As the war in Ukraine enters its fourth year, going to the theatre or visiting the city's newest bookshop provides a moment of refuge for the people of Kyiv. But culture has also become a powerful means of resistance and a way to assert Ukrainian identity.
As the war in Ukraine rages on and air raid alerts in Kyiv remain a daily occurrence, a somewhat surprising new trend has flourished on TikTok – young people are posting about the race to get hold of theatre tickets.
"Before, we used to announce new seasons a month in advance. Now we open ticket sales three months in advance and within two hours, everything's gone," said Victoria Bourkovska, the administrator of the Ivan Franko National Theatre – currently celebrating its 105th anniversary – who can hardly believe this turn of events.
In 2024, the hot ticket was for The Witch of Konotop, an adaptation of a 19th-century satirical novel about a Cossack chieftain battling witches. On TikTok, videos of the play have been viewed millions of times.
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In front of the pastel blue facade of the theatre, Veronika and her group of friends are delighted to be among the lucky few who have seen the play. Yet Grehori, 32, confesses that before the war, he had never set foot in a theatre. One day he went along, and loved it. Tonight, the group don't know what they're going to see: "We just took whatever tickets they had."
Evgeny Nuschuk, director of the Franko Theatre since April 2024, said: "There is a theatre craze at the moment. And it's not just in Kyiv. With theatre, there's this here and now aspect." A living art form, a format that chimes with current events, it is also a source of inspiration for the future, as reflected in the theatre's slogan for the new season: "Today's theatre must reflect tomorrow's society."
There have been adjustments since the invasion. Big Russian names such as Pushkin and Chekhov have been eliminated from the repertoire – but a new generation of directors has seized upon Ukraine's literary and theatrical heritage.
Fundraising for armed forces
In the event of an air raid alert, the play is stopped. And familiar faces have disappeared from audiences. "We have lost some regulars," says Nuschuk. "They had bought tickets for the evening of 1 January, intending to start the year with us. Some other spectators brought flowers to lay on their seats."
Before taking over the reins of the establishment, the director twice served as the country's minister of culture. In the early days of the war he volunteered, and the theatre is engaged with the war effort. "In six months, we have collected more than 55 million hryvnias [almost €1.3 million] for our armed forces. Our troops perform in military hospitals and we lend our spaces to displaced troops from Sumy, Kherson or Mariupol every Monday," said Nuschuk.
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"There has always been a renaissance of Ukrainian culture in difficult times," Tetiana and Olha told RFI. These two students have also become regular theatre-goers since the start of the war.
"Remember the proliferation of poetry and theatre in the 1920s, for example [at the time of the occupation by the Soviet Union]. But I also think that one of the reasons for the craze we are experiencing is that today's directors are reviving a certain authenticity in Ukrainian culture, breaking away from the rigid and overwhelming Russian culture embodied by the great authors and the great ballets."
Language as resistance
In this cultural war, language is another battlefield. In a country where most people have historically mastered both Russian and Ukrainian, the former is being rejected while use of the latter has become a symbol of resistance.
On Khreshchatyk Avenue – Kyiv's Champs-Élysées – where Vladimir Putin was planning a victory parade in 2022, the Sens bookshop opened its doors a year ago. On this Saturday afternoon, its two floors are bustling with people, particularly young people. With its café and stylish interior, it's eminently Instagrammable. The store's motto? "You can do what you like here, but not in Russian." You won't find any books in the language of Tolstoy for sale in this shop.
When the first Ukrainian language only bookshop opened, just before the full-scale invasion of February 2022, many people were sceptical, says Oleksii Erinchak, one of the owners and founders of Sens. "We would always hear that books in Ukrainian were more expensive, that there were few translations and therefore little choice... We wanted to promote books in Ukrainian. And we've shown that there is a demand for them."
He added: "Of course, it's an act of resistance. For centuries, Russia stifled our culture. This is like putting a protective dome over it." He believes culture is a weapon, one Russia had tried to deploy in Ukraine long before the invasion: "Putin thought that the Ukrainians would welcome the Russians with open arms because culture had already prepared the ground."
Before the war, around 75 percent of the book market in Ukraine was made up of books imported from Russia, illustrating Russian influence. Since 2022, these have been banned.
Today, eight of the shop's top ten bestsellers are written in Ukrainian. They include a collection of love poetry, an anthology on Ukrainian nationalism, and a thrilling detective novel by Illarion Pavliuk, a Ukrainian writer and journalist turned soldier.
The bookshop also organises the collection of Russian-language books for recycling, with the money raised going to anti-aircraft defence.
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Maria Smirova, who is browsing for books to give as gifts with her husband Dimitrov, said: "Before the war I only bought books online, and most of them in Russian. Now everything has changed. We only speak to each other in Ukrainian and we've got rid of all our books in Russian." For her, shopping here also means supporting Ukraine.
Over the last two years, some 50 new bookshops have opened across the country. According to Rostyslav Semkiv, a professor of literature at the University of Kyivand a literary critic, this "cultural blossoming" can be explained by "a reformatting of our identity".
"Before 2014, the cultural landscape was dominated by a post-Soviet identity. The large-scale invasion shattered this identity. This Ukrainian ethnic identity has become political. Many people are starting to take an interest in Ukrainian history, art and literature. What makes up Ukrainian culture? There is a search for ‘Ukrainianness’," he explained.
Somoloskyp (meaning "torch"), the small Ukrainian-language publishing house run by Semkiv, is a testament to this movement. "Ten years ago, for us, printing 1,000 or 2,000 copies of a book was huge. Today, we have average print runs of 4,000 to 5,000 copies, and we can go up to 30,000. And every book that comes out goes very quickly," he says. Production is in fact struggling to keep up with demand, with the printing works slowing down as a result of the war.
Renaissance and resilience
In a basement in the centre of Kyiv, around 30 people have taken their seats. "Glory to Ukraine! Putin, you dickhead!" shouts stand-up comedian Arthur Petrov as he takes to the stage.
Nadiya and Stanislas, who discovered Petrov on YouTube, are here hoping to escape for an hour "from our difficult daily lives, and hear a few good jokes about Russkies, fighting and body bags," says Stanislas, with a heavy does of irony.
"Laugh and keep your head up" is the name of the programme offered by this venue, the Underground Standup Club, which was founded in 2016 and sends 20 percent of its takings to the armed forces.
When the hour is up, Petrov has another engagement – a charity show with two other comedians in the town of Irpin, near the capital, which has been hit hard by the war. The money raised will go to a charity that buys drones.
The show is taking place in the brand new community hall of a newly built neighbourhood, on a street formerly known as Dostoevsky Street and now renamed for Olha Kobylianska, a Ukrainian feminist writer. The atmosphere is warm among this young, hip audience.
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Taxi drivers, the Montessori education method, talking in Ukrainian during sex, air raid alerts... war is not the only ground covered by the comedians, and laughter is clearly an outlet. Far from silencing it, the war has seen a huge increase in the number of comedians performing in Ukraine.
"Before the war started, most of the big stand-up shows in Ukraine were in Russian," says Anton Zhytlov as he leaves the stage. "With the start of the war, we stopped using Russian and this has led to a sort of renaissance in Ukrainian humour."
In the audience, Rima is happy to be able to relax a little. Her husband is at the front, but she doesn't know where exactly. "It's invaluable for our mental health," she says.
For Zhytlov, the fact that Ukrainians still go to stand-up shows and comedians continue to perform, despite the war, is indicative of the national mentality: "We are courageous and we look fear in the eye. We're not afraid of anything."
This article has been adapted from the original in French, by our correspondent in Kyiv.
