Katarzyna Chmielewska, Agnieszka Mrozik, and Grzegorz Wołowiec, eds., Reassessing Communism: Concepts, Culture, and Society in Poland, 1944–1989, Budapest: Central European University Press, 2021, vii +433 pp., $105.00 (hardback), ISBN 978-963-386-378-7.

Book review by Katarzyna Stańczak-Wiślicz

Institute of Literary Research, Polish Academy of Sciences

Communist studies as a promising field of research opens the floor for lively discussions that go beyond methodological questions. Contemporary political concerns and, in the case of postcommunist countries, historical memory also play a role, leading on the one hand to communist nostalgia and on the other to the strong anti-communist attitude that dominates public discourse and results in a mass rejection of the legacy of the previous epoch, including the aesthetic exclusion of its artistic production and canons of beauty.

The Center for Cultural and Literary Studies of Communism, which was founded on 30 April 2011 at the Institute of Literary Research, Polish Academy of Sciences, grew out of the need to challenge this approach, and represents revisionist trends developed by the younger generation of researchers. According to the declaration of its founders, the center adopts a perspective that focuses primarily on revolutionary programs of emancipation, upward social mobility, cultural advancement, and the formation of new elites.

The edited volume Reassessing Communism: Concepts, Culture, and Society in Poland, 1944–1989 addresses all the above-mentioned issues, and according to founders’ statement, engages in a polemic with the totalitarian paradigm still present in studies of communism. First, it offers a broad understanding of communism as a set of ideas and practices aimed at the revolutionary transformation of society. This concept of communism as a multidimensional revolutionary project provides the framework for the narrative. Second, the authors who contributed to the volume do not define power only in terms of political categories, but also explore the meanings of symbolic and discursive power as manifested in expert discourses, journalism, and popular culture. This approach allows them to challenge the narrative of communism as a system imposed from above without the participation of society. Instead, they are able to show, as Krisztina Fehérváry has pointed out, that the communist state was not a monolithic entity, but was made up of individuals and organizations with sometimes divergent interests and structural conflicts.¹ Third, the authors regard communism as a “normal” period in Polish history, emphasizing not only the ruptures, but also the continuities with both the interwar years and the times of post-1989 transformation. Finally, and this is a new perspective in the study of communism, they consider anti-communism as a significant perspective for their analysis. They see it not only as an opposition or counter-discourse, but as a field in which the communists carried out their political and social project.

The volume was first published in Polish in 2018. Although the English version contains all the texts collected in the Polish volume, it is organized differently. The new volume is divided into three parts, organized by three main topics, which is clearer than the four-part Polish original. Their titles, “Critique of the Dominant Narrative,” “New Analyses of Communism,” and “New Analyses of Anti-Communism,” announce the methodological approach adopted by the authors. Despite different theoretical backgrounds, from literary to film studies, what they have in common is a focus on critical discourse analysis and inspiration from the works of Pierre Bourdieu and Michel Foucault, and Hayden White's narrative history theory. This is the strength of the volume, since it allows the authors to analyze sources that have not been sufficiently explored in historical research, such as popular literature for adolescent girls or popular films. On the other hand, the focus on discourses can be seen as a weakness, since it resulted in the tendency to draw general conclusions based on the analysis of single sources.

The book is clearly organized. A comprehensive introduction addresses the most important methodological questions, as well as providing a brief overview of the main trends in communist studies. This is followed by the first and also the shortest part, consisting of only two articles. Grzegorz Wołowiec and Anna Artwińska focus on the critical analysis of two influential narratives about communism that contributed to the dominance of anti-communist attitudes in the public debate. Artwińska offers a vigorous interpretation of Teresa Torańska's Oni (Them): Stalin's Polish Puppets (1985) as a crucial element of the founding myth of anti-communism, while Wołowiec's analysis of the ideological conflict between communism and nationalism is based mostly on a sharp critique of Marcin Zaremba's book Komunizm, legitymizacja, nacjonalizm: Nacjonalistyczna legitymizacja władzy komunistycznej w Polsce (Communism-Legitimacy-Nationalism: Nationalist Legitimization of the Communist Regime in Poland) (2011 in Polish, 2019 in English), regarded as being set in a totalitarian paradigm in the studies on communism.

The second and most extensive part of the book focuses mainly on analyzing the discourses that influenced and shaped the social reality in Poland after 1945. The contributors to this section examine the mechanisms that constructed and legitimized political power, analyzing how individuals from different social groups responded to the state's emancipatory policies, to the project of communist modernization, and to the successive political shifts, from the radical social transformation under Stalinism to the consumer revolution of the 1970s. In one of the most important texts in this part and in the entire volume, Katarzyna Chmielewska first discusses communism itself, referring to its pre-1939 connotations as an illegal, anti-traditional, and, above all, foreign (alien to Polish culture), rebellious movement, and offers its broad definition as both an ideological project and a cultural and social practice developed under specific historical circumstances. She then introduces and explains concepts and categories used throughout the volume, such as historical memory and the politics of history, commonly used in contemporary rightist discourses. Arguing that the politics of history was produced not only by communists but also by other social actors competing for symbolic power, she demonstrates the complexity of the post-1945 political realm. The dynamics of the communist project of transforming Polish society is the main focus of the texts by Agnieszka Mrozik and Anna Sobieska. Mrozik also opens new perspectives in the study of the communist period in Poland by pointing out the lack of reflection on the role of men in the post-war project of gender equality.

The last part of the volume examines anti-communism as both a crucial element of the critical discourses about the socialist social transformation and the field in which the communist project was developed. The opening text, by Anna Zawadzka, explores the phenomenon described by the author as an “intelligentsia counterrevolution,” which actually explains the process of reproduction of class hierarchies based on the dominant role of the cultural values represented by the Polish intelligentsia. Kajetan Mojsak, in his analysis of the two prominent novels Miazga (Pulp) by Jerzy Andrzejewski and Nierzeczywistość (The Question of Reality) by Kazimierz Brandys, looks at the new literary trends developed within the framework of the oppositional discourse of the intelligentsia in the 1970s. Krzysztof Gajewski, based on the analysis of a single samizdat publication, argues that what can be found in the oppositional intelligentsia discourse of the 1980s was an apology for liberal capitalism, which was contrary to the socialist category of social justice. Taking into account Brian Porter-Szűcs's² research on communist economy in Poland, in which he demonstrates that the roots of liberal thinking were within the economics departments, planning institutes, and economic advisory committees of the socialist state itself, it can open a fruitful discussion.

In general, the volume has the potential to stimulate debate on communism as an ideology and state socialism as a political and social system implemented after 1945. The authors succeeded in bringing a new perspective with their focus on anticommunism as a competing project, a mindset, or a field in which the post-war modernization project was carried out. They used extensive primary source research to demonstrate how the revolutionary communist project was formulated and developed by various social actors, and how it was understood, accepted, contested, rejected, or discussed. The depiction of the multidimensionality and complexity of communism is a great value of the book.

Ideas and concepts are central for the volume's narrative, with less attention paid to social practices, which may leave the reader with a slight feeling of dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, the volume will be a valuable contribution not only to communist studies and the history of Poland 1945–1989, but also to the history of ideologies.

Agata Jakubowska, Sztuka i emancypacja kobiet w socjalistycznej Polsce: Przypadek Marii Pinińskiej-Bereś (Art and Emancipation of Women in Socialist Poland: The Case of Maria Pinińska-Bereś), Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2022, 348 pp., PLN 54 (paperback), ISBN 978-83-235-5647-3.

Book review by Dorota Jarecka

Institute of Literary Research, Polish Academy of Sciences, Warsaw

Agata Jakubowska is a professor at the Institute of Art History at the University of Warsaw, where she leads or co-leads international research projects such as “Globalizing the History of Women's Art Exhibitions,” which is aimed at examining transnational women's exhibitions since 1918 that were organized in Poland or carried out with the participation of Polish women artists. Another is “Narrating Art and Feminism: Eastern Europe and Latin America,” a series of virtual research seminars co-led by Andrea Giunta of the University of Buenos Aires in Argentina that form part of the initiative “Connecting Art Histories” at the Getty Foundation Los Angeles. As of 2022, Jakubowska is also conducting an online seminar in the Polish language, “Historie sztuki kobiet” (Women's art histories), a grassroots initiative that functions without an institutional framework and is open not only to scholars, but also to art critics and curators active outside the academic system.

Jakubowska's output has immensely contributed to the feminist revision of art history in Poland. In 2004, she published Na marginesach lustra: Ciało kobiece w pracach polskich artystek (On the Margins of the Mirror: The Female Body in the Works of Polish Women Artists), in which she discusses representations of the body in the work of post-war Polish women artists, in line with Luce Irigaray's reflections on the feminine and changing the course of the hitherto formalist or purely political narrative of art history in Poland.¹ This was followed in 2008 by a monograph on the Polish-French sculptor Alina Szapocznikow, Portret wielokrotny dzieła Aliny Szapocznikow (Multiple Portrait of the Work of Alina Szapocznikow), which challenged the mythology of the “little woman harnessing a big stone,” showing Szapocznikow's work as a deliberately created self-portrait and sort of an artistic autobiography.² Step by step, Jakubowska moved to the English-language publishing circuit, editing internationally distributed works, such as Zofia Kulik: Methodology, My Love,³ and All-women Art Spaces in Europe in the Long 1970s (together with Katy Deepwell).⁴

Her recent book, Sztuka i emancypacja kobiet w socjalistycznej Polsce: Przypadek Marii Pinińskiej-Bereś (Art and Emancipation of Women in Socialist Poland: The Case of Maria Pinińska-Bereś), develops the basic theoretical and methodological threads of her previous work. Maria Pinińska-Bereś was born in 1931, lived after the war in Krakow, and made her debut in the 1960s. She died in 1999. In her sculpture installations she played with bodily forms, using pink color and soft, plastic materials as well as handwriting and elements of performance. Jakubowska traces the evolution of Pinińska-Bereś’s art, weaving it into the social history of women by connecting it to public discourses in socialist Poland on health, beauty, and sexuality. Moreover, Jakubowska argues that the local “discursive space” should be the starting point for approaching women's creation under socialism in general. For example, Maria Pinińska-Bereś’s 1972 sculpture, with the sarcastic title Czy kobieta jest człowiekiem? (Is a woman a human being?), depicting a swimming suit filled with a woman's body that thus becomes commodified, could be decoded in the context of the “moderate consumerism” of this period.⁵ Jakubowska calls for a contextual and materialist reading of Pinińska-Bereś’s art, referring to the aesthetic ideas of Jacques Rancière. For Pinińska-Bereś, adapting unusual sculptural materials and artistic tools was a way of protesting against the dominant order by making an intervention into the common public sphere, which has been called by the French philosopher the “distribution of the sensible.”⁶ According to Jakubowska, Pinińska-Bereś’s specific use of materials “made it possible for a woman to appear in the field of the visible.”⁷

The demand to read art created by women under socialism in the context of discussions in their own societies implies much more than simply an appreciation of locality. Namely, it is about reversing the relationship between the so-called center and the periphery. Citing Kalliopi Minioudaki, Jakubowska argues against reducing all feminist art created under socialism to mere manifestations of the influence of the Western women's liberation movement.⁸ She denounces the positioning of female subjects from non-Western areas as passive: They may accept or reject Western feminism, but they are unable to create anything of their own. There is a certain procedure of a “feminist verification,” she claims, which is based on “inscribing” women from the region into the global history of feminist art, provided that they meet the criteria of feminism developed in the US and Western Europe.⁹ Her conceptual counterpoint would be “emancipation,” and its history in socialist countries is still to be revealed.

Jakubowska's second major demand is to elaborate on the issue of women's attitude toward the socialist revolution. She challenges Polish philosopher Andrzej Leder's assumption that the social revolution in Poland after the war was passively (unconsciously) accepted by society at large and thus “overlooked.” She claims that social revolution concerning the emancipation of women was actively experienced.¹⁰ Attributing agency to women under socialism puts her among the critics of the totalitarian paradigm, and the “anti-communist” historical approach that sees the entire era of socialism as nothing but an ocean of ruins. Jakubowska supports Kristen Ghodsee's argument that justice should be done to local processes of emancipation, and that socialism provided room for such activity,¹¹ similar to those put forth by scholars such as Małgorzata Fidelis,¹² Magdalena Grabowska,¹³ Agnieszka Mrozik and Anna Artwińska,¹⁴ or Beata Hock.¹⁵ Women emancipated themselves behind the Iron Curtain; moreover, they were aware of this and voiced it through art.

After Donald Trump's inauguration in January 2017, a Women's March was held in Washington, DC, where women wearing pink hats took to the streets, forming a “sea of pink.” This was a subversive use of color, in which pink, a symbol of women's subordination to the patriarchal order, was intercepted and magnified, turning it into its opposite. Pink was also a leading motif in Maria Pinińska-Bereś’s art from the 1960s to the 1990s. She used it—in the same way—as a symbol of emancipation. The perspective proposed by Jakubowska implies an intellectual experiment of incorporating the art of Central and Eastern European women into the global history of the feminist movement, thus neutralizing the divisions imposed by the conceptual presence of the Iron Curtain in women's history. In the history of emancipation, as proposed by Jakubowska, American women activists created the next stage of the revolution, which had its conscious stage in the 1960s, and also happened in the People's Republic of Poland.

Jakubowska's volume consists of fifty-two short chapters, each devoted to a specific work or group of works by the artist. It is concise, precisely structured, and addressed to scholars, art historians, art critics, as well as social historians of the socialist period of Central and Eastern Europe. Written and published in Polish, once it is translated it will have the potential to be appreciated by a wider international audience.

Przemysław Wielgosz, ed., Ludowa historia kobiet (The people's history of women), series: Ludowa historia, Warszawa: Wydawnictwo RM, 2023, 255pp., 44.99 zł (€10) (paperback), ISBN 978-83-8151-215-2.

Book review by Katarzyna Chmielewska

Institute of Literary Research, Polish Academy of Sciences

Ludowa historia kobiet (The people's history of women) is an important book, and not only for the academic world. It takes a special place among works presenting the popular “people's history” trend in Polish historical research. Contemporary researchers of this kind of historiography assume that the still-important paradigm, focusing on the history of socially privileged groups (kings, nobility, intelligentsia), overlooks significant areas of the past, and creates a false consciousness of social belonging. As some researchers (Adam Leszczyński, Kacper Połocki, and Michał Rauszer among others) declare, 90 percent of Polish society has a lower-class background, but this fact has not served as the starting point of social identity. The “people's history” current is therefore not just a sphere of academic research, but an identity intervention, as well as an activity in the area of social and cultural memory. It is also a part of memory studies. The gendered approach to people's history does all of this in a more profound way—attempting to reconstruct and analyze the situation of the “majority of the greater half” (“większość większej połowy” as put by Przemysław Wielgosz), using sometimes scarce sources, and overcoming numerous methodological conditions.

Ludowa historia kobiet is a collection of intersectional texts—combining gender, class, and social themes and perspectives. The chronological scope is huge—from the thirteenth century to the present. With such an ambitious objective, it is difficult to expect this to be an academic synthesis, a “monograph of the problem,” or a synthetic presentation of the situation of women in Poland, although a general picture of the situation emerges from the collection of fourteen papers. The chapters are united by constant reference to the continuously changing patriarchal framework, sometimes surprisingly durable (for example, against the social revolution after World War II), as Malgorzata Fidelis demonstrates in her contribution “W sercu industrializacji: Robotnice w XIX i XX wieku” (In the heart of industrialization: Women workers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries). What is common above all, present in almost all texts, is women's agency, the attempts to go beyond the patriarchal schema, to win a separate place, to create space for deciding their lives. As Alicja Urbanik-Kopeć and Anna Dobrowolska point out in their text on sex work:

Regardless of the changing political systems, the history of sex work in Poland is the history of women of the lower social classes. Women usually silenced, erased from the sources, oriented and stripped of their causality by state institutions and then by historians. It is a story of class violence, but also a story of resistance and solidarity. (81)

This observation can also be applied to the other issues and areas of research in Ludowa historia kobiet.

The book is not an academic synthesis either, in the sense that in many cases it only sets the directions of research, represents the beginning of a project rather than its conclusion, and announces paradigmatic changes. Such is the case with the above-mentioned text by Urbanik-Kopeć and Dobrowolska, “Awanturniczki: Ludowa historia pracy seksualnej w XIX i XX wieku” (Brawlers: A people's history of sex work in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries), although the researchers are recognized experts in the discipline. Sometimes the texts are fragments of larger wholes, or summaries of broader studies, as in the case of “Bieżenki 1915 roku” (Women refugees from 1915) by Aneta Prymaka-Oniszk.

The authors represent various research centers—they work not only in Poland, but also in the United States and Great Britain. They engage in different disciplines: sociology, ethnography, cultural studies, and cultural anthropology, enriching the traditional methods of academic historiography, paving new research paths. The book includes analytical papers—Monika Piotrowska-Marchewa, “Nauczycielki ludowe (1850–1939)” (Women people's teachers 1850–1939)—and synthetic chapters—Małgorzata Kołacz-Chmiel, “Kobieta chłopska w późnośredniowiecznej Polsce” (Peasant woman in late medieval Poland). It includes the classic scientific dissertation—Anna Sosnowska's “Polki, Żydowki, amerykańskie migrantki przemysłowe” (Polish women, Jewish women, American industrial migrants)—and historical reportage—Olga Gitkiewicz's “Pieśni niezbędne do przeżycia: Niezapisana historia opieki” (Songs necessary for survival: An unwritten history of care). The volume also offers essays—Magdalena Toboła-Feliks’ “Jędze, gadaczki, szkodnice: Jak budowano narracje kreujące postać czarownicy” (Female whine, chatterbox, pest: How narratives creating the figure of the witch were constructed). For the most part, the contributions engage with a local perspective, focused on the Polish context, but there are also chapters in a global and comparative perspective (e.g., Fidelis).

The collection is organized in three sections: Praca i pozycja społeczna (Work and social position)—about peasant women in the Middle Ages, worker farmers, maids, sex workers, people's teachers, and caregivers; Tożsamości (Identities)—dealing with witches, queer, and young women in communist Poland; Sytuacje i doświadczenia (Situations and experiences)—discussing violence, forced and voluntary migration, and reproductive rights.

It is also a great merit of the collection that a book dedicated to the “majority of the larger half” found room for a story about the situation of various minorities, not only ethnic (Jewish women) and labor (sex workers) but also sexual. The later, the queer, is presented by the text of the only male author: Tomasz Wiślicz, “Niewidoczne: Jak squeerować ludową historię kobiet okresu przednowoczesnego?” (Invisible: How to queer a people's history of women of the pre-modern period?). The diversity of poetics and genres is a great strength of this book. Surprisingly, the synthetic historical academic writing does not always work. In the chapter by Małgorzata Kołacz-Chmiel, author of the otherwise excellent work Mulier honesta et laboriosa. Kobieta w rodzinie chłopskiej poźnośredniowiecznej Małopolski (Woman in a peasant family in post-medieval Małopolska) (Wydawnictwo: UMCS, 2018), lacks precisely the analytical layer, analysis, or at least the citation of sources on the basis of which the author arrives at correct though predictable conclusions.

Interestingly, the story told by Ludowa historia kobiet, so stretched out in time, presents not only the “long duration” and therefore the persistence of patterns of cultural subordination, but also the striking similarity of situations altered by time. Above all, the volume brings out variable forms of resistance among individuals and groups, attempting to find a voice, to cope with complex situations conditioned by double dependence (gender and class). It shows that submission to power and authority does not mean only passivity and the subordinate relationship—a subordinate identity.

The book could be of interest for sociologists, anthropologists, historians, for both researchers and students. However, it is intended not only for the academic field. The entire collection is written in a clear and accessible language and offers valuable information and perspectives for anyone interested in Polish gender history.

Hana Krutílková, Disciplinované buřičky: Ženy v politických stranách na Moravě do roku 1914 (Disciplined agitators: Women in political parties in Moravia before 1914), Brno: Matice Moravská, 2022, 368 pp, 312 Kč (hardback), ISBN 978-80-87709-31-3.

Book review by Jitka Gelnarová,

Department of Modern Czech History, National Museum, Prague

Disciplinované buřičky: Ženy v politických stranách na Moravě do roku 1914 (Disciplined agitators: Women in political parties in Moravia before 1914) by historian Hana Krutílková analyses the process of women's involvement in the structures of Czech mass political parties in Moravia before World War I in the context of the multiethnic Habsburg monarchy. It focuses specifically on the Czech-speaking environment—the term “Czech” refers to parties that defined themselves as Czech or Czecho-Slavic.

I consider the publication to be a landmark work both in terms of gender and women's history, and in terms of what is commonly called “political history” (in this case, the history of political partisanship). I find it essential for several reasons: the first is its geographical focus on Moravia and Silesia. Existing research on the pre-war public activities of women in the area of the so-called Czech lands has focused primarily on the Czech-speaking environment of Prague, a story that features well-known “great women” active in Prague (Eliška Krásnohorská, Františka Plamínková, etc.) and “great events” taking place in Prague or Bohemia (e.g., the founding of the Minerva Gymnasium, the first girls’ gymnasium in Central Europe, or the election of Božena Viková-Kunětická to the Bohemian Provincial Assembly as the first woman to serve in a [regional] parliament in Central Europe). Women's activities in Moravia and Silesia have received comparatively less attention. Like the German-speaking women in the Czech lands, women active in Moravia and Silesia are, in the history of women's activism in the so-called Czech lands, in the position of an add-on, those who are not fully integrated into the story. The limitation of the author's current research to the Czech-language environment for heuristic reasons is, in my opinion, justified (although I would be in favor of this definition appearing in the title or subtitle itself).

Another reason that I consider the book an important work is its focus on women in political parties. While the agency of women in women's associations and collectives, including collectives focused on women's suffrage, has been the subject of many studies, the agency of women in political parties—meaning mainstream, gender-mixed political structures—has received much less attention. It is as if it were a bit of a “no man's land,” a space “somewhere in between” that has not been sufficiently addressed either by historians of political parties, who consider women's agency in parties and the gendered dimensions of party functioning to be outside their main interest, or by historians of the history of pro-women activism and women's movements, for whom political parties may represent less clear-cut terrain in terms of women's agency and the advancement of women's interests than purely women's structures. Entering into this complicated terrain has enabled the author to convey the agency of women in Moravia at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in its ideological diversity. Krutílková traces the activities of women within the five political currents active there: People's-Populist, Social Democratic, National Social, Catholic, and Agrarian. She focuses on the period from the 1890s onward, when women's public activity in Moravia became politicized.

The publication, which is the result of many years of research by the author, is based on very precise heuristic work, analysis, and interpretation of archival and printed sources. At the same time, it employs concepts from the field of gender and feminist political science. And it is precisely this connection that makes the publication unique in the context of Czech historiography.

Krutílková’s conceptualization of women's political activity in the party and her definition of what can be regarded as political activity (at a time when women did not have the right to vote) are extremely important. The author very aptly points out that while workers’ political participation (when they did not have the right to vote) is not questioned, “in the case of women, we are subject to a certain tradition of viewing their activities as apolitical” (11).

Krutílková shows that political parties in Moravia at the time created space for women to be active in their structures (which did not mean that these parties did not have an ambivalent attitude towards women's suffrage). The author focuses on the extent and forms of political participation (she works with the concepts of political participation and representation, gender audit, tokenism, critical mass, etc.). She shows parties as systems of linkages at different levels, as structures of which satellite organizations, youth organizations, or trade unions were an integral part. Women's political activity in the party took various forms, with the boundaries between the public and private spheres often blurring. Krutílková’s research shows that the parties were characterized by a gendered division of labor, whether it was about issues or activities and their hierarchy. Women in the party primarily performed service activities. However, according to the author, these activities must be perceived as political activities. I find the author's use of Lester W. Milbrath's concept of political activity, which distinguishes three levels of political activity—from spectator at the lowest to transitional to gladiatorial at the highest—to be very supportive in this regard. Krutílková shows that in the context of a political party, activities such as organizing entertainments whose proceeds would go to the party, baking cakes to celebrate May Day, cleaning the church, leaving the church, or participating in a public exercise were also political. These activities were necessary for the party, or they were carried out for the benefit of the party. The author convincingly argues that “the assessment of these activities as apolitical or traditional is no longer tenable” (302–303).

Krutílková’s research is situated at the intersection of women's history and gender history. First, it traces the agency of women in political parties. Second, it analyses the various conceptualizations of femininity in the discourse of political parties as they mobilize women to work for the party, and the mechanisms of this party mobilization of women in general. It shows that different parties operated with different ideas of the “new woman” while mobilizing women. The author also points out that the role of women in political parties was based on their role in the national movement. She introduces the concept of the “political mother,” which can be seen as a kind of continuation of the concept of the “mother of the nation” in the differentiated party system of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

The publication invites comparisons on both synchronic and diachronic levels. It is particularly interesting to compare the ways in which political parties mobilized women before World War I and after the establishment of Czechoslovakia, when women gained the right to vote and represented the new half of the electorate that needed to be fought for.

As stated above, I consider the publication to be a pioneering Czech-language work in the field of women's and gender history as well as the historiography of political parties. Therefore, I firmly believe that the author will make the main conclusions of her publication available to foreign readers in—at least—an article written in English.

The book is a good read for those interested in the possibilities and forms of women's political action at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, whether within the space of the multinational Habsburg monarchy or within the more general European context. It should appeal to scholars, students, and others interested in the history of political parties in general, as the book brings to light persons, activities, and mechanisms that have received little attention in the history of political partisanship.

Věra Sokolová, Queer Encounters with Communist Power: Non-Heterosexual Lives and the State in Czechoslovakia, 1948–1989, Prague: Karolinum Press, 2021, 242 pp., 380 CZK (e-book), ISBN: 9788024652009.

Book review by Rasa Navickaitė

University of Vienna

This book is a welcome addition to LGBTQ history, women's history, history of sexuality and sexual science, and the history of private life under communism in state-socialist Czechoslovakia. Based on extensive archival research and oral history interviews, it documents the lives of queer people and their various interactions with the state. Through meticulously careful analysis and with respect for the agency of her research subjects, Věra Sokolová shows just how diverse the experiences of queer people were in that period, and how the distribution of power under state socialism was far less straightforward than we tend to think. The focus on women's stories is also a timely choice, helping to dispel some predominant myths about women's sexuality and their relation to the state.

The book is divided into seven chapters, including an introduction and a conclusion. Chapters two and three provide a theoretical and historical contextualization for the study of queer experiences under communism. Especially important is chapter three, which focuses on the role of Czechoslovak sexology for the moderate emancipation of LGBTQ people over the socialist period. Sokolová shows how vocal and proactive sexologists were in the partial decriminalization of homosexuality in 1961. The relative scientific freedom and progressive approach to human sexuality by the Czechoslovak sexology school has captured historians’ attention recently and questioned the usual Western-centered narratives of LGBTQ emancipation (see, for example, work by Kateřina Lišková and Kate Davison).¹

Sokolová praises Czechoslovak sexologists even further. Without idealizing sexual science, and while noting its heteronormativity, sexism, and at times unethical research techniques, she still shows sexologists as the champions of the homosexual and transgender cause under state socialism. In the period between the 1950s and the 1980s, she writes, Czechoslovak sexologists “paved the way . . . for the gradual emancipation of homosexual subjectivity” (76). Not only in Prague, but across the country, many sexologists believed that their task was not to convert people to heterosexuality, but to help them strengthen “the homosexual consciousness” (79), something that was appreciated by the community.

Chapters four, five, and six are focused on the analysis of individual experiences of queer people and present the findings of extensive oral history research (fifty-four interviews in total) with people born in Czechoslovakia between 1929 and 1952. Chapter four focuses on the childhood and youth of LGBTQ people living under state socialism, showing how the primary source of their experience of otherness was not the communist state as much as the homophobic views of their families and the society around them. Girls and boys encountered strict and heteronormative gender roles while growing up, which forced them to develop strategies of adaptation in order to avoid being bullied by other children and adults—something that makes this particular state-socialist context comparable to the better-researched Western contexts. Sokolová’s analysis also shows how the Soviet Union apparently actively resisted any liberalization of the views on homosexuality in its Eastern European satellites, and it was only due to the proactive decisions of local experts and leaders that a more relaxed attitude was possible (136). Moreover, due to the relative openness of Czechoslovakia to the West, queer people had access to some of the Western queer culture staples, such as the classic 1928 lesbian novel The Well of Loneliness.² The novel had such an important role for Czechoslovak lesbians that its title was even used as a code to indicate homoerotic intention in same-sex advertisements placed in popular Communist magazines (159).

Chapters five and six are dedicated to understanding the strategies by which LGBTQ people lived in Czechoslovakia and navigated the unwritten rules of the political system and the hierarchies of power. Despite partial decriminalization, the communist state in Czechoslovakia, similarly to Poland, found other tools for harassment of homosexual people. However, Sokolová shows that a person's queerness would only become an excuse for state harassment if the person was also deemed anti-communist. For this reason, LGBTQ people had at their disposal a variety of different tactics for surviving and even flourishing within the system. Some of them managed to use their Communist Party membership or closeness to power to escape condemnation and discrimination, while for others their political bravado resulted in life-long homophobic harassment. Sokolová clearly shows just how subjective and personalized were the ways in which individuals could decide to deal with the pressures of ideology and the watchful eye of the state in Czechoslovakia.

Sokolová’s book shows that homosexuality remained a taboo topic in communist Czechoslovakia even despite the normalization attempts by sexologists and a relatively relaxed state approach, in comparison to the Soviet Union, for example. She also makes it clear that this did not prevent LGBTQ people from exercising various degrees of agency and leading diverse private and public lives. The book contributes to our understanding of the workings of power, and the role of individual decision making in the complex social processes of LGBTQ repression and emancipation under Communism.

Tanya Petrovich, Utopia of the Uniform: Affective Afterlives of the Yugoslav People's Army, Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2024, 256 pp, ebook, ISBN: 978-1-4780-2780-5.

Book review by Ralitsa Muharska

Sofia University St Kliment Ohridski

Something like a partiality disclaimer seems to be in order first in this review. I have to say that I relate to the themes and subject matter of the research presented in Utopia of the Uniform: Affective Afterlives of the Yugoslav People's Army in an empathetic way: though I am from a neighboring country (Bulgaria), like the people in it, I belong to a generation which possesses the indelible knowledge of what it meant to have its entire male population spend years of their lives (in Bulgaria's case two in the army, three in the navy, or 1.5 after higher education) “serving the Motherland” in the conscript army.

Like all the socialist countries / communist regimes from the sphere dominated by the Soviet empire (referred on this side of the Iron Curtain in propaganda parlance as the “socialist camp”), Bulgaria spent the entire period of the Cold War putting enormous effort and resources into the militarization of its social life and culture. That process must have been very similar to what was going on across the border in Yugoslavia, even though, unlike Bulgaria, Yugoslavia did not belong either to that camp or to its military alliance. Yugoslavia then became the European country that experienced the most tragically extreme struggle with its totalitarian past. Still, though unique, its path was also indicative of the nature of both socialism and postsocialism, of totalitarian regimes and the flawed democracies that they turned into . . . or did they?

The results of the communist ideological conditioning of the population can be clearly felt to this day. Stepping out of that mentality has been problematic and very difficult in my country as well. While Bulgaria (barely) avoided passing through the immeasurably traumatic and destructive societal experience of full-blown civil war, Yugoslavia suffered almost beyond belief. That accounts for the relevance of Tanya Petrovic's book and its significance, even apart from its scholarly merit.

In Utopia of the Uniform, Petrovic sets herself an analytical task of both sophistication and scale that is hard to encompass in a brief comment such as a journal review. The book taps a very wide spectrum of theoretical tools/angles/approaches. This fact is justified by the author's attempt—and success—in encompassing events, experiences, sociocultural factors, and levels of analysis, ranging all the way from personal and local (ethnic) to national, regional, and international. The material under scrutiny is as multifarious as these levels: official narratives, memoirs and testimonies of a personal nature, interviews, and other materials that describe the everyday experiences of conscript soldiers; visual material, documents, and artifacts connected with the military shed light on its norms of behavior, its rituals, or, as the author makes clear, the form(s) of its existence and life. Also, a mass of factual, or sometimes, fictional, stuff provides wider contextual perspectives.

As for the level of theoretical complexity—it is really awe-inspiring. The most analytically effective concepts include those of narrative, memory, trauma, affect, masculinity (or, more generally, gender), (the) past—and the future, performativity, transitology, and (post)socialism, to name but a few. A web of theoretical discourses is woven in the text, the soundness of which leaves the feeling of safety with the authorial control it displays. It is reassuring. The participation in a large-scale conversation on what could be called the postsocialist condition, very meaningful and adequate as scholarly discussion goes, is one of the significant aspects of this book's achievement. Apropos of the term “socialist/socialism”: in my opinion, that term could do with some more attention, as it functions in different terminological usages. The way it was used in the regime's official discourses differs from the ways it is used in political theory, and when one mentions “European socialisms” the question of meaning gains relevance. Also, the concept of masculinity/masculinities could be connected with the role of its warrior form as that part of the foundation of communist ideology that runs through the entire sociocultural environment of the regime, even outside the army. Its manifestations in representing heroes, heroism, and heroics, as well as “our heroic folk,” seem in tune with the discussion in Utopia.

It seems the main theoretical directions the analysis follows run mostly along the memory—affect—trauma—nostalgia line. One issue of importance that I had difficulty comprehending, however, is that of “lost possible futures,” first mentioned in relation to the book's main theses and reiterated further on. That loss presumably sets off the “stillness of the aftermath” (after the dissolution of the federation)—which, to my mind, is at odds with the way the situation is perceived from the outside, what with that dissolution opening perspectives of European integration and ensuing economic opportunities, as well as NATO membership and the like. But perhaps the different ways those developments have played out in each newly formed country is still an issue too sensitive to discuss and needs more time. The only one among the newly “independent” countries that is not pleased with this aftermath/afterlife seems to be Serbia, understandably so as it used to be considered the “center” of the federation that followed the Soviet Union's imperial model. After the breakup, from the outside, at least, things have seemed to be rather lively, the opposite of stillness, in that territory. The ex-periphery has been leaning toward the west and Europe, while Serbia, understandably, leans in the opposite direction.

Sometimes the ways that the army is referred to in official (propaganda) discourses and the ways people talk about it coincide—that, too, puzzles me. I also have difficulty with ex-soldiers speaking of the army as a utopian space—my experience rather is of ex-conscripts speaking of it as oppressive; what eludes me here is a clearer positive–negative dividing line in such stories, as soldiers’ experiences and memories of it were apparently diverse. The utopian aspect of army life is in the book's title.

The language of official discourses is sometimes indiscriminately taken to be on par with the discourses of everyday speech; this leaves the impression of equal validity and does not account for the regime's manipulative “doublespeak,” with its special function of indoctrination, while at the same time exonerating that regime. The two separate planes in which both functions converge can be exemplified in the sections where the unifying/equalizing role of the army is commented on. Thus, officially, Yugoslavia is referred to as “a genuine federal state providing a great deal of regional autonomy to its nationalities and ethnic groups” (24, in a quote) and the text seems to take no issue with how a statement like this stands with regard to reality. While this is one example, there are more, but it seems important that such a statement is close to the book's main direction of argument. Another example on this point is the discussion of the language(s) issue in the army, where an almost comical effect comes from the authorities recognizing the political significance of assuring the constituent nations/nationalities/ethnicities in the federation that they have equal standing, while most of the really important speaking in the army has to be in the official (federative?) language—which, it turns out, soldiers understand, anyway. Ethnic homogenization in the Yugoslav People's Army (JNA), and, therefore in the country at large seems also to be seen as a good thing—but this implication leaves the reader wondering how realistic this and similar claims really are, in view of the violent reconstruction of ethnic identities as its aftermath.

Of particular interest in Utopia of the Uniform is the authorial stance of a woman analyzing what was in those socialist days a masculine prerogative, as experience goes. The manipulation of men's experience for the sake of its nation-building (and/or destructive) potential power is problematized in a highly convincing way. I for one laud this as a brave thing to do.

The highly meaning-dense manner of writing in Utopia of the Uniform provides a readership challenge in the best sense, demanding the reader's unflinching attention. Occasional lapses to repetitiveness, however, add difficulty to the reading experience.

As I do to the book's subject, I can definitely relate to its text as text, and the effect it produces on its audience, just as much as I can relate to its analytical approach. In a Foucauldian universe, I may have been reading in the same proverbial libraries as the author, or at least very similar ones, apart from experiential regional—Balkan—cultural proximity. But how, and to what extent, reading this exceptional book may “work” on readers completely unfamiliar with or in positions of difference/distance relating to something like this is a question I would very much like to discuss with the author.

Tanya Petrovic's Utopia of the Uniform is a really impressive large-scale effort—and achievement—in making meaning out of a past both complex and chaotic as that of the former Yugoslavia and its future. Its significance in the Balkan context and more generally that of Southeastern Europe, or of the entire continent, for that matter, is undeniable.

Radeya Gesheva, Enigmi i paradigm pri niakoi italianski pisatelki ot XX vek (Enigmas and paradigms in the work of some twentieth-century Italian female writers), Sofia: Paradigma Publishing House, 2023, 275 pp., 20 BGN (paperback), ISBN 978-954-326-506-0.

Book review by Amelia Licheva

Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski

After 1989, feminism rose to become one of the most prominent schools of thought in Bulgaria. Along with the likes of psychoanalysis and deconstructivism, it captured the interest of many up-and-coming Bulgarian literary scholars, prompting them to start introducing key ideas of this school to Bulgaria during the last decade of the twentieth century. Such ideas included women's writing, the formation of alternative canons, the ties between feminism and psychoanalysis, gender theories, and women's and gender history. Feminism in the 1990s did not just impact literary studies and the humanities at large but also proved to be a key influence on fiction. An entire generation of female writers dipped its toes in the field of women's writing, putting stereotypes about women in the spotlight and focusing on the issue of motherhood. Some of these authors were open in explaining that they were trying to invest their texts with feminist ideas and channel the women's writing project.

It would seem that the new millennium has lost some of its appetite for feminist issues. Interest, particularly where fiction is concerned, has shifted toward the issue of interpreting and reframing the communist past, toward peering into the transition to democracy and considering the potential dystopias that could be used to comment on the world of the present and that of the future. What is more, the ideology of post-feminism never rose to prominence in Bulgaria. There is hardly any research that discusses feminism as an ideology that at once incorporates, revises, and depoliticizes many of the fundamental issues otherwise traditionally perceived as related to feminism. Post-feminist culture lays emphasis on the freedom to choose in the context of a market economy and on identity as a result of consumption. Consumption has begun to be treated as a strategy to mitigate potential discontent. One of the fundamental ideas underlying post-feminist culture has to do with construing women as individuals and consumers, or perhaps as individuals but only insofar as we are able and willing to consume. The body, the female body, persists as a key category in post-feminism but it is no longer thought about in terms of motherhood and the language of women. Instead, it is viewed as a thing around which the satisfaction of consumer desires (shopping therapy) and the essential “commercial colonization” of female bodies revolve. Nevertheless, these changes and the firmer ground on which queer theory came to rest did not result in the broadening of the horizons of Bulgarian literary studies. On the whole, the field never put the issues underlying traditional feminism under scrutiny but rather turned a blind eye to them.

Hence, it is perfectly understandable why young Bulgarian female scholars should return to the heritage of classic feminism both in the humanities and fiction in recent years. Fiction in particular has mostly been dominated by the issue of violence against women, which is very pronounced in poetry but also in novels such as Rene Karabash's She Who Remains, which has received quite the recognition beyond Bulgaria.¹

Radeya Gesheva's book Enigmi i paradigm pri niakoi italianski pisatelki ot XX vek is part of the new wave of return in the humanities. Its most important feature is its broader focus. Bulgarian literary studies have always been fixated on feminist literature in English and, to some extent, French. This book, however, aims to pinpoint the specific features of Italian feminism and consider its contributions by setting these against a global context. The overall division of the feminist movement in Italy into periods and the way in which it was construed bring forward its specific features, its ties to history and politics, which serve as prerequisites for said features. In a more general sense, knowledge about the Italian feminist movement fills a number of blank spaces in the history of the movement as a whole. In this sense, the discussion of the texts serving as manifestos of Italian feminism (the author has translated and appended these to her text) is of great value.

A strong suit of the book that goes beyond the reconstruction of history and the parallels drawn between Italian feminists and key figures of feminism at large, such as Virginia Woolf, is its practical observations. The detailed discussion of three female writers of distinct generations—Natalia Ginzburg, Dacia Maraini, and Elena Ferrante—makes for an illustration of the stages of Italian feminism and allows the author to present key figures of Italian literature with whom Bulgarian audiences are familiar, thanks to some of their most significant novels. Apart from the discussion of the works of these three authors, there is also an attempt to consider the individual features of the writing of each author and why these may be considered an example of the Écriture féminine. The book offers intriguing observations on the figures of the body and memory, which, in turn, leads to intriguing typologies of the body and highlight the links between women's writing and what Julia Kristeva considers the rhythm of the body projected into writing.² It is worth noting that Gesheva also aims to establish concepts of her own, capitalizing on the ideas of philosophers such as Giorgio Agamben as part of her interpretation. There have not been a great many discussions of Italian literature in a Bulgarian context. This lends value to the book, which meticulously traces the journey of each writer through life, accounting for the way in which their lives make it into their writing and, of course, offering hypotheses as to the mystification which we have come to associate with the name of Elena Ferrante.

The book is recommended for students of the humanities, as well as researchers and the general audience who want to learn more about the history of Italian feminisms and literature.

Denisa Nestáková, Be Fruitful and Multiply: Slovakia's Family Planning under Three Regimes, 1918–1965, Marburg: Verlag Herder-Institute, 2023, 276 pp., €58 (hardback), ISBN: 978-3-87969-485-3.

Book review by Sylwia Kuźma-Markowska

University of Warsaw, Poland

“The history of family planning in Slovakia between 1918 and 1965, as in many other European countries in the twentieth century is, to a large extent, a history of abortions,” (210) emphasizes Denisa Nestáková in Be Fruitful and Multiply. Her book, an outcome of a larger project devoted to family planning in East Central Europe carried out by the Herder Institute for Historical Research on East Central Europe, presents a broad picture of practices, ideas, and policies related to fertility control in Slovakia. Studying family planning under three political regimes—parliamentary democracy, clerical fascism, and state socialism—the author is able to trace shifts and continuities in state policies and men and women's family planning practices in an East Central European territory undergoing demographic and social transformation.

The time frame of Nestáková’s book covers the years 1918 to1965. The author begins her study of family planning with the newly established democratic Czechoslovakian state, of which Slovakia was a part. The next of three chronologically arranged chapters is devoted to family planning-connected developments in “the strictly conservative, Catholic, and fascist-like Slovak state” (207), established in 1939 and in existence until 1945. The analysis concludes with the examination of twenty years of family planning policies, debates, and practices in the Slovak part of state-socialist Czechoslovakia. Be Fruitful and Multiply ends in 1965, the date of the introduction of the contraceptive pill and a local brand of IUD to the Czechoslovak market. These modern contraceptives transformed family planning practices of Slovak women and men but, as Nestáková alludes, could not fulfil their promises because of scattered access.

Such a choice of timeframe allows Nestáková to trace two main continuities in family planning policies and practices in Slovakia. The first continuity is the already mentioned prevalence of abortion as a means of reproductive decision making, undertaken by Slovak women both during the periods when it was criminalized and punishable (in the interwar years, during the war, and up to 1957) as well as after its partial legalization. As Nestáková shows, even in the years after 1957, access to abortion was regulated by the communist state, whose main concern was not women's rights but the birthrate. The pronatalist stance of the Slovakian state during the three political regimes examined in the book is the second main continuity that Nestáková traces. As the title of the book stresses, the main expectation by the state of Slovak men and women regarding their reproductive practices was to “be fruitful and multiply.” In this vision, the primary role ascribed to any Slovak woman was that of a mother, even if it was to be accompanied by other functions, such as that of a worker during the period of communism.

The state is one of the main public actors analyzed in Nestáková’s book. Another is the churches, particularly the Catholic Church, which exerted a strong influence on family planning policies and discourses not only during the years of the clerical and conservative Slovak state but also in the interwar period and the decades of state socialism. Although the rich primary source material contains few testimonies of Slovak men and women, and Nestáková attributes the scarcity of such sources to the tabooization of intimacy in twentieth-century Slovakia, common people's family planning practices and stances can be accessed through other types of primary source material. The one type that the book frequently relies on is court cases, particularly those referring to abortion trials and those that reflect on individual women's moments of resistance to the state's pronatalist expectations and demands. Be Fruitful and Multiply is also rich in materials presenting public debates that involved experts and social activists, including those from women's movements and organizations that were vocal particularly during the last of the studied periods.

Be Fruitful and Multiply discusses several other issues beyond family planning discourses, policies, and practices, such as prostitution, sexually transmitted infections, and war rape, that might not be directly connected but certainly influenced the reproductive decision-making of Slovak women and men under the three political regimes the book discusses. Nestáková’s book would be of interest to several audiences, including historians of East Central Europe and scholars and students studying the history of women and gender, reproduction, and sexuality.

Teodora Karamelska, Vyarvasht, no ne religiozen: Bulgarski kontexti na holistichnata spiritualnost (Believer, but not religious: Bulgarian contexts of holistic spirituality), Sofia: NBU Press, 2023, 236 pp., 19 BGN (paperback), ISBN 978-619-233-259-4.

Book review by Daniela Koleva

Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski

The monograph Vyarvasht, no ne religiozen: Bulgarski kontexti na holistichnata spiritualnost (Believer, but not religious: Bulgarian contexts of holistic spirituality), is designed as a contribution to the sociology of religion, rather than to history. It thematizes the new “re-enchantment” of the world in the conditions of the late twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first century, such as the accelerated pace of life, the increased geographical and social mobility, the fragmentation of society, and the radicalization of subjectivity. Questioning the thesis of de-secularization, the author seeks to understand the impact of these transformations on religion as an institution and on religiosity as a subjective experience. The relevance of this research task is defined, on the one hand, by the ambivalent attempts since the 1990s to revitalize Orthodoxy in Bulgaria and, on the other hand, by phenomena clearly visible in recent years in this country (and not only), and not coincidentally diagnosed as a “spiritual revolution.” This is why I am recommending this book to Aspasia readers: because practicing religion, as well as religious/spiritual attitudes, are gendered in fundamental ways that have their roots in historical tradition but are amplified and modified by recent social and cultural developments. The changes in these practices and attitudes expose the shifts in gender relations and subjectivities since the 1990s.

Drawing on the legacies of Max Weber, Georg Simmel, and Ernst Troeltsch, and engaging in a productive dialogue with contemporary authors, Teodora Karamelska elaborates on the distinction between religion and spirituality, which she uses as a theoretical framework for understanding the emergence and the manifestations of religious individualism. The delegitimization of the universalist claims of ecclesiastical Christianity, which began historically with Protestantism, has contributed to the de-ritualization and subjectivization of religious experience and, accordingly, to the transformation of religion from a complex of socially significant symbols and practices into “the religious as a spiritual form” (43), unrestricted by theological canons and privileging immediate life experiences. This immediate relation to a transcendent existence/experience is the main characteristic of holistic spirituality, which Karamelska derives from her study of the processes developing in Western European societies, in order to compare them with the contemporary situation in Bulgaria. Her conclusion is that since it is not tied to a specific historical situation, holistic spirituality “claims universal human relevance and cosmopolitanism” (65), which is why it successfully embedded itself into popular culture during the 1990s. This finding gives grounds for the introduction of sociologically relevant parameters, which is where I see the innovative contribution of Karamelska's research. I mean, first of all, the predominant participation of women in various forms of holistic spirituality, as well as the remapping of the urban environment with the emergence of new quasi-sacred places frequented by women more than by men.

Based on her fieldwork over the course of the past few years, and on interviews with participants and trainers in yoga and other traditional Asian practices of relaxation, meditation and curing, the author has found that the typical profile of the participants is highly educated, urban women. Age, occupation, and social status seem to be of secondary importance. The predominant participation of women of different ages and different social strata in the forms of holistic spirituality is a theme that runs throughout the book. This is why the misleading masculine singular in the title of the book (lost in the translation into English), instead of the much more appropriate plural, is puzzling.

With deep insight and critical sensitivity, Karamelska discusses several different hypotheses explaining the appeal of holistic spirituality to urban and highly educated women in particular. First, holistic spirituality seems to be a path to overcome traditional gender-specific roles, to resist their essentialization; the centers for holistic spirituality are public places that offer individual empowerment through participation and agency. This is even more important given that Orthodox Christianity does not offer many opportunities for women to become clerics and pursue a more active role in the context of institutionalized religion. In this regard, the author's observations about the tense relationship between popular forms of holistic spirituality (especially yoga) and Orthodoxy merit special attention. Second, many participants go to these places—or initially visited them—in order to solve life crises and new dilemmas, often caused by the loss of loved ones, illness, divorce, or dissatisfaction with their jobs or other aspects of their lives. The theme of “finding one's own way” runs through many conversations. The centers for holistic spirituality are protected spaces where one can find help and understanding. Last but not least, the centers for holistic training have created market “niches” for services primarily aimed at women, engaging in interesting, positively marked (even fashionable) activities, gaining control over their bodies, shaping both their bodies and minds. The author does not hurry to prioritize any one of these hypotheses at the expense of the others. She maintains them all and explores them in her interpretation of the autobiographical interviews with participants in holistic practices and in outlining the larger picture based on sociological surveys. This multilayered approach, as well as the empirical density and triangulation of methods, make the study both illuminating and convincing.

Another valuable contribution of Karamelska's book is the understanding of the new communities that have formed themselves around the holistic practices under consideration. Although these communities are “wide but shallow,” they, as it becomes clear from the statements of the interviewees, largely compensate for the breakdown of traditionally inherited religious affiliations. Moreover, they are a form of collective legitimation of individuals—mostly women—seeking their self-expression and self-realization through the practices in question. The search for oneself and the “care for oneself,” as Karamelska critically argues, most often happen at the expense of a “doctrinal reduction” (101), replacing content with emotions, “seeking truth in the pre-reflexivity of emotional perceptions” (107). This position is at the same time an understandable reaction to the rigorism of Orthodox Christianity, practiced within the framework of institutional religion. Some the most interesting and pertinent pages in the book are the sections describing the ambiguous attitudes of practitioners of holistic spirituality toward the Orthodox Church, its dogmatics and rituals. The attitudes regarding the symbolic repertoire of the church are selective and pastiche-like, aimed at building one's own (“DIY”) spiritual syntheses. However, attitudes toward other cults are similar in their situationality and reductionism, often detached from their cultural and historical context and adapted to the needs of the practitioners.

What particularly captures the readers and makes the study thick and convincing are not only the original argumentative constructions, but also the empirical density, achieved through a kind of “play with scale.”¹ Karamelska competently analyzes data from large-scale representative surveys, such as the last two waves of the European Values Study, to build her hypotheses about the spread and influence of holistic spirituality. At the same time, the argumentation is organically derived from the author's in-depth narrative interviews with practitioners and trainers in centers for holistic spirituality in Sofia. I find this material particularly valuable as it provides a unique opportunity to understand the importance of spiritual practices and ideas in worldview formation, coping with life crises, belonging to “warm” communities, and lifestyle choices. From another perspective, the type of self-help and self-care practiced in the context of holistic spirituality seems to offer urban women a new option: it turns out to be a new way to achieve their emancipation from traditional gender roles, which were not challenged with women's full-scale inclusion into the labor market.

Finally, I would like to emphasize not only the wealth of the empirical corpus in question and its potential to be used in future studies, but also the outstanding interpretive skills of the author, who is an established researcher in the field of biographical methods developed by the school of Fritz Schütze and Gabriele Rosenthal. The section in which Karamelska argues for the possibilities, limitations, and specific opacities of biographical research can be recommended as a valuable guide for future researchers.

In conclusion, Teodora Karamelska's book is an essential contribution to the sociology of religion, which outlines an emerging and dynamic research field, traces important trends in it, draws relevant conclusions, and demonstrates the potential of the reflexive–biographical method. No less importantly, it is a convincing demonstration of the advantages of a critical gender-sensitive perspective, embedded into the research design to approach a broad range of social phenomena. I recommend it to scholars and students interested in the study of spirituality and religion, as well as gender, postcommunism, and biographical methods.

Jana Kočišková, Ženy v politice: Role a postavení vrcholných političek v Československu 1948–1968 (Women in politics: The role and position of top women politicians in Czechoslovakia 1948–1968), Prague: Karolinum, 2022, 400 pp., 450 Czk (paperback), ISBN 978-80-246-5162-0.

Book review by Kristina Andelova

Institute for Contemporary History, Czech Academy of Sciences, Prague

Jana Kočišková’s book Ženy v politice: Role a postavení vrcholných političek v Československu 1948–1968 (Women in politics: The role and position of top women politicians in Czechoslovakia 1948–1968) is an important contribution to the history of postwar women's political activism in Czechoslovakia. The work aims to comprehensively analyze women's participation in the Czechoslovak National Assembly (and partly also in the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia), women's involvement in the daily running of these institutions, the issues that women addressed, and also the generational experience of women's postwar activism.

In the first chapters, Kočišková explores the longer tradition of women's political participation in Czechoslovakia before the communist regime and introduces the idea of women's emancipation in socialist ideology and practice. These introductory chapters are synthetic in nature, drawing on existing literature. The author, however, intersperses them with interesting findings from her own research, such as examples of the practice of ensuring higher political participation of women in public life by establishing so-called women's committees that functioned under local national committees. Kočišková interestingly captures how, in the first phase of promoting higher women's political participation, the communist regime faced a strongly negative and traditional reaction from male politicians.

The analysis of women's political participation in high office is very valuable because it shows a slightly different story of the “women's question” after 1948 than existing publications dealing with this topic, which focus either on the mass transition of women into the workforce and the communist regime's attempts to reconcile “production and reproduction” by introducing institutional childcare and other forms of social support, or on the ideological image of the “new woman” and her place in socialist society. Kočišková thus adds another perspective that traces the group of women who held high political positions from which they were able to influence the running of the new socialist state.

Having a background in political science, Kočišková analyses in detail the specifics of the political regime in relation to the topic she discusses. This turns out to be crucial, since the centrally controlled increase of women's political representation was one of the important ideological goals of the new communist regime. Thus, the directive nature of socialist dictatorship, as opposed to democratic electoral mechanisms, significantly helped the entry of many women into political representation. The author does not, however, simply state this fact, but tries to understand the problem in the historical context. By examining the activities of female Members of Parliament (MPs), the author refutes the oft-repeated thesis that women were only deployed “in numbers” after 1948 and had no real influence on political decision-making.

This phenomenon is analyzed in the most comprehensive and, it can probably be said, “core” chapter of the book, “Women in the National Assembly after 1948.” Kočišková explores the twenty years of the history of the National Assembly up until 1968 from the perspective of the activities of its women deputies and presents them in great detail. The author shows that although women did not reach the highest positions in the political hierarchy (with a few exceptions, such as Marie Švermová), many of them served in the leadership of various parliamentary clubs and committees, where they actively participated in the day-to-day running of these institutions.

The speeches of women MPs are also analyzed in detail. For this purpose, Kočišková used the digitized archive of the Chamber of Deputies, where detailed minutes of all meetings can be found. The author follows these women's activities very systematically and shows the range of topics (definitely not just “women's issues”) on which female MPs expressed their views, whether it was on the budget, industrial policy, or social issues.

These findings are extremely valuable. However, the long timeframe and descriptive focus diminish the analytical conclusions of the topic. Often, the book provides rather long quotations of what a female politician has said without a deeper analysis of the topic. As a result, the speeches seem a bit puzzling at some points—they show a wide range of topics on which female MPs have expressed their views, but we do not know what real impact these “women's interpellations” had, whether they were more or less isolated inputs or a systematic interest in the issue. This is unfortunately a necessary price for such an ambitious goal of tracing the development of women MPs and officials during the twenty years of communist rule.

Kočišková tries to balance this aspect of her work by including several “case studies,” such as those of the politicians Julie Prokopová or Jaroslava Krafková. There she shows the direction that further research could take—that is, to analyze in greater detail the fate of individual female party functionaries from the interwar period until 1968 and to discuss their activities and performances in high party positions within a certain sociohistorical context. It should also be mentioned that the author does not forget to map the fate of the non-communist female politicians who remained in Czechoslovakia and shows the difficult trajectories these women went through after the rise of communist power. Women politicians who did not opt for exile after 1948 were gradually replaced from their positions by women of communist orientation and often ended up as victims of political trials, which was the case especially for National Socialist female politicians such as Milada Horáková, Fráňa Zemínová, and Antonie Kleinerová.

I consider extremely valuable the final chapter, “Wartime experience of women politicians,” where the author shows that in order to have a successful career as a postwar (communist) functionary, it was necessary to have so-called resistance experience, that is, active participation in the resistance during 1939–1945. Although the chapter represents a rather concise account of the activities of communist female functionaries during the war, I believe that the author opens up a potentially very fruitful line of research.

The political experience of the so-called “Stalinist generation,” which often begins with involvement in resistance activities, has so far been presented in the literature mainly through its male representatives (with the typical trajectory: resistance fighters—enthusiastic builders of Stalinism—reformist politicians). As far as women are concerned, we have almost no studies in the “generational experience” of female activists captured in the literature. Kočišková shows the important role they played in the resistance and what this activity meant for their further political development.

The book opens up a valuable subject that has not yet been covered and, although analytically weaker in some parts, provides an enormous amount of material and information for further research. Many of the women mentioned here would certainly deserve such future research. Jana Kočišková’s book will make it easier to take this step. Scholars working not only on women's political activism, but also on the history of state socialism in general will benefit greatly from this study. More broadly, the book is also a great source of new information for all those who are interested in gender-structured issues and who seek a more nuanced view of postwar history in the region of Central and Eastern Europe.

Claudia Septimia Sabău and Oana-Ramona Ilovan, eds., Perspectives on Gender in Romania (Gender and Development 1), Cluj-Napoca–Târgu Mureș: Presa Universitară Clujeană – University Press Târgu Mureș, 2022, 270 pp, free download, ISBN 978-606-37-1545-7, ISBN 978-973-169-780-2.

Book review by Zsuzsa Bokor

The Romanian Institute for Research on National Minorities, Cluj-Napoca, Romania

As the historian Maria Bucur stated in a recent article, gender norms play a fundamental role in shaping our society, encompassing our imagination, citizenship rights, values, access to power, sense of community and intimacy, and expectations. Unfortunately, she said, Romanian historiography has traditionally relegated the issue of gender and its various dimensions to the shadows, leaving them unexplored.¹

The volume edited by Claudia Septimia Sabău and Oana-Ramona Ilovan breaks this silence and provides a much-needed analysis of gender relations in Romania.² As noted by Alina Branda, the author of the foreword, “this volume proves to be extremely necessary in the effort to understand gender and gender relations as adequately as possible . . . , in their relations with other cultural facts, processes, and developments.”

With its eight chapters, the volume offers insights into the importance of gender perspectives in various social studies and delves into the gender-based constructs of Romanian society. By utilizing gender as an analytical category and drawing on the historical context, this volume aims to shed light on gender roles in development in contemporary Romania. The editors and authors discuss the way a gendered perspective can be applied in various disciplines, such as social history, cultural anthropology, mobility studies, and media studies. Gender is a crucial aspect of the analysis of historical sources, interviews, and media analysis, and this volume demonstrates this through the use of both quantitative and qualitative methods.

The volume begins with Claudia Septimia Sabău and Oana-Ramona Ilovan's contribution, “Why do we need gender studies in Romania?,” which provides a comprehensive overview of the evolution of gender studies in Romania. The authors discuss largely the main theme of the volume—the relationship between gender and development—and conclude by proposing an agenda for further research, emphasizing the importance of gender studies to promote awareness of existing gender inequalities, to overcome biases, to advocate for respect for human rights, and to hope for social change that leads to a more inclusive and equitable society for all.

“Gender and Nation(alism): A Useful and Necessary Historical Approach” by Georgeta Fodor is a comprehensive historical study that delves into the construction of the nation from the nineteenth century to the interwar period, and goes beyond the scope of communism. The study addresses key issues such as the relationship between gender and nationalism, the patriarchal foundations of gender relations, and the role of the Orthodox Church. Fodor examines how gender roles and relationships are addressed by Transylvanian Romanian intellectuals. (It would have been interesting if the author explored how Transylvanian Romanians, as members of an ethnically diverse empire, referred to existing discursive frames in the Monarchy and whether their gender-related schemes differed from their Hungarian, Saxon, or other fellow citizens.)

How can communism be studied and its legacies used to understand contemporary society? Gaining insight into the intersection of communist and post-communist societies offers a more comprehensive perspective on present-day concerns. Many of the essays in this volume begin by examining communism and its impact on the recent past. This question is explored in detail mainly in chapters three, four, five, and eight, which delve into the myriad ideological legacies and regimes of the twentieth century and their influence on women's roles and standing in contemporary Romania. These chapters discuss issues such as marriage patterns and legislation regarding birth control, family formation, gender roles within families, and the continuity and evolution of women's representations. Chapter three, “Gender, State Policies, and Lived Experience(s) Among Roma in Romania During the Communist Regime,” by Ionela-Maria Bogdan, provides a unique perspective on the experiences of Roma women during communism. By employing the methods of oral history, through the life stories of Romani women, the author reconstructs a moment in Romania's historical account (including its pronatalist measures and anti-abortion laws) during the communist era. As Roma women had limited opportunities to share their stories during that historical period, this work sheds light on these underrepresented actors.

Chapter four, “Looking Back for the Future: Marriage in Romania,” by Iulia-Elena Hossu, analyzes the definition of marriage and its various layers: the patriarchal tradition in pre-communist Romania, the legislation on marriage and partnership in the communist period, and marriage practices and discourses in contemporary Romania. Analyzing and comparing legislation and regulations facilitates the identification of the nuanced factors that currently shape family life in Romania. The author presents a comprehensive analysis of these different layers, providing a clear understanding of the complexities of the institution of marriage in Romania. The surprising conclusions of the author reveal the enduring impact of past models on the present, demonstrating their effect on our daily lives.

Petruța Teampău's study, “Mothers and Daughters in Post-Communist Romania: Bridging the Generational Gap,” provides a novel approach to understanding the image of the Romanian woman through the use of a multigenerational analysis of significant issues and gender conditions that have influenced their lives, such as employment, leisure, job security, freedom, beauty, and happiness. By juxtaposing women's narratives, the study offers a complementary and conversational perspective on their experiences, both historical and contemporary. Similarly, Oana-Ramona Ilovan and Claudia Septimia Sabău's article, “Romanian Women in and out of Development: From Ideological Pressure to Freedom of Speech in the Local Press on International Women's Day (1979–2000); Case Study: Bistrița-Năsăud County,” examines some key representations of women in the mass media on International Women's Day before and after 1989. Their analysis uncovers the discourses and practices that perpetuate inequalities. Like the studies already mentioned, Ilovan-Sabău's research exhibits a consistent pattern of representations that reflect a socialist tradition and a deeply ingrained patriarchal mindset. The authors contend that Romania has failed to prioritize gender equality and instead continues to perpetuate gender stereotypes and biases, as well as benevolent sexism. In their view, a greater emphasis should be placed on raising awareness about women's rights and taking concrete actions to promote them.

The other thematic groups, with chapters six and seven, focus on the issue of gender and space. In their study, “Visual Images and Romanian Public Space Thirty Years After Communism: A Gendered Perspective,” Sorina Voiculescu and Margareta Lelea examine the interconnectedness between public spaces, gender, and visual imagery, using examples from the city of Timișoara. The authors suggest that new symbols representing women ought to be incorporated into the existing symbolic landscape, as socialist symbols of power have not been replaced with other symbols promoting women's empowerment. Chapter seven, “Mobility Patterns and Behaviours from a Gender Perspective in Alba Iulia Metropolitan Area, Romania,” by Emanuel-Cristian Adorean, Ana Rita Lynce, and Sofia Kalakou, analyzes urban mobility from a gendered perspective, discussing issues such as the gender gap in mobility, mobility patterns, and women's mobility needs in urban planning. The study is based on a TInnGO project, which adopted an intersectional approach to analyzing people's mobility experiences in ten European hubs in various countries. Although this chapter does not address historical background or the legacy of communism, it highlights the importance of considering the perspective of gender in developmental projects.

There is much more to discuss beyond this volume, and there are many additional topics that ought to be explored in order to provide a comprehensive understanding of Romanian society, something the readers of this volume would appreciate. It is crucial to consistently study significant topics, including education, child-rearing, health, religion, sexual norms, and other relevant topics in order to provide a comprehensive picture of gender relations. Additionally, incorporating various case studies on gender conditions, practices, and discourses among Romania's national minorities would be highly beneficial.

The book effectively addresses a broad range of relevant concerns regarding the modern history of Romania, focusing on gender and development. It provides a valuable platform to engage in extensive conversations on many noteworthy aspects of gender relations.

The volume may be useful to historians or social scientists working on a wide range of topics, but especially to those working on Eastern European and Romanian history and social science. The book may also be of interest to local policy-makers and legislators. Above all, it will hopefully be a wonderful read for anyone interested in the history of Romania from a gendered perspective.