100 Books Like The Last Empire

As the Russian Empire collapsed and descended into civil war between 1918 and 1922, peasants, townspeople, and soldiers murdered over 100,000 Jewish residents in the Ukrainian lands. Jeffrey Veidlinger’s well-written, deeply researched account of this violence helped me understand what happens when empires disintegrate, and ordinary people are caught up in as well as participate in violence over contested territories.

For me, Veidlinger’s main achievement in this book is twofold: first, exploring the complex, horrific reasons why so many imperial peoples engaged in violence, and second, how the murders “explain how the next wave of anti-Jewish violence became possible.”

Nikolai Gogol – or, in Ukrainian, Mykola Hohol – is considered a classic of Russian literature.

At the same time, he was born Ukrainian, wrote about Ukraine, and is considered their own by many Ukrainian literature lovers. Literary scholar Edyta Bojanowska has written a fascinating study about how Gogol knew to draw upon both Ukrainian and Russian cultural repertoires to appeal to readers and how he intentionally played with his intimate knowledge of both cultures.

This was one of the studies that inspired me as I tried to understand the complex cultural entanglements between nineteenth-century Russia and Ukraine, as I found them personified in my books’ protagonists.

If you want to understand why so many Russians today (including President Vladimir Putin) believe that their national identity has roots in Kyiv, Faith Hillis’s book is a must-read. As I wrote in a review for The Moscow Times, Russian colonial settlers in and around the Ukrainian city increasingly began to push a narrative that they were all “children of Rus’,” a reference to the political entity that existed in the region from the 9th to the 13th centuries.

From the 1830s until the outbreak of World War I, as Hillis writes, this group shaped imperial policies about the relationship between Russians and Ukrainians even while they urged the imperial government to “protect” them from the Poles, Jews, and Ukrainians living all around. When Putin justified the full-scale invasion of Ukraine as one where Russia needed to “return” the “lands of ancient Rus’” and to “protect” Russian-speakers in Ukraine,… show more.

Soviet rule completely changed the relationship between Russia as the imperial metropole and Ukraine as a peripheral territory in the empire.

It was through Terry Martin’s classic that I first understood the enormous political implications of the Soviets’ intricate nationality policy that invested the state’s various ethnic groups with their own national educational and administrative institutions, all the while depriving them of the right to political self-determination.

Martin’s analysis is as sharp as his prose is crisp and his detailed understanding of the Bolsheviks’ political reasoning remains impressive over twenty years after the study’s publication.

This is by no means an easy read. Ukrainian journalist Stanislav Aseyev experienced horrible things while he spent three years imprisoned in a torture camp of the Russian-supported so-called “Donetsk People’s Republic.”

While Aseyev refrains from including graphic details about his experiences, his account is harrowing. In his memoir, he not only takes up the best intellectual traditions of twentieth-century “camp literature” but also powerfully explains what is at stake as Ukrainians fight for their freedom against Putin’s authoritarian regime.

I met Aseyev last year and was simultaneously shocked and impressed to get to know someone who is about my age and has been forced to survive such horrors.

I think Hrytsak’s book–which was a bestseller in Ukraine when it first appeared–is the best single-volume history of Ukraine available in English. I heard Hrytsak speak in Lviv, Ukraine, in 2011, where he teaches at the Ukrainian Catholic University, and was taken by his ability to mix the broad sweep of history with telling anecdotes.

This book showcases Hrytsak’s abilities and reveals how Ukraine emerged over the centuries, how Ukrainian identities developed, and how Ukrainians have created a civic nation since communism’s collapse.

I particularly like his “interludes,” in which Hrytsak breaks up the chronological narrative with short essays about interesting topics. In them, you can learn about the importance of Ukrainian bread, songs, and language.  

Mara Kozelsky contributed a fantastic essay to Russia’s People of Empire on Archbishop Innokenty, the Orthodox official sent to Crimea in the 19th Century. In this book, she offers the most complete account yet of the effects of the Crimean War fought on that peninsula and elsewhere in the Russian Empire from 1854 to 1856.

The war is known here mostly for the Charge of the Light Brigade (made famous by Tennyson’s poem) or the crucial role played by Florence Nightingale, but as Kozelsky writes, the war had far-reaching, devastating consequences for imperial minorities within the Russian Empire and the Empire itself.

I found the chapters dealing with civilians affected by the war and the tragic stories of the Crimean Tatars after the war to be particularly gripping. Russia’s illegal annexation of the peninsula in 2014 makes Kozelsky’s work all the more relevant.

In The Struggle to Save the Soviet Economy, Chris Miller compares the political and economic reforms undertaken in the Soviet Union and China in the 1980s. His account portrays Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev as weak and unable to make difficult choices, and Miller reveals the dire consequences of Gorbachev's policies for the cohesion of his country. Miller argues effectively that Gorbachev did not have the option to follow the “authoritarian path” of China’s Deng Xiaoping.

I chose Death and the Penguin for its unique, intriguing plot and also because it captures so beautifully the sinister, bizarre, shadowy undercurrent of life in Ukraine in the 1990s. At times back then, I remember wondering whether the deaths of some people that I knew were really accidents, as reported, or murders. It is precisely this state of not knowing that Kurkov handles so beautifully. Viktor, the main character in the novel, begins his newspaper job innocently enough, writing obituaries of prominent Ukrainians, still alive. One by one they begin to die. I’ll leave you to read the book to find out what happens next.

I was surprised at how much I loved The Wizard of the Kremlin. I was sorry to reach the last page. Why? The central character is a fascinating post-modern Machiavellian political strategist whose machinations set the global standard for disinformation as a political tool in the post-modern, digital world.

Vadim Baranov is based on a real-life character, Russian President Putin’s long-time former PR man and advisor, Vladislav Sirkov. The book is an imagined one-night meeting with the now-retired former reality TV producer, an utterly cynical but simultaneously surprisingly morally aware man, who unwinds the story of his career.