A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian

 A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian by Marina Lewycka    2005 Penguin Books

the Choice:  You have to admit that the title alone makes you need to pick this book up. Another first novel and it relates to the ordeal of trying to help aging parents.

 



the reader in me: Nadia and her sister are informed by their 84-year-old father that he is planning to re-marry. The woman is half his age, has a teenage son, and wants to avoid returning to the Ukraine. Afraid she will scam their father out of his small pension, the two sisters must reconcile their differences while keeping a better eye on their dad. Of course, their father is a sweet man puttering into old-age and trying to finish writing a book about, you guessed it, the history of tractors.

the critic in me: Family relationships are handled with humour and the story is made more intriguing due to their experiences coming from the Ukraine as exiles. I loved how the author had me reading the heavy accent as if the characters were all sitting around my kitchen table (and what an interesting experience if they were at my table!). Another gem hidden in this sweet story.
You know how a reader is often disappointed by the ending of a book? Well, this ending is absolutely perfect.

the writer in me: Much of the storyline evolves through telephone conversations between Nadia, her estranged sister, and her father. I really enjoyed how this allowed so much back-story without obvious paragraphs of history. Each character was wonderfully developed to the point that I was rooting, at times, for each one. Even the voluptuous and spoiled new wife Valentina.
It struck me how easily Marina could work with the writer's tool 'Show Don't Tell'

This book inspired me: (actually this one was difficult - I started several times and had to crumple up the virtual typing paper and toss it in the waste bin. Warning: It's a disappointing cliff-hanger)

     My mother is turning 95. This is an amazing milestone so we are doing something special. Okay, for us special is not exactly a huge deal where over 40 family members from near and far get together for a weekend. There just isn’t a lot of extended family left. We should be ashamed, though, that we have never before had a birthday party for anyone.

     But Beulah’s 95th birthday is worth a celebration.

     Beulah is still very healthy and her mind is quick. Beulah still drives. This is also amazing and I often brag about her to my taxi drivers on the way to or from the airport when I visit. They can tell that I am proud of her, having that independence at her age. She is a good driver but lately she is choosing to stick closer to her regular neighbourhoods, and venture out less often. She has told us she will give up the car soon.

     My sister, Bonnie, and I travel 4 provinces smack on the final days of manic airport Christmas holiday traffic for Mom’s party. My husband and daughter also join us. The only other ‘family’ is a distant niece who lives a half hour from mom’s (more like an hour in the snow storm we are having). But about a dozen other senior citizens come to share cake and champagne. Some of these ladies, mom has known for most of her life. She is really lucky to have so many friends.

     The party is now over, champagne is gone, friends head back to their rooms for a nap before dinner. The 6 of us, family, are relaxing back in mom’s apartment, talking about the weather and Christmas’ past. Then mom turns to my sister and I, her eyes and voice take on an accusing tone.

     “And there is something I want to know,” here she pauses for a dramatic effect. “Why! Why will neither of you let me drive you to the airport? It’s as if you think I can’t drive safely. But I can.” 

     That makes the room suddenly go very quiet. My husband and daughter lean back out of the direct line of fire, and I swear they are enjoying the show. My cousin Heather’s eyes glint as they grow wide and I watch her lower jaw stretch to hang heavily amidst her double chins. She loves this, too.

     “You. And You!” Mom jabs her crooked finger at both Bonnie and I in turn, “Both of you, explain that to me.”

     It’s obvious this wrath has been stewing for a while. Maybe months. Everyone in the room knows who she is mad at and we better give her an answer. But I am speechless. Mom has never acted like the crazy senior before. She has supposedly confronted Bonnie before, but that could be described as understandable.

     They have always been like oil and water. Bonnie has all the personality traits associated with the red-headed middle child and Mom still walks on eggshells in her presence. I have heard that once in a while, Mom has unpredictably retaliated. But I am aghast that my mother is now including me in her unexpected emotional rage. With everyone’s eyes on me, even Bonnie is pleading for me to fix this, I wonder what to say.

     These are the possible things that may come out of my mouth:

-     “No, mom. It’s just the constant construction at the airport and it’s easier to leave it in the hands of a frenzied taxi driver. You know they don’t have much patience for a cautious driver!”

-     “You don’t like to drive in the dark. You don’t need to be wrestling with traffic during rush hours. It’s easier to take a taxi.”

-     “I no speakais the Anglais.”

-     “Do you remember that time you almost drove over the cement parking curb at the airport because you couldn’t figure out the lines in the road?”

-     “We let you do lots of the driving a year ago on our trip back to your hometown. But, do you remember how we almost ended up in Toronto because you wouldn’t believe us when we said you made a wrong turn?”

-     “You are a great driver. But it’s more stressful for you when driving those routes you don’t use frequently.”
-     “It’s all Bonnie’s fault. She is afraid of your driving. I still think you are a great driver....”