Sebastopol, Sevastopol
Dear friends,
My next event is taking me to Sebastopol, California — a small town north of San Francisco, famous for its apple harvest. My friend, writer Tania Malik, invited me to participate on a panel in Sebastopol’s Lit Crawl this coming Saturday, May 17. I hope to see some of you there!
Built on the land first inhabited by the Coast Miwok and Pomo peoples, Sebastopol apparently got its current name in an 1854 gunfight between two gold diggers, one of whom, a man named Hibbs, barricaded himself inside a general store.”Hibbs’s Sebastopol!” cried the onlookers steeped in the international news of the day. They were referring to the siege of Sebastopol–an episode of the Crimean war–vividly described for the later generations by Lev Tolstoy in The Sevastopol Sketches, Alfred Tennyson, and others.
I, too, have a story that’s partially set in Sevastopol (today, we transliterate the Greek-inspired Russian name of the Crimean town most often with a “v”). In “The Green Light of Dawn,” first published by Epiphany Magazine in 2015, a young woman treks alone on the coast of Crimea, Ukraine to mourn a relationship–a relationship with a man who died, a relationship with her country that ceased to be. I will read the beginning of this story for this event, centered around the idea of “the road.”
My thoughts remain with Ukraine these days. I’m grateful to the editors of ANMLY, a literary magazine interested in experimental international literature, for publishing five more of my translations from the work of the Kyiv-based poet Olga Bragina. Olga wrote these poems in 2023, a year after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, and I only wish they could be less relevant today. Russia is continuing its near daily bombings of the civilian population in Ukraine. Please continue donating to relief efforts if you can.
Earlier this month, World Literature Today published my prose translation of a story by Vsevold Garshin that I called “A Captive Palm.” First written in 1879, the story felt contemporary in its personification of tropical plants languishing in a hostile environment of an imperial botanical garden. As I write in the accompanying essay, I was inspired to translate this story by a set of coincidences and also because I’m fascinated with the longevity of plants and ideas—our contemporary dilemma of how to ethically and sustainably build a future in a world shaped by brutal colonial conquests rhymes with the revolutionary thoughts Garshin is attributing to his palm tree.
Thank you all for reading, staying in touch, and coming out to literary events! In the future, I hope to do more Zoom-based events for people outside of the Bay area. Here’s a YouTube recording from a Mom Egg Review (MER) issue release party a few weeks ago, featuring a great many wonderful poets and a few of us, fiction writers. I read the opening of my story “The Train is Coming.”
With appreciation for you all,
Olga
