Our Daily War, the much-anticipated sequel to Andrey Kurkov’s first volume of war diaries, Diary of an Invasion, sees the esteemed Ukrainian author pushing the boundaries of non-fiction to deliver an intimate reflection on the ongoing Russian invasion of Ukraine, whilst amplifying the voice of an entire nation.
Kurkov belongs to a tradition of writers like Vasily Grossman, George Orwell and Primo Levi, who bear witness each in their own way to the politics of horror with moral clarity and literary acumen.
Chronologising personal reflections, political scandals, and military manoeuvres between 1 August 2022 and 22 April 2024, the narrative interlaces stories conveying the visceral tragedy of the war on Ukraine and quieter human moments, including speeches delivered by the author, the replacement of a public lavatory with a Museum of Live Jellyfish, and even the indignation of a displaced raccoon:
“The occupiers also raided Kherson’s mini-zoo, so beloved by the city’s younger inhabitants, and kidnapped a donkey, two peacocks, and a raccoon. The raccoon did not want to leave and resisted fiercely. Oleg Zubkov, the owner of a private zoo in Yalta, Crimea, was brought in to deal with the troublesome creature. Zubkov grabbed the raccoon roughly by the tail and stuffed him into a box, unashamedly sharing a video of the skirmish online.
“The raccoon is now famous. Even Russians have started to joke about how he was captured, suggesting that the war can now be brought to an end since the whole point of it was obviously the abduction of Ukraine’s most militant raccoon.” [p.101]
A chronicle of the everyday amid catastrophe, Kurkov offers a deeply personal account of the Russian invasion of Ukraine as an existential and cultural crisis experienced by those living through it. It is not just a geopolitical event. As one of Ukraine’s most prominent writers, he is a witness to history in the truest literary sense. His writing is an act of resistance, not just reportage.
The author’s dry wit and eclectic asides, which could risk trivialising the horrors of war, in fact emphasise the humanity of the Ukrainian people through humour, and urges the reader to immerse themselves in the reality of daily life in wartime. At a time when sensationalised media coverage so easily obscures real lives, Our Daily War stands out for its sensitivity and delivers an increasingly urgent message.
The Soul of Ukraine: A Cultural Homage
To this end, Kurkov shares the music and literature of Ukraine with the readers of his widely translated novel — such as explaining what kind of instrument a “trembita” is and praising his literary contemporaries and predecessors — while simultaneously discussing the role that cultural activities have in maintaining morale within the country’s borders:
“Arranging outings and festivities during a war is controversial but necessary. Excursions can reduce stress. Kyivites who rarely if ever went to museums before the war now make a point of checking which museums will be open at the weekend. The Khanenko Museum, containing Kyiv’s largest collection of European painting, had to close after all the windows of this historical building were blown out by a missile explosion. The Museum of the History of Medicine is still open. And, of course, there is the Museum of Live Jellyfish on Independence Square.” [p.86]
At times, Kurkov’s references to specific figures or colleagues may be challenging to readers not familiar with Ukraine’s rich history, yet this opens a window on to a cultural landscape too often overlooked in British and wider European contexts. These cultural interludes highlight the richness of Ukraine’s contribution to literature, and underscore how overdue its recognition is.
Whatever the case, the author recognises that only a true belief in Ukrainian culture will “guide Ukrainians out of the state of war and help them cope with their trauma” [p.220].
Sights and Sounds from Transcarpathia to Donbas
What is most striking about Kurkov’s prose is its richness: he brings to bear a strong toolkit developed from writing fiction before the war. Evocative, sensory descriptions animate his personal anecdotes, balancing narrative technique with factual recount.
Considering the author’s entries take us from region to region, from urban to rural Ukraine and back again, it is an impressive feat. Is half the author attending a conference in Kyiv while the other half writes in Odesa?
Kurkov’s breadth extends beyond geographical knowledge to the imagery he deploys in evoking a very realistic picture of war for his international readers. Whether describing the whistling of bombs or the cawing of crows, children heading to school in classrooms underground, or civilians going about daily life wearing bulletproof vests, the narrative feeds off the multisensory, allowing the reader to feel continuously connected with the Ukrainian people.
Hope in Humour
Admittedly I’m not the most devoted reader of non-fiction, but Kurkov’s blend of satire and sobering reflections on the reality of war kept me consistently engaged — despite my usual aversion to statistics.
Kurkov understands, perhaps better than most, the trauma his people have endured. He knows the heavy uncertainty of going to bed every night thinking about the future of his homeland:
“What do people think about when they go to bed? They know that tonight someone will die, someone will be injured, someone’s house will be destroyed.” [p297]
Yet, he also understands the importance of maintaining a sense of humour in trying times in a bid to keep despair at bay:
Awaiting the publication of the third volume of diaries, Three Years on Fire: The Destruction of Ukraine, I can only hope that the author maintains his hope in such dark times. Our Daily War stands as a testament to the power of literature to preserve truth, emotion and memory at a time when all three are under siege.
Reviewed by Zoe Milton for BookBlast®
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