“Writing was an island of freedom”: Brenda Flanagan and Hana Waisserová on women’s artistic dissent in Czechoslovakia
What was it like for women in Czechoslovakia to live and create under a totalitarian regime? How did they resist, and how did their art reflect their struggle for freedom? Some of the answers to these questions can be found in Women’s Artistic Dissent: Repelling Totalitarianism in Pre-1989 Czechoslovakia, written by Brenda Flanagan and Hana Waisserová. In this interview, they share insights about the women who used writing, painting, and other creative forms to push back against oppression, and about the book that brings their stories to light.
Brenda, you first visited the Czech Republic in the late 1990s. What brought you here, and how did your interest in Caribbean and African-American literature lead you to connect with Czech women dissidents?
Brenda Flanagan:
"I am, first of all, a writer, and because I’m always aware of how women writers are treated around the world, wherever I go I try to learn their names and find their books. I want to read them and introduce my students to their work as well.
"So I first came to the Czech Republic through a program that was run by an organization that brings faculty from around the country to various places. And with a number of faculty from other parts of the United States, we went to Prague.
"The interesting thing about it is that my flight was delayed, so everybody got there before I did. But then, as luck would have it, I was the only person from a southern college. And I happened to be the only writer.
"One of the things I usually do, whenever I go to a new country, I just run away from the group, and I go off and wander around the cities on my own. So in Prague, I left the group and just went from bookstore to bookstore asking about Czech women writers. By the way, I didn't know any Czech but I didn't let that deter me.
“I especially wanted to read women writers who had been published within the last 30 to 40 years. The bookstore salespeople kept telling me, 'Oh, there's nobody.' And they would mention all the famous men's names. And I said, 'I know these people. I know Kafka, Kundera. I want women writers.'
"Finally, in Old Town, in a little bookstore that I don't think exists anymore, this guy said, 'Ah, I have a book for you.' It was called Baradla Cave. Fortunately, it was translated into English by an American. He looked at me kind of strangely and said it was surrealist, and I said, 'I want to read the book.'
"That was my first introduction to Eva Švankmajerová’s work. Reading it drove me crazy, because I couldn’t understand much of it. I realized I’d have to know a great deal about Eva herself, as well as Czech history and geography, to fully grasp her novel Baradla Cave."
Meeting Eva Švankmajerová and joining Prague’s Surrealist Group
You eventually became close friends with her and even became an honorary member of the Prague Surrealist Group…
Brenda:
"Yes, I absolutely did. I dared myself two years later to go back to the Czech Republic to present what I had understood about this book and about this writer at a conference organised by the Czech Society for Arts and Sciences in Pilsen.
"But before I went to Pilsen, I started roaming about Prague trying to find Eva Švankmajerová. I was determined to meet this woman who had driven me crazy with her work.
"I finally ended up at the British Council, where the receptionist asked what I was doing in Prague. I told her I was trying to find this writer. She said, 'Oh, I know her,' and called Eva.
"It was one of the most important days of my life. Eva agreed to meet me on a Thursday at Café Montmartre, where she and Jan and their Surrealist Group would often meet. That was the beginning of a lasting relationship. Although Eva has since passed away, I still have a strong connection with Jan and several other members of the Czech Surrealist Group."
Writing under pressure: Women’s dissent and quiet resistance
Hana, you have written extensively about women's dissent and gender under totalitarian regimes. How did you and Brenda first cross paths, and what led you to work together on this book project?
Hana Waissová:
"To make a long story short, I discovered Brenda through her own writing when I was invited to the American Cultural Centre. I had read some of Brenda's short stories and her novel, and when I got to know her, I became enchanted with her.
"We started having conversations, and Brenda told me about her quest for women writers in various places. I also learned about her interviews with many Czech women, just to find out what women were like.
"We started from there and eventually settled on our two main protagonists in the book. Even so, the book is also about other women—creative writers or artists—who crafted spaces of freedom for themselves during those hard times."
Those two main protagonists are Eva Švankmajerová and Eda Kriseová, journalist, fiction writer, essayist, and activist, who served in president Václav Havel’s first cabinet. Why did you choose those two women?
Hana:
"Just to give some context, we were reading and exploring a lot, and we realized there is a whole world out there with women who are incredibly creative—not only as writers but also as curators, photographers, poets, and organizers. They wore many hats.
"Our main interest, however, was the writing. Obviously, Brenda was struck by Eva Švankmajerová’s writing, and I was struck by Eda Kriseová’s writing. And I realised that even though we were writing about other women, we didn’t want to go down the memory lane and focus solely on testimonial literature. We wanted to highlight women who were creative and independent in their thinking and writing.
"We also realized that these two writers were fascinating and had a worldly perspective. Their minds, the way they wrote about the world, were much bigger than the usual scope of writing. It was not really realistic, it was very imaginative. Their lives were deeply intertwined with their writing, and that intersection was a central part of our story."
Brenda:
"I’d like to add that it was fascinating to look at the lives of these two women, who spent most of their time in Prague. They lived not that far from each other and knew of each other but didn’t know each other personally. They shared the same political and economic space but wrote very differently.
"That combination of commonality and difference drew us to settle on these two women. I was going to write a book about Eva anyway, no matter what, but it was wonderful to collaborate with Hana and bring the whole project together."
The struggle for recognition: Why women’s voices were overlooked
Despite their differences, did Eva Švankmajerová and Eda Kriseová explore some common themes or topics in their work?
Brenda:
"Well, Surrealism is so different from everything else! One of the things we have to realize is that Eva Švankmajerová is mainly known as a painter and artist, though she was also a major poet and fiction writer.
"However, her concern for women, their lives, and the ways women were treated under totalitarianism is evident in her work. Both Eva and Eda were also deeply concerned with the environment, which comes through in their writings."
Hana:
"I agree. I think they both shared the added value of being connected to Prague and to its avant-garde traditions. They also shared values, humour, and sharp observations of the lives around them. And I think they both treated creativity as an escape to freedom.
"Eva, as Jan Švankmajer has recounted, was incredibly free-spirited, creating and showing the children what freedom was like rather than sending them to school. And I know the same is true for Eda Kriseová.
"When things became really tough in Prague, she would escape to Želiv to volunteer in a mental institution while still caring for her children and family. Women's solidarity was part of their lives; through creativity, they were really able to escape.
"Eda Kriseová mentioned to us that writing was like an island of freedom, a space where nobody could reach her. I think the same is true for Eva Švankmajerová. That’s definitely their common denominator."
At the beginning of the book, you quote Eda Kriseová saying she was forced into dissent rather than choosing it. Can you explain what quiet dissent looked like for women under totalitarian rule?
Hana:
"So, Eda claimed she didn’t want to be a dissident, but she was blacklisted from journalism. She was working for Mladý Svět and then for Listy, which was later closed down. So she realised she had no choice but to live as a dissident.
"Eda Kriseová mentioned to us that writing was like an island of freedom, a space where nobody could reach her. I think the same is true for Eva Švankmajerová. That’s definitely their common denominator."
"We were also looking at how dissidence is understood, because it’s usually associated with men—these bohemian mavericks who live unconventional lives and have all these lofty thoughts about freedom.
"However, for women, the experience and expression of dissidence were often quite different. Women tended to be more grounded in everyday realities, and they created their own distinct meanings of what it meant to dissent.
"There were quite a few women thinking about these issues, and some of them pointed out that they had been pushed aside or labelled as renegades—as Kantůrková wrote. But at the same time, they were part of the opposition, creating their own spaces for resistance.
"There are many examples of women who lived in dissent in very active ways—some, like Dana Němcová, created open households. Others argued that dissidents shouldn’t exist as a completely separate 'parallel poles' or a second culture, but rather that there needed to be interaction with mainstream culture if real change was to happen.
"And I think that women were crucial in these interactions—not only supporting each other, but also building connections across different worlds. There was a strong sense of women’s solidarity that became an important part of the dissident movement.
"At the same time, many women were uncomfortable with the label of 'dissident.' They didn’t always identify with it, feeling that it wasn’t inclusive enough to capture their experiences. This ties into another interesting tension within the movement—the focus on human rights.
"While human rights were a shared goal, some women questioned whether that framework was truly inclusive of women’s perspectives, since it was, in many ways, a concept shaped by men."
Legacies of care and creativity: From dissent to humanitarian action
For a long time, women's artistic dissent didn’t get the attention it deserved. Is this because their dissent was more subtle than men’s, and does this explain why their voices were less widely heard?
Brenda:
"These women—like women writers all over the world, yesterday and today, and, God help us, hopefully not in the future—have always been placed in a secondary position to male writers.
"One of the reasons I wanted to find out more about writers—particularly in countries that had been associated with the Soviet Union—was because I had always assumed that women there were equal to men in every respect. That was the kind of message we often heard. I wouldn’t necessarily call it propaganda, but that was the general narrative: that women in those societies had achieved full equality.
"These women—like women writers all over the world, yesterday and today, and, God help us, hopefully not in the future—have always been placed in a secondary position to male writers."
"So, I thought, if there were male writers in those countries, there must surely be an equal number of female writers as well. But it turned out not to be the case. And I don’t think that’s the women’s fault.
"In spite of all the rhetoric about equality, diversity, and embracing women’s voices as equally legitimate, we still live in societies—even my own—where, when reality hits, that ideal simply doesn’t hold true. Women’s voices continue to be valued less than men’s."
Hana:
"Yes, there’s also something to be said about how we look back at literary history. For example, there was this famous underground literary compendium that gathered together banned writers. There’s a well-known image of it: Eda Kriseová appears on a page surrounded by small photographs, and she’s the only woman there. Similarly, in Eva Švankmajerová’s surrealist group, there was perhaps one other woman—but still, they were very much in the minority.
"When Princeton published Writing on the Wall, the first book of Czech dissident writing in 1983, there were only two women included; everyone else was male. So those were the conditions at the time.
"It’s really only in the last twenty years or so that we’ve begun to see more women writers being published. Much of this work, however, has taken the form of testimonial literature.
"So we feel there’s still a noticeable asymmetry that needs to be addressed—but we’re also discovering a lot of remarkable writing by women. In our book, for example, we mention several of them. Naďa Plíšková, the wife of Karel Nepraš, has had her work published only recently.
"Zdena Tominová is another extraordinary writer—a surrealist poet who went into exile. Her poetry has finally been published, but the two novels she wrote in England, as far as I know, have never been released in Czechia. She also wrote plays, but she’s still better known for her political activities than for her literary work.
"So yes, there is definitely an asymmetry, as Brenda so generously explained, but at the same time, there’s a growing recognition of the richness of women’s writing that had long been overlooked."
Brenda:
"One of Eva’s major frustrations in life was that men were treated differently from her. She often said she wished she had been born male—not biologically, but because men were granted privileges and opportunities that were denied to her, even in a society that claimed equality for women.
"And as Hana pointed out, some women were also unhappy seeing Eva creating the kinds of writing and art she did. I think much of that comes from how people are socialized. Growing up, you’re not taught that you’re equal to men, and so many women come to believe they’re not.
"I happened to grow up with seven brothers, and I knew I was damn well equal to all of them. That’s one of the things I admired so much about Eva. We came from different countries, different landscapes—I grew up under British imperialism in Trinidad—yet I saw so much of myself in her. We were of different races, different everything, but I saw in her a kindred spirit. I actually fell in love with this woman—not romantically, but with deep admiration for a woman in another country who thought like me."
I wanted to ask you about the availability of the writings of Eva Švankmajerová and Eda Kriseová, but also the other women that you mentioned. How widely have their works been translated into English?
Brenda:
"Well, Eva Švankmajerová’s Baradla Cave has recently been reissued. After our book came out in December 2023, Twisted Spoon Press released an updated translation of her work. Some of her poems have also been published in English.
Hana:
"Yes. Most of these works by women were published in a range of venues—anthologies, literary magazines such as Partisan Review, and other academic journals. But in general, her longer works have been available mostly in German and Dutch. So translation is definitely an issue.
"Here and there, some of the works have appeared in English, but there should be much more translation done—especially of her more recent work. She also wrote a biography of Václav Havel, which is available in English.
"However, her creative writing—where her voice really matures—is remarkable. It touches on humanitarian themes, planetary connections, an open and generous approach to womanhood, care for others, and reflections on the soul and body.
"There’s something profoundly universal in her writing. I hope more of her work will be translated, because it speaks to a global sense of womanhood—not something purely local or nostalgic, but deeply contemporary and human."
Eva Švankmajerová sadly died in 2005, but Eda Kriseová is still very active today, along with other women dissidents. I know that one of the things they are doing is helping Ukrainian refugees. Would you say this comes from the same sense of responsibility they had years ago—the same spirit of social engagement, perhaps?
Hana:
"Yes, I would say so. That has always been their mode of life—caring for others. They believe that by taking care of others, you’re also doing something for yourself.
"These days, a group of these wonderful, creative women have started an organization called Grandmothers without Borders. Since the beginning of the war in Ukraine, they’ve launched a project called Kafe Žínka.
"At first, it was meant simply as a hub where women could find safety and dignity, but it has grown into a practical and sustainable project supporting Ukrainian women and others displaced by war—from Ukraine, Chechnya, and other regions affected by Russian invasions.
"It’s deeply empowering. At its heart is independence and mutual respect. These women reach out to others who share their values. It’s very down to earth, but incredibly impactful. It creates a beautiful support network for displaced Ukrainians living in Prague.
"They organize collections, write letters, and advocate actively. Recently, they helped free a dissident radio journalist, Alsu Kurmasheva, who had been imprisoned in Prague, by writing appeals to the U.S. Secretary of State, Antony Blinken. They even wrote letters to Russia—saying, 'We haven’t used Russian in forty years, but we wrote in it anyway.'
"What I’m trying to say is that their activities are vast. It’s not only humanitarian aid—it’s an entire life philosophy. They create open spaces where people can breathe, create, and respect each other. It’s about creativity, yes, but also about human dignity."
Brenda:
"Well, I like to think that Eva is not dead, because her spirit lives in me. It lives in her children, through Jan, through the Czech Surrealist Group, through her paintings and writings.
"Yes, that’s exactly what we wanted—to encourage other women to recognize female legacies that are much broader and deeper than is often acknowledged."
"And I will do everything I can to promote that—to show not only the rest of the world, maybe even the rest of the universe, the wonder and beauty that Eva and Eda brought into this world. And that’s why Hana and I wrote this book."
Hana:
"Well, I think that’s just beautiful. Yes, that’s exactly what we wanted—to encourage other women to recognize female legacies that are much broader and deeper than is often acknowledged.
"These legacies go far beyond simplistic understandings of women’s writing or women’s lives under totalitarianism. We were fascinated by the ways creativity gives meaning—how it provides purpose to so many women’s lives.
"There’s something contagious about this kind of creativity, and we hope that through our work, more people will feel inspired by these women’s stories and carry them forward."
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