"Ukrainian literature is physical proof that Russians are lying": a heartfelt interview with writer Artur Dron

Artur Dron is a Ukrainian writer and veteran whose books have been translated into more than ten languages worldwide. His works are moving and healing, helping readers better understand the soldiers returning from war after an exhausting struggle for independence.

In 2026, it was his text that was chosen for the All-Ukrainian Radio Dictation of National Unity, so we can thank Artur for the fact that now everyone knows who a “carver” is and how to correctly spell the words “vpivsyly” and “zeesushny.”

24 Channel spoke with Artur about his new book , *The Hospital of Saint Panteleimon*, which is coming out in November. We’re talking about the characters in this story – Ukrainians who bear various wounds of war – and about how our society is coming to accept veterans, whose numbers are growing.

What is Artur Dron’s new book about, and who are its characters?

Let’s start with the new book – *The Hospital of Saint Panteleimon*, which will be released on November 19, 2026. This is his third major book. How did he write it?

It began with poems. At first, I thought it would be a new book of poetry – texts I’d written after my previous collection (I’m referring to the collection *We Were Here* – 24 Channel). So, according to the plan, it was initially supposed to be just a book of poems. After I was wounded, while I was finishing *Hemingway* (the collection "Hemingway Knows Nothing" – 24 Channel), I was recovering in Lviv at St. Panteleimon Hospital.

I actually thought back then that I would name the book after the hospital. And there I was already writing a separate section of poems about the time after I was wounded, remembering other wounded defenders – all those themes in general… I really wanted to dedicate the book to the hospital. But then, the more I thought about it and worked on it, the more it changed. And I wanted to broaden its scope: to talk about the wounds of war in various dimensions.

Photo from Artur Dron’s personal archive

Not just soldiers’ wounds, not just physical ones. About how a single war inflicts very different wounds, how different people have very different experiences because of a single war, and how this makes it increasingly difficult for us to talk about them. We’re using the phrase “gap in experiences” more and more often.

I’m writing about my own experience and making space for others’ voices so that we can somehow try to talk about and reflect on these different experiences: how and what we can do about those chasms. At the very least, to start looking for some common ground. Not to shut ourselves off from one another completely, but to try to learn to talk to one another. And this has turned into a book about wounds, about our coexistence with different experiences, and about attempts to talk about them.

Can we learn a little more about the experiences you described?

*TheHospital of Saint Panteleimon*is the book of all my books that is most filled with people. Although I try to write specifically about people everywhere. And there are many of them in *Hemingway*, but here the main focus is on them.

I really wanted to write about others. There are my comrades there. There are wounded soldiers whom I met in hospitals and during rehabilitation. There is, for example, a poem called “Sasha.” There was a long piece about him in the book *Hemingway Knows Nothing*. And in *St. Panteleimon’s Hospital*, he reappears in a poem.

There are many people I hadn’t written about before and about whom I’m writing for the first time. And about whom I’ve written on behalf of their families. One such person is Ms. Galina Yembryk – the mother of our defender Valentin, who served in the 102nd Brigade and was killed in 2025.

We met Ms. Galina this past spring. We met for coffee in Lviv, chatted, and talked. She told me about her son. And she spoke, in fact, about exactly what I really wanted to write about. How she endured this wound, how she continues to live with it, how she tries… I mean, there’s no universal cure for this, but I’m writing about how she tries to ease this pain at least a little and carry on with her life. This is the experience of a mother who lost her son.

Galina talks about things that might be uncomfortable for us – those of us who haven’t had this experience – to hear. For example, she says outright that people often don’t talk to her about her son. “If people don’t talk to me about my son, I get the impression that, to you, he never existed and doesn’t exist. But I want to talk about him – it’s important to me,” Ms. Galina told me.

And these are the things we need to hear firsthand from mothers who have endured this greatest of horrors. So, for example, through her words, we hear that we must talk about our fallen defenders, we must be grateful to them, and we must not remain silent about them.

Another heroine is a young girl named Maria Lysenko, to whom we dedicated charity readings this past spring. She lost her father on the front lines and her mother in a car accident. And one of the monologues in the book is her voice. For me, it’s one of the key ones – it’s an important theme for me. And we talk a lot about children: our children during the war, the suffering of our children.

We can talk about them, or we can give them this space to speak and listen to what they themselves have to say. And when this 15-year-old girl speaks about such a horrific experience and uses words like “I’m happy,” or “I want to live,” or “I see meaning,” or “I dream of a family”… She has so much to teach us.

Among the protagonists are also military personnel. One of them is my comrade-in-arms and commander, who speaks about another dimension of a person returning from war – a commander who, in addition to these memories, carries with him, so to speak, the consequences of his decisions.

Another one is a young man named Sasha, who survived Russian captivity. He was taken prisoner in the spring of 2022 and returned in the spring of 2025. His monologue is literally titled “The Time Machine,” because he speaks as if he had traveled through a time machine, returning to a society different from the one he left behind. He talks about all the negative trends in our society that may be unfolding very gradually for us.

These are all real people. These are their real words and monologues. I coordinated all of this with my characters, asked for their permission, and we refined some parts together. The text is mine, but the voice is theirs. And to a certain extent, this book is co-authored with all of them.

The new book is the finale of the trilogy

I don’t want to give too much away for future readers, but in the afterword to *The Hospital of Saint Panteleimon*, you mention that you won’t be writing about the war anymore…

Yes, this book concludes a sort of trilogy: my writing about the war. At least, not directly. Obviously, my military experience – the experience of living through war – will always be with me, and it may be felt in my books.

Maybe someday I’ll want to return to that. But not now – for now, I want to turn the page.

As for my plans – I want to sit down and write a novel. I want it very badly – maybe even more than I should, because I’m already holding myself back a little, since… We’re waiting for this book. “LSP” will be released at the end of November, and there will be book launches. I want to put my heart and soul into this book, to send it off into “adulthood.” And then, this winter, I’ll sit down to write this novel. It definitely won’t be directly about my specific combat experience, or about the war in such a direct way.

Photo from Artur Dron’s personal archive

“Society must be ready to accept its veterans”

Given your writing and your experience as a veteran: how ready do you think our society is to accept veterans, to love them, and to value them?

It’s hard to say, because you can’t really measure it in terms of percentages. Sometimes it’s much easier to talk about your heroes, your defenders, when you don’t empathize with them, and when they’re just some kind of abstraction to you, something far away…When you come face-to-face with them – when wounded soldiers return, when veterans come back to the cities…

Photo from Artur Dron’s personal archive

When you realize that these veterans may hold views different from your own. Or when they react more strongly to your involvement – or lack thereof – in defending the country. This is something we need to learn.

I strongly support those who say that we should adopt this perspective: it’s not the veteran who has to adapt to society, but society that must be ready to accept its veterans. Because they took responsibility for us, and when they return, it’s our turn to take responsibility for them.

We know of many stories where veterans face indifference. There’s this meme-like phrase, “We didn’t send you there,” which, after all, has been circulating since 2014. This definitely happens. How can we measure it? How widespread is it? Well, it’s complicated, but we need to talk about it and emphasize society’s responsibility in this regard.

Why Is the World Interested in New Ukrainian Literature?

If we go back to your previous books – *We Were Here* and *Hemingway Knows Nothing* – what were the print runs, and into how many languages were they translated?

The first print run of the new book will be 10,000 copies.

“We Were Here” has had a total print run of 8,000 copies to date. We’ve ordered a reprint for the winter because this print run is already running out. It has been translated into English, Swedish, Norwegian, Polish, and French.

Over 50,000 copies of *Hemingway* have been printed. We’ve already signed contracts for publication and translation in 15 countries. Ten of these are scheduled to be released by the end of this year. These are the ones supported by the “Translate Ukraine” grant program of the Ukrainian Book Institute and the Ministry of Culture.

*Hemingway* has already been published in Swedish, Lithuanian, English, and Portuguese in Brazil. So we’re waiting for the rest: Polish, French, Belarusian (a London-based publisher), Georgian, and Czech.

Arthur Dron’s books are even read in the Vatican:

Obviously, this is all thanks to the readers. We owe these impressive sales figures and international publications to our readers, because there are large Ukrainian communities and diasporas in many countries. That’s such a huge source of support. And their efforts are aimed at ensuring that Ukrainian literature and culture are also present in those other countries, in other languages.

What’s it like to present books abroad?

I recall Lithuania, where I’ve already made two trips. I first visited in the spring, in Vilnius… When interacting with readers or journalists abroad, I’ve noticed that sometimes things happen in Europe that seem unhealthy, strange, or unacceptable to me – or to most of us in Ukraine. Things like invitations to Russian writers at festivals, translations of their books, or tolerance of Russian culture…

Photo from Artur Dron’s personal archive

This whole idea that “war is war, politics is politics, and culture is something else.” It’s disappointing. But when I went to Lithuania, it wasn’t like that there. It’s a country very close to Russia, one that knows who the Russians are, and whose historical memory clearly understands that, for example, the Soviet Union was a period of occupation.

Lithuanians still remember how, under the Soviets, their grandfathers and grandmothers were repressed and deported. That’s why we share a deep level of understanding and kinship with them on this issue.

When I asked my translator in Lithuania if there were any plans to host a Russian writer or something similar in Vilnius, he replied that no, there were no such plans. And it was nice to see that so many people came to the reading and the discussion about Ukraine.

The publishing house Baziliskas, which published my book of poetry, turned it into a charitable project: they donated proceeds from sales to a fund that transports vehicles for the Ukrainian army. Another publisher bought the rights to *Hemingway*, but they also made the book a charitable project and donated the proceeds to Ukraine. After all, many of their authors and translators are actively involved in ongoing volunteer support. That’s why it was so important and meaningful to see such closeness and such a natural willingness to support the cause without needing any explanation.

Photo from Artur Dron’s personal archive

Russia is also waging war against Ukrainian literature

You opened your own online bookstore, but we understand that the book business is very difficult right now, particularly because Russia is targeting bookstores, warehouses, and, in particular, printing presses. Did you face these challenges while working on your third book?

It didn’t directly affect my book. But it is a challenge. For example, this happened to the book * Bogdana Kolomiychuk*, whose author served in the same brigade as me. He had just released a new retro detective novel, *The Lviv Gambit*. He was counting on having this novel ready for the Bestseller Fest. And, in fact, the Russians destroyed the entire print run. The book didn’t stand a chance of making it to the festival. As a result, the “Staryi Lev” publishing house produced a limited edition using digital printing. And so the book was present at the event after all, though the main print run had to be reordered.

The fact that the Russians destroyed 14 million Ukrainian books in just one summer – that’s a number that’s hard to wrap your head around. This is yet another confirmation of just how well they understand what culture and literature are. The Russians know very well what a weapon culture can be.

It seems to me that Ukrainian literature is physical proof that the Russians are lying. Because they say that we are an “artificially created country,” that we have no language, no culture, no history – nothing. But books are a reminder that we have our own language, a very ancient history, and traditions. They’re like the glue that binds us all together, reminding us that even though there are so many of us and we’re so diverse – to the point that every region has its own recipe for borscht! But despite all that, we’re still united.

Because we understand that culture is what unites us. And it reminds us of who we are. That’s why we want to use culture as a shield, as something that supports us in difficult times.

The Russians understand this too and use their culture as a weapon.

As for my own work… since late summer, I’ve been running an online bookstore – arturbooks.com. Now I always have a small number of copies of each book and translation available; you can order them, provide your name, and receive a copy personally autographed by me. This is work that brings me great joy: knowing my readers by name. When you sit down and sign a book for them.

Let’s hope our publishing industry can weather this storm. We’re seeing that government support is already starting to come through. We have to hope that this sector can pull through.

Amid such enormous risks, publishers continue to release new books, invest funds, and put those funds on the line. I admire these people and really hope that things will get a little easier for the publishing industry.