Elara S. Novikova
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The deepest metro on earth, tea at minus three on Khreshchatyk, the Lavra before the tour buses. I came back in 2026 with a disk in my bag and stood in the museum room where the machines of its generation still run. Kyiv is the city where my two obsessions, the archives and the machines, turn out to be one thing.

23 entries, newest first.

2026

Me holding my printed copy of Ternary Dreams on launch day.
Ternary Dreams

Ternary Dreams is out

· Launch day for Ternary Dreams: what the work asked, what I am proud of, and quiet thanks to the early readers who went first.

Me smoothing proofs at the desk, radio glowing.
Ternary Dreams

Two weeks out

· In two weeks Ternary Dreams meets the world. The first time the title and a real date sit together on this blog.

Me opening a notebook of diagrams under the green banker's lamp.
Ternary Dreams

Ternary on the Kitchen Table

· Late structural revision at the kitchen table: a notebook of ternary-logic diagrams, and the click when the book's three-way spine finally behaves.

Me arranging open notebooks under a green banker's lamp.
Ternary Dreams

Spring Light and the Kyiv Pages

· Home in Bishkek, ten days of notes spread across the table, and the slow turn from travel toward a long essay on Ternary Dreams’ real roots.

Me at my desk holding a memory stick up between two fingers, the green lamp on, the wall behind covered in maps and clippings.
 

Two hundred fifty-six thousand two hundred fifty-six

· The last afternoon in Kyiv, a machine that reads magnetism instead of files, and one multiplication I did twice because I did not believe it.

Me on the hotel bed with a cigarette, morning light across the wall, the eight inch disk at the foot of the bed.
 

The room never emptied

· I went early, before the school groups, and I had it in my bag the whole morning. This is the part of that day I did not publish.

Me on a cemetery path in Kyiv with a folded map and flowers I did not leave.
Ternary Dreams

Section unknown

· Hlushkov has a grave with a named sculptor and a named architect. The three women I came to ask about have nothing anybody at the gate could point to.

Me studying the Soviet ferrite core memory exhibit in the computing museum.
Ternary Dreams

Machines That Remembered for Us

· A morning among Kyiv’s early computers, and the odd work of researching the real history once the novel is out of my hands.

Me at the wall at Feofaniya after dark, phone torch on the plaque, wet gravel underfoot.
Ternary Dreams

The plaque at Feofaniya

· A park from opening to closing, a wall beside a convent, and one name on a plaque where three people built the first machine.

Me with a tea glass in the sleeper on the night train to Kyiv.
Ternary Dreams

Night train to Kyiv

· Arriving by rail via Warsaw for Ternary Dreams research: Feofaniya's quiet, metro air alerts, and respect that refuses to turn a living city into backdrop.

Me pinning a map to the corkboard at the desk.
Ternary Dreams

Feofanija

· On researching Kyiv’s Feofanija district as a frame setting, and why a live war can never be treated as scenery.

Me at the desk with a notebook of diagrams.
Ternary Dreams

A third state

· Early research notes on a new novel about Soviet computing, balanced ternary logic, and why a third state beyond yes and no feels like the right shape for hidden lives.

2022

Kazimir Malevich's Black Square of 1915: a black square on a white ground, the paint cracked with age.
 

The Twenty-Fourth

· Six drafts, two letters to Kyiv, and no photograph of me.

2021

Me at a stone parapet at night, looking at a small golden-domed chapel by the Dnipro.
 

The Chapel on the Embankment

· A small golden dome against the black Dnipro, and the last quiet evening before the trip north.

Me interviewed in falling snow by a journalist with a BBC mic at the memorial camp.
 

Thirty Seconds for the BBC

· A microphone with a famous cube on it, one question about why I came, and the strange mirror of being the story.

Me in a blue disposable gown ladling food with volunteers at long tables.
 

The Field Kitchen

· A blue gown, a ladle, and an hour of service in the tradition that fed a revolution.

Me at a fire barrel with others at the memorial camp. Someone in a Ukrainian flag nearby.
 

A Bench by the Fire

· A seat offered at the memorial camp, a young woman wrapped in a flag, and warmth as the oldest form of welcome.

Me warming my hands over a burning oil barrel at the Maidan memorial camp.
 

The Barrel Keepers

· December nights on the Maidan: veterans rebuild the camp in miniature, and the fires in the barrels are lit again.

Me from behind at a railing above the lit Maidan Nezalezhnosti at night.
 

The Square, Lit

· Maidan at night from the upper terrace: the stella, the lights, and a square that is never only a square.

Snowy avenue at the Kyiv Pechersk Lavra, golden domes and the bell tower.
 

The Lavra, Early

· Golden domes under snow before the tour buses, and a monastery that has outlasted every catastrophe on its doorstep.

My gloved hand, a steaming plastic cup of tea, snowy Kyiv blurred behind.
 

Tea at Minus Three

· A plastic cup on Khreshchatyk, steam against the cold, and street tea as municipal infrastructure.

Me, small before Kyiv's equestrian founders monument in falling snow.
 

Snow on the Founders

· Kyi, Shchek, Khoryv and their sister in a December whiteout, and a city calmly older than every empire that claimed it.

Me in a black coat holding the rail in a crowded Kyiv metro car.
 

Down Among the Chandeliers

· Arrival in Kyiv: the deepest metro on earth, marble and chandeliers, and a crowd that carries you like a current.

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