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Tamizdat partisans: How Russian publishing survives under censorship at home and in exile
The Russian authorities have set their sights on book publishers. The director of the St. Petersburg bookstore Podpisnye Izdaniya was fined for involvement in an “undesirable organization,” and a similar penalty had earlier been imposed on the founder of the Moscow bookstore Falanster. Three executives of the publishing house Individuum have been placed under house arrest. Publishing and selling books in Russia has become an increasingly risky business — one that can lead to criminal charges, even for those who tread carefully.
Meanwhile, writers, publishers, and booksellers who have gone abroad are actively filling the vacuum, working to meet the demand of a still-engaged reading public. In London, the first Russian-language bookstore in years has opened. Online book brands are growing across Europe, and printing houses are successfully collaborating with a dozen publishers now operating from outside the country.
Despite familiar financial challenges, print publishing continues to survive — and to evolve. Several new literary prizes have appeared on the émigré literary scene, and Russian-language book festivals are now being held in cities across Europe.
Content
Censorship advances in Russia, the book industry is in shock
Tamizdat’s challenges and the upside of being labeled a foreign agent
Challenges for booksellers
First awards and first scandals
What’s next?
“Rude silence” is how Stanislav Gaivoronsky, owner of the Tbilisi bookstore Itaka Books, described the situation at the Georgian border: new titles from Russian publishers, ordered for the store, have been held by Russian customs for many months without explanation.
Gaivoronsky is known to Moscow’s reading public as the founder of the Khodasevich bookstore in the Kitay-Gorod district. Six months before the war, he left the capital’s book scene to friends and moved to Tbilisi. Despite the growth of the émigré community following the start of the invasion and mobilization, selling books can hardly be called a stable business. New arrivals come in sporadically, and to keep the cash flow going, Itaka has had to run several clearance sales. In the spring, Gaivoronsky seriously considered closing the store: there wasn’t enough money to cover the next rent payment, but a call for help on social media saved the day. “That’s life now for independent bookstores,” he says with a wry smile.
In the fourth year of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, it’s not just bookstores abroad that are struggling — tamizdat itself is under strain.
Censorship advances in Russia, the book industry is in shock
Censorship in publishing went into full force in the summer of 2022, when a scandal stirred up by Zakhar Prilepin and Nikita Mikhalkov led to the removal from sale of the blockbuster novel Summer in a Pioneer Tie by Kateryna Sylvanova and Elena Malisova. In November 2022, a new version of the “LGBT propaganda” law was passed, mandating a complete ban on works like Sylvanova and Malisova’s coming-of-age tale — although the law itself made no clear mention as to what exactly was prohibited or what kind of references were to be avoided. By December 2022, any books suspected of containing LGBT content — ranging from new releases like Summer in a Pioneer Tie to classics like the works of Virginia Woolf or sexologist Igor Kon — began to disappear from the shelves of Moscow libraries.
When the Russian State Library refused to comply with this unofficial censorship, the State Duma rushed in to ban libraries from displaying books by “foreign agents.” In 2024, the Supreme Court designated the non-existent “international LGBT movement” as an “extremist organization,” making it illegal to publish any books that even hint at queer content.
At the same time, the new censorship regime began taking on an institutional form. In April 2024, an “expert center” was established under the Russian Book Union (RKS) to review books for legal compliance. The panel of “experts” includes representatives from state censorship organ Roskomnadzor, the Russian Historical Society, the Russian Military Historical Society (RVIO), the Russian Orthodox Church, and the Maxim Gorky Literary Institute.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
The center’s task is to identify legal violations in published books. It began its work without delay: following a recommendation from the Russian Book Union, the publisher AST pulled several novels from sale, including A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara, The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller, Legacy by Vladimir Sorokin, The Hours by Michael Cunningham, and Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin. These are well-known titles: A Little Life alone, since its release in 2015, has sold over a million copies and achieved cult status, while the others have sold tens of thousands of copies. Sorokin’s Legacy was later republished by Freedom Letters.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
In spring 2024, an “expert center” was established in Russia to review books for legal compliance
The so-called “publishers’ case” became the latest major blow to the Russian book industry. On May 14, 2025, the Investigative Committee detained 10 employees of Eksmo and its Individuum imprint. Three of them — director Dmitry Protopopov, former sales director Pavel Ivanov, and warehouse manager Artyom Vakhlyaev — were later charged with extremism for “complicity in the LGBT community.”
The charges stem from the publication of Summer in a Pioneer Tie and several other books featuring queer characters between 2019 and 2022 — that is, before the adoption of the new censorship laws. A source familiar with the investigation told RBC that the books were distributed through the online store Kiosk, which carried titles from Popcorn Books and Individuum. The store operated until November 1, 2024, when it was shut down. After its closure, books from those publishers appeared on the Eksmo website. All the detained employees were placed under house arrest and now face up to eight years in prison.
In May, law enforcement raided several other bookstores: Podpisnye Izdaniya in St. Petersburg, Falanster in Moscow, and Karta Mira in Novosibirsk. The Moscow shops were fined for selling books on feminism and the prison diary Heading for Magadan by Belarusian anarchist Igor Olinevich. Judging by the level of police activity, the crackdown on books is only just beginning.
The publishing industry inside Russia has reacted with alarm. Publishers are now rechecking manuscripts for any content that might even vaguely be interpreted as illegal. Bookstores are pulling titles from shelves. And libraries are either archiving or outright destroying “undesirable” books.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
Libraries are either archiving “undesirable” titles — or physically destroying them
Tamizdat’s challenges and the upside of being labeled a foreign agent
One partial response to the crisis inside Russia has been the use of tamizdat — the term now used for publishing and selling books abroad, echoing the Soviet-era practice of printing banned texts outside the country. Tamizdat began to grow rapidly after the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, and unlike samizdat, it moved preemptively — before the state fully launched its campaign to purge literature of unwelcome texts and authors.
One of the first and largest of these new ventures, with a catalogue of over 250 titles, was the publishing house Freedom Letters, which launched in March 2022. Its founder, Georgy Urushadze, says the decision to publish abroad was spontaneous and unplanned: “I’ve worked with texts all my life and decided to start a publishing house. At first I was calculating budgets and looking for funding, convinced that a cultural project without sponsors was impossible. By all accounts, it looked unprofitable and pointless.” In the end, the project got off the ground and continues to operate thanks to volunteer support. The first books released by Freedom Letters quickly became hits: Springfield by Sergey Davydov, about the life of a gay couple in Russia’s Samara region, and Mouse by Ivan Filippov, a zombie apocalypse novel set in a devastated Moscow.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
By all accounts, publishing in exile seemed unprofitable and pointless
In recent years, no fewer than a dozen new publishing houses have emerged outside Russia, releasing books that, for one reason or another, can no longer be published inside the country. Meduza’s publishing arm focuses on journalism and political non-fiction, while Vidim Books publishes writers labeled as “foreign agents” such as Linor Goralik, Andrey Zubov, and Dmitry Glukhovsky. Boris Akunin has launched his own imprint, BAbook, which offers not only his own work but also books by other persecuted writers, such as Mikhail Shishkin.
Competition among these publishers is mostly symbolic: their models and subject matter are too different to overlap significantly. For instance, Papier-Mâché specializes in autofiction and genre-defying prose by Russian-speaking authors, while the publishing arm of the Babel bookstore offers a broad spectrum of contemporary writers — from Lev Rubinstein to Yevgeniya Berkovich and Alexander Delfinov.
At the same time, being labeled a “foreign agent” hasn’t significantly hindered publishing, according to Freedom Letters founder Urushadze. The Streisand Effect plays a role, as authors placed on blacklists often gain immediate notoriety. “I joke that our publishing house’s PR department consists of the head of Roskomnadzor, the justice minister, and the prosecutor general — they’ve done more to promote our books than we ever could,” says Urushadze.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
“Roskomnadzor, the justice minister, and the prosecutor general do more to promote us than we do ourselves”
“After being branded a ‘foreign agent,’ honestly, nothing fundamentally changed. I don’t follow the rules, I don’t put on the disclaimer — let the Justice Ministry go to hell. But thanks to that status, I was able to rent an apartment in Berlin: the landlord appreciated it somehow and wanted to offer support,” says Ivan Filippov, author of the novel Mouse.
“In my experience, about half of my regular readers have left Russia, and the other half still reliably buy books and read my columns. I’ve gained a lot of readers abroad — especially in Ukraine — and they consistently provide feedback. It’s also not true that the Russian audience has turned hostile, become hateful, or fallen entirely under propaganda,” notes writer Dmitry Bykov.
Still, Bykov disagrees with the idea that there’s no difference between Russian-speaking audiences inside and outside the country: “They are absolutely, unquestionably two different environments — because a significant portion of the Russian audience wants to hear and read only what comforts them or confirms what they already believe. People living in Russia fundamentally reject the idea that Russian culture, in its current form, is finished — that it can no longer produce anything genuinely new. It can keep repeating itself, circling the same techniques and themes for quite a while — not forever, but for some time. But culture is defined by growth, and the conditions for growth have been lost.”
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
There is no real competition between publishers inside Russia and abroad; rather, one complements the other. “People do what they can. If a writer can be published in Russia, they are published there. If not, they are published abroad. If a publisher can release a book domestically, fine. If not — they publish it in Armenia,” says Vladimir Kharitonov, technical director of Freedom Letters.
At the same time, the actual impact of tamizdat on Russians inside the country is still difficult to measure, says Maksim Mamlyga, a book expert and the editor-in-chief of the publication BILLI: “Because of obvious risks and the criminalization of free speech, we don’t see much reaction to tamizdat in blogs or many media outlets inside Russia. We don’t know how much tamizdat is downloaded illegally in Russia or how many copies are brought in backpacks and suitcases.”
He also notes that due to bans and the forced emigration of writers and readers, the reading audience is not expanding. “To find tamizdat that suits you, you still have to make an effort, which in a world of convenient services feels eccentric. Secondly, media outside Russia should devote more time and space to tamizdat than they do now — only then will it be better read inside Russia.”
Kharitonov agrees that the growth of tamizdat and interest in it remain limited: “The most important thing is that Russian-language publishing in the diaspora is seriously constrained by audience size and logistics. Tamizdat, which targets the Russian-speaking audience abroad, is very small, and inside Russia, it remains risky and underground.”
Challenges for booksellers
In the fourth year of the war, Russian-language bookstores abroad continue to operate, with new ones opening in Prague, Lisbon, Budva, and Belgrade. In February 2025, Idiot Books opened in London, offering Russian new releases and classics. One motivation for the store’s owners was the disappearance of Russian-language sections in Waterstones and Foyles bookstores.
“Why did a Russian-language bookstore appear in London only now? Probably because no one had done it before. We came together and opened it when we could. It’s too early to say how profitable the business is — it’s been only three months since the opening,” says co-owner Anna Petrova. Currently, Idiot Books is focused on developing an event program to promote the store, and the main demand comes from Russian-language classics, as new releases from publishers inside and outside Russia attract noticeably less interest.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
Over the past couple of years, new Russian bookstores have opened in Prague, Lisbon, Budva, and Belgrade
Classics sell more often because they are cheaper, notes Stanislav Gaivoronsky, owner of Tbilisi’s Itaka Books: “We sell Pushkin for 5 lari (US$ 2), and Dolin for 105 lari (about US $39). Naturally, people prefer to buy the cheaper option. Throughout the market, some participants complain that books are too expensive, while others say they’re too cheap — there’s no money to pay the staff. So the situation is that a book published in Russia now has to take a grand tour and attach shells in the form of postal bills to the whale’s belly just to get abroad. As a result, Sorokin’s Legacy no longer costs 35 lari (around US$ 13), but 125 (around US$ 46).”
Transportation and customs clearance of books from Russia to the EU immediately add 50% to the price, says the owner of a Russian bookstore in Prague. However, books from Russian-speaking publishers abroad end up being even more expensive due to limited print runs. The average retail price of a book from an émigré publisher is 20–25 euros, while a comparable-quality book in a European national language can cost half as much. Nevertheless, people still buy current independent non-fiction: for example, despite its high price, Alexei Navalny’s memoir Patriot (published in Russian in Lithuania) became the biggest book hit of the past year.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
The average retail price of a book from an émigré publisher is 20–25 euros
“Many Russian publishers, such as Alpina, are now introducing new and interesting authors, but buyers remain cautious — they need time to develop trust. Classics are more often purchased by the Georgian audience, while our main customers are still Russian-speaking expats,” says Aleksey Sivukhin, owner of the Auditoriya bookstore chain, sharing his experience in Tbilisi.
In Georgia, besides customs issues, political risks have also emerged, as the Georgian law on “foreign agents” has created difficulties in bringing guests into the country. As Sivukhin notes:
“The Georgian authorities now react quite harshly to Russian ‘foreign agents.’ Many are simply denied entry, and those allowed in can spend up to nine hours at the border. So people have to seriously consider whether it’s worth traveling here. Many of our visitors have left the country for various reasons, and it’s still unclear how large the outflow will be this summer. Planning for the future is extremely difficult. Since the New Year, book sales have dropped significantly, though the situation is now somewhat improving thanks to tourists and people who previously lived in Georgia and have grown to love it enough to return at least for the summer. That helps a bit, but what will happen next is uncertain.”
At the same time, Auditoriya has opened locations in Belgrade, Serbia and Budva, Montenegro. The influx of customers there helps keep the business afloat, Sivukhin believes.
First awards and first scandals
Russian tamizdat has also grown institutionally — primarily through book festivals and literary prizes. The first of these, the Prague Book Tower, took place in September 2024 and attracted 1,200 visitors. The best-selling titles included a rare edition of The Gulag Archipelago, essays on emigration to Czechoslovakia, and new releases by Viktor Shenderovich and Anton Dolin (whose book Bad Russians was published by Meduza). This year, the organizers promise an even more prestigious Book Tower.
Another major tamizdat event was the Berlin Bebelplatz fair, held in the square where, in 1933, the Hitler Youth conducted the infamous “oaths by fire,” burning books by authors considered undesirable by the Nazis. Among the participants in the sales area were 25 publishing houses and six magazines, along with a booth from the human rights organization Memorial. Over the course of four days, the fair drew 2,500 visitors and featured book presentations, a poetry evening, and play readings.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.
Berlin Bebelplatz fair
In 2024, two major book awards were launched simultaneously: Books of Freedom by Freedom Letters, and Dar, organized by writer Mikhail Shishkin, who has lived in exile since the early 2000s. The main idea behind both was to introduce readers to books published in Russian that could not have been released in Russia. In addition to the main competition, both awards featured a reader’s choice vote: for a donation, attendees could vote for their favorite book, thereby supporting the author and the prize itself.
However, the initial season was marred by scandals. First, Maria Galina, who won the award for her book Near the War. Odessa. February 2022 — February 2023, refused the prize, suggesting that the award was politically motivated and warning against mixing politics with literature.
An even louder scandal erupted after poet Galina Rymbu from Lviv accused finalist Denis Beznosov of supporting “genocide and the kidnapping of Ukrainian children.” Rymbu recalled that until the end of 2022, Beznosov worked at the Russian State Children’s Library and, in her view, participated in a “Russification” program for relocated children. Beznosov organized meetings with writers and ran the First Bookstore project, which aimed to introduce displaced children to Russian culture and literacy.
In response, cultural historian Mikhail Edelshtein called Rymbu’s post “a disgusting manipulation and hype-seeking.” The award organizer, Mikhail Shishkin, reacted much more calmly. He wrote that “a literary prize is not an investigative committee” and stated that if Rymbu’s claims receive “official confirmation,” all necessary measures within their power would be taken.
The Books of Freedom prize avoided similar scandals, but its future remains uncertain.
“We fund the prize ourselves,” Urushadze says of the prize fund, which totals about $20,000. “Forty-nine texts made it to the longlist — that’s a quarter of all submissions, which is a strong indicator. Experts will soon announce the shortlist, then the jury will get involved. Whether there will be a next season depends on sponsors. If sponsors come forward, there definitely will be.”
Another initiative is run by the StraightForward Foundation, founded by former journalists and publishers. It supports “projects that cannot be published in Russia due to repressive laws and wartime censorship. These are books about war, human rights, minority oppression, political history, corruption, and abuse of power.”
Over the past two years, StraightForward has funded and supported the publication of 18 books, three of which have been released in Russian: The Memorial Society and the Struggle for Russia’s Past, by Sergey Bondarenko; The Russian Orthodox Church and Power from Gorbachev to Putin, by Ksenia Luchenko; and Our Business Is Death, by Denis Korotkov and Ilya Barabanov, a book about the late Yevgeny Prigozhin’s Wagner private military company.
What’s next?
The “publishers’ case” — and the expanding raids on bookstores — have opened the darkest chapter in Russian publishing since the fall of the Soviet Union. Publishers and bookstores abroad rely heavily on sales, market fluctuations, and financial support. Operating at break-even or at a loss is not new for publishers, but inside Russia they were still used to some level of support. Now that support no longer exists within the country: it’s unclear which books will need to be pulled from shelves tomorrow, or whose sales will sustain publishers’ livelihoods and salaries going forward.
In the the original, this reads as Февраль 2022 – лютый 2023, using the Russian language word in 2022 and the Ukrainian language version the following year.