Soviet Milk

I wanted to talk about my mother, who lived in a desolate place in the country because she could not live two lives—and could not accept a life of mockery, as Latvia had been mocked.

A short but perfectly formed novella, Soviet Milk presents a Latvian perspective of the dying days of the Soviet Union through an intimate story of two (arguably, three) women in a single family.

The story is told in first person using unnamed and unnumbered alternating chapters from mother and daughter, who also remain nameless. At first, this narrative structure is perplexing as strange echoes of the mother's life and thoughts are littered among her daughter's perspective, but very quickly these perspectives diverge and become wildly different. Indeed, at this point it was surprising to me that it had been possible to confuse the two at the book's beginning.

The mother and daughter have always had a strange, difficult relationship, and the daughter was mostly brought up by a third nameless woman, the grandmother (the mother's mother). Mother and daughter have become so unlike, they struggle to comprehend each other and are opposites in every way, but nevertheless they are clearly emotionally entwined, needed by one another.

A devastating, quiet, little book about isolation and a yearning for freedom. The story depicts the “cages” in life, cages imposed not only by the State, but also the cages we impose on ourselves as individuals. A wonderful discovery and one I hope many to read and ponder.