Those who were forced to leave their homeland and never had a chance to return will deeply feel the pain that runs through Andrew V. Kudin’s novel A Handful of Soil.
“Their homeland turned its back on them. But as they wandered foreign lands under unfamiliar skies, they never turned their backs on Ukraine. From their first breath to their last, they remembered. Dying alone, in silence, their final words were spoken in their native tongue.”
Based on real lives and historical truths, the book reminds us that the past is never truly behind us. Events we consider long buried can suddenly return—unexpected, inevitable—and interrupt the steady rhythm of the present. A day always comes when each of us must confront questions that cannot be avoided:
Who am I? Where am I from? And why am I here?
Set in Ukraine and the United States, A Handful of Soil explores the collision of worldviews and cultures, and the tension between remembering and forgetting.
People often marvel at the mysteries of the Egyptian pyramids but overlook that the ancient land of Kievan Rus holds secrets no less profound. The novel opens doors to some of the most mysterious pages in the history of Kiev and Rus—places where time moves in spirals, and events from centuries ago can feel closer than yesterday.
Here, history is not just a backdrop. It is alive and unpredictable, pouring into the present with a force sometimes quiet, sometimes devastating, drenching the soil of ancient cities once again with fresh blood.
This novel is about choices. Choices we face when one side of the scale holds comfort, money, and security—and the other side holds something less tangible but infinitely more human. How we choose shapes not only our own destiny, but also the destiny of our people.
“Toni looked painfully at the photograph. How often this happens: in the rush of daily life, we don’t find time to speak with those who are still here. Only when they have crossed to the distant shore, separating existence from nonexistence, do we whisper desperately:
‘Talk to me, please—just for a moment. I need your advice now more than ever.’”
This is a story about love, about finding a woman’s truest reflection not in a mirror, but in the eyes of the man who loves her.
A Handful of Soil is not merely about Ukraine’s past—it’s about the country’s future. The rebirth of Ukraine will only become possible when its people rediscover respect for themselves, their history, traditions, and the sacred bonds that connect generations.
This book has proven to be prophetic. When first published in 2004, few could imagine that its pages contained a grim forecast of the tragedy Ukraine would later face.
Originally released in March 2004, the novel appeared simultaneously in Russian and Ukrainian editions. Although based on the same narrative, the two editions are distinctly different compositions. The Ukrainian version emphasizes historical depth, contains eight additional pages, and opens with an epigraph by Ukrainian poet Nadiya Stepula. The Russian edition focuses more on contemporary life and human relationships, without an epigraph.
Even the titles differ slightly, reflecting the author's subtle intentions. The Ukrainian edition is titled The Memory of Soil, a phrasing the author considers most closely aligned with the story’s soul. The Russian version retains the original title—A Handful of Soil.
For English-speaking readers, the novel is now available in its revised April 2025 edition, thoughtfully presented to convey its full emotional and historical significance to a global audience.
Every book, like every person, has its own destiny. At first, the book’s fate remains inseparably tied to its author. Later, at some crossroads in life, their paths diverge. Like a grown child leaving a parent’s home, the book begins to live independently, creating its own story.
The idea behind the novel A Handful of Soil was born in Chicago during the autumn of 2001, where Andrew V. Kudin made his first sketches. At that time, these notes were little more than scattered ideas tucked away in the corner of a desk.
In 2002, Andrew’s literary agent, Vladimir Bumagin, became the first to hear about the book’s storyline during their meeting in Israel. Vladimir immediately insisted that the novel be completed and published.
Later that summer, during a trip to Turkey, we suddenly noticed Andrew and Vladimir had vanished. They were neither at the bar nor in the hotel room. After a half-hour search, we found them by the Mediterranean Sea, so deeply immersed in conversation that they hadn’t realized how far they had walked along the shore. Vladimir was scheduled to fly back to Israel the next day, but he was so captivated by Andrew’s ideas that he changed his ticket, extending his stay to continue their discussion.
In February 2003, Andrew received an offer to write a screenplay for a film dedicated to Ukraine. The storyline he developed between February and March 2003 laid the foundation for the novel A Handful of Soil. Unfortunately, funding for the film fell through, and the project was canceled.
Andrew returned to Chicago in April 2003, where he completed the book later that fall.
Andrew always believed that a book’s outward appearance should reflect and enhance its inner content. Just as loving parents carefully choose beautiful clothing for their child, an author who truly cares about his work will take great pains to ensure that the physical book is attractive, tasteful, and professionally presented.
Unfortunately, in Ukraine at that time, many ancient publishing traditions had been lost or forgotten. Books were often printed cheaply, with little care or quality—something Andrew refused to accept for A Handful of Soil. Finding publishers who could deliver the professional quality Andrew demanded was exceptionally difficult.
It was at this moment that Lyalya Fonareva stepped in. As the project manager, she quickly assembled a skilled team—talented, professional, and dedicated people who genuinely cared about their work. Under Lyalya’s supervision, the book’s design, illustrations, and printing began. She paid attention not only to technical details but also to the energy and spirit each person brought to the project. Symbolically, the press chosen by Lyalya was located within the walls of an Orthodox monastery.
From the day Andrew handed his manuscript to Lyalya in the autumn of 2003, A Handful of Soil began its independent life.
The book was officially published on March 14, 2004, corresponding to the first day of spring in the old calendar. Yet, even before its official release, many people had read the manuscript, sparking heated debates and discussions as early as February 2003. The novel raised difficult questions and offered an unusual perspective on Ukrainian history and Ukraine itself—perspectives that continue to challenge and provoke readers today.
Andrew V. Kudin is currently working on new books, and readers eagerly await their publication.
N.Gromiko 12.04.2004
Romance, “A Handful of Soil” is written in the language of symbols.
First of all the meaning of ”a handful of soil” is itself a symbol. A symbol deep and strong which caries a huge amount of energy. The book shows how this symbol turns the life of the main character upside-down.
This book doesn’t have names accidentally made.
On the pages of his book the author gives decoding of the name Antoni that means “going into battle”
The name Vera doesn’t need to be explained. This beautiful name of a woman on the pages of this book is the symbol of faith. Faith, which people tried to twist and stamp on, but which stayed stainless and clean like a mountain stream running between the cliffs.
In the temper, the manners of eccentric and self-centered brother of the heroine, Vladimir – “ ruler of the world”, and the lady who got in between Toni and Vera is names Oksana, (“stranger”) that shows her place and contact between the young people.
Some of the pages are written that they carry a double meaning. The most common phrase like thrown in accidentally by one of the characters suddenly gains a totally different and unexpected meaning.
No wonder this book is interesting to read, and who knows and understands the symbols is twice as interesting.
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| EYE | BOX |
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| TEMPLE | FATE |
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| CANDLE | WATCH |
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| TIME |
“Toni stood up from the table and approached the window. Something broke inside, unbearable heaviness with a bitter taste and stubborn pain squeezed his chest. Toni felt like he was chocking; there was not enough air for him. He couldn’t look into his mother’s eyes.
“Which nationality was my father?”
He asked without turning around.
“He was Ukrainian, from the immigrant family just like me.”
Toni sharply turned to his mother.
- Mom, why didn’t you ever tell me about our families past, about Ukraine for example? Why didn’t you ever point out to me that we are Ukrainian? Anyway why does it matter, whom to be?
- It happened this way… Mother stopped and tiredly shrugged her shoulders. Probably to many painful memories in our family were connected to Ukraine. I was never there. We were all born here in America. Our home is here. Life wasn’t that easy. When you work from morning to the evening there is no time for memories. You finished college, and you have a stable and perspective job in the aircraft company… When I was your age it was really hard for us. I couldn’t even dream of college. I clearly remember times when people who came to America a little bit earlier then we, treated us like some people of the second quality. Thanks to your grandpa, my father, we never had to experience what’s it like to be a pauper, but I remember very well what it means.
- What about grandma? Your mother?
- She died when I was three years old. Grandpa was really depressed that he couldn’t give me a good education. He often said that his grandson would finish one of the best colleges or universities. It happened that way. All of us worked hard so you could get a good education, and you didn’t want to learn…
- I didn’t know…
- I don’t blame you. Like other immigrant families we spend too much time working and too little with our children. It’s our mistake. Work in the name of a child and almost never see him because of work…
Mother stopped. Almost unnoticeable, tear shone in the corner of her eye.
- Mom, I am not an immigrant. I am not Ukrainian and I don’t have anything to do with them. – Toni confidently shook his head. - I am American on all 200 percent! I was born in America and you my mom were also born here!
- I also used to think that way, - mothers voice sounded calm, - Toni USA is a country of immigrants. Some people came now, some a lot earlier. This is a wonderful land that took care of immigrants from totally different countries and nationalities. Their branches are here but their roots stayed there… Whether you like it or not you are also from an immigrant family. You look like a typical American but in your veins flows Ukrainian blood.
Once again tension, unbearable quietness froze under the ceiling. Two silent figures, one by the window, second at the table in the middle of the living room, froze like statues for which time suddenly stopped, like arrows on the clock by the mirror, covered with cloth. Only a candle by grandpa’s photograph shone. Flame from the candle, like life itself flung from side to side from almost unnoticeable blow of the wind through the slightly opened window. Maybe from the words they said?
- Mom, why did grandpa leave?
- It was really hard for them in Ukraine. Your grandfather was the oldest child in the family. First, my grandpa, your great-grandpa, went to earn in Argentina. After a year he sent tickets so our family could come and live with him. Your great-grandmother sold everything she had but it wasn’t enough money for everyone. Now it’s so easy – sat on the airplane and after a few hours you flew over the ocean. There were no airplanes in those years and ships were not like ships now. The course from Ukraine to Argentina took many weeks, hard and as you understand expensive. Your grandmother gathered all the children and said to grandpa:” There are four of us. -You, your younger sisters and I. There is only enough money for three of us. You will have to stay- there is no other choice, otherwise all of us will die from famine at least this way some of us have a chance to survive. I don’t know how you will live and what you will eat. Your have to survive and stay alive until we gather enough money for you to come to us.” They left, grandpa stayed. After about two years parents sent him the money and he moved to the family.
Grandpa’s eyes from the picture looked at Toni.
- Mom, how old was grandpa when they left him?
- He was a little older then ten, almost eleven.
- How did he live those two years?
Toni was amazed.
- I don’t know, grandpa never told me. People said that monks from Kiev-Pechersk Monastery helped him to survive. Grandpa as far as I remember was very religious man. He often said that from yourself and your fate you can’t run away. I remember when I had hard times he said: “ Never be sorry for what you lose. Life is this way; it consist of loss and gain, whatever happens you have to remember that something that’s truly yours will never be taken away from you Do everything you can and let you fate do the rest.”
Mom stopped and them continued after a pause.
- Later the family moved to Argentina in United States. I was born in New York then we moved to the north of the country. We didn’t talk about the country of outcome. Too many tears and pain were connected to Ukrainian land. I don’t know why grandpa wants you to go back there but that’s exactly what he put in his will… I am glad he did.
Toni raised his eyebrows in surprise.
- Why?
- I thought that there is no connection between you and him. However the will shows that he thought about you and had faith in you.
Toni was puzzled. How strange, grandpa didn’t know anything about him. Could it be that when grandpa was making his will the only thing that guided him was that Toni has his Ukrainian blood? Suddenly Toni felt that grandpa is watching him, right now, in this very moment, in this room.
- Two years between life and death –Toni rubbed his eye – in front the face of the unknown. Possibly grandpa couldn’t have left the country at all. Tell me, does anyone know about this period of his life? Who can I ask?
- Nobody will tell – mom shook her head, -No one is alive anymore. Something stayed there in Ukraine, something that he was trying to reach his whole life, something that was calling him, and didn’t let him go until the last minute…
- Mom, what are you talking about?
- Toni I am afraid, - fragile shoulders trembled, - I have a feeling that it’s not you who is going to Ukraine, but your grandpa returning there in your body.”
“Vera sadly shook her head.
- Right now you are talking like all Americans I met so far. They all spit on other traditions and rituals of other nationalities important for them are money. You don’t have any other gods but money.
Toni burst in anger.
- And you Ukrainians have? Did you ever think about why Ukraine still stays behind? It’s because all of you are afraid to look yourself in the eyes! Truth scares you; your own history scares you even things that happened a thousand years ago still make you superstitiously scared…”
“…a young lady walked quickly toward the exit of the churches archive, to the place an old man was sitting at.
- Father Ilarion, over the past thousand of years a lot of people tried to reveal the remains of Saint Antoni, but they were never revealed. It says in the ancient chronic scriptures that everyone who tried to reveal the remains of Saint Antoni were “punished with released flames” and after getting hurt repentance their deed for the rest of their lives!”
Young lady threw back her disobedient hair.
- Tell me why and who destroyed the “Life of Saint Antoni Pechersk”? I found parts of the text but the actual manuscript or it’s copies I didn’t find. Who destroyed them? How? Why?
Old monk sadly shook his head.
- You are wrong. In “The biography collection of Kiev-Pechersk Monastery” there is “Life and Mission of Saint Antoni”
Vera worriedly turned around. For some reason it seemed to her that someone else was in archive besides them.
- In the “Biography Collection” there is a small legend with the same name; it reminds me more of a beautiful fairytale than historical biography. I am talking about the full description of Saint Antoni, which is mentioned in the archive, but which isn’t actually there…
Old monk was quiet.
- Tell me why was Fedoskin, student of Saint Antoni, the first conventional saint whose name was put in the episcopes church books in the year 1108, but not Antoni – the founder of the monastery? Father Ilarion I have a lot of “whys” like this. The most important is why on Antoni’s grave there is such a strict restriction? Why no one, even after thousand of years is allowed to see his remains?
Old monk didn’t say a word. Once again a strange haste seemed to Vera.
- Father Ilarion, you know… you probably know. Tell me what is hidden in the grave.
Old man sighted tiredly.
- The answer is hidden in the question. Since you can correctly form a question, you can find a true answer to it. – Old man became pensive, - I warned you- knowledge could be dangerous.”
“ A stranger, a monk in his forties calmly stood up to meet her. Calm, physically strong, tall, how strange, Vera thought she knew everyone here.
- What would you like?
The monks voice sounded cold and insensible.
- I would like to see Father Ilarion.
Vera looked for the old man but he was nowhere to be found, only now at the table, where Father Ilarion usually sat, sat a stranger.
The monk slowly stood up from the table and stopped in front of her.
- Father Ilarion died.
Young lady moved back in horror. She was ready to hear anything but this.
- It can’t be. When? How?
- Yesterday. He had a weak heart.
The monk talked calmly. Too calmly, Vera thought. This tone could only be in insensible people or who too often looked in the Death’s eyes.
- How strange… I saw him yesterday.
- We know.
Vera looked in the eyes of the monk in terror. Something two meaningful she heard in those words, she became scared.
- When is the funeral?
- He is buried already.
- How?
Yong lady moved toward the door. The stranger stayed unmoved.
- Tonight.
- Why in the night?
- It’s not your first year working in Kiev-Pechersk Monastery, - stranger talked calmly, not one muscle moved on his face, - you should know that the government forbids to burry anyone on the Monastery’s territory, but every strong, believing Christian wants to be buried in this saint place. The most deserving monks are buried in the saint place of Kiev-Pechersk Monastery at night, no evidence are left so there wouldn’t be any problems with a government.
Vera thoughtfully looked down.
- I won’t even be able to put flowers on his grave…
- If you want – put the flowers by The Immediate caves.
Vera slightly opened the door, ready to leave.
- He wanted to tell me something…
- Vera. It’s your name right?
Vera raised her eyebrows in surprise.
- Yes… Did we meet?
The monk didn’t answer.
- If Father Ilarion would be alive– he would probably tell you, God calls too curious people to him before they turn forty.”
“ When he turned around he looked into his sister’s eyes.
- Tell me-what awaits Ukraine.
- Ukrainians will turn to the faith of their fathers or the country will be removed from earth. There is no third choice.
- How can you talk about it so calmly?
Vasili was surprised.
- Ukraine waits hard times but I believe in it’s future. One monk, who I accidentally met in the cave, told me that we would go through seven circles of hell and then we will be brought into light.
- From where such a confidence?
- Confidence is based on how Rus was baptized. Remember the ancient chronic- with flame and sword Vladimir baptized the Slavs. It makes that Rus wasn’t baptized but crucified on a gigantic cross!”
© 2003-2025 Andrew V. Kudin. All rights reserved.