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This essay collection from renowned journalist and novelist Slavenka Drakulic, which quickly became a modern (and feminist) classic, draws back the Iron Curtain for a glimpse at the lives of Eastern European women under Communist regimes. Provocative, often witty, and always intensely personal, How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed cracks open a paradoxical world that through its rejection of capitalism and commoditization ends up fetishizing both. Examining the relationship between material goods and expressions of happiness and individuality in a society where even bananas were an alien luxury, Drakulic hones in on the eradication of female identity, drawing on her own experiences as well as broader cultural observations. Enforced communal housing that allowed for little privacy, the banishment of many time-saving devices, and a focus on manual labor left no room for such bourgeois affectations as cosmetics or clothes, but Drakulic's remarkable exploration of the reality behind the rhetoric reveals that women still went to desperate lengths to feel "feminine." How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed also chronicles the lingering consequences of such regimes. The Berlin Wall may have fallen, but Drakulic's power pieces testify that ideology cannot be dismantled so quickly; a lifetime lived in fear cannot be so easily forgotten.… (more)
A set of essays written to try to give western readers a sense of what the real experience of life in communist eastern Europe was like. Drakulić likes to build out to political conclusions from banal observations of domestic life — the sociology of communist toilet-paper, the way housing shortages and the inability to move away from your parents makes it more difficult to be a radical, the way the eavesdropping neighbours in the post office queue reflect the phone-tapping operation in the back room, and the way it's difficult to focus on being a feminist in a country that never has feminine hygiene products available in the shops, even when you are living in a culture that supposedly celebrates the equality of men and women.
The treatment is engaging, witty and very sharp, but I kept getting the feeling that she had an excessively rosy idea of western consumerism. Maybe the only westerners she knew were rich American professors and journalists: I'm younger than she is, but I can clearly remember times when clothes were washed by hand and wound through a mangle, irons were heated on a coal range, and grandmothers obsessively collected plastic bags, glass jars, and shoeboxes for re-use. And darned stockings on a wooden mushroom. None of that strikes me as particularly communist — it's simply how people lived who had been through the deprivations of World War II.
Of course, the real elephant in the room of this book is the Balkan war that broke out just after Drakulić finished writing it. We have that in the backs of our minds all the time she is going on about celebrating Tito's birthday, applying for a phone line, or voting in the first free elections. Her editor asked her for an afterword for the second edition, but she clearly wasn't in any mood to try to reduce the political and military situation to a neat essay: she responded with a very moving letter in which she meditates on how difficult it is to come to terms with the idea that one is living in the middle of a full-scale war, something she knows intellectually can't possibly happen in post-WWII Europe. But is happening outside her window. ( )
I don't really recall how this book made its way into my collection. Though given the topic, I suspect my sister, Jessa, may have been involved. This book is a collection of essays about what life was like for women in Eastern Europe under Communist regimes. These stories are mostly about deprivation: sharing small apartments with multiple families, the changing availability of toilet paper, repairing nylons over and over and over again, hoarding food, supplies, even plastic bags, because you never know when they will disappear from the stores. A Western reporter visits, and notes in her article as a sign of their deprivation that women still wash their clothing in tubs of boiling water here, and Drakulić is annoyed, devoting an entire essay to laundry.
There is some devoted to the consequences of communism that are already familiar to us -- the censors, the party line, the extensive wire-tapping, the government-controlled media. But precisely because these are the known stories, Drakulić brings them all back to how they affect women. It takes a while to sink in that no matter how many Cold Ware movies we've seen, no matter how many fat Russian novels we've read, these stories are new. Even now, ten years after it was written, this book is still a revelation.
Spoiler: There's not really a whole lot of laughter. ( )
Forty-five years of communist leadership in eastern European countries failed to produce livable apartments, jobs, food and other basic neccesities for living (toilet paper, soap, sanitary products for women, milk for children, etc.). It was humiliating and frightening.
This author tells the story from many women's point of views with personal empathy, experience and occasional sarcastic humor.
Forty-five years of communist leadership in eastern European countries failed to produce livable apartments, jobs, food and other basic neccesities for living (toilet paper, soap, sanitary products for women, milk for children, etc.). It was humiliating and frightening.
This author tells the story from many women's point of views with personal empathy, experience and occasional sarcastic humor.
"Noi siamo i parenti bisognosi, noi siamo gli aborigeni, noi siamo i diseredati: arretrati, ottusi, deformi, squattrinati, scrocconi, parassiti, truffatori, imbroglioni. Sentimentali, all'antica, infantili, disinformati, apprensivi, melodrammatici, tortuosi, imprevedibili, negligenti. Siamo quelli che non rispondono alle lettere, quelli che hanno perso la grande occasione, beoni , chiacchieroni, sfaticati, quelli che non rispettano le scadenze, quelli che non mantengono le promesse, spacconi, immaturi, assurdi, indisciplinati, permalosi, quelli che si insultano l'un l'altro ma non riescono a rompere le amicizie. Noi siamo i disadattati, quelli che si lamentano sempre perché sono intossicati dalle sconfitte. Siamo irritanti, eccessivi, deprimenti, siamo anche un po' infelici. Si sono abituati a disprezzarci. Siamo forza lavoro a buon mercato, da noi le merci hanno minor prezzo, ci portano in regalo giornali già letti. Le nostre lettere sono battute a macchina in modo sciatto, e sono zeppe di dettagli superflui. Sorridono di noi, con compassione, finché d'un tratto non diventiamo sgradevoli. Finché non diciamo nulla di strano, di tagliente; finché non tiriamo fuori le unghie e i denti; finché non diventiamo cinici e selvaggi".
(György Konrád, To Cave Explorers from the West,Agli esploratori delle caverne che vengono dall'Occidente)
Dedication
Forse dovrei però ringraziare soprattutto le donne dei paesi in cui mi sono recata, e che mi hanno offerto a braccia aperte il loro aiuto e il loro tempo, anche se non ci conoscevamo. Ma poiché sarebbe impossibile nominarle una per una, dedico questo libro a tutte le donne dell'Europa orientale che hanno reso possibili i cambiamenti avvenuti nel 1989.
First words
The title of my book feels wrong, I kept thinking as my plane soared off the runway at Zagreb airport.
I libri vengono al mondo come bambini. Come un seme che ti cresce dentro.
Ringraziamenti
Mi ricordo chiaramente come era cominciato tutto quanto. Poco prima di andare in pensione, a metà settembre del 1989, un mio collega giornalista tornò dal confine austro-ungarico piangendo d'emozione. "I tedeschi dell'Est stanno attraversa do la frontiera a migliaia. Non pensavo che avrei vissuto tanto da vedere una cosa del genere!" Nemmeno io lo pensavo. È così che ti hanno tirato su in quest'angolo del mondo: facendoti credere che il cambiamento non è possibile.
Introduzione
Lei è morta. La sua tomba è coperta d'edera e di minuscoli non-ti-scordar-di-me azzurri. C'è una candela accesa; sua madre dev'essere passata da poco. Io no, non ci sono venuta nemmeno una volta dal giorno in cui è stata sepolta, cinque anni fa. Non che l'abbia dimenticata, è che non riesco a rassegnarmi alla sua morte, all'assurdità del suo gesto. Nell'agosto del 1985, quando si uccise con il gas della stufa nel suo nuovo appartamento, aveva tre trentasei anni. Non so come raccontare la storia di Tanja, e nemmeno perché mi sembri importante.
Non ti puoi bere il caffè da sola
Quotations
Da un certo punto di vista le cose erano più facili nell'Europa orientale pre-rivoluzionaria. Non dovevamo fare altro che entrare nel tunnel e incolpare di tutto ( di tutte le nostre disgrazie personali nonché pubbliche) il Partito. Diciotto mesi fa, quando siamo finalmente usciti dal tunnel, forse abbiamo scoperto che le cose non stavano esattamente come avevamo sognato. In certo qual modo ci siamo lentamente resi conto che dovevamo crearci la terra promessa con le nostre mani, che d'ora in avanti saremmo stati. Oi i responsabili delle nostre vite, e che non ci sarebbero più state scuse a portata di mano con cui tacitare le nostre coscienze inquiete. La democrazia non è come un dono inatteso che giunge senza che si debba muovere un dito. Si deve lottare per ottenerla. È questo che la rende così difficile.
Introduzione
Last words
In questo preciso momento, il titolo delmio libro può sembrare inesatto. Siamo davvero sopravvissute al comunismo, ma non ce ne siamo liberate completamente.
In piedi presso la sua tomba, vorrei semplicemente che per lei ci fosse davvero un'altra vita dopo la morte. Me la immagino seduta là, a prendere un caffè assieme a qualcuno. Deve pur esserci qualcuno, lassù; perché, come diceva lei, non ti puoi bere il caffè da sola.
Mentre i capi accumulavano parole su un luminoso futuro, la gente accumulava zucchero e farina, vasetti, tazzine, collant, pane raffermo, tappi, spago, chiodi, sportine di plastica. Se i politici avessero avuto l'opportunità di dare una sbirciatina dentro le nostre credenze, i nostri armadi, i nostri cassetti, anziché cercare libri proibiti o materiale contro lo Stato, avrebbero visto quale futuro per i loro meravigliosi progetti sul comunismo si andava immagazzinando. Ma non ci hanno guardato.
This essay collection from renowned journalist and novelist Slavenka Drakulic, which quickly became a modern (and feminist) classic, draws back the Iron Curtain for a glimpse at the lives of Eastern European women under Communist regimes. Provocative, often witty, and always intensely personal, How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed cracks open a paradoxical world that through its rejection of capitalism and commoditization ends up fetishizing both. Examining the relationship between material goods and expressions of happiness and individuality in a society where even bananas were an alien luxury, Drakulic hones in on the eradication of female identity, drawing on her own experiences as well as broader cultural observations. Enforced communal housing that allowed for little privacy, the banishment of many time-saving devices, and a focus on manual labor left no room for such bourgeois affectations as cosmetics or clothes, but Drakulic's remarkable exploration of the reality behind the rhetoric reveals that women still went to desperate lengths to feel "feminine." How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed also chronicles the lingering consequences of such regimes. The Berlin Wall may have fallen, but Drakulic's power pieces testify that ideology cannot be dismantled so quickly; a lifetime lived in fear cannot be so easily forgotten.
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5
The treatment is engaging, witty and very sharp, but I kept getting the feeling that she had an excessively rosy idea of western consumerism. Maybe the only westerners she knew were rich American professors and journalists: I'm younger than she is, but I can clearly remember times when clothes were washed by hand and wound through a mangle, irons were heated on a coal range, and grandmothers obsessively collected plastic bags, glass jars, and shoeboxes for re-use. And darned stockings on a wooden mushroom. None of that strikes me as particularly communist — it's simply how people lived who had been through the deprivations of World War II.
Of course, the real elephant in the room of this book is the Balkan war that broke out just after Drakulić finished writing it. We have that in the backs of our minds all the time she is going on about celebrating Tito's birthday, applying for a phone line, or voting in the first free elections. Her editor asked her for an afterword for the second edition, but she clearly wasn't in any mood to try to reduce the political and military situation to a neat essay: she responded with a very moving letter in which she meditates on how difficult it is to come to terms with the idea that one is living in the middle of a full-scale war, something she knows intellectually can't possibly happen in post-WWII Europe. But is happening outside her window. (