"Matlot": The Revival of Ukrainian Maritime Fiction

With this post, Intent continues its series of reviews dedicated to contemporary Ukrainian publications. The reviews for Intent as part of this project are written by Maria Galina—a Ukrainian writer, poet, and literary critic, and winner of literary awards.

Ukraine is a maritime nation. During the Russian Empire, the crews of the navy were composed primarily of Ukrainians. And this is not surprising, because for Ukrainians—due to the country’s geographical location—the sea is a natural environment, and a “seagull” is not just a bird. I asked an AI (yes, I do this from time to time), and the AI told me the following:

The Princes’ Campaigns: Ukrainian seafaring began with Slavic lodias (single-log boats).

Campaigns against Constantinople: Princes Oleg, Igor, and Sviatoslav led large-scale naval campaigns across the Black Sea against Byzantium.

The Cossack Era (16th–17th centuries)

The legendary “chaikas”: fast, maneuverable Cossack boats up to 20 meters long, capable of carrying 50–70 people.

The Zaporozhian Cossacks’ naval dominance: under the leadership of Hetman Petro Konashevych-Sahaidachny, the Cossacks carried out daring operations in the Black Sea, storming the fortresses of Varna, Sinop, and even the outskirts of Istanbul.

19th – Early 20th Century

Ports and Shipbuilding: Odesa, Mykolaiv, and Kherson became major centers of trade and shipbuilding.

The Fleet of the Ukrainian People’s Republic (1917–1918): After the collapse of the empire on April 29, 1918, most of the ships of the Black Sea Fleet in Sevastopol hoisted Ukrainian flags and became part of the Ukrainian People’s Republic’s fleet.

I won’t even mention the legendary “Antarctica” whaling flotilla. Back then, it all seemed perfectly natural. Now I think: what a horror it really was, what a massacre. But all over Starokonets, whale baleen and sperm whale teeth were sold, and at the “Dolphin” store on Richelievska Street—whale meat.

Not to mention educational institutions and the like… Independent Ukraine, unfortunately, squandered what it could have been proud of in the early years of its existence, but research institutes, educational institutions, and, of course, sailors remain. In Odesa, by the way, a career at sea has always been prestigious. In fact, it is thanks to enthusiasts that this prestige is maintained even today. And here is the sailor and writer Anton Sanchenko—a maritime writer, translator, publisher, developer of information retrieval and analytical systems, and founder of the Ukrainian e-publishing house “Elektroknyga,” whose historical duology I recently wrote about here— “even before COVID, even before the full-scale war,” as stated in the press release, “back in 2017–2018,” founded the Lysiansky “Matelot” Maritime Prose Contest. The contest rules remain unchanged: it is judged by professional sailors. During the full-scale war, the fourth and fifth “Matelot” maritime anthologies were published (in 2024 and 2026). So let’s talk about them. Of course, it’s impossible to review all 40 stories (each anthology is 400 pages long), but we can discuss the phenomenon of new maritime prose, because thanks to the contest, we have a broad canvas before us.

MATELOT: A Maritime Anthology (2023–2024) / ed. A. Sanchenko. Kyiv: Publisher A.V. Sanchenko, 2024. The anthology includes 20 stories by the contest winners; this season’s slogan was “Down with the Russian fleet!” And, as the publisher notes in the preface, that is exactly how it turned out. The winner of the contest was Captain Serhiy Biloshkur from Melitopol; this collection is dedicated to his memory.

Surprisingly, there aren’t actually that many short stories here as such. A short story—whether “seafaring” or “land-based”—is, in fact, a complex thing. It requires the author to strike a balance within a limited space—and this balance is often between the funny and the sad or the scary... Well, here’s, say, this “Odessa-style” short story by Yuri Simonov, “The Hamburg Rooster” (I just knew it would end badly for the rooster). Maybe one or two more—and that’s it.

It’s a different matter when it comes to essays about the past or the present. As for the past, Serhii Manukyan’s historical essay “At the Very Beginning: The Ukrainian Navy —Three Years of Wars and Hopes” addresses precisely what I began this review with, but in much greater detail. In general, the history of Ukrainian seafaring is something we can be proud of. It’s no wonder that several authors have delved into historical research, such as Vasyl Velmozhko (“Escape from Moscow Captivity Across Three Oceans”) or Oleksandr Morozov (“Two Georges, or How the Traveler Lysiansky Met President Washington (A Historical Investigative Essay)”), or, moving a bit closer to the present day,  Oleksandr Chudnovets (“The Story of the Sinking of the Monitor ‘Martynov’”). In part, such studies or reconstructions border on fiction, such as Marina Melnyk’s “The Day a Nuclear Catastrophe Could Have Happened.”

Several texts combine historical essays and episodes from the authors’ own biographies, such as Oleksandr Kalinichenko’s “Under the Southern Cross,” while others are purely biographical (Oleksandr Lengauer’s “On Life Without the Sea” and “Cadet Memories” by first-prize winner Serhii Biloshkurov). There are hybrid genres in which historical facts alternate with fictional prose, personal memoirs, and essays—as in Vasyl Prydatko-Dolin’s novella “Bellingshausen: The Return.” There is a genre once common in historical popular science, where dry facts are accompanied by a fictionalized narrative, as in Volodymyr Slonopas’s novella *Thirteen Months and Thirteen Days*.

Well, since Ukraine is part of the wider world, we’ll find here the story of the pirate Bellamy (Viktor Gubarev, *The Sea Robin Hood*), "Passions for Phoenicia" by Marina Hrymych, and Yuriy Hreshko’s poignant short story "Leviathan" (remember, I wrote at the beginning about how attitudes toward whaling changed as environmental awareness grew—that’s the one) or the story of the first woman to sail around the world (Yevheniia Chemerys, “Jeanne Barre”). And, of course, there’s always room for poignant, personal stories (Hanna Lyuta, “Journey to a New Life”).

In fact, oddly enough, there aren’t actually that many stories of romance or sea adventures here. Well, there’s Moreas Frost’s “The Playful Shark.” And, the cherry on top, the wonderful Markiyan Prokhasko’s “The Living Mountains of the Ocean. A Journey Through the Drake Passage to the Antarctic Islands”—one of the finest examples of contemporary travel writing.

Is our last war represented here? Yes, it is, but not very much yet. For example, in Vasyl Nechyporenko’s short story “Lukych and the Navigation Watch” and, to some extent, in Bohdan Havrysh’s survival novel “And the Wet Planks Smelled of Salt.” In general, every collection can also be viewed as a document of its era, and because of the war, historical times don’t crawl—they fly—that’s how quickly everything is changing. So now let’s see what’s in the next collection.

MATELOT: A Maritime Anthology (2024–2025) / compiled by A. Sanchenko. Kyiv: Published by A.V. Sanchenko, 2025. Already 26 stories. With the slogan “Never Give Up!” and the theme “Ukrainian Maritime Corridor” (things are changing so fast that it took me a few seconds to remember what this was about and why it’s relevant). The Maritime Anthology is dedicated to Oleksiy Vadatursky, a Ukrainian agribusinessman, Hero of Ukraine, and vice president of the Ukrainian Grain Association, who, along with his wife, was killed on July 31, 2022, during the Russian shelling of Mykolaiv. A rocket struck their home at night while the couple was asleep (his agricultural enterprise, “Nibulon,” supported “Matelot”).

Well, here we go. Ihor Palamarchuk’s “Thoughts and Memories” is actually something of a preface—the fate of the Ukrainian merchant fleet in today’s world. Pavlo Svisch, “Sleep Doesn’t Come Easily”—memoir-style prose about a young man’s first encounter with the sea and what happened next. A story with a maritime theme—Iryna Mishchanchuk, “Captain Pike.” Here, I’d say, is a medley of traditional maritime themes—an old sailor, and his story, and a ship carrying not just anything, but spices (“On one of my first voyages, I set sail on a ship carrying spices from islands with curly palm trees and chattering monkeys”), and a rich man’s yacht, and falling overboard, and a survival story, and an encounter with a terrifying octopus, and, finally, to somehow tie it all back to the present: “Crew, get ready! ‘The corridor is clear,’ a hoarse voice cut through the predawn silence.” Vadym Ivlev, “Icy Blue”—another plot straight out of an Indian movie: strange coincidences, sea tales, horrors, lost relatives, an unknown savior...

Britain, early 20th century. Once again, Vladimir Slonopas, *Tales of a Ship’s Stoker*, who (the stoker, not the author), among other things, was a stoker on the *Titanic* (yes, he survived, as you’ve already guessed). In reality, this is a rather detailed account of the history of the British Navy leading up to and at the start of World War I. “War… destroys relationships, shatters lives. Yet God is always with everyone touched by the bitterness and devastation of war, with those who suffer, with those who have lost their bearings in life. His love is enough to heal a wounded heart and help build a new life. There is hope when you are with God!”

Oh, right, right. Taras Tkalych, “The Seagull’s Lament”—you’ve probably guessed it already— a historical tale about the Cossacks who, as is customary, set out to free Christians from Turkish prisons (“Approaching the galleys, a multitude of Cossacks rose up and began to shout. They shouted such terrifying curses that if even one came true, the Turks would have nothing to envy. Some took off their pants and showed their bare butts, others gave the middle finger, but most didn’t forget to row...” And finally, Yevheniia Chemerys, “Heaven and Hell on Norfolk Island.” Yes, this is a detailed historical essay.

Finally, some science fiction. Anton Ohey, “Frontline 511.” You’ll be surprised—it’s a horror story. The year is 1928: a sinister scientist and his terrifying creation aboard a steamship—a sort of Alien... And so on. And his fate is exactly the same as that of his colleague from *Nostromo*. Radyi Radutnyi, “What Do You Know About Dead Divers?” A very charming blend of futurology and mysticism; the protagonist is a sort of sorcerer. “These marks on my soul—two mermaids from the pond near the ruins of the old mill in Pryshyvna. We made love, and then I treated them to a silver chain around their necks. Silver is to mermaids what red-hot iron is to us. They did want to eat me, though, but I could have handled it more humanely. The pond was small, there was no food to be found, and sooner or later the mermaids would have had to go hunting. They went out, were caught, and burned. Not by me. What’s the big deal about those mermaids? The villagers handled it just fine without me. This scar on my heart—it’s the ghost of a girl from the Osten-Zaken Palace. One of my first assignments, back in the ’90s. No, we didn’t make love. We just danced in the moonlight and kissed afterward...”

And, of course, things aren’t so simple with dead sailors. One of the most charming stories in the collection. El Faretra, “Bulgarian Tango.” A mysterious woman, passion on a ship... “Lia walked slowly toward me, looking me straight in the eyes. There was something in them I didn’t recognize. It was the gaze of a panther, ready for a fight and for love at the same time.” An optimistic ending. The final line reads: “Odessa, 2011. This text draws on material from Vladimir Lensky’s blog.” Whether the style and plot feel dated is up to the reader to decide.

Compared to the previous collection, there are quite a few female authors here. Khristina Filipenko, “Reaching the Skyline”—a novella about shifting gender roles and, of course, survival… Iryna Romanenko, “November Vacation.” The heroine, hiding from the war on an exotic shore, finds a bottle containing a mysterious note… Well, and here’s the twist… “Now she and John were meeting constantly for lunch, and they’d already had dinner together three times when Melanie managed to seduce the economist with a bottle of whiskey in her room and lure him into bed. John didn’t put up much of a fight; he had clearly been craving a woman’s body.” The war here is like pepper—a spicy seasoning for the text, a tie to the “moment.”

Another historical essay by Vasyl Velmozhko—this time a biography of Joseph Conrad. A comprehensive “historical study” by Oleksandr Chudnovets, “Ships and Vessels Bearing the Name ‘Ukraine’ on Board.” Serhiy Hrynko, “The Second Life of the ‘Elborus’: An Excerpt from the Family Chronicle.” “Dedicated to the author’s great-great-grandfather—naval officer Dem’yan Semenovich Grynyko (July 1, 1851 – January 10, 1904), who exactly 150 years ago began his service in the lower ranks aboard the steamship ‘Elborus,’ as well as to the steamship itself and its glorious crew during the period 1874–1887—from the time of its second renaming until the ship’s second sinking.” There are also some family portraits there. Kateryna Kalinichenko, Galina Leonova, “Saury fish!” This is about the saury catch and more. “Over the course of four months, during his leave as a nuclear submarine crewman, Sanych made his second voyage aboard a Project 502 medium-sized freezer fishing trawler (SRTM). The SRTM “Rodino” of the Primorsky KRKS, packed with Japanese navigation and search equipment from Furuno, specialized in catching and processing crab.” In fact, two daughters are writing the story of their father, who, incidentally, was swindled in Odesa. Vyacheslav Turchenko, *Captain Shikli*. This, I would say, is typical maritime prose.

And finally, war—or, more precisely, naval—prose. Oleg Konstantinov’s energetic short story “Naval Groundhog Day.” An informative essay on the danger of mines—again by Oleg Konstantinov—“Meatballs.” Another short essay by Oleg Konstantinov, “Akashka: Two Days in the Life of an Old Patrol Boat—How Ukrainian Naval Soldiers Win and Die”: “It was just another day of full-scale war. Uncle Lyonya was pulled out. And the cook-machine-gunner. And even the cat, Gosha. But the commander remained there, at the bottom of the main river of beautiful Ukraine.” A straightforward survival story by Maksym Symonenko, “Conan: 14 Hours at Sea.” There’s even an adventure novella by Jay V, *For the Captain!* (“Gentle waves lightly caressed the ship, as if offering encouragement. Though there was no need for that. The bulk carrier gleamed proudly in the rays of the autumn sun, basking in the honor of becoming the first ship to pass through the temporarily established Ukrainian corridor”).

Marina Melnyk, “What Was That? Probably a UFO!”—a lively story about “an errand boy on the Canadian bulk carrier U-sea Alberta.” The grain corridor, an unknown drone. No, nothing like that happened; everyone’s safe. By the way, I never put a loaf of bread on the table upside down either. Ihor Kruchyk, “The Grain Route”—an essay dedicated to Oleksii Vadaturskyi. Vsevolod Polishchuk, Polina Kuzmina, “Deruny”—there’s a type of journalistic story, something like a “heartwarming report.” “Stop! The guys over there are finishing the fight. Who knows how much longer they’ll have to keep shooting at those ‘birds.’ Do you know what time it is? We have to be ready to feed them at any moment. Let’s get moving!” Bohdan Havrysh, “Through the Black Water”—smuggling in reverse: the protagonist is transporting food to an isolated village in the occupied territories.

So what can I say? To create a masterpiece, you have to turn the soil. Actually, I see collections like this precisely as a nurturing environment for future sprouts (though, of course, there are some standout pieces here). I’m sure something incredible will emerge—and most likely outside of these competitive anthologies. But it’s great that such collections are being published. They serve as a focal point for fostering national consciousness, because, as I’ve already said, we are a maritime nation. As for the themes, it seems our maritime writers tend toward historical essays, systematics, cataloging, and the like—though there are fewer of these in the latest volume. Which is understandable. Historical research requires time and concentration. But there’s plenty of prose related to history, because right now we’re searching for an answer to the question “who are we,” and without historical digressions, it’s almost impossible to answer that. War, I would say, is not yet the main focus; it’s still being explored, for now mainly through journalistic essays. Which is hardly surprising, since war at sea and war on land are—to put it mildly—two very different things, two separate wars. Here, by the way, it’s important to remember that a captain’s logbook is actually a rather dull affair—unless there was a mutiny on board, someone was marooned on a deserted island, no one has discovered America, and the Flying Dutchman hasn’t sailed by, glowing with ghostly lights.

 

Марія Галіна