Edmunda Wiercińskiego (Wrocław, Poland); (“Księga Rodzaju 2”); Katarzyna Figura (Warszawa, Poland); (“Badania terenowe nad ukraińskim seksem”). Na podstawie powieści Oksany Zabużko Badania terenowe nad ukraińskim seksem. Сучасний ідеал чоловіка в жіночій літературі. На основі роману Оксани. Międzynarodową sławę i sukces przyniosły jej “Badania terenowe nad ukraińskim seksem”. Ostatnia powieść Zabużko – “Muzeum porzuconych.

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Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex by Oksana Zabuzhko. The novel is narrated in first-person streams of thought by a sharp-tongued poet with an irreverently honest voice.

She is visiting professor of Slavic studies at Harvard and her exposure to American values and behaviors conspires with her yearning to break free from Ukrainian conventions. Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex, her debut in the genre of the novel, marks the emergence of a powerful new voice in Ukrainian belles-lettres. This work immediately strikes the reader with its novelty of form and with the original way it presents eternal issues like love, life, and creativity, intertwining them with uniquely Ukrainian themes.

It topped the bestseller list in Ukraine for more than ten years, making it the most successful Ukrainian-language book of the nineties in every regard. Today, Oksana Zabuzhko is one of the few authors in Ukraine and the only Ukrainian-language writer to make a living exclusively from her writing.

Paperbackpages. Published June 6th by AmazonCrossing first published January 1st To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up.

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To ask other readers questions about Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sexukrainskom sign up. Be the first to ask a question about Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex. Lists with This Book. The first full-five-star book I’ve read in Don’t just unbury books, stop good ones getting buried in the first place! Which I’ve been wanting to say in a rev The first full-five-star book I’ve read in If you’re one of those who never looks beyond friend reviews, please read this nadd.

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Complete Review fans will probably know that AmazonCrossing is now North America’s biggest publisher of translated literature. A recent exception, which suggests things are changing a little for newly translated AmazonCrossing works, is South Korean novella Nowhere to Be Found which was longlisted for the U.

S PEN translation Prize and has been talked about on a couple of blogs. Zabuzhko is a fantastic writer who, although lauded in Continental Europe with the Angelus Prize, should have as much respect and attention in English. Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex is a narrative conscious of its own psychology, and I’m tempted to connect this probably financially rewarding, but otherwise unfortunate choice of publisher in the current global lingua franca with a compulsion to enact the following: Presciently – in fact talking of something else, she says there was even a response in—wow!

I was tired of waiting for myself to get round to Museum of Abandoned Secrets and, in finishing it, finally earn the licence to harangue you about it; I was tired of waiting for the optimal time to try Kindle Unlimited for a month or two so I could read the much shorter Fieldwork inclusive with that. Yes, I’d have rather paid a non-Amazon retailer the same, and yes I’ve heard the arguments in favour of novellas being as pricey as doorstops, but I think publishers, even those of stuff you love, should be a long way down the list of charity concerns after more urgent needs.

This is a ranting, angry, digressive book, so why not shoehorn a couple of paragraphs of my own rant in too? Zabuzhko’s volleys of anger are set apart from a hundred other rage-fuelled, more-or-less terenowwe fictionalised rants by the magnitude of her intellectual force and wit, and her and her translator Halyna Hryn’s verbal dexterity.

I rarely go in for this sort of very womany angry book, that swampiness that scares some people as skesem there were going to be a gorgon’s head, not mere paper pages, between the covers. No gender has a monopoly on writing the fucked-up relationship story anyway; my favourite example is Alfred de Musset’s [likewise under-read and brilliant] Confession of a Child of the Century.


Zabuzhko’s ranting is brilliant ranting of any type, and the quality of writing deserves to win out over any minor reservations over the topic. And personally, I’m somewhat more comfortable with feminist novels from other cultures because I don’t feel as if their generalisations uukrainskim I had negative experiences I never actually did, unlike the Anglo-American texts that have alienated and annoyed me.

Fieldwork ‘s semi-autobiographical narrative opens in a scuzzy kitchen, with decaying detail and violent metaphor that recalls the flats terenkwe by The Young Ones or Withnailboys who always had more interesting things to umrainskim than housework: It’s hard to say the unsaid these days, but I kept seeing it in this twenty-year-old novella, even when she surveys the cooking: This blistering sarcasm creates glamour from its very absence: Those first few pages introduced me to a rhythm that would become familiar through the book: I would feel as if in the company of a kindred spirit, as if in reading, I was also speaking paragraphs I wish I could have written; then appear a some new facet of the narrator’s ukkrainskim torment or relationship dysfunction and her downright dreadful partner, far worse than my own experience, or on some entire other spectrum full of its own pitchblack corners.

Zabuzhko’s narrator ukrianskim between first, second and third person as she speaks of herself, creating a stream of consciousness as comfortable as a pair of worn-in boots. Once observed, this technique is genius of a kick-oneself obviousness. To many frequent readers, or aspiring writers, of fiction, the occasional ukrinskim thought-lapse into narrating oneself in third person is as nar an ingrained part of mental activity as speaking of “I”, or of exhorting oneself seksej generalising about self and supposed others as “you”.

A man as muse to a female artist – including when the relationship is stormy – is an idea that’s getting more exposure now than it used to, but I’ve never yet seen it so well described as by Zabuzhko: With that metaphor she makes it sound more natural than with the genders the other, stereotypical, way round.

But bloody hell, what an awful man is this painter she falls for. Her reasons for being drawn to him – well beyond masturbation… will give you neither poems nor children – are understandable to those who’ve experienced a love affair as a primal, fated encounter with a soulmate: The first one ready-made—whom she did not have to teach Ukrainian Such heights of intoxication often lead the lover to ignore what, in the absence of potent chemistry, would have been major reservations, but here there were more than most: Even to one who has ignored such things on a smaller scale, and who knows the process well, the magnitude of what can be disregarded is, at first glance astounding.

But through the author-narrator’s analysis of her origins in a more sexist, more violent culture and family, she later explains it. This story dispels another assumption, or over-generalisation, about such fiery relationships: That early use of the word “brother” perhaps was telling. Though he is hardly brotherly of course, becoming hectoring and occasionally violent, and there are rows, verbally vicious on both sides, about plenty else as well as sex.

I’ve no idea how common is the following commonality, but I was taken aback here, seeing set down in someone else’s writing for the first time something said to me several times – from decent people and from rotters. I thought that by now, I’d know if men telling their girlfriends they were brave was considered a widespread phenomenon where there is no birth involved – but there are always conversations and rubbishy articles one can miss.

Joy and fear, America and Eastern Europe are invoked and mingled in their dealings: It’s interesting to finish writing this review whilst reading Elena Ferrante’s quartet: Zabuzhko is more explicit in connecting violent relationships – and automatic assumptions about reproduction that, though near in history, may be alien to the twenty-first century secular Anglo-American – to her national history and culture; Ferrante almost never generalises, simply telling her characters’ story – she shows without telling – but the same principle invades their relationships as soon as they get married, as described by Zabuzhko: Oksana, more than the sensible Elena coolly analysing her environs, knows gothically passionate love as a literary meme that infected her: That death, no matter what form it takes, is first and foremost an ugly business.


That allusion apart, I was so taken with Zabuzhko’s writing that I forgot I must be missing references to books I hadn’t read, until her fellow Ukrainian Bulgakov was invoked in a dreamlike scene near the end: In four years of owning this Kindle, I’d never before encountered the message “you have reached the clipping limit for this item”.

That’s how much I liked and wanted to quote this book. And that’s why I don’t have quotes from late in the book, where the author-narrator’s father appears, a brutalised former prisoner like his father before hima man who tries to be reasonable, but has dodgy physical boundaries that have the effect of sexual abuse even if they don’t fit its legal definitions. The narrator, in her early thirties at the time of her emotionally destructive yet artistically inspiring relationship, evidently sees herself as an adult who did something stupid in which history had its role, like an addict who has now quit; she has too much strength and insight to be just a victim if and when I get round to her later books, it’ll be interesting to see how her themes developed in the ensuing years but it was hard not to see this girl, another Ukrainian in the states, for less edifying reasons, as emblematic: I found it positively invigorating, because surely there is hope if one can express oneself as Zabuzhko does.

There are also bits and pieces in anthologies, which she alludes to in Fieldwork. Indebted to two recent LRB reviews by Jenny Turnerwhen I was flailing about for inspiration on how to write about raw, personal books without getting enmired in lengthy comparisons with one’s own experience. Didn’t manage it quite so smoothly, but they helped.

View all 5 comments. Oct 24, Sofia marked it as could-not-finish Shelves: I’m stalled – I seem to have lost my desire to loose myself in her words. She is sarcastic, sharp and unfortunately rambling in her tug of war, with the love and hate she feels for her country, her man, her life.

It was one of those times that I kept looking forward to a full stop or oh yes the end of a paragraph. What kept me reading was the flashes of insight which I cherished and wanted more of.

May 30, Jen rated it it was amazing. This book is amazing. It took a little bit to get into.

I struggled in the first 50 pages. You can not skim this book. The prose style is rather unforgiving, but that really is the point. The point is to chew it. To go back and forth over sentences and phrases. This is a painful, occasionally hard to follow narrative of the grotesque end of a love affair punctuated with small and devastatingly perceptive mini-treatises on writing, art, trust in other humans, the sta This book is amazing.

This is a painful, occasionally hard to follow narrative of the grotesque end of a love affair punctuated with small and devastatingly perceptive mini-treatises on writing, art, trust in other humans, the state of being a writer trapped in a native language that no one speaks, the state as Zabuzhko describes it of being trapped between non-existence and an existence that kills you.

I know all of them. They are all people I have met. They are all people I recognized from my life in Ukraine. They are all people I recognize from my life in the US.

They are all people I recognize in myself. I think I won’t be satisfied until I read this at least 2 more times. Sep 08, Sarah rated it really liked it Shelves: Quite painful throughout and ukrainskm because for a moment I wondered if it was really just a version of 50 Shades of Grey A little confusing in parts 2nd-person, 3rd-person, missing time references but ultimately illuminating and it merits another read.

I read it in Lviv, Ukraine, where Sacher-Masoch was born he of the Masochism ukrainekim, and my guidebook is a bit coy about why Lvivians are proud to claim him

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