The Boundaries of Water

A perfect metaphor for the Balkans. That's how Kapka Kassabova defines the main characters in her new book, the Ohrid and Prespa lakes, which are separated by the mountain Galichitsa, but linked by underground rivers. In To the Lake (Janet 45), she embarks on a journey into the family history of her maternal line and, like in her novel Border, introduces readers to the complex relationships of the Balkan peninsula. Kapka Kassabova was born in Bulgaria, her family emigrated to New Zealand when she was seventeen, and she has been living in Scotland since 2005. The novel Border has been translated into more than 15 languages ​​and has received honors such as being named The Saltire Society Scottish Book of the Year and The Edward Stanford Dolman Travel Book of the Year.

Lake Ohrid, photographer: Georgi Velichkov

To the Lake deals with an extremely current topic. While you were working on it, international relations gave rise to the new name North Macedonia, and weeks before its release here, Bulgaria blocked the negotiation framework for North Macedonia's accession to the European Union.

My approach to what I set out to research is instinctive—I'm driven by internal dynamics, not external ones. Border was also not current when I started writing it, but shortly after everyone was suddenly talking about borders. My instinct as a poet and storyteller always leads me to the invisible threads and currents that are constantly present around us and within us, and only occasionally rise to the surface. That's when we call them "current." When really, that is just when they finally materialize. The relationships between mothers and daughters, men and women, the people of the Balkans, man and the lakes, man and the border, life and death – they are always current and relevant.


photo: TD

What were your first steps when you started writing To the Lake? Did you have a plan and did it change along the way?

There is always a plan, and it always changes along the way. I planned to explore the two lakes, of which Prespa was completely unknown to me, and Ohrid only slightly known from childhood visits to my grandmother Anastasia's family. So that's what I did. But what happened is that I found myself captivated by the stories of many of the lake people I met, so I told these stories. They intersect in a very fluid manner with the fates of the people in our Ohrid family. I realized that water is the element of memory – in the body of the Earth and in the human body. It is a feminine element. We are born from water and our bodies are mostly made up of water.

My books are the product of both geographical and imaginary travels. When I was going around, swimming, crossing and staying on the Ohrid and Prespa lakes, all these vivid human stories, symbols, seasons and themes began to surface. There were many surprises. For example, how difficult and even impossible it is to cross the lakes because of the absurd borders on the water – Prespa is divided by three state borders, which you're not allowed to cross by boat. And the theme of blindness and sight – both literal and figurative – proved central to the world of the Lakes and the Balkan psyche more generally. It's as if we're willfully blind to some simple things, like how alike we all are and how deeply connected we are across our absurd borders. And the lakes themselves are like eyes within the landscape. They make everything clearer.

In addition to geography, you also explore your own family roots and history. Can writing a book be an act of healing

Definitely. Both writing it and reading it. I know that the themes and stories in this book will speak directly to many readers. These topics are always relevant: what burden do we carry from our ancestors, how should we live, what do we leave behind? Everyone in the Balkans, and every family in general, has an interesting story. The highest forms of art become a kind of alchemy – turning mercury or sulfur into gold. Telling the story of family roots and dynamics is not an end in itself for me, but only a doorway into the larger truths that the Lakes can reveal. And they are a key to the Balkans, in terms of both people and nature. And the Balkans are themselves a microcosm of all human drama and adventures. In the words of Slavche Sheykhova from the last dervish tekke (monastery) on Ohrid: "The Balkans are the heart and soul of this world." In the Balkans, everything has already happened, to quote Elias Canetti on his hometown Ruschuk (Ruse). For me, the personal and the local, seen and transformed through the crystal prism of a magical place such as Ohrid-Prespa, can open up endless and exciting new horizons.

What did you add to the Bulgarian edition and why?

The chapter "Kaneo" and some additional details about the city of Ohrid, which is known – or so we like to think – to Bulgarians. This applies to Macedonia more generally – it has been known and unknown to Bulgarians since time immemorial. This is part of its draw and complexity in the collective Bulgarian consciousness. Macedonia is quite literally a Bulgarian complex, and complexes always have some kind of temporal incongruity. This is how trauma works – it makes us live somewhere in the past. This is a main theme of the book. 

You have been living in Scotland for years. How would you describe the political situation in Bulgaria to a Scot

Bulgaria's enormous potential has long been held captive by a greedy government operating on the principle of "divide, rule, pillage, trample," as a result of which a quarter of Bulgarians live or work abroad, even though they would prefer to stay in their homeland and be close to the people they love. The people in charge govern using the principles of trauma and fear – especially fear of the future. One of the central images in To the Lake is Saturn eating his own children for fear that they will outlive him. The children of Bulgaria, as well as Macedonia, have many bitemarks on them, but they won't give up.

If a Bulgarian publisher asked you to recommend a book from this year that they should publish, it would be...

It did not come out this year, but it is eternally relevant, because our only home, the Earth, holds the key to our survival as a species, physically and spiritually, and we have forgotten to preserve and cherish it: Love Letter to the Earth by Thich Nhat Hanh.

Can you tell us more about your next book, Elixir? Has the pandemic affected your work on it?

The idea for Elixir came to me last year. It began with the Nevrokop valley of the Mesta River and the villages there. Despite all the restrictions this year, I was able to spend some time in the Mesta Mountains. I didn't manage to cross the border with Greece and follow the river's path to its delta in the Aegean Sea, but that opened other doors for me and they might take me in an unexpected direction. This is the very creative principle upon which all life is based, not just writing and creating. The pandemic forces everyone to approach life in the most creative way possible. This is not always easy, but it opens new doors.

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Kapka Kassabova will take part in the online edition of the Sofia International Literary Festival on December 11 at 8:00 p.m. You can watch a livestream of the conversation with her on the festival page.

You can buy To the Lake from the Booklover platform with a discount for preorders.

Translated by Maria Vassileva