It’s so rare to find a memoirist whose art is as engaging as her prose, but Yevgenia Nayberg truly is phenomenal in both fields. You can very much tell that she’s a trained artist, even before she goes into the details of her academic beginnings in this arresting memoir of growing up in Kyiv in the 1980s.
Genya knows from the age of five that she wants to be an artist, just like her animator mother. After she turns eleven, she’s going to apply to the same prestigious art school that her mother went to. Her mother warns her that the school’s unofficial quota system — where Jews can only ever make up 1% of the student body — means that Genya will have to work at least twice as hard as everyone else to get in. When Genya realizes that this mostly means private art classes with two other students whose company she enjoys tho, it becomes even less of a burden than anticipated. But when strange news comes out of nearby Chernobyl and multiple people, including her art tutor, pack up and leave the area, will Genya’s dream of following in her mother’s footsteps be stopped in its tracks by forces that not even the strong-willed youngster can overcome?
Told with the wry humor of a kid intelligent enough to see through many, but not all, of the things that adults tell her in order to make life ostensibly easier, this is a terrific portrayal of what it was like to grow up Jewish and quietly iconoclastic in Soviet Ukraine. Genya’s battles begin when she fights to be seen as a little girl instead of the boy her mother not so secretly wishes she was, and continue as she grows older and refuses to be anyone but herself. Her struggle for self-determination in a system designed to make her biddable and quiet is compelling, even in seemingly small rebellions like getting the better of her obnoxious cousin Masha.








