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Street Without A Name: Childhood And Other Misadventures In Bulgaria
Kassabova was born in Sofia, Bulgaria and grew up under the drab, muddy, grey mantle of one of communism’s most mindlessly authoritarian regimes. Escaping with her family as soon as possible after the collapse of the Berlin Wall, she lived in Britain, New Zealand, and Argentina, and several other places. But when Bulgaria was formally inducted to the European Union she decided it was time to return to the home she had spent most of her life trying to escape. What she found was a country languishing under the strain of transition. This two-part memoir of Kapka’s childhood and return explains life on the other side of the Iron Curtain.
316 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 15, 2008
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About the author
Kapka Kassabova
34 books387 followersKapka Kassabova was born and raised in Sofia, Bulgaria in the 1970s and 1980s. Her family emigrated to New Zealand just after the fall of the Berlin Wall, and she spent her late teens and twenties in New Zealand where she studied French Literature, and published two poetry collections and the Commonwealth-Writers Prize-winner for debut fiction in Asia-Pacific, Reconnaissance.
In 2004, Kapka moved to Scotland and published Street Without a Name (Portobello, 2008). It is a story of the last Communist childhood and a journey across post-communist Bulgaria. It was short-listed for the Dolman Travel Book Award.
The music memoir Twelve Minutes of Love (Portobello 2011), a tale of Argentine tango, obsession and the search for home, was short-listed for the Scottish Mortgage Investment Trust Book Awards.
Villa Pacifica (Alma Books 2011), a novel with an equatorial setting, came out at the same time.
Border: a journey to the edge of Europe (2017 Granta/ Greywolf) is an exploration of Europe's remotest border region.
Her essays and articles have appeared in The Guardian, The Times Literary Supplement, Vogue, The Sunday Times, The Scottish Review of Books, The NZ Listener, The New Statesman, and 1843 Magazine.
In 2004, Kapka moved to Scotland and published Street Without a Name (Portobello, 2008). It is a story of the last Communist childhood and a journey across post-communist Bulgaria. It was short-listed for the Dolman Travel Book Award.
The music memoir Twelve Minutes of Love (Portobello 2011), a tale of Argentine tango, obsession and the search for home, was short-listed for the Scottish Mortgage Investment Trust Book Awards.
Villa Pacifica (Alma Books 2011), a novel with an equatorial setting, came out at the same time.
Border: a journey to the edge of Europe (2017 Granta/ Greywolf) is an exploration of Europe's remotest border region.
Her essays and articles have appeared in The Guardian, The Times Literary Supplement, Vogue, The Sunday Times, The Scottish Review of Books, The NZ Listener, The New Statesman, and 1843 Magazine.
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November 7, 2025
Книгата на Капка Касабова може да се раздели условно на четри отделни части:
1. Соц детство в Младост 3 и Павликени/Сухиндол - авторката е постоянно влюбена, в кого ли не. :)
С нея сме набори почти, само дето аз съм израстнал в центъра на София. Съответно, детството ни е почти идентично и според мен достоверно описано.
2. Малък намек за емиграцията и за живота в емиграция.
3. Кратка история на Балканите и в частност на България от XX век. Неточно и елементарно предадена, с глупави и недостоверни реверанси към определени събития, свързани основно с историята на Македония и нейните българи.
4. Разбъркани посещения в/и пътеписи от България. Набляга се на колоритните типажи и случки.
"Улица без име" е писана на английски и за чужденци. Личи си много, освен това българското издание има силна нужда от редактор и коректор. Изобилието от повторения и грешки е доста дразнещо.
Без малко да се откажа след първите петдесетина страници, а последните 100 ги минах по диагоналната система. Ощо взето в тях авторката описва само смърт и разочарования... Може би така е видяла страната при завръщанията си, не знам.
Първата част не е лошо да бъде прочтена от нароилите се и у нас невръстни почитатели на соца с човешко лице, въпреки че най-вероятно няма да я разберат и ще я отхвърлят.
Имам "Граница" и в нея ще видя, наистина ли е писател Капка Касабова или един занаятчия в повече, експлоатиращ темата за нещастната и западнала източноевропейска Родина.
P.S. (01.09.2018 - слаб занаятчия е, с продукт основно ориентиран към западната публика).
1. Соц детство в Младост 3 и Павликени/Сухиндол - авторката е постоянно влюбена, в кого ли не. :)
С нея сме набори почти, само дето аз съм израстнал в центъра на София. Съответно, детството ни е почти идентично и според мен достоверно описано.
2. Малък намек за емиграцията и за живота в емиграция.
3. Кратка история на Балканите и в частност на България от XX век. Неточно и елементарно предадена, с глупави и недостоверни реверанси към определени събития, свързани основно с историята на Македония и нейните българи.
4. Разбъркани посещения в/и пътеписи от България. Набляга се на колоритните типажи и случки.
"Улица без име" е писана на английски и за чужденци. Личи си много, освен това българското издание има силна нужда от редактор и коректор. Изобилието от повторения и грешки е доста дразнещо.
Без малко да се откажа след първите петдесетина страници, а последните 100 ги минах по диагоналната система. Ощо взето в тях авторката описва само смърт и разочарования... Може би така е видяла страната при завръщанията си, не знам.
Първата част не е лошо да бъде прочтена от нароилите се и у нас невръстни почитатели на соца с човешко лице, въпреки че най-вероятно няма да я разберат и ще я отхвърлят.
Имам "Граница" и в нея ще видя, наистина ли е писател Капка Касабова или един занаятчия в повече, експлоатиращ темата за нещастната и западнала източноевропейска Родина.
P.S. (01.09.2018 - слаб занаятчия е, с продукт основно ориентиран към западната публика).
January 28, 2022
kapka kassabova’nın sınır’ını aslında bu kitapla birlikte okuduğunuzda tamamlanıyor.
hep savunduğum bir şey var aslında hepimizin hayatı biricik ve anılarımızla, çocukluğumuzdaki sesler, kokularla hepimiz bi roman yazabiliriz. hayatta en sevdiğim tema olabilir.
isimsiz sokak’ta komünist bulgaristan’daki çocukluğuna geri dönen kapka kassabova’nın anlattıkları muhteşem birer anı-öykü örneği. o rejimde ev alabilmek, anne-babasının yıllarca beklemesi, anaokulunda zorunlu olarak çıplak gezdirildiği sahiller, ilkokuldaki çavdar’lar ve öncü’ler, komünizm olsa da hep ayrıcalıklı bürokratlar ve çocukları, dinlemeye izin verilen pop şarkılar… öylesine güzel ki.
ve aslında hep aklımdan geçen küreselleşmemiş bir 80’ler türkiye’sinde bizim çocukluğumuzla ne kadar benzer yanları olduğu oldu.
kitabın ortalarına kadar süren bu anlatı yeni zelanda’ya gçö etmelerinden sonra el değiştiriyor ve kitap “sınır”a dönüşüyor.
açıkçası ben bütün kitabın çocukluğu ve gençliği anlatmasını yeğlerdim.
beni en çok etkileyen bölüm bu anlatılar ve amca-yengesiyle kurduğu bağ oldu. yengesinin ölümünden sonra tekrar geldiği bulgaristan’da hac gibi yaptığı yolculuk kitabın ikinci yarısını oluşturuyor.
bu ikinci bölüm sınır’a çok benziyor. sınır’ı okuyanlar zaten pek çok şeyi tekrar ediyor gibi oluyor.
maalesef bildiğimiz şeyler, 89’daki bulgarlaştırma politikası, zulümler, komünizm sonrası mahvolan bir halk, mafyalaşan devlet, ab süreciyle parası olanların ülkeyi parsel parsel ele geçirmesi.
yazar çocukluğunun, gençliğinin geçtiği yerleri gezerek hem geçmişi yad ediyor, hem lanet ediyor, hem gözlemleyip anlatıyor.
ama kapka kassabova’da okumayı zorlaştıran bir şey var. evet bulgaristan da bizim gibi neler neler görmüş ama bunların hepsini bazen tek bir bölümde parça parça yorumlayarak bizi bilgi bombardımanına tutuyor ve bu çok yorucu.
sadece bu kitabın ikinci yarısından 5 ayrı kitap çıkar, gerçekten.
bu bölümleri biraz tekrar gibi okudum ta ki sona yine çocukluğunun geçtiği sahil kasabasını anlatmaya başlayana dek. bu döngü elbette tamamlanıyor. çok zor. çok acı bir biçimde yüzleşiyor kapka.
yine çok güzel bir anlatı ve sınır’ı okuduğumda hissettiğim şeyi tekrar edeceğim: bizim de 89’da göçenlerden dinlemeye ihtiyacımız var. korkuyla sindirilmiş bu mültecilerin yaşadıklarını ancak başla seslerden dinliyoruz, öznelerden değil.
seda çıngay mellor yine çok zor bir işi başarmış çünkü kapka kassabova uzun uzun, bazen gereksiz anlatmayı, hep bir şeylere değinmeyi çok seviyor. biraz bizim gibi.
çocukluk bambaşka bir ülke, herkes için ve ben yine onu okumaya çok sevdiğimi fark ettim.
umarım kapka kassabova unutmayı yeğlediği şeyleri, yeni zelanda’yı ve iskoçya’yı, göçmenliği de anlatır bir gün.
hep savunduğum bir şey var aslında hepimizin hayatı biricik ve anılarımızla, çocukluğumuzdaki sesler, kokularla hepimiz bi roman yazabiliriz. hayatta en sevdiğim tema olabilir.
isimsiz sokak’ta komünist bulgaristan’daki çocukluğuna geri dönen kapka kassabova’nın anlattıkları muhteşem birer anı-öykü örneği. o rejimde ev alabilmek, anne-babasının yıllarca beklemesi, anaokulunda zorunlu olarak çıplak gezdirildiği sahiller, ilkokuldaki çavdar’lar ve öncü’ler, komünizm olsa da hep ayrıcalıklı bürokratlar ve çocukları, dinlemeye izin verilen pop şarkılar… öylesine güzel ki.
ve aslında hep aklımdan geçen küreselleşmemiş bir 80’ler türkiye’sinde bizim çocukluğumuzla ne kadar benzer yanları olduğu oldu.
kitabın ortalarına kadar süren bu anlatı yeni zelanda’ya gçö etmelerinden sonra el değiştiriyor ve kitap “sınır”a dönüşüyor.
açıkçası ben bütün kitabın çocukluğu ve gençliği anlatmasını yeğlerdim.
beni en çok etkileyen bölüm bu anlatılar ve amca-yengesiyle kurduğu bağ oldu. yengesinin ölümünden sonra tekrar geldiği bulgaristan’da hac gibi yaptığı yolculuk kitabın ikinci yarısını oluşturuyor.
bu ikinci bölüm sınır’a çok benziyor. sınır’ı okuyanlar zaten pek çok şeyi tekrar ediyor gibi oluyor.
maalesef bildiğimiz şeyler, 89’daki bulgarlaştırma politikası, zulümler, komünizm sonrası mahvolan bir halk, mafyalaşan devlet, ab süreciyle parası olanların ülkeyi parsel parsel ele geçirmesi.
yazar çocukluğunun, gençliğinin geçtiği yerleri gezerek hem geçmişi yad ediyor, hem lanet ediyor, hem gözlemleyip anlatıyor.
ama kapka kassabova’da okumayı zorlaştıran bir şey var. evet bulgaristan da bizim gibi neler neler görmüş ama bunların hepsini bazen tek bir bölümde parça parça yorumlayarak bizi bilgi bombardımanına tutuyor ve bu çok yorucu.
sadece bu kitabın ikinci yarısından 5 ayrı kitap çıkar, gerçekten.
bu bölümleri biraz tekrar gibi okudum ta ki sona yine çocukluğunun geçtiği sahil kasabasını anlatmaya başlayana dek. bu döngü elbette tamamlanıyor. çok zor. çok acı bir biçimde yüzleşiyor kapka.
yine çok güzel bir anlatı ve sınır’ı okuduğumda hissettiğim şeyi tekrar edeceğim: bizim de 89’da göçenlerden dinlemeye ihtiyacımız var. korkuyla sindirilmiş bu mültecilerin yaşadıklarını ancak başla seslerden dinliyoruz, öznelerden değil.
seda çıngay mellor yine çok zor bir işi başarmış çünkü kapka kassabova uzun uzun, bazen gereksiz anlatmayı, hep bir şeylere değinmeyi çok seviyor. biraz bizim gibi.
çocukluk bambaşka bir ülke, herkes için ve ben yine onu okumaya çok sevdiğimi fark ettim.
umarım kapka kassabova unutmayı yeğlediği şeyleri, yeni zelanda’yı ve iskoçya’yı, göçmenliği de anlatır bir gün.
October 17, 2009
I'd give this book 3 1/2 stars.
"Street With No Name" is a very interesting and very personal memoir of Kapka Kassabova's childhood in Bulgaria, and a travelogue chronicling several return trips to visit relatives and discuss the sights. The author appears to have also written a travel guidebook, probably during those same trips, and this book reads more like a diary of those trips. The first part mostly describes her growing up in Sofia, discussing her life in school, various activities such as the Pioneer groups (somewhat similar to the Boy/Girl Scouts), and contrasting the deprivations of life in socialist Bulgaria with the luxuries of the West (brought into sober focus by her parents' trips to the Netherlands and a visit by some Dutch colleagues). She also discusses her coming of age, getting into a French-language high school, and her family's eventual exodus to New Zealand.
The second half of the book chronicles her trips throughout Bulgaria; the chronology is sometimes a bit unclear, since there are at least three trips interwoven, some to different regions of Bulgaria, and with multiple visits to her aging relatives. She covers most of the major regions of Bulgaria, and her anecdotes include very vivid, slice-of-life interactions with local people, highlighting their conditions, attitudes, and (sometimes) prejudices. While a bit non-linear, I felt this part actually captured quite well the odd mixture of nostalgia and disorientation that one gets when revisiting a place that is full of memories from several trips but that has changed dramatically each time.
Kapka does manage to work in a great many of the large and small cultural highlights of Bulgaria. She discusses most of the major regions, has some discussion of food, works in many significant historical events of Bulgaria (e.g., the 500 years under the Turks, saving its Jews from the Nazis during World War II, the forcible renaming of Turks in the mid-80s) as well as many cultural details (the wedding music of Ivo Papasov, pop-folk/chalga/silicone divas, the fear that air currents will make you sick; I don't think she managed to work in the one about how women shouldn't sit on concrete because of the fear that their ovaries will freeze, however). The descriptions of the horrors of public toilets was particularly graphic, and not (at all!) exaggerated. Similarly, the descriptions of maniacal taxi-driver speeding and perilous potholes is spot-on (I personally have flown down Tsarigradsko Shousse in a taxi at over 100 MPH and feared for my life similarly).
My reaction to this book is that it struck me as very Bulgarian, in several senses that I shall attempt to explain. It is fairly typical for Bulgarians to exaggerate a certain amount when describing a situation: if something happened twice, they will usually say it happened four times; if six times, they will often say 100. Recipients of such statements tend to take this into account when interpreting the statements. Thus, when I retold several of the anecdotes to a Bulgarian who grew up around the same time in the same places, they were met with some skepticism (e.g., she thought that Kapka's father being unable to find a store to buy potatoes in the summer in Bansko was more likely due to his unfamiliarity with the town), and she found the story of Kapka's mother being overcome by the luxury of a Dutch bathroom similarly difficult to swallow.
The author spends a rather significant part of the time on the cultural injustice of the ethnic minorities being forced to change their names to Bulgarian ones in order to "assimilate" them, though she focuses a lot on the Turks, and I think rather less so on the Roma (Gypsies), who suffer at least as much discrimination in Bulgaria and worse conditions. Ethnic identity is a far more prominent (and complex) part of Balkan society than in modern America, in my opinion. For instance, as a Chinese-American watching the Olympics in Bulgaria once, I was assumed to be rooting for the Chinese team. Also, perhaps anomalously, one of the most patriotic Bulgarians I know is a Bulgarian Turk whom I believe was alive during the time of the renaming.
The one thing that I found rather hard to stomach about this book was the relentless undercurrent of pretentious self-loathing; the author takes significant pains to highlight the deprivations of the past and the grim aspects of the present. For instance, she spends a fair amount of time depicting Englishmen and the like as slavering, leering, greedy exploiters, ready to pounce on cheap Bulgarian properties (or, sometimes, her). This is also very Bulgarian, in the sense of perceiving themselves as "being at the mercy of the Great Powers". It would be naive and rosy not to acknowledge the fact that the country is wracked with corruption, gangsters (mutri), and so forth, but she likes to take certain facts and spin them into a narrative of backwardness. For instance, she begins with an anecdote about landing at the "worst-named airport in the world, Airpost Vrazhdebna (=Hostile)" and juxtaposing this discussion with a description of some Germans (who represent the modern, progressive West that Bulgaria strives to emulate). But there is a reasonable explanation, which is that it was built in the village of Vrazhdebna on the outskirts of Sofia (apparently that name comes from when that village was inherited by Bogomil heretics). Furthermore, it seems to me like a rather appropriate name from a superstitious point of view: an airport is a place that is perceived to be fraught with danger and risk (and, having flown in a Balkan Air Tupolev TU-154 out of that airport once, I can fully understand why). So, it seems appropriate that to ward off the threat of evil spirits and happenings, the airport has a powerful, warding name.
In any case, I found this book overall very interesting and informative. She makes a disclaimer up front that everything is true, as she remembers it, but explicitly disclaims any pretense of objectivity. Once, when a Bulgarian I know was dismissing the news reports we were watching about goings-on in the former Yugoslavia as "all lies", I tried to ask how one can ever know what the truth is if all the news you ever get is lies....she explained that her way (which I gathered was a common conceptualization of "truth" in the Balkans) was to listen to it all and then look in your heart to figure out what the truth really is. I feel that I should view the narrative presented in this book as having been filtered through this conceptualization of "truth". The material in this book is a very valuable source but I think it needs to be read and understood in context with other sources and experiences to gain a fuller picture of the history and culture of Bulgaria.
"Street With No Name" is a very interesting and very personal memoir of Kapka Kassabova's childhood in Bulgaria, and a travelogue chronicling several return trips to visit relatives and discuss the sights. The author appears to have also written a travel guidebook, probably during those same trips, and this book reads more like a diary of those trips. The first part mostly describes her growing up in Sofia, discussing her life in school, various activities such as the Pioneer groups (somewhat similar to the Boy/Girl Scouts), and contrasting the deprivations of life in socialist Bulgaria with the luxuries of the West (brought into sober focus by her parents' trips to the Netherlands and a visit by some Dutch colleagues). She also discusses her coming of age, getting into a French-language high school, and her family's eventual exodus to New Zealand.
The second half of the book chronicles her trips throughout Bulgaria; the chronology is sometimes a bit unclear, since there are at least three trips interwoven, some to different regions of Bulgaria, and with multiple visits to her aging relatives. She covers most of the major regions of Bulgaria, and her anecdotes include very vivid, slice-of-life interactions with local people, highlighting their conditions, attitudes, and (sometimes) prejudices. While a bit non-linear, I felt this part actually captured quite well the odd mixture of nostalgia and disorientation that one gets when revisiting a place that is full of memories from several trips but that has changed dramatically each time.
Kapka does manage to work in a great many of the large and small cultural highlights of Bulgaria. She discusses most of the major regions, has some discussion of food, works in many significant historical events of Bulgaria (e.g., the 500 years under the Turks, saving its Jews from the Nazis during World War II, the forcible renaming of Turks in the mid-80s) as well as many cultural details (the wedding music of Ivo Papasov, pop-folk/chalga/silicone divas, the fear that air currents will make you sick; I don't think she managed to work in the one about how women shouldn't sit on concrete because of the fear that their ovaries will freeze, however). The descriptions of the horrors of public toilets was particularly graphic, and not (at all!) exaggerated. Similarly, the descriptions of maniacal taxi-driver speeding and perilous potholes is spot-on (I personally have flown down Tsarigradsko Shousse in a taxi at over 100 MPH and feared for my life similarly).
My reaction to this book is that it struck me as very Bulgarian, in several senses that I shall attempt to explain. It is fairly typical for Bulgarians to exaggerate a certain amount when describing a situation: if something happened twice, they will usually say it happened four times; if six times, they will often say 100. Recipients of such statements tend to take this into account when interpreting the statements. Thus, when I retold several of the anecdotes to a Bulgarian who grew up around the same time in the same places, they were met with some skepticism (e.g., she thought that Kapka's father being unable to find a store to buy potatoes in the summer in Bansko was more likely due to his unfamiliarity with the town), and she found the story of Kapka's mother being overcome by the luxury of a Dutch bathroom similarly difficult to swallow.
The author spends a rather significant part of the time on the cultural injustice of the ethnic minorities being forced to change their names to Bulgarian ones in order to "assimilate" them, though she focuses a lot on the Turks, and I think rather less so on the Roma (Gypsies), who suffer at least as much discrimination in Bulgaria and worse conditions. Ethnic identity is a far more prominent (and complex) part of Balkan society than in modern America, in my opinion. For instance, as a Chinese-American watching the Olympics in Bulgaria once, I was assumed to be rooting for the Chinese team. Also, perhaps anomalously, one of the most patriotic Bulgarians I know is a Bulgarian Turk whom I believe was alive during the time of the renaming.
The one thing that I found rather hard to stomach about this book was the relentless undercurrent of pretentious self-loathing; the author takes significant pains to highlight the deprivations of the past and the grim aspects of the present. For instance, she spends a fair amount of time depicting Englishmen and the like as slavering, leering, greedy exploiters, ready to pounce on cheap Bulgarian properties (or, sometimes, her). This is also very Bulgarian, in the sense of perceiving themselves as "being at the mercy of the Great Powers". It would be naive and rosy not to acknowledge the fact that the country is wracked with corruption, gangsters (mutri), and so forth, but she likes to take certain facts and spin them into a narrative of backwardness. For instance, she begins with an anecdote about landing at the "worst-named airport in the world, Airpost Vrazhdebna (=Hostile)" and juxtaposing this discussion with a description of some Germans (who represent the modern, progressive West that Bulgaria strives to emulate). But there is a reasonable explanation, which is that it was built in the village of Vrazhdebna on the outskirts of Sofia (apparently that name comes from when that village was inherited by Bogomil heretics). Furthermore, it seems to me like a rather appropriate name from a superstitious point of view: an airport is a place that is perceived to be fraught with danger and risk (and, having flown in a Balkan Air Tupolev TU-154 out of that airport once, I can fully understand why). So, it seems appropriate that to ward off the threat of evil spirits and happenings, the airport has a powerful, warding name.
In any case, I found this book overall very interesting and informative. She makes a disclaimer up front that everything is true, as she remembers it, but explicitly disclaims any pretense of objectivity. Once, when a Bulgarian I know was dismissing the news reports we were watching about goings-on in the former Yugoslavia as "all lies", I tried to ask how one can ever know what the truth is if all the news you ever get is lies....she explained that her way (which I gathered was a common conceptualization of "truth" in the Balkans) was to listen to it all and then look in your heart to figure out what the truth really is. I feel that I should view the narrative presented in this book as having been filtered through this conceptualization of "truth". The material in this book is a very valuable source but I think it needs to be read and understood in context with other sources and experiences to gain a fuller picture of the history and culture of Bulgaria.
January 5, 2012
The best part of this book was the fact that the author grew up in the neighborhood I live in, so I recognized many of the streets and local landmarks she references (hey, there's a photo of our McDonald's!). Other than this novelty factor, though, this book really paled in comparison to other Bulgarian books I've read (and international coming-of-age stories in general - Persepolis comes to mind as a similar story but is far better), not only in quality of writing but also, ironically, in giving a compelling portrayal of Bulgaria and the Balkan region. The frequent and direct comparisons to Orwell's 1984 were heavy handed and sounded trite and adolescent (my Bulgarian 10th graders who just finished reading 1984 could pick apart some of the flawed parallels in a heartbeat), reducing this complex country and people into a kind of archetype, and while I did like some of the stories surrounding Kassabova's education in the French lycee in Sofia and the subsequent lack of a sense of place for herself and her classmates, the contemporary parts of the book with the author road-tripping around Bulgaria were fragmented, hard to follow, and frankly seemed exploitative - as did much of the book overall. I don't know much about the author, but I very much got a sense of, "I know how I will break out as a writer - I will Write a Book about my Obscure Country and it will be my Literary Niche" and thus the road trip felt like a means to that end rather than a sincere and organic reflection on her country of birth. Also, the book needs a way better editor/proofreader - i.e., someone who can get the spelling of "Libya" correct on a consistent basis.
September 10, 2015
Kapka Kassabova grew up in Bulgaria under the Communist regime, immigrating to New Zealand in 1991, at the age of 19. In the years after her departure, she returned to the country several times to visit older relatives and to sightsee. The first part of this book is a solid 4-star memoir about her childhood; the rest documents her travels and earns 2.5 or 3 stars. Unfortunately, the travel section is the longer, so I’m rounding down.
The memoir immediately captured my attention with stories of life amidst hardship. Although Kassabova’s parents were well-educated, the family lived in two rooms in a shoddily constructed concrete apartment building, surrounded by mud and thousands of other, identical buildings; the chance to buy anything new was so rare and even dangerous (when shoppers physically fought over merchandise) that the author’s mother had a breakdown on a visit to a Dutch department store; and interactions with anyone from the other side of the Iron Curtain were fraught, as they truly came from different worlds. One escape was music; in a twist of irony, as a teenager Kassabova enjoyed protest music from the West. The censors allowed it through because the lyrics raged against the capitalist machine, not realizing that teens reversed the meaning, raging instead against the only machine they knew.
The writing is clear, descriptive, and a little self-deprecating, and so combined with interesting material, the first section succeeds. But then we get to the travel. Kassabova initially presents her trip in 2006 as a return to Bulgaria after many years away, but it soon becomes clear that she has traveled in the country as an adult on several occasions, and she splices these trips together, cutting back and forth between different visits to the same or nearby places, which is disorienting.
There doesn’t seem to be much direction to Kassabova’s travel; the organization of this section felt scattershot, and the reader gets little sense of why we should be interested in these particular places. I’m not sure what the author was looking for on this trip, but don’t believe she found it; the whole book is rather melancholy. Certainly Bulgaria doesn’t seem to have improved much with the fall of communism; the overall picture Kassabova paints is one of foreign investors getting rich while regular people struggle to get by without a safety net and smaller towns continue to decay. But I was interested to read about how the country has changed, as well as a bit of its earlier history, and the author’s conversations with the people she meets are often entertaining.
Ultimately, this one is a cautious recommend: certainly worth reading if you are interested in the subject matter, but not the first book I would urge on an armchair traveler.
The memoir immediately captured my attention with stories of life amidst hardship. Although Kassabova’s parents were well-educated, the family lived in two rooms in a shoddily constructed concrete apartment building, surrounded by mud and thousands of other, identical buildings; the chance to buy anything new was so rare and even dangerous (when shoppers physically fought over merchandise) that the author’s mother had a breakdown on a visit to a Dutch department store; and interactions with anyone from the other side of the Iron Curtain were fraught, as they truly came from different worlds. One escape was music; in a twist of irony, as a teenager Kassabova enjoyed protest music from the West. The censors allowed it through because the lyrics raged against the capitalist machine, not realizing that teens reversed the meaning, raging instead against the only machine they knew.
The writing is clear, descriptive, and a little self-deprecating, and so combined with interesting material, the first section succeeds. But then we get to the travel. Kassabova initially presents her trip in 2006 as a return to Bulgaria after many years away, but it soon becomes clear that she has traveled in the country as an adult on several occasions, and she splices these trips together, cutting back and forth between different visits to the same or nearby places, which is disorienting.
There doesn’t seem to be much direction to Kassabova’s travel; the organization of this section felt scattershot, and the reader gets little sense of why we should be interested in these particular places. I’m not sure what the author was looking for on this trip, but don’t believe she found it; the whole book is rather melancholy. Certainly Bulgaria doesn’t seem to have improved much with the fall of communism; the overall picture Kassabova paints is one of foreign investors getting rich while regular people struggle to get by without a safety net and smaller towns continue to decay. But I was interested to read about how the country has changed, as well as a bit of its earlier history, and the author’s conversations with the people she meets are often entertaining.
Ultimately, this one is a cautious recommend: certainly worth reading if you are interested in the subject matter, but not the first book I would urge on an armchair traveler.
April 7, 2019
(1.5) Unfortunately this wasn't for me. I found parts here in and there that fascinated me and I'm so interested in learning and knowing about Bulgaria and it's history but this had a lot of excessive details that pushed me from enjoying what was being shared. It felt to me that it dragged on and there seemed to be a lot of tangents that I don't feel were necessarily important for us the readers to know but maybe it was important for her to tell.
[Around the world pick for Bulgaria.]
[Around the world pick for Bulgaria.]
February 16, 2014
If Ireland has Frank McCourt's "Angela's Ashes," Bulgaria has this by Ms. Kapka Kassabova. She was born in Sofia, Bulgaria in 1973 and grew up amidst the hardships of a communist country controlled by a totalitarian regime. At the age of 16 her family managed to emigrate to New Zealand. She did some more travelling before finally settling in Edinburgh, Scotland. Written with exceptional poignancy and wry humor, You'll learn more about Bulgaria reading this than actually going there and looking around.
November 21, 2020
Es un recorrido por Bulgaria de forma autobiográfica. La autora emigró a principios de los 90 y se reencuentra con este Justo antes de su entrada a la UE. Me ha gustado mucho cómo refleja los distintos planos temporales en los que vive el país.
October 9, 2020
Life growing up with virtually nothing was what they were used to. Her father was not high in the communist regime, but he had some opportunities to travel outside the country with the family and when her mother saw the things that were available in the shops in the West she stood and looked in amazement at the shelves. All that was available in most of the shops in Sofia was queues. She grew up loving her homeland as much as she hated it and when they had the opportunity to leave when Kassobova was in her late teens, they took it. She moved to New Zealand with her family and then in 2005, moved back across the world to the UK.
This book is a series of memories of her childhood there and accounts of her returning there as a visitor. The town of Sofia had bleak apartment blocks to house the workers and their families, there were nicer parts of the town with older buildings and leafy parks, but they were reserved for those in power and with the right connections. One day having visited one of the nicer parts, she turns to her mother and asks her ‘Mum, why is everything so ugly?’ Her mother could answer her, just managing to hide her tears.
She recounts memories of the accident in Chernobyl, a painful year as she lost two grandparents and then the rumours started about a nuclear accident elsewhere in the Soviet Union. People who went out to celebrate the May Day parade were rained on with radioactive pollution and some were to die later from the poisoning. She was slightly afraid of her grandfather, he was an angry man and anyone who wasn’t of the bloodline would be an enemy. Her male cousin was the favourite, as he would carry the family name onto the next generation. In 1989 all of what they had known until that point would change as perestroika swept across the Soviet Block., both her parents would stare at the telly in disbelief as the events unfolded in front of them.
Returning to her homeland in the second part of the book is a mixed bag of emotions. Just looking at the map of Sofia she finds that strange new names of streets have replaced the strange old names. She visits her old school and when she explains to the security guard they used to study there, he waves them in. Some things don’t change though, the bus that she is just about to give up waiting for arrives late, and crawls slowly up the hills. Seeing family members that she hasn’t for so long is full of emotion she offers to pay for the fuel in her uncle’s car knowing that for him it is a quarter of his pension to pay for it. Bumping into school friends and catching up with the gossip is happy and sad at the same time.
Even though she no longer lives there, the ties to her homeland are still there but stretched gossamer thin. It is not your regular travel book where someone moves through a country or a region in a planned way, rather she spends as much time with her memories of the place as she does in the towns and cities seeing what is still there. As with her other books that I have read, she has a beautiful way of writing, it is as much about emotions and feelings as it is about the sense of place. If you have never read anything about Bulgaria before this is a good place to start.
This book is a series of memories of her childhood there and accounts of her returning there as a visitor. The town of Sofia had bleak apartment blocks to house the workers and their families, there were nicer parts of the town with older buildings and leafy parks, but they were reserved for those in power and with the right connections. One day having visited one of the nicer parts, she turns to her mother and asks her ‘Mum, why is everything so ugly?’ Her mother could answer her, just managing to hide her tears.
She recounts memories of the accident in Chernobyl, a painful year as she lost two grandparents and then the rumours started about a nuclear accident elsewhere in the Soviet Union. People who went out to celebrate the May Day parade were rained on with radioactive pollution and some were to die later from the poisoning. She was slightly afraid of her grandfather, he was an angry man and anyone who wasn’t of the bloodline would be an enemy. Her male cousin was the favourite, as he would carry the family name onto the next generation. In 1989 all of what they had known until that point would change as perestroika swept across the Soviet Block., both her parents would stare at the telly in disbelief as the events unfolded in front of them.
Returning to her homeland in the second part of the book is a mixed bag of emotions. Just looking at the map of Sofia she finds that strange new names of streets have replaced the strange old names. She visits her old school and when she explains to the security guard they used to study there, he waves them in. Some things don’t change though, the bus that she is just about to give up waiting for arrives late, and crawls slowly up the hills. Seeing family members that she hasn’t for so long is full of emotion she offers to pay for the fuel in her uncle’s car knowing that for him it is a quarter of his pension to pay for it. Bumping into school friends and catching up with the gossip is happy and sad at the same time.
Even though she no longer lives there, the ties to her homeland are still there but stretched gossamer thin. It is not your regular travel book where someone moves through a country or a region in a planned way, rather she spends as much time with her memories of the place as she does in the towns and cities seeing what is still there. As with her other books that I have read, she has a beautiful way of writing, it is as much about emotions and feelings as it is about the sense of place. If you have never read anything about Bulgaria before this is a good place to start.
June 6, 2013
Street Without A Name by Kapka Kassabova
A must-read for anyone interested in Bulgaria, Street Without A Name tracks the
emotional and physical journies experienced by the author as she revisits the land of her birth soon after its entry to the European Union.
Glimpses into her childhood and teens years under communist rule are written with
passion but never sentimentality against a backdrop of cuttingly outlined history. We see both the big picture and the small one: a forced exodus described by the government as a holiday at the time; detailed visits to loved grandparents repeated at intervals until death intervenes.
For me, the book has a particular fascination as some of the descriptions of how people lived 'back then', could almost have been written today. Communism ended in 1989; Bulgaria entered the EU in 2007 but in some respects, only the storefront has changed.
Kapka Kassabova's Street Without A Name is a roller coaster of a read, a true tour de force and a history lesson all in one.
A must-read for anyone interested in Bulgaria, Street Without A Name tracks the
emotional and physical journies experienced by the author as she revisits the land of her birth soon after its entry to the European Union.
Glimpses into her childhood and teens years under communist rule are written with
passion but never sentimentality against a backdrop of cuttingly outlined history. We see both the big picture and the small one: a forced exodus described by the government as a holiday at the time; detailed visits to loved grandparents repeated at intervals until death intervenes.
For me, the book has a particular fascination as some of the descriptions of how people lived 'back then', could almost have been written today. Communism ended in 1989; Bulgaria entered the EU in 2007 but in some respects, only the storefront has changed.
Kapka Kassabova's Street Without A Name is a roller coaster of a read, a true tour de force and a history lesson all in one.
September 2, 2016
Street Without a Name is a pure memoir book.
The first half of it reads easily, not to say that you flow through the pages. It is an interesting sneak in how a young, also obviously quite switch-on, person felt about the surrounding environment in the 1980-90s, on the threshold of the collapse of the communist regime.
The second part of the book is another story, though; not to say that it's nowhere near my literary taste. Party the reason might be because I am Bulgarian and have basic knowledge of our history, which is the main topic in this second half.
Unfortunately, I didn't see an in-depth interpretation of the present through the prism of the past, which seems to have been the author's initial idea. To me the reason for this failure is Kassabova's inclination to criticize everything Bulgarian. This, on its side, created the unpleasant feeling of an outsider - who used to be part of that same environment - and just because is not anymore, looks at it with an eye of superiority. We all have seen enough of this already.
The Balkan sulkiness, which every now and then the author points out as a main reason for Bulgaria's misfortunes - not that she is wrong - is deeply incarnated in her writing style. This felt unfair.
The first half of it reads easily, not to say that you flow through the pages. It is an interesting sneak in how a young, also obviously quite switch-on, person felt about the surrounding environment in the 1980-90s, on the threshold of the collapse of the communist regime.
The second part of the book is another story, though; not to say that it's nowhere near my literary taste. Party the reason might be because I am Bulgarian and have basic knowledge of our history, which is the main topic in this second half.
Unfortunately, I didn't see an in-depth interpretation of the present through the prism of the past, which seems to have been the author's initial idea. To me the reason for this failure is Kassabova's inclination to criticize everything Bulgarian. This, on its side, created the unpleasant feeling of an outsider - who used to be part of that same environment - and just because is not anymore, looks at it with an eye of superiority. We all have seen enough of this already.
The Balkan sulkiness, which every now and then the author points out as a main reason for Bulgaria's misfortunes - not that she is wrong - is deeply incarnated in her writing style. This felt unfair.
Read
February 15, 2020Книгата на Капка Касабова "Улица без име" определено ми допадна и то много. Не съм емигрант и никога не съм била, но познавам чувството или предполагам какво е. Докато я четях си припомнях и моетхо детство, връщах се в онея години и съпоставях моя и нейния живот. На няколко пъти се зададох въпроса, ако историята ни беше друга и този режим не се беше случил, какъв ли щеше да е живота ни? През цялото време, докато четях не усетих нито гняв, нито омраза, а само една тънка тъга, безпомощност и безнадеждност от вече случилото се. Усещане че това не се е случило на теб, а ти си бил страничен наблюдател в твоя си живот. На много малко места имаше някаква надежда, дори сега когато пиша това не мога да се сетя за такава. Въпреки това отдавна исках да прочета книгата. Още от преди 10 години, когато една моя позната емигрантска ми спомена за нея и колко я е разстърсила историята. Много благодаря за епичнато издирване и намирането й и възможността най-накрая тя да стигне до мен.
January 31, 2022
Yazar keşke sadece anılarını yazsaymış, o kısmı zevkle okudum. Ülke tarihi ve gezilerine dair yazdıklarını ayrı bir kitapta toplayabilirdi, o kısım da çok dağınık ve eksik gerçi. Sanki kitabı biraz şişirmek istemiş gibi. Özetle Sovyet ve şimdiki Bulgaristan'ı tanımak için yeterli bir kitap değil, öyle bir iddiası da yoktur eminim ama az çok bir fikir verebilir. Neticede Kapka bir tarihçi değil ama iyi bir yazar olduğunu da söyleyemem. Yine de Türkçe'de bu tür bir kitabı ilk kez okuduğum için değerli, yayınevine ve harika çevirisiyle Seda Çıngay Mellor'a teşekkürlerimle.
March 24, 2012
Memoir, history book, travelogue: this book is written with clarity, honesty, sentiment (not sentimentality), and humor. It's beautifully-written. The family stories are touching. The history portions scratch the surface of huge gaps in my knowledge. And the sections devoted to Kassabova's country of Bulgaria had me googling images of almost every place she mentions. In fact it would be nice if there were a map in this book for easy reference.
Between Hotel Drustur and the Golden Dobrudzha, I have walked exactly five minutes and twenty-five years.
And let's face it: since arriving a few weeks ago, I haven't been myself. A few weeks alone in the country of your childhood wreaks havoc on your imported adult personality. p. 302-3
I am going now, and I know never to disturb the natural laws of that country where the people we used to be stroll along the fault lines of a white-cliffed town, eating vanilla ice cream in the slightly otherworldly September light. p. 296
1979 was also the year after the assassination by State Security of the dissident writer Georgi Markov in London with a poison-tipped umbrella--Bulgaria's main claim to fame in the last century, if we don't count weightlifters with hairy backs. But that year I was preoccupied by a far more momentous event: the kindergarten summer camp. p. 24
Between Hotel Drustur and the Golden Dobrudzha, I have walked exactly five minutes and twenty-five years.
And let's face it: since arriving a few weeks ago, I haven't been myself. A few weeks alone in the country of your childhood wreaks havoc on your imported adult personality. p. 302-3
I am going now, and I know never to disturb the natural laws of that country where the people we used to be stroll along the fault lines of a white-cliffed town, eating vanilla ice cream in the slightly otherworldly September light. p. 296
1979 was also the year after the assassination by State Security of the dissident writer Georgi Markov in London with a poison-tipped umbrella--Bulgaria's main claim to fame in the last century, if we don't count weightlifters with hairy backs. But that year I was preoccupied by a far more momentous event: the kindergarten summer camp. p. 24
July 9, 2015
This book is part autobiographic and part travel. The author grew up in communist Bulgaria and left, along with her family, after the fall of communism. The first third of the book is about what it was like to grow up in communist Bulgaria. The rest of the book is about how capitalism has affected Bulgaria, told through a series of return visits over the years, visiting family and friends. She writes about poverty, corruption and change, some of it good, and some of it very depressing.
I enjoyed reading it and give it 4 out of 5 stars.
I enjoyed reading it and give it 4 out of 5 stars.
December 5, 2025
I was really excited about this book because it sounded similar to Lost in Translation by Eva Hoffman, one of my favourite books. I was sadly disappointed. The author does a good job of describing her childhood in Soviet-era Bulgaria and what happened post-1989. However, I found the second half of the book quite unfocused and tough to get through - the time period jumps around, and Kassabova takes us through dozens of Bulgarian towns as she returns to her homeland on various trips.
As well, Kassabova moves to New Zealand in her teens and becomes a citizen so I was excited to hear about NZ. Sadly there are only about three references to NZ despite it being a significant location in her life story.
Bulgaria 🇧🇬 ✅
As well, Kassabova moves to New Zealand in her teens and becomes a citizen so I was excited to hear about NZ. Sadly there are only about three references to NZ despite it being a significant location in her life story.
Bulgaria 🇧🇬 ✅
November 20, 2022
A memoir that doubles up as a travelogue, the book looks out from the personal toward the community. The author traverses through the history and geography of Bulgaria, giving us a kaleidoscope of personal stories heavily impacted by politics.
The memories tinged by the sweeping changes in time and space offer several moments to pause and think, yet never abandon the sense of movement and journey.
The witty narration makes it light despite the emotional baggage carried by the author.
The memories tinged by the sweeping changes in time and space offer several moments to pause and think, yet never abandon the sense of movement and journey.
The witty narration makes it light despite the emotional baggage carried by the author.
January 26, 2025
An amazing read
February 14, 2021
I'm fully prepared to admit that my dislike of this book is on me. It took me soooo long to get into this book and commit. I was looking for a text I could recommend to my high school history students to give them a glimpse into life behind the iron curtain and after the collapse of the USSR. I found a few excerpts that are really quite telling, but I would never recommend this whole book to a student.
First, the non-linear narrative is not effective. I appreciate the flashback as the author has left her home country and returns, but as that keeps happening, the choppiness hurts the narrative’s flow.
Second, and I know a dear friend of mine will sigh in resignation at this complaint that I make often, but the characterization is TERRIBLE. I don't even feel like I know Kapka. She seems wholly without personality as she drops these pebbles about her life and herself into the narrative but never returns to them. For example, her parents bickering and hinted-at divorce. We never get her feelings in relation to that. Her eating disorder is hinted at again and again, but never truly explored. Her relationship to Michael, and so many other tidbits. At one point the author admits that her grandmother has lived a life of suppressed emotion in order to deal with her homosexual husband and his angry outbursts, but I wonder if emotionless women are the order of the day in this family, because Ms. Kassabova herself seems devoid of emotion. Since I struggled to connect with her, the mention of other characters she interacted with was flat. When/if she returned to these characters, they meant nothing to me.
Third, the historical detail. I struggle to critique this because I definitely chose the book b/c I wanted some of that, but in reality, this book could have been 100 pages shorter. There's a lot of weird, robotic (remember the author is emotionless), fluff. My favorite parts were when the author would tell little vignettes about Bulgarians she would meet when returning home, but in between meeting these people there was so much extra.
I don't know. I'm sad that I didn't like this book, but there it is.
First, the non-linear narrative is not effective. I appreciate the flashback as the author has left her home country and returns, but as that keeps happening, the choppiness hurts the narrative’s flow.
Second, and I know a dear friend of mine will sigh in resignation at this complaint that I make often, but the characterization is TERRIBLE. I don't even feel like I know Kapka. She seems wholly without personality as she drops these pebbles about her life and herself into the narrative but never returns to them. For example, her parents bickering and hinted-at divorce. We never get her feelings in relation to that. Her eating disorder is hinted at again and again, but never truly explored. Her relationship to Michael, and so many other tidbits. At one point the author admits that her grandmother has lived a life of suppressed emotion in order to deal with her homosexual husband and his angry outbursts, but I wonder if emotionless women are the order of the day in this family, because Ms. Kassabova herself seems devoid of emotion. Since I struggled to connect with her, the mention of other characters she interacted with was flat. When/if she returned to these characters, they meant nothing to me.
Third, the historical detail. I struggle to critique this because I definitely chose the book b/c I wanted some of that, but in reality, this book could have been 100 pages shorter. There's a lot of weird, robotic (remember the author is emotionless), fluff. My favorite parts were when the author would tell little vignettes about Bulgarians she would meet when returning home, but in between meeting these people there was so much extra.
I don't know. I'm sad that I didn't like this book, but there it is.
December 30, 2014
Wonderful book, would recommend it to anyone who emigrated from the Eastern to the Western Europe. For all of us a bit 'lost in translation'. For all of us reconciling memories from the country we were born into the countries where we live now. Where neither country is quite that 'perfect fit'... When answer to the question 'Where are you from?' warrants a bit longer answer than just a single word...
August 14, 2021
I invite any Westerner who thinks of Communism positively to read this, not because I want you to denounce your political leanings, but because it is your duty to inform yourself about the history and reality of the society you're clamouring for.
People call this book 'biased' or 'one sided'.
It is both and of course it is: it's an account of the author's personal experiences growing up in a brutally unequal society during a violent regime. Individual life experiences tend to be like that: one-sided and biased. It wasn't Kassabova's goal to balance her life experiences with others' expectations of a balanced or favorable discussion of the finer points of life under the USSR in Bulgaria.
If you want a 'fair' portrayal of the Soviet experiment, go read all 700 pages or Svetlana Alexeivich'ss Second-Hand Time where she painstakingly collects the oral accounts of dozens of Soviet citizens from all sides of the political spectrum and life experience. You'll quickly learn that no one can agree on whether the USSR was good or bad: different people had different experiences and luck, along with the different ways they attached importance, gave attention to, or justified different facts of life (good or bad). Usually, these disagreements stem from people assuming that those with the opposite opinion to theirs are lying, exaggerating, or purposefully ignoring; you aren't the first to think that way and it's a phenomenon that's torn apart hundreds of families across the ex-Soviet world: those who hate and those who miss the USSR. It isn't propaganda, if you are aware of the formal term's definition, but an expression of different experiences.
Perhaps there were many big-picture positives omitted by Kassabova's account. That shouldn't surprise you if you know anything about Soviet history and the fact of its complex inequalities. This is where you should consider how propaganda has informed your perception and expectations of the USSR: when you roundly rejected the COMMUNISM=BAD of the West, did you keep a willingness to recognise the sincerely tragic and perverse realities of the USSR? When you began to accept positive depictions of the USSR, did you consider that most of what was allowed to exist in the USSR and what survives today are heavily-state sanctioned accounts and that you are subject to positive USSR propaganda with no real critical accounts to balance it with?
My main gripe is with how certain paragraphs seemed to jump onto the next thought, as if cut short and dropped. Still, I can sympathise with the hesitation and loss for words that I imagine this stems from. After all, speaking about one's Soviet upbringing to outsiders is a frustrating, perplexing endeavour more than anything else. You don't know what's weird and of interest, not even after a lifetime spent living elsewhere, because you were raised never knowing any differently. As for the rest... well, no one enjoys complaining or overly morbid stories; Westerners have a habit of exaggeration and it's deeply troubling to imagine people receiving your experience and writing it off as poetically maximised.
You won't find the Imagined Communist Sci Fi utopia most young Westerners seem to be consuming nowadays, but you will find an account of how the forcible implementation of vague, undefined ideals favor the corrupt, the violent, and the opportunistic.
That's the story of every extremist idealist social experiment.
People call this book 'biased' or 'one sided'.
It is both and of course it is: it's an account of the author's personal experiences growing up in a brutally unequal society during a violent regime. Individual life experiences tend to be like that: one-sided and biased. It wasn't Kassabova's goal to balance her life experiences with others' expectations of a balanced or favorable discussion of the finer points of life under the USSR in Bulgaria.
If you want a 'fair' portrayal of the Soviet experiment, go read all 700 pages or Svetlana Alexeivich'ss Second-Hand Time where she painstakingly collects the oral accounts of dozens of Soviet citizens from all sides of the political spectrum and life experience. You'll quickly learn that no one can agree on whether the USSR was good or bad: different people had different experiences and luck, along with the different ways they attached importance, gave attention to, or justified different facts of life (good or bad). Usually, these disagreements stem from people assuming that those with the opposite opinion to theirs are lying, exaggerating, or purposefully ignoring; you aren't the first to think that way and it's a phenomenon that's torn apart hundreds of families across the ex-Soviet world: those who hate and those who miss the USSR. It isn't propaganda, if you are aware of the formal term's definition, but an expression of different experiences.
Perhaps there were many big-picture positives omitted by Kassabova's account. That shouldn't surprise you if you know anything about Soviet history and the fact of its complex inequalities. This is where you should consider how propaganda has informed your perception and expectations of the USSR: when you roundly rejected the COMMUNISM=BAD of the West, did you keep a willingness to recognise the sincerely tragic and perverse realities of the USSR? When you began to accept positive depictions of the USSR, did you consider that most of what was allowed to exist in the USSR and what survives today are heavily-state sanctioned accounts and that you are subject to positive USSR propaganda with no real critical accounts to balance it with?
My main gripe is with how certain paragraphs seemed to jump onto the next thought, as if cut short and dropped. Still, I can sympathise with the hesitation and loss for words that I imagine this stems from. After all, speaking about one's Soviet upbringing to outsiders is a frustrating, perplexing endeavour more than anything else. You don't know what's weird and of interest, not even after a lifetime spent living elsewhere, because you were raised never knowing any differently. As for the rest... well, no one enjoys complaining or overly morbid stories; Westerners have a habit of exaggeration and it's deeply troubling to imagine people receiving your experience and writing it off as poetically maximised.
You won't find the Imagined Communist Sci Fi utopia most young Westerners seem to be consuming nowadays, but you will find an account of how the forcible implementation of vague, undefined ideals favor the corrupt, the violent, and the opportunistic.
That's the story of every extremist idealist social experiment.
August 4, 2022
It is a 3,5 ⭐️, but I am feeling generous for the reasons I describe below.
This book was recommended to me at the lovely bookstore “Elephant” in central Sofia during our visit to Bulgaria. The salesman mentioned a common critique of this book: it has a very bitter, sometimes also condescending, style of writing as the Bulgarian-born author returns to her home country after decades of immigration.
The first part of the book that details Kasabova's childhood and youth in socialist Bulgaria is an exciting read. The author is incredibly sincere and isn’t afraid to appear unlikeable: although only a very cruel person would judge a teenager for interesting life choices and mean it. It was especially interesting to me to compare her experiences with the accounts of my own family in the Soviet Union. The detail that struck me is the abundance of food she describes (e.g., she mentions “honeybread” for breakfast and so much fresh produce) and my heart sank as I remembered my mom’s potato-based diet. Another episode that touched me
I skimmed through several reviews on GoodReads before writing mine and focused primarily on those from Bulgarian readers. In short, they find the second part of the book, which is less of a memoir and more of an ethnographic attempt with history lessons quite unsatisfactorily in its oversimplification. Yet, as an outsider who this book was, I assume, intended for, I can say that I learned a great deal from those little sketches Kasabova paints as she travels through her home country to reconcile and find inner peace. It has awoken my interest and I would gladly read more on Balkan history now that I know of several human stories thanks to “Street without a Name”. I am especially grateful for the dialogues with the Turkish minority and her discussion of their fate during the brutal assimilation campaign known as the Revival Process in the 1980s.
This book found me in a hopeless place and gave me a lot to think about. I dream that one day I will be able to go back home just like Kasabova did and spend time reminiscing, revisiting, talking to people in my native language, and hoping (out loud) for the change to come.
This book was recommended to me at the lovely bookstore “Elephant” in central Sofia during our visit to Bulgaria. The salesman mentioned a common critique of this book: it has a very bitter, sometimes also condescending, style of writing as the Bulgarian-born author returns to her home country after decades of immigration.
The first part of the book that details Kasabova's childhood and youth in socialist Bulgaria is an exciting read. The author is incredibly sincere and isn’t afraid to appear unlikeable: although only a very cruel person would judge a teenager for interesting life choices and mean it. It was especially interesting to me to compare her experiences with the accounts of my own family in the Soviet Union. The detail that struck me is the abundance of food she describes (e.g., she mentions “honeybread” for breakfast and so much fresh produce) and my heart sank as I remembered my mom’s potato-based diet. Another episode that touched me
I skimmed through several reviews on GoodReads before writing mine and focused primarily on those from Bulgarian readers. In short, they find the second part of the book, which is less of a memoir and more of an ethnographic attempt with history lessons quite unsatisfactorily in its oversimplification. Yet, as an outsider who this book was, I assume, intended for, I can say that I learned a great deal from those little sketches Kasabova paints as she travels through her home country to reconcile and find inner peace. It has awoken my interest and I would gladly read more on Balkan history now that I know of several human stories thanks to “Street without a Name”. I am especially grateful for the dialogues with the Turkish minority and her discussion of their fate during the brutal assimilation campaign known as the Revival Process in the 1980s.
This book found me in a hopeless place and gave me a lot to think about. I dream that one day I will be able to go back home just like Kasabova did and spend time reminiscing, revisiting, talking to people in my native language, and hoping (out loud) for the change to come.
March 30, 2020
An articulate, bright author returns to her native country to bash all things Bulgarian.
Sometimes insightful and interesting, other times times navel-gazing and tiresome, Kapka spoons up a combination of history, travelogue, and Iron Curtain memoir with some questionable exaggeration and pretentious zingers. Relevant to those who have lived in Bulgaria or have some connection to (or special interest in) the country.
Sometimes insightful and interesting, other times times navel-gazing and tiresome, Kapka spoons up a combination of history, travelogue, and Iron Curtain memoir with some questionable exaggeration and pretentious zingers. Relevant to those who have lived in Bulgaria or have some connection to (or special interest in) the country.
November 16, 2021
Me ha gustado muchísimo, Kassabova ha sabido transportarme totalmente a algunos paisajes en los que he podido volver a verme.
He de decir que, si previamente no hubiese tenido unos conocimientos más amplios sobre este país y no lo hubiera visitado no sé si me habría gustado, pues la autora pulula muy ligeramente por él.
Bulgaria me parece maravillosa. Lamentablemente es un país al que hace años, siglos se viene asfixiando.
He de decir que, si previamente no hubiese tenido unos conocimientos más amplios sobre este país y no lo hubiera visitado no sé si me habría gustado, pues la autora pulula muy ligeramente por él.
Bulgaria me parece maravillosa. Lamentablemente es un país al que hace años, siglos se viene asfixiando.
August 5, 2024
*4.5
Kapka Kassabova is one of the main reasons I am moving to Bulgaria in 25 days. Thus, I feel the need to finish reading all of her books. This is her first one about Bulgaria, more of an autobiographical piece combined with travel writing. I just adore her writing. So clever and lyrical and melancholy. Some of her depictions of Bulgaria are depressing, but also a lot has changed since 2007. Either way, it was fun to read about places I could visit soon and things I have learned about.
Kapka Kassabova is one of the main reasons I am moving to Bulgaria in 25 days. Thus, I feel the need to finish reading all of her books. This is her first one about Bulgaria, more of an autobiographical piece combined with travel writing. I just adore her writing. So clever and lyrical and melancholy. Some of her depictions of Bulgaria are depressing, but also a lot has changed since 2007. Either way, it was fun to read about places I could visit soon and things I have learned about.
March 30, 2024
first half good second half bad
April 22, 2024
Hard to follow timelines - she made it seem as if she hadn't been back in so long and then talks about the other times she went back to Bulgaria?
I lost interest by the end.
I lost interest by the end.
February 24, 2018
Really enjoyed this trip through Bulgaria.
The author gives a fantastic tour of her country, in a writing style that is easy to read, yet full of emotion and pathos.
The author gives a fantastic tour of her country, in a writing style that is easy to read, yet full of emotion and pathos.
June 20, 2020
3.356/5, rounded down. This is a good book, but a few parts drone on far too long. The prose is crisp, though at times it wades into a pretentiousness I could've done without.
March 2, 2025
“Dünyalıyım”
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