The truth about Soviet mail-order brides: Inside Katya Suvorova’s new memoir

It’s never been a more terrifying time to be an undocumented immigrant in America. Despite countless protests and pushback, ICE agents continue to patrol the streets. In July, Colombian immigrant Johan Sebastián Durán Guerrero was shot and killed by an ICE officer in Biddeford, Maine, during a routine traffic stop.

But what about the white-passing undocumented immigrants that seem to slip through the system? The ones who blend in so seamlessly (despite the thick accents of some)? We forget they are also legally not supposed to be here. Specifically, those from Eastern Europe, Russia and the former Soviet Union. And what about those young, desperate women who suggestively posed for the camera as the Soviet Union collapsed all around them, hoping to be chosen by an American man?

Katya Suvorova’s searing debut memoir, “Ungrateful Immigrant Daughter: A Memoir from the Child of a Mail-Order Bride,” out Sept. 29, is a heart-wrenching tale of immigration that pulls back the velvety red curtain to reveal one story behind the over-sexualized stereotypical post-Soviet mail-order bride narrative so ingrained in post-Cold War U.S. culture.

My own family legally immigrated to the U.S. from Soviet Belarus in the early 1990s. I grew up with the Western media narrative that Eastern European women were submissive sex symbols, desperate for financial security. Some boys in school even assumed I was “easy” because I was Eastern European.

Mostly told from a child’s point-of-view, Suvorova’s “Ungrateful” traces their journey in the ’90s from Russia to the U.S. and life thereafter, as white-passing undocumented immigrants who illegally crossed the border from Mexico — with the help of a man who replied to her mother’s mail-order-bride ad in a catalog. A catalog Suvorova would find years (and many rich American stepfathers) later while cleaning out the garage, and realize her mother had lied to her. She was not, in fact, a model, posing for a Coca-Cola ad, but a young woman with a small child desperate to leave Russia behind for the West. When Suvorova confronts her mother after finding the catalog, her mother replies: “Everyone was doing it.”

Mail-order brides shaped early colonial America. Men were often the first to settle small Western frontier towns and would in turn grow lonely for companionship. Newspaper ads for brides were normalized and proliferated in 19th century America. According to historian Elliott West, “Some mining camps in Idaho in 1870 had nine men for every woman.” The truth is that love didn’t enter the picture when it came to marriage until about the 19th century with the Victorians; before then, marriage was more like a business contract, with dowries and cows alike.

Letter brides remained ubiquitous in 20th century America and were not stigmatized until the 1970s and 1980s when it became more apparent that mail-order immigrant brides from developing Southeast Asian and Eastern European countries were being abused and exploited. It wasn’t until 2005 that the U.S. passed the International Marriage Broker Regulation Act (IMBRA), which requires background checks and other precautions meant to protect foreign brides from domestic abuse, violence and exploitation. You don’t have to dig deep to see this narrative proliferated in our culture. Jeffrey Epstein mostly recruited Eastern European women into his international sex-trafficking ring.

Suvorova and her mother were not spared such indignities. Abuse, both psychological and physical, permeates the pages of “Ungrateful.” From one of her earliest childhood memories of watching her mother being abused while stuck in a closet to later tales of her mother’s forced alcohol abuse and estrangement from her own mother (Suvorova’s beloved Babushka), expertly executed by her stepfather Adam — the abuse ran rampant. Suvorova herself is a victim, neglected by her mother and forced to act as a child bride to please one of the husbands. Eventually, Suvorova realizes that it wasn’t just her mother that was sold in a catalog to an American suitor, but her young daughter (Suvorova) as well. It’s no surprise that Suvorova is estranged from her mother, a topic she covers often on her social media.

Of course, there is also the “gold digger” stigma. Suvorova writes about girls in school accusing her mother of being a gold digger, intentionally choosing rich boyfriends that would eventually become rich husbands while they lived in poverty and couch surfed. Suvorova’s mother would use creative tactics to find these men: hang out in five-star hotels or fancy athletic clubs. She would have them buy her computers, clothes and expensive jewelry she could sell later. She always ordered the priciest thing on the menu and bought gift cards when the men gave her money for groceries in case the relationship did not work out. She passed down these survival tactics to Suvorova like gospel. But, ultimately, it wasn’t money that her mother was after, it was green cards for them both, the permanence and safety of American citizenship: the American Dream.

In 2012, I dressed up as a mail-order bride for Halloween. I was 22, about the age Suvorova’s mother was when they immigrated to the U.S. I wore a tight sleeveless red American Apparel dress. Shiny fake patent leather pumps. A white veil from Claire’s at the mall. I covered myself in bits of cardboard, packing tape and foam peanuts and overdid my makeup with several coats of mascara and thick black eyeliner. I thought this costume was funny, clever, appropriating and reclaiming the narrative that haunted me all my life. I thought because of where I was born, I was allowed to do this. A notoriously blunt girl who I sensed didn’t like me approached while I was waiting for the bathroom. “What are you, a slut?” she said, scanning me like a barcode.

Suvorova’s memoir effectively shows the risks immigrants were willing to take to escape the collapse of the Soviet Union and the corruption (ruled by the KGB) that followed. Without explicitly diving in, her writing sheds light on today’s Russian corruption and Putin’s endless war with Ukraine, which is ultimately a war against the West. In fact, Suvorova and many antiwar Russian immigrants today are terrified to return to their motherland due to fear of imprisonment and retaliation, as one Los Angeles woman in 2024 learned the hard way upon landing in Russia, receiving a 12-year prison sentence for donating $51 to a Ukrainian charity.

In the building I grew up in and my parents managed, a young Russian “model” and her mother lived with a much older Persian man. Without much inquiry, I simply assumed she was a mail-order bride running from a traumatic past in the motherland, ordered from a catalog to make him dinner and vacuum his carpet. Closer to my age than not, she became my friend. Gifted me jewelry. Babysat me while my parents drank tea with her mother. I later found out she cheated on the Persian man, laid out her wedding dress on the soiled carpet while he was at work, and moved herself and her mother to Las Vegas, where she started a successful business and bought a house.

Suvorova’s story is not just about the childhood trauma inflicted by her mail-order-bride mother, but it’s a redemption story about reuniting with her beloved maternal Babushka and biological father. It’s a story of self-discovery. Not unlike the bestselling memoir “Educated” by Tara Westover, who overcomes an abusive childhood in a rural survivalist Mormon family. Like Westover, Suvorova finds shelter in books, school and an education.

Like all contemporary creative nonfiction writers and memoirists who are not celebrities, Suvorova must have been told somewhere down the line that in order to sell her memoir she must gain a following on social media, and she’s done just that. With about 95,000 followers on Instagram, Suvorova uses the platform to reveal earnest roundups, tips, tragic tales of estrangement and survival, and summaries of deleted chapters of “Ungrateful” as blocks of text over grainy film photos of her as a child. Suvorova’s very active social media presence sheds light on the current state of memoir and nonfiction publishing: You must have a platform to be read.

In a bizarre meta twist of events, Suvorova must sell herself and her story on social media, like her mother sold herself (and in turn her daughter) to those American husbands. In a stroke of marketing genius, some early copies of “Ungrateful” come with book-branded condoms.

And despite revealing in the memoir that she eventually did become an American citizen, Suvorova has since moved to Europe. When I asked Suvorova over Instagram direct message why she and her husband left the U.S. for Europe, she replied: “We left because I didn’t feel safe publishing my book about growing up as an undocumented kid under the current Trump administration. I have to take medicine that, if I were detained and could not take it, would lead to organ failure. We knew ICE was detaining U.S. citizens as well and decided not to risk it. In order to still publish the book and not be detained, we left the U.S.”

How many of us have been cruel immigrant daughters (or sons)? Ungrateful. Spoiled. Unaware or unwilling to acknowledge how much our parents have sacrificed to get us here. In the case of Suvorova’s memoir — although, she does acknowledge her white privilege — she certainly has a lot to be ungrateful for.

Ruzova is a Soviet-born writer based in Los Angeles. Her essay “The Sauna” was a notable in Best American Essays 2025.

It’s never been a more terrifying time to be an undocumented immigrant in America. Despite countless protests and pushback, ICE agents continue to patrol the streets. In July, Colombian immigrant Johan Sebastián Durán Guerrero was shot and killed by an ICE officer in Biddeford, Maine, during a routine traffic stop.

But what about the white-passing undocumented immigrants that seem to slip through the system? The ones who blend in so seamlessly (despite the thick accents of some)? We forget they are also legally not supposed to be here. Specifically, those from Eastern Europe, Russia and the former Soviet Union. And what about those young, desperate women who suggestively posed for the camera as the Soviet Union collapsed all around them, hoping to be chosen by an American man?

Katya Suvorova’s searing debut memoir, “Ungrateful Immigrant Daughter: A Memoir from the Child of a Mail-Order Bride,” out Sept. 29, is a heart-wrenching tale of immigration that pulls back the velvety red curtain to reveal one story behind the over-sexualized stereotypical post-Soviet mail-order bride narrative so ingrained in post-Cold War U.S. culture.

My own family legally immigrated to the U.S. from Soviet Belarus in the early 1990s. I grew up with the Western media narrative that Eastern European women were submissive sex symbols, desperate for financial security. Some boys in school even assumed I was “easy” because I was Eastern European.

Mostly told from a child’s point-of-view, Suvorova’s “Ungrateful” traces their journey in the ’90s from Russia to the U.S. and life thereafter, as white-passing undocumented immigrants who illegally crossed the border from Mexico — with the help of a man who replied to her mother’s mail-order-bride ad in a catalog. A catalog Suvorova would find years (and many rich American stepfathers) later while cleaning out the garage, and realize her mother had lied to her. She was not, in fact, a model, posing for a Coca-Cola ad, but a young woman with a small child desperate to leave Russia behind for the West. When Suvorova confronts her mother after finding the catalog, her mother replies: “Everyone was doing it.”

Mail-order brides shaped early colonial America. Men were often the first to settle small Western frontier towns and would in turn grow lonely for companionship. Newspaper ads for brides were normalized and proliferated in 19th century America. According to historian Elliott West, “Some mining camps in Idaho in 1870 had nine men for every woman.” The truth is that love didn’t enter the picture when it came to marriage until about the 19th century with the Victorians; before then, marriage was more like a business contract, with dowries and cows alike.

Letter brides remained ubiquitous in 20th century America and were not stigmatized until the 1970s and 1980s when it became more apparent that mail-order immigrant brides from developing Southeast Asian and Eastern European countries were being abused and exploited. It wasn’t until 2005 that the U.S. passed the International Marriage Broker Regulation Act (IMBRA), which requires background checks and other precautions meant to protect foreign brides from domestic abuse, violence and exploitation. You don’t have to dig deep to see this narrative proliferated in our culture. Jeffrey Epstein mostly recruited Eastern European women into his international sex-trafficking ring.

Suvorova and her mother were not spared such indignities. Abuse, both psychological and physical, permeates the pages of “Ungrateful.” From one of her earliest childhood memories of watching her mother being abused while stuck in a closet to later tales of her mother’s forced alcohol abuse and estrangement from her own mother (Suvorova’s beloved Babushka), expertly executed by her stepfather Adam — the abuse ran rampant. Suvorova herself is a victim, neglected by her mother and forced to act as a child bride to please one of the husbands. Eventually, Suvorova realizes that it wasn’t just her mother that was sold in a catalog to an American suitor, but her young daughter (Suvorova) as well. It’s no surprise that Suvorova is estranged from her mother, a topic she covers often on her social media.

Of course, there is also the “gold digger” stigma. Suvorova writes about girls in school accusing her mother of being a gold digger, intentionally choosing rich boyfriends that would eventually become rich husbands while they lived in poverty and couch surfed. Suvorova’s mother would use creative tactics to find these men: hang out in five-star hotels or fancy athletic clubs. She would have them buy her computers, clothes and expensive jewelry she could sell later. She always ordered the priciest thing on the menu and bought gift cards when the men gave her money for groceries in case the relationship did not work out. She passed down these survival tactics to Suvorova like gospel. But, ultimately, it wasn’t money that her mother was after, it was green cards for them both, the permanence and safety of American citizenship: the American Dream.

In 2012, I dressed up as a mail-order bride for Halloween. I was 22, about the age Suvorova’s mother was when they immigrated to the U.S. I wore a tight sleeveless red American Apparel dress. Shiny fake patent leather pumps. A white veil from Claire’s at the mall. I covered myself in bits of cardboard, packing tape and foam peanuts and overdid my makeup with several coats of mascara and thick black eyeliner. I thought this costume was funny, clever, appropriating and reclaiming the narrative that haunted me all my life. I thought because of where I was born, I was allowed to do this. A notoriously blunt girl who I sensed didn’t like me approached while I was waiting for the bathroom. “What are you, a slut?” she said, scanning me like a barcode.

Suvorova’s memoir effectively shows the risks immigrants were willing to take to escape the collapse of the Soviet Union and the corruption (ruled by the KGB) that followed. Without explicitly diving in, her writing sheds light on today’s Russian corruption and Putin’s endless war with Ukraine, which is ultimately a war against the West. In fact, Suvorova and many antiwar Russian immigrants today are terrified to return to their motherland due to fear of imprisonment and retaliation, as one Los Angeles woman in 2024 learned the hard way upon landing in Russia, receiving a 12-year prison sentence for donating $51 to a Ukrainian charity.

In the building I grew up in and my parents managed, a young Russian “model” and her mother lived with a much older Persian man. Without much inquiry, I simply assumed she was a mail-order bride running from a traumatic past in the motherland, ordered from a catalog to make him dinner and vacuum his carpet. Closer to my age than not, she became my friend. Gifted me jewelry. Babysat me while my parents drank tea with her mother. I later found out she cheated on the Persian man, laid out her wedding dress on the soiled carpet while he was at work, and moved herself and her mother to Las Vegas, where she started a successful business and bought a house.

Suvorova’s story is not just about the childhood trauma inflicted by her mail-order-bride mother, but it’s a redemption story about reuniting with her beloved maternal Babushka and biological father. It’s a story of self-discovery. Not unlike the bestselling memoir “Educated” by Tara Westover, who overcomes an abusive childhood in a rural survivalist Mormon family. Like Westover, Suvorova finds shelter in books, school and an education.

Like all contemporary creative nonfiction writers and memoirists who are not celebrities, Suvorova must have been told somewhere down the line that in order to sell her memoir she must gain a following on social media, and she’s done just that. With about 95,000 followers on Instagram, Suvorova uses the platform to reveal earnest roundups, tips, tragic tales of estrangement and survival, and summaries of deleted chapters of “Ungrateful” as blocks of text over grainy film photos of her as a child. Suvorova’s very active social media presence sheds light on the current state of memoir and nonfiction publishing: You must have a platform to be read.

In a bizarre meta twist of events, Suvorova must sell herself and her story on social media, like her mother sold herself (and in turn her daughter) to those American husbands. In a stroke of marketing genius, some early copies of “Ungrateful” come with book-branded condoms.

And despite revealing in the memoir that she eventually did become an American citizen, Suvorova has since moved to Europe. When I asked Suvorova over Instagram direct message why she and her husband left the U.S. for Europe, she replied: “We left because I didn’t feel safe publishing my book about growing up as an undocumented kid under the current Trump administration. I have to take medicine that, if I were detained and could not take it, would lead to organ failure. We knew ICE was detaining U.S. citizens as well and decided not to risk it. In order to still publish the book and not be detained, we left the U.S.”

How many of us have been cruel immigrant daughters (or sons)? Ungrateful. Spoiled. Unaware or unwilling to acknowledge how much our parents have sacrificed to get us here. In the case of Suvorova’s memoir — although, she does acknowledge her white privilege — she certainly has a lot to be ungrateful for.

Ruzova is a Soviet-born writer based in Los Angeles. Her essay “The Sauna” was a notable in Best American Essays 2025.

It’s never been a more terrifying time to be an undocumented immigrant in America. Despite countless protests and pushback, ICE agents continue to patrol the streets. In July, Colombian immigrant Johan Sebastián Durán Guerrero was shot and killed by an ICE officer in Biddeford, Maine, during a routine traffic stop.

But what about the white-passing undocumented immigrants that seem to slip through the system? The ones who blend in so seamlessly (despite the thick accents of some)? We forget they are also legally not supposed to be here. Specifically, those from Eastern Europe, Russia and the former Soviet Union. And what about those young, desperate women who suggestively posed for the camera as the Soviet Union collapsed all around them, hoping to be chosen by an American man?

Katya Suvorova’s searing debut memoir, “Ungrateful Immigrant Daughter: A Memoir from the Child of a Mail-Order Bride,” out Sept. 29, is a heart-wrenching tale of immigration that pulls back the velvety red curtain to reveal one story behind the over-sexualized stereotypical post-Soviet mail-order bride narrative so ingrained in post-Cold War U.S. culture.

My own family legally immigrated to the U.S. from Soviet Belarus in the early 1990s. I grew up with the Western media narrative that Eastern European women were submissive sex symbols, desperate for financial security. Some boys in school even assumed I was “easy” because I was Eastern European.

Mostly told from a child’s point-of-view, Suvorova’s “Ungrateful” traces their journey in the ’90s from Russia to the U.S. and life thereafter, as white-passing undocumented immigrants who illegally crossed the border from Mexico — with the help of a man who replied to her mother’s mail-order-bride ad in a catalog. A catalog Suvorova would find years (and many rich American stepfathers) later while cleaning out the garage, and realize her mother had lied to her. She was not, in fact, a model, posing for a Coca-Cola ad, but a young woman with a small child desperate to leave Russia behind for the West. When Suvorova confronts her mother after finding the catalog, her mother replies: “Everyone was doing it.”

Mail-order brides shaped early colonial America. Men were often the first to settle small Western frontier towns and would in turn grow lonely for companionship. Newspaper ads for brides were normalized and proliferated in 19th century America. According to historian Elliott West, “Some mining camps in Idaho in 1870 had nine men for every woman.” The truth is that love didn’t enter the picture when it came to marriage until about the 19th century with the Victorians; before then, marriage was more like a business contract, with dowries and cows alike.

Letter brides remained ubiquitous in 20th century America and were not stigmatized until the 1970s and 1980s when it became more apparent that mail-order immigrant brides from developing Southeast Asian and Eastern European countries were being abused and exploited. It wasn’t until 2005 that the U.S. passed the International Marriage Broker Regulation Act (IMBRA), which requires background checks and other precautions meant to protect foreign brides from domestic abuse, violence and exploitation. You don’t have to dig deep to see this narrative proliferated in our culture. Jeffrey Epstein mostly recruited Eastern European women into his international sex-trafficking ring.

Suvorova and her mother were not spared such indignities. Abuse, both psychological and physical, permeates the pages of “Ungrateful.” From one of her earliest childhood memories of watching her mother being abused while stuck in a closet to later tales of her mother’s forced alcohol abuse and estrangement from her own mother (Suvorova’s beloved Babushka), expertly executed by her stepfather Adam — the abuse ran rampant. Suvorova herself is a victim, neglected by her mother and forced to act as a child bride to please one of the husbands. Eventually, Suvorova realizes that it wasn’t just her mother that was sold in a catalog to an American suitor, but her young daughter (Suvorova) as well. It’s no surprise that Suvorova is estranged from her mother, a topic she covers often on her social media.

Of course, there is also the “gold digger” stigma. Suvorova writes about girls in school accusing her mother of being a gold digger, intentionally choosing rich boyfriends that would eventually become rich husbands while they lived in poverty and couch surfed. Suvorova’s mother would use creative tactics to find these men: hang out in five-star hotels or fancy athletic clubs. She would have them buy her computers, clothes and expensive jewelry she could sell later. She always ordered the priciest thing on the menu and bought gift cards when the men gave her money for groceries in case the relationship did not work out. She passed down these survival tactics to Suvorova like gospel. But, ultimately, it wasn’t money that her mother was after, it was green cards for them both, the permanence and safety of American citizenship: the American Dream.

In 2012, I dressed up as a mail-order bride for Halloween. I was 22, about the age Suvorova’s mother was when they immigrated to the U.S. I wore a tight sleeveless red American Apparel dress. Shiny fake patent leather pumps. A white veil from Claire’s at the mall. I covered myself in bits of cardboard, packing tape and foam peanuts and overdid my makeup with several coats of mascara and thick black eyeliner. I thought this costume was funny, clever, appropriating and reclaiming the narrative that haunted me all my life. I thought because of where I was born, I was allowed to do this. A notoriously blunt girl who I sensed didn’t like me approached while I was waiting for the bathroom. “What are you, a slut?” she said, scanning me like a barcode.

Suvorova’s memoir effectively shows the risks immigrants were willing to take to escape the collapse of the Soviet Union and the corruption (ruled by the KGB) that followed. Without explicitly diving in, her writing sheds light on today’s Russian corruption and Putin’s endless war with Ukraine, which is ultimately a war against the West. In fact, Suvorova and many antiwar Russian immigrants today are terrified to return to their motherland due to fear of imprisonment and retaliation, as one Los Angeles woman in 2024 learned the hard way upon landing in Russia, receiving a 12-year prison sentence for donating $51 to a Ukrainian charity.

In the building I grew up in and my parents managed, a young Russian “model” and her mother lived with a much older Persian man. Without much inquiry, I simply assumed she was a mail-order bride running from a traumatic past in the motherland, ordered from a catalog to make him dinner and vacuum his carpet. Closer to my age than not, she became my friend. Gifted me jewelry. Babysat me while my parents drank tea with her mother. I later found out she cheated on the Persian man, laid out her wedding dress on the soiled carpet while he was at work, and moved herself and her mother to Las Vegas, where she started a successful business and bought a house.

Suvorova’s story is not just about the childhood trauma inflicted by her mail-order-bride mother, but it’s a redemption story about reuniting with her beloved maternal Babushka and biological father. It’s a story of self-discovery. Not unlike the bestselling memoir “Educated” by Tara Westover, who overcomes an abusive childhood in a rural survivalist Mormon family. Like Westover, Suvorova finds shelter in books, school and an education.

Like all contemporary creative nonfiction writers and memoirists who are not celebrities, Suvorova must have been told somewhere down the line that in order to sell her memoir she must gain a following on social media, and she’s done just that. With about 95,000 followers on Instagram, Suvorova uses the platform to reveal earnest roundups, tips, tragic tales of estrangement and survival, and summaries of deleted chapters of “Ungrateful” as blocks of text over grainy film photos of her as a child. Suvorova’s very active social media presence sheds light on the current state of memoir and nonfiction publishing: You must have a platform to be read.

In a bizarre meta twist of events, Suvorova must sell herself and her story on social media, like her mother sold herself (and in turn her daughter) to those American husbands. In a stroke of marketing genius, some early copies of “Ungrateful” come with book-branded condoms.

And despite revealing in the memoir that she eventually did become an American citizen, Suvorova has since moved to Europe. When I asked Suvorova over Instagram direct message why she and her husband left the U.S. for Europe, she replied: “We left because I didn’t feel safe publishing my book about growing up as an undocumented kid under the current Trump administration. I have to take medicine that, if I were detained and could not take it, would lead to organ failure. We knew ICE was detaining U.S. citizens as well and decided not to risk it. In order to still publish the book and not be detained, we left the U.S.”

How many of us have been cruel immigrant daughters (or sons)? Ungrateful. Spoiled. Unaware or unwilling to acknowledge how much our parents have sacrificed to get us here. In the case of Suvorova’s memoir — although, she does acknowledge her white privilege — she certainly has a lot to be ungrateful for.

Ruzova is a Soviet-born writer based in Los Angeles. Her essay “The Sauna” was a notable in Best American Essays 2025.

It’s never been a more terrifying time to be an undocumented immigrant in America. Despite countless protests and pushback, ICE agents continue to patrol the streets. In July, Colombian immigrant Johan Sebastián Durán Guerrero was shot and killed by an ICE officer in Biddeford, Maine, during a routine traffic stop.

But what about the white-passing undocumented immigrants that seem to slip through the system? The ones who blend in so seamlessly (despite the thick accents of some)? We forget they are also legally not supposed to be here. Specifically, those from Eastern Europe, Russia and the former Soviet Union. And what about those young, desperate women who suggestively posed for the camera as the Soviet Union collapsed all around them, hoping to be chosen by an American man?

Katya Suvorova’s searing debut memoir, “Ungrateful Immigrant Daughter: A Memoir from the Child of a Mail-Order Bride,” out Sept. 29, is a heart-wrenching tale of immigration that pulls back the velvety red curtain to reveal one story behind the over-sexualized stereotypical post-Soviet mail-order bride narrative so ingrained in post-Cold War U.S. culture.

My own family legally immigrated to the U.S. from Soviet Belarus in the early 1990s. I grew up with the Western media narrative that Eastern European women were submissive sex symbols, desperate for financial security. Some boys in school even assumed I was “easy” because I was Eastern European.

Mostly told from a child’s point-of-view, Suvorova’s “Ungrateful” traces their journey in the ’90s from Russia to the U.S. and life thereafter, as white-passing undocumented immigrants who illegally crossed the border from Mexico — with the help of a man who replied to her mother’s mail-order-bride ad in a catalog. A catalog Suvorova would find years (and many rich American stepfathers) later while cleaning out the garage, and realize her mother had lied to her. She was not, in fact, a model, posing for a Coca-Cola ad, but a young woman with a small child desperate to leave Russia behind for the West. When Suvorova confronts her mother after finding the catalog, her mother replies: “Everyone was doing it.”

Mail-order brides shaped early colonial America. Men were often the first to settle small Western frontier towns and would in turn grow lonely for companionship. Newspaper ads for brides were normalized and proliferated in 19th century America. According to historian Elliott West, “Some mining camps in Idaho in 1870 had nine men for every woman.” The truth is that love didn’t enter the picture when it came to marriage until about the 19th century with the Victorians; before then, marriage was more like a business contract, with dowries and cows alike.

Letter brides remained ubiquitous in 20th century America and were not stigmatized until the 1970s and 1980s when it became more apparent that mail-order immigrant brides from developing Southeast Asian and Eastern European countries were being abused and exploited. It wasn’t until 2005 that the U.S. passed the International Marriage Broker Regulation Act (IMBRA), which requires background checks and other precautions meant to protect foreign brides from domestic abuse, violence and exploitation. You don’t have to dig deep to see this narrative proliferated in our culture. Jeffrey Epstein mostly recruited Eastern European women into his international sex-trafficking ring.

Suvorova and her mother were not spared such indignities. Abuse, both psychological and physical, permeates the pages of “Ungrateful.” From one of her earliest childhood memories of watching her mother being abused while stuck in a closet to later tales of her mother’s forced alcohol abuse and estrangement from her own mother (Suvorova’s beloved Babushka), expertly executed by her stepfather Adam — the abuse ran rampant. Suvorova herself is a victim, neglected by her mother and forced to act as a child bride to please one of the husbands. Eventually, Suvorova realizes that it wasn’t just her mother that was sold in a catalog to an American suitor, but her young daughter (Suvorova) as well. It’s no surprise that Suvorova is estranged from her mother, a topic she covers often on her social media.

Of course, there is also the “gold digger” stigma. Suvorova writes about girls in school accusing her mother of being a gold digger, intentionally choosing rich boyfriends that would eventually become rich husbands while they lived in poverty and couch surfed. Suvorova’s mother would use creative tactics to find these men: hang out in five-star hotels or fancy athletic clubs. She would have them buy her computers, clothes and expensive jewelry she could sell later. She always ordered the priciest thing on the menu and bought gift cards when the men gave her money for groceries in case the relationship did not work out. She passed down these survival tactics to Suvorova like gospel. But, ultimately, it wasn’t money that her mother was after, it was green cards for them both, the permanence and safety of American citizenship: the American Dream.

In 2012, I dressed up as a mail-order bride for Halloween. I was 22, about the age Suvorova’s mother was when they immigrated to the U.S. I wore a tight sleeveless red American Apparel dress. Shiny fake patent leather pumps. A white veil from Claire’s at the mall. I covered myself in bits of cardboard, packing tape and foam peanuts and overdid my makeup with several coats of mascara and thick black eyeliner. I thought this costume was funny, clever, appropriating and reclaiming the narrative that haunted me all my life. I thought because of where I was born, I was allowed to do this. A notoriously blunt girl who I sensed didn’t like me approached while I was waiting for the bathroom. “What are you, a slut?” she said, scanning me like a barcode.

Suvorova’s memoir effectively shows the risks immigrants were willing to take to escape the collapse of the Soviet Union and the corruption (ruled by the KGB) that followed. Without explicitly diving in, her writing sheds light on today’s Russian corruption and Putin’s endless war with Ukraine, which is ultimately a war against the West. In fact, Suvorova and many antiwar Russian immigrants today are terrified to return to their motherland due to fear of imprisonment and retaliation, as one Los Angeles woman in 2024 learned the hard way upon landing in Russia, receiving a 12-year prison sentence for donating $51 to a Ukrainian charity.

In the building I grew up in and my parents managed, a young Russian “model” and her mother lived with a much older Persian man. Without much inquiry, I simply assumed she was a mail-order bride running from a traumatic past in the motherland, ordered from a catalog to make him dinner and vacuum his carpet. Closer to my age than not, she became my friend. Gifted me jewelry. Babysat me while my parents drank tea with her mother. I later found out she cheated on the Persian man, laid out her wedding dress on the soiled carpet while he was at work, and moved herself and her mother to Las Vegas, where she started a successful business and bought a house.

Suvorova’s story is not just about the childhood trauma inflicted by her mail-order-bride mother, but it’s a redemption story about reuniting with her beloved maternal Babushka and biological father. It’s a story of self-discovery. Not unlike the bestselling memoir “Educated” by Tara Westover, who overcomes an abusive childhood in a rural survivalist Mormon family. Like Westover, Suvorova finds shelter in books, school and an education.

Like all contemporary creative nonfiction writers and memoirists who are not celebrities, Suvorova must have been told somewhere down the line that in order to sell her memoir she must gain a following on social media, and she’s done just that. With about 95,000 followers on Instagram, Suvorova uses the platform to reveal earnest roundups, tips, tragic tales of estrangement and survival, and summaries of deleted chapters of “Ungrateful” as blocks of text over grainy film photos of her as a child. Suvorova’s very active social media presence sheds light on the current state of memoir and nonfiction publishing: You must have a platform to be read.

In a bizarre meta twist of events, Suvorova must sell herself and her story on social media, like her mother sold herself (and in turn her daughter) to those American husbands. In a stroke of marketing genius, some early copies of “Ungrateful” come with book-branded condoms.

And despite revealing in the memoir that she eventually did become an American citizen, Suvorova has since moved to Europe. When I asked Suvorova over Instagram direct message why she and her husband left the U.S. for Europe, she replied: “We left because I didn’t feel safe publishing my book about growing up as an undocumented kid under the current Trump administration. I have to take medicine that, if I were detained and could not take it, would lead to organ failure. We knew ICE was detaining U.S. citizens as well and decided not to risk it. In order to still publish the book and not be detained, we left the U.S.”

How many of us have been cruel immigrant daughters (or sons)? Ungrateful. Spoiled. Unaware or unwilling to acknowledge how much our parents have sacrificed to get us here. In the case of Suvorova’s memoir — although, she does acknowledge her white privilege — she certainly has a lot to be ungrateful for.

Ruzova is a Soviet-born writer based in Los Angeles. Her essay “The Sauna” was a notable in Best American Essays 2025.