Notebook written in by Andrejs Eglītis and other Latvian writers. The first entries date from 30th September, 1947, and continue up to 26th April, 1990. RTMM 470072

From left: Vera Aleksandra Ģirupniece, Biruta Ģirupniece, Helma Strēlerte, Rudīte-Veronika Strēlerte on Melluži beach, summer 1923. RTMM 421442

Veronika Strēlerte and Andrejs Johansons with their son Pāvils. 1948/1949. Photo: Unknown photographer. RTMM 416415

Eglītis and A. Johansons in Stockholm, 1960s. Photo by F. Forstmanis. RTMM 481064

Jānis Širmanis receiving the World Federation of Free Latvians Award on 18th November, 1990. RTMM p76683

Documenting in prose the age that you live in is nothing new for Latvian society. A notebook written in by Andrejs Eglītis and other Latvian writers forced into exile has been chosen as the Artefact of the Month for February. The writers took this notebook with them when they fled from Latvia to Sweden after the fall of Kurzeme in 1945. In the notebook, the exiled Latvians described their feelings in prose, verse and diary entries; today, we can use the entries of this notebook as a source of contemplation on how Latvianness and Latvia have been defined at different times.

On the title page of the notebook, Eglītis wrote: “These pages were bound in Kurzeme linen in March 1945, in Liepāja”. He also wrote: “On 30th November, 1947, during the first writers’ days of Latvians in Sweden, at a PEN Club event, I send this book into distant exile; with these first lines, I appeal to every Latvian writer – whether here, in Germany or anywhere else in the world – to continue documenting our age in prose and verse, according to any form or feeling they see fit. When we receive this book back, it will contain part of our people’s souls and struggles.”

The majority of the entries were made between 1948 and 1952. During this period, the authors document their tragic state and express a hope that they will come to see it as a process of transition. Veronika Strēlerte views it as a test from God; Andrejs Johansons emphasises the senselessness of war; Jānis Grīns, for his part, sees the emigrants as a generation that needs to change themselves and envision a different Latvia, one that is “more beautiful than before”. His thought is continued by Pēteris Ērmanis in the pages that follow, who calls for a Latvia that is “completely new and different”. Arturs Bērziņš, by contrast, describes the exiled Latvians as “taken ill by perilous ailments – intolerance, lack of trust, accusing others, and unreasonable and rapid condemnation.” He expresses the opinion that Latvian exile society cannot be divided into leaders and followers; he emphasises the necessity for the exiled Latvians to stick together and not lose their essence: “Let us tear down the wall that separates us one from another; in foreign parts, we all are unhappy people that have lost their homes and their homeland; we must stick together for the sake of our existence.” Wandering in foreign countries and longing for their homes makes the authors compare a war-free Latvia to the rest of the world, which reminds the authors of the naive and emotional state of being that they connect with their childhoods. It is the Latvia of their childhoods that embodies this new and better world.

The authors often take rather specific objects and places as being representative of Latvia. As Jānis Širmanis wrote: “We will meet by the River Jugla!” Voldemārs Dambergs, for his part, imagined hearing a piano melody – soft and simple, “evoking such distant memories”. He described Latvians as living in two realities – “one here, in exile: the external one, where we act; and the other: internal, known to us alone, where we live. The latter is our true reality.” This observation – that Latvians in exile live in the hope of uniting their internal (spiritual) reality with the physical reality of Latvia – is made by other authors as well.

Sometimes the authors would carelessly forget how young the Latvian state was, and, along with this, Latvian society’s uncertainty about its identity during the period after the Second World War. How insignificant and contradictory was the politico-social and cultural, ideological and theoretical published material related to the territory of Latvia at that time! How little global writing was translated into Latvian back then! Eglītis and his contemporaries left this changeability and contradictoriness for their imagined future Latvians to deal with.

It is interesting that the notebook has multiple entries about returning to Latvia, dated after 1992. On 26th September, 1992, Jānis Klīdzējs wrote: “Once more I am in native parts,/Once more joy blooms like in a child”. And on 15th October, 1992, Margita Gūtmane has a dialogue with herself:

“– So you don’t have a paternal home?
– I don’t.
– So you don’t have a maternal home?
– I don’t.
– So you can’t say anything about home?
– I sure can.
– What then?
– I don’t have a home.”

This entry shows that the connection to Latvia has tragically been lost, while nothing else has taken its place.

Attempts to grasp and define Latvianness do of course still continue today. For example, the majority of the authors of the novels in the series “Mēs. Latvija. 20. gadsimts” admit that their stories are really about present-day society. This begs the question whether the Latvians of the future will recognise themselves in this literature. It is also interesting to make predictions whether the sentiments of Latvians in exile will mean anything to them, and if so, why. And, if the phenomenon that we describe as “Latvianness” or “Latvia” is redefined with time and is always changing, another question is how much of this process is influenced by literary works.