I see this book as a kind of detective story. Since the war began in 2014, and full scale invasion now, I, along with millions of my fellow citizens in Ukraine, have been in search of one thing: justice.
The quest for justice has turned me from a novelist and mother into a war crimes researcher. Over the last year, I have photographed shell holes in library walls and the ruins of schools and cultural centers; I have recorded the testimonies of survivors and eyewitnesses of atrocities. I’ve done this to uncover the truth, ensure the survival of memory, and give justice and lasting peace a chance.
This same urge also slowly turned me back into a storyteller, so I might tell you the story of the Ukrainian quest for justice.
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I only talk with the people who need help or can provide it. I’m connecting them, connecting, connecting, as if weaving lace or building a beehive.
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I realised we might be at the beginning of a new stage of transformation of international law, and I would like to help this transformation happen as a citizen and writer.
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I have yet to become a part of this sad tradition of Ukrainian creatives having to find out what happened to their dead colleagues.
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I do not yet pay attention to the part of Alla Horska’s biography about crime research, yet I will notice how much we have in common over time.
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I see the future. I mean, we can get hit by the Iskanders at this very moment. But at the same time I somehow see Ukraine after the war. I don’t know if we are in the future, but there is Ukraine after the war […].
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I don’t have to overcome any fear; I just don’t fear death anymore. I imagine even how all the women I write about would finally gather at my funeral: they all are too busy fighting for justice, so such an occasion is definitely the only chance.