituary. The Guardian, 1 July 2024 

Peter Morgan. Ismail Kadare: the writer and the dictatorship, 1957-1990. (London, 2010) YC.2011.b.13

Ariane Eissen. Visages d'Ismail Kadaré. (Paris, [2015]) YF.2021.a.16497

Alessandro Scarsella, Giuseppina Turano. Leggere Kadare : critica, ricezione, bibliografia. (Milan, 2008) YF.2015.a.12980

Kadare dhe regjimi komunist : 101 dokumente nga aparati diktatorial shtetëror 1959-1991, compiled by Dashnor Kaloçi. (Tirana, 2018) YF.2021.a.11094