Interview by: Nuka Gambashidze

Respondent: Ruska Jorjoliani

Ruska Jorjoliani was born in Mestia, Georgia in 1985 and spent part of her childhood in Gali (Abkhazia). In the early 1990s, the family fled ethnic cleansing to Tbilisi. She lived in Palermo for one summer at the age of 11 and later graduated both, Georgian and Italian high schools. In 2007 Ruska moved to Palermo. She studied philosophy at the University in Palermo. She won  a literature competition with  poems written in Italian. In 2016 she published her first novel "Your Being Here As City” (2016), in Italian - with Boris Pasternak's words from his poem as the title. The novel was shortlisted for German Hotlist Prize. Ruska’s second novel Three Living, Three Dead was published recently by Voland.

PEN: You spent childhood in Mestia and Gali and had to flee the armed conflict to live in Tbilisi with your family. Many people leaved the country in the 90s as a result of unfavorable economic and social conditions, you too found the current home in Italy. Would be fair to say that your multiple migration was not fully voluntary. Do you have a stronger bond to one specific society or place, the sense of “belonging”? Or is “homeland” more of a conditional space for you?

RJ: I can define the notion of belonging and nativeness in two different ways: one is the deterministic attachment to the place and ethno-linguistic space, where we are unintentionally born; and the other one – willing aspiration towards the horizon where we hope to find something ours, something inherent. The two attitudes often coincide, though sometimes one unfolds wider than the other, but they are always interrelated. For example, in Dante’s The Divine Comedy, Dante’s guide Virgil meets the spirit of Sordello from Mantua, who asks about poet’s origin, Virgil says that he also is from Mantua, Sordello will embrace him without even letting to finish sentence. Even in the purgatory, the sense of native land is deep rooted for Dante. At the same time, another passage of The Divine Comedy shows the castle that is sanctuary of pre-Christian writers and philosophers of different nationalities, and this places gives Dante the sense of home. Our attachment to one or another cultural field is remains strong if this sense of belonging is not blank, turns into an obligation from actuality and is directed towards the horizon, which contains small signs of our poetic nativeness and the road to it is paved with the core feeling of homeland. I guess in this sense, I am no different than any other Georgian.

PEN: Do you think that it was this path and adventure that made you a writer? How much did your life experience influence this choice? Or it was not a conscious choice?

RJ: I’ve got this feeling that even if I never left the premises of my yard, I would sooner or later end up being a writer. It doesn’t matter whether it would be a conscious decision or an unconscious one.

PEN: Do you think that literature and Humanities in general can help a person in search of identity and answers?

RJ: Since the very origin, in its very essence, literature and its thesis basis – philosophy – was the unprecedented attempt of analyzing the ethic of values. Very little has changed since: literature dialed down its tone of voice, philosophy went deeper into details at the expense of neglecting the whole picture. But really, the thing that points at the fullness of life, its dramatism, flaws, the silence and fury of the entire epochs and points at the human drive, to identify itself and not to disorientate in this chaos of values, - is literature (art in general and as you fairly mentioned, partially the Humanities). And this leading is done in a way that is neither just a directive, nor solace – like a true supporter would do.

PEN: What was your first serious, professional connection to literature?

RJ: Other than language being some magical force, which is capable of creation and destruction at the same time, what later became known to me as literature, became close at such an early age that I wouldn’t be able to remember how our paths first crossed, however hard I try. I may be able to remember the first book read, but not sure about this either. But I do know exactly when did this intuition shaped as an opinion, that probably always existed in me: my mom was very ill, her – in the ICU and me, - sitting in the hallway all alone, in silence, and suddenly some idea lit up in between many terrible thoughts – that I would write, I would form something, for her in the first place, for my parent and that would be the poor, but still coherent attempt of prolonging her life. The first professional connection followed the next day: mom left ICU and I started looking for a publisher, while I hadn’t even written a word.

PEN: Your debut novel had a very good feedback in Italy and Germany. The original title is Your Presence Here Is like The City, in German the quote sounds like You Are with Me Up in The Air. The story develops in a conditional place, made-up Soviet city. What is the meaning and essence of the fictional space? Was this a deliberate move, a literary device?

RJ: Representation of one’s country and nationality is very frequent and forceful in emigrant literature – quite often it is done for commercial success. Although, using clear local-ethnographic elements in literature is quite new. For instance, Conrad and Nabokov wouldn’t even consider to mark their novels with the signature of their origins. Creation of a fictional place, or encapsulating the story in a different country, has been the core literary device since the middle ages. For some time it was even essential for an English author to use “Italian environment” in the story. I too applied this ancient tool: I marked coordinates of the act in a Soviet village and left the rest to the imagination, gut, and writing style. I was certain, if something valuable came out of this attempt, geography and ethnography would have nothing to do with it. 

PEN: You are currently living in Palermo, Sicily. How comfortable and native does that place feel?

RJ: Despite the fact that this culture introduced me to the treasures of its language, despite Italian comfort, I never, not even for a minute, get rid of the thought that I might be elsewhere, somewhere without a place for me, without my one and only, true place.

PEN: Being a published writer brings certain popularity to a person. It is usually a pleasant, even necessary fame for a creative person. Your novels haven’t been translated to Georgian yet. What difference does it make that so far Italian public knows you better than Georgian reader?

RJ: In a big country the number potential or actual readers is bigger, though we know that a good reader is as rare as a good writer. From this viewpoint, writing on a European language is more rewarding. But the fact, that me and my mother tongue exist separately from each other, that I don’t have my hand on its pulse, and that between me and Georgian reader there is a whole physical and metaphysical abys, very often makes me feel as if my work doesn’t exist at all. Like in Empiricistic philosopy, - if you can’t sense the matter, it doesn’t exist.  For sure Empiricism is wrong, but knowing this cannot abolish the feeling that there might be a drop pf thruth in this version of the world.

PEN: Language is a very important cultural element. So far you’ve only published the novels written in Italian. Do you write in Georgian as a part of everyday “warm up” activity?

RJ: I’ve head many attempts of shortening this distance - above mentioned metaphysical emptiness. But before I get rewritten into the code of Georgian language, until I end up in Georgian “form of life”, my guess is that these “warm-ups” won’t become more than what they actually are – just an exercise.

PEN: How does it differ when you work with Georgian and Italian languages? What is it like to write on a language you learned at a conscious age?

RJ: My acquaintance with Italian language and culture happened at that age when you can no longer forget what you’ve felt and acknowledged and you still have a fresh ability of acquiring new knowledge. I was like a book that will get dry after getting soaking wet, but it will definitely change the density. Italian language and culture was like the water that leaked on the sides and changed the book’s volume, but it couldn’t change the way this book was created, the language it was made with, created on, and bound.  I am soaked with this language, but when I write, my handbook is exactly this yellowed, thickened book, reread for over hundred times.

PEN: As a result of active aggressive pandemic the world is facing brand new and harsh challenges. Almost every country and society is threatened by deadly danger and foreseen economic collapse. The situation in Italy is very dire and alarming. How does it feel to be residing there right now? – in the country that became your home.

RJ: At first, as a result of total helplessness, my first instinct was running away and returning to Georgia. But on the other side, we started facing the repercussions of this action: the risk of bringing the virus to Georgia and the clarity of me cowardly leaving me second homeland during this hardship. We are on the brink of epochal turnover, it’s a fact. This is also an interesting historic moment from a creative viewpoint. Once this heatwave is over, most likely the new Decameron will be written. As long as this culture already did it once, it will manage again. I don’t exaclty know what does my presence here and now indicate, but one thing I am sure of is that, after this passes, lives of ours, either Italians or Georgians will never be the same they were.

PEN: How can culture and literature help society in such crisis?

RJ: Literature and culture do transform the senses into feelings, thoughts, images, - all that we know by default with gut feeling but often forget and therefore, knowing doesn’t really matter. During critical times, like these, literature can easily enjoy the show and condescendingly tell us – I told you so. But if it behaves this way, literature will be no different from climatology and study of statistics. Also, the specific, humane and loving nature of literature shows itself right during the hardship, and it brings us back to small, forgotten goods; stirs belief and hope in us and even if the prognosis seems impossible to make, it can assure us that there is a long road ahead, and that nothing is irreversible. If this is something that we believe, we can do anything.

PEN: Last question, can you tell us shortly about your latest novel Three Living, Three Dead? We hope to have the novel in Georgian too, and soon.

RJ: Three Living, Three Dead symbolically was published during these dramatic times. The novel tells the story of a person who is a part of 20^th century Italy’s history. The protagonist finds mental strength for starting a new life, despite horrible mistakes of the past and with the aid of love, as without love a living person doesn’t differ much from a dead man. When three living people meet three dead, according to my version of the legend from middle ages, god only knows who’s alive and who’s dead without the flame of love, - and sometimes, so does literature.