"Art makes life, makes interest, makes importance"

October 19, 2014

Bach Cantatas (53): Trinity XX

The Twentieth Sunday after Trinity. The cantatas for this day are based on the parable of the marriage of the King's son, for which invitations are sent out but largely ignored because people are too busy; when finally guests do come, one person lacks a wedding garment and is severely punished. This parable may be mixed with the more practical message of the Epistle to avoid bad company and bad habits.

There are three cantatas for this Sunday.

Readings:
Ephesians 5:15–21, Avoid bad company: "walk circumspectly, ... filled with the Spirit"
Matthew 22:1–14, parable of the great banquet (marriage of the king's son)

References:
BCWBDECNLSGJNLVHWPText

[Jan Luyken: The Man Without a Wedding Garment]

Cantatas:
  • Ach! ich sehe, itzt, da ich zur Hochzeit gehe, BWV 162, 3 November 1715 or 25 October 1716
    Aria (bass): Ach! ich sehe, itzt, da ich zur Hochzeit gehe
    Recitative (tenor): O großes Hochzeitfes

    Aria (soprano): Jesu, Brunnquell aller Gnaden
    Recitative (alto): Mein Jesu, laß mich nicht
    Duet aria (alto, tenor): In meinem Gott bin ich erfreut
    Chorale: Ach, ich habe schon erblicket

    ("Ah! I see, now, when I go to the wedding") An early cantata written in 1715 in Weimar on a text by Salomon Franck. Although the narrative is based on the notion of a wedding, it is not at all joyous, but focuses on the worries of the invitees that they may be unworthy (lacking a wedding garment). Bach performed the cantata again in 1723 in Leipzig and then added a part for a corno da tirarsi, a rare Baroque wind instrument thought to have been similar to the slide trumpet (tromba da tirarsi). This instrument is used in the opening movement, an austere solo aria for bass. The slide trumpet adds a haunting note to the contemplative music. Not all parts for the embellished soprano aria have come down to us, so in some performances parts for a flauto traverso and oboe d'amore are reconstructed. Although the consoling duet for alto and tenor is only accompanied by the continuo, this seems complete. The cantata closes with a short chorale on a beautiful melody by Johann Rosenmüller from 1652.
  • Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele, BWV 180, 22 October 1724
    Chorus: Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele
    Aria (tenor): Ermuntre dich, dein Heiland klopft
    Recitative and chorale (soprano): Wie teuer sind des heilgen Mahles Gaben! – Ach, wie hungert mein Gemüte
    Recitative (alto): Mein Herz fühlt in sich Furcht und Freude
    Aria (soprano): Lebens Sonne, Licht der Sinnen
    Recitative (bass): Herr, laß an mir dein treues Lieben
    Chorale: Jesu, wahres Brot des Lebens


    ("Adorn yourself, o dear soul") Based on the beloved chorale melody "Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele" by Johann Franck and its associated melody by Johann Crüger. A joyful cantata in a swinging rhythm. The first movement is a chorale fantasy where two recorders as well as oboe and English horn dance lightly over a gigue-like figure in the strings. The following tenor aria is accompanied by a virtuoso flute, while the knocking from the line "Arouse yourself: your Savior knocks" is humorously depicted in the bass line. The soprano recitative and arioso feature a violoncello piccolo (today often played on the viola), playing a lively figuration beneath an ornamented version of the chorale. In the alto recitative the two recorders appear again and this is followed by a wonderful dancing soprano aria with the full instrumental ensemble, celebrating the joy of communion with Christ. The bass then asks for a rekindling of the fire of faith before a final chorale, one of Bach's greatest chorale harmonizations, brings this wonderful cantata to a satisfying end.
  • Ich geh und suche mit Verlangen, BWV 49, 3 November 1726
    Sinfonia
    Aria (bass): Ich geh und suche mit Verlangen
    Recitative (soprano, bass): Mein Mahl ist zubereit
    Aria (soprano): Ich bin herrlich, ich bin schön
    Recitative (soprano, bass): Mein Glaube hat mich selbst so angezogen
    Aria (bass) + Chorale (soprano): Dich hab ich je und je geliebet – Wie bin ich doch so herzlich froh


    ("(I go and seek with longing") A solo cantata for soprano and bass, a dialogue between the Soul and Jesus, her bridegroom, based on the parable of the wedding feast. The opening sinfonia is an arrangement for organ of the third movement of Bach's E Major harpsichord concerto. The bass as the vox Christi then sings the words of Jesus, based on a passage from the Song of Songs, in an opening aria that is full of longing. The aria is accompanied by an organ obbligato. Next follow a duet recitative and a soprano aria, the latter accompanied by oboe d'amore, viola and continuo. With the words "I am glorious, I am beautiful," the bride reflects on her beauty. This is one of the most impressive arias Bach wrote. After some more dialogue, the cantata is closed by a duet. While the bass sings of his happiness about the consummation of the marriage, the soprano intones a verse of the chorale, “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern.” This is accompanied by quite magical organ music.

October 17, 2014

The Best Stories of Anton Chekhov (4): Period of Maturity B 1892-1895

In this period, Chekhov's finances had improved so much, that in early 1892 he was able to buy a country estate at Melikhovo near Moscow. He moved there with his family and would remain in this new home until 1899 (although also making regular trips to Moscow, St. Petersburg and Southern Russia) - a very happy period in his life. As landowner, he intimately got to know peasant life, something which he used in such stories as "Peasants" and "In the Ravine;" he treated the medical problems of his peasants free of charge and organized measures against the cholera epidemics of 1892-93. He also built schools and a clinic. In contrast to Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, Chekhov never idealized the peasants, but he portrayed them in a realistic fashion - in other words, instead of regarding them as the saviors of Russia, he showed how stupid, backward, superstitious, and debauched they often were. Life as a peasant was hell, and peasants were also hell to each other.

In 1894 Chekhov Tolstoy at his estate Yasnaya Polyana, and they seem to have been good friends despite their different views (Tolstoy was of course a peasant-adorer, trying hard to become one himself).

These were years that Chekhov wrote many excellent stories; in 1895 he also published one of his most original plays, The Seagull. The premiere in 1896 was, however, a disaster - it had to wait until 1998 when Stanislavski performed it successfully with his innovative Moscow Art Theatre.


Here are the stories from 1892, 1893, 1894 and 1895 (I have only left out a few sketches of which I could find no translation). I have provided links to the translations by Constance Garnett at Adelaide University and Gutenberg.

“My Wife [The Wife]” [1892]
Pavel is married to the much younger Natalia. Since two years, they live together-apart, the wife on the ground floor and Pavel on the first floor of the house. There is almost no communication between them, she hates him, he is indifferent to her. Then in the year 1892 there is terrible famine and the peasants are dying, also in the nearby village. Natalia organizes and coordinates the help from local landowners, but to her despair, Pavel also sticks his nose in it. She does it from conviction, he from duty. Everybody flees his pompousness. Finally, he returns to his wife and puts his fortune at her disposal to use for her charities. He will soon be ruined but feels at peace.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“The Grasshopper [The Butterfly] [The Fidget]” [1892]
Ossip Dymov, a young hardworking medical doctor has married Olga, a gay and artistic woman. While he is occupied with his profession, she parties with artists and also makes a trip with a group of friends. She even has an adulterous affair with Ryabovsky, a bohemian-type landscape painter. But when her husband tries to save a patient from diphtheria and himself is infected and dies, she finally realizes that her quiet and hard-working husband was the person with much higher qualities than her artist friends. But now it is too late...
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“After the Theater” [1892]
The idealistic reveries of a 16-year old girl, who has just seen a romantic piece in the theater.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“In Exile” [1892]
One of the few stories based on experiences during Chekhov's 1890 journey through Siberia to Sakhalin. Old Semyon and a young Tartar are working with other exiles as ferrymen at a river crossing. Semyon urges the Tartar to accept his fate. It is no use fighting. He gives the example of Vasily Sergeyitch, a wealthy aristocrat also sent into exile, whose daughter is afflicted with consumption. The father keeps looking for new doctors, often using the ferry crossing when he sets out on his searches, but Old Semyon mocks him, preaching the doctrine of accepting one's fate and doing nothing. This is the attitude Chekhov subtly criticizes: not only is the resignation of Semyon egoistic (he has no empathy for the struggle of others), on top of that he suffers from the common Russian ailment, fatalism - which "justifies" being stone drunk every day because it is no use doing anything.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“Neighbors [1892]
About the problem of inter-human communication. Ivashin's sister Zina has left home to live as common-in-law wife with their neighbor, Vlassitch. A marriage is impossible as Vlassitch wife refuses to grant a separation. After hesitating for a whole month, Ivashin finally visits Vlassitch to clarify the situation. He does not understand what his sister sees in this man. But the visit is unsuccessful: Zina asserts herself and refuses to return home (causing her mother pain), Vlassitch appears to have mortgaged everything to buy off his wife without making any progress, and Ivashin returns home feeling depressed and empty. How will these people be able to find happiness?
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“Ward No. 6” [1892]
The director of a decrepit insane asylum (Ward No. 6) in a provincial town ends up committed to his own ward in a story criticizing repressive society. Doctor Ragin is a solitary man, who has neither pride nor pleasure in his profession. When he was young, he tried to take his duties in the hospital seriously (although he has always felt superior towards the country bumpkins around him), but gradually he has lost all interest and leaves most of the work to his assistant Sergey. The hospital is dirty but Ragin looks away and prefers to spend his time reading. He fails to empathize with the sick and believes that there is no point in trying to cure patients or alleviate suffering. "Dying is the normal end of us all." Then Ragin becomes fascinated by one of the five patients in the ward, Gromov, who is a well-educated man, but also a paranoid. Ragin daily spends hours debating with Gromov. Ragin's outrageous behavior finally leads to his dismissal, and incarceration as a lunatic himself. Happily for him, he soon has a stroke and dies.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“Terror [Fear]” [1892]
Dimitry Silin seems to have everything needed for a happy life: Marya, a wife he loves, children, a well-run farm, and a friend who often visits him. That friend is the narrator, and he feels ill at ease as he is in love with Marya. One day, Silin tells him that his marriage is not really a happy one, he loves his wife, but she doesn't love him. That very evening the narrator happens to be alone with Marya and he confesses to her that he makes such frequent visits because he loves her, although she is the wife of his best friend. He spends the night with her in his room. In the morning, as Marya is leaving his room, Silin appears to say goodbye to his friend before going to his fields. Has he understood what happened? The shameful narrator leaves immediately and never again visits Silin and his wife.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

"The two Volodyas" [1893]
Twenty-four hours from the life of Sofya Lyovna. Just a few months ago, she has married Colonel Vladimir Nikititch (named Big Volodya) who is 30 years older - it was a marriage for money. In reality, she is in love with her youth friend Vladimir Mihalovitch (named Little Volodya), a military doctor in the regiment of her husband. Little Volodya plays constantly around with married women, but has never shown any romantic interest in Sofia. Sofia tries to persuade herself that she has done the right thing by marrying Big Volodya, and that she is happy. Driving home through the night with both Volodyas after a dinner with lots of alcohol, she stops at a convent to meet her friend Olga who has retreated there recently. Olga's seemingly fulfilling life in the religious order makes Sofya feel all the stronger that her own life is a mess. The next day Sofya becomes the mistress of Little Volodya, but a month afterwards, he already drops her. She realizes that she has a boring and vapid life before her.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“An Anonymous Story” [1893]
One of the five novellas Chekhov wrote, a mix of bits and pieces of Russian literary themes. The narrator ("Stefan") seems to be a political activist or spy (reminding us of Dostoevsky's Demons), and therefore remains anonymous - he gets the job of footman in the house of Orlov, a young Petersburg playboy, whose father is an important political figure. But this is not at all a political story: it is a love story (in the style of Turgenev, with Orlov as the typical "superfluous man"). The narrator observes how Orlov charms a beautiful young married woman, Zinaida, who leaves her husband, and moves in with Orlov. But the playboy soon grows tired of her, even moving in with friends in order to escape her presence, although Zinaida continues to love him passionately. As it happens, the narrator in his turn has fallen one-sidedly in love with her, and finally manages to persuade her to flee with him to Venice, and afterwards Florence and Nice. But when he tells her about his love, Zinaida is disappointed in him for she believed he was helping her purely out of altruism. In the meantime, Zinaida discovers that she is pregnant (from Orlov) and the narrator has an attack of "pleurisy" (in reality tuberculosis, but just like Chekhov he does not admit this). When Zinaida dies in childbirth (with the help of some poison), the narrator decides to bring up the child which has been delivered safely. He returns to Russia to do so, but after two years his tuberculosis becomes worse, so he resolves his conflict with Orlov and takes measures for the care of Zinaide's child after his death. A strange story that does not entirely convince.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“The Black Monk” [1894]
Kovrin, a brilliant scholar, is overworked and decides to take a holiday at the horticulture center run by his childhood friend Tanya and her father. Kovrin enjoys helping with work in the garden. But then he starts seeing the phantom of a black monk, a hallucination which strangely enough seems to give him new strength. In other words, Kovrin may be decidedly schizophrenic. As summer goes by, Kovrin keeps having the same hallucinations. But he has fallen in love with Tanya, marries her, and moves back to the city with her. His hallucinations now become so overwhelmingly frequent that he seeks a cure. The medical treatment helps him get rid of the "black monk," but also saps his energy and creativity. The marriage goes bad, both partners have started hating the other, and Tanya returns to her father's estate. Kovrin is offered the position of professor, but he has physically become ill, hemorrhaging from the lungs. After hearing the news of the death of his father-in-law, he sees the black monk again and then dies. A strange tale.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“Rothschild's Violin” [1894]
The story of an ill-tempered old man, Yakov, who loses his wife, becomes depressed, develops pneumonia, and dies himself, to summarize the story in a nutshell. Yakov is a coffin maker who in order to supplement his meager income plays the violin in a Jewish klezmer orchestra - although he dislikes Jews. He in particular is antagonistic to the flutist, Rothschildt, whom he regularly beats up. When his wife lies dying, she reminds him of their shared past but instead of listening, Yakov already starts building her coffin. After the burial Yakov is overcome by an acute depression and regrets his coldness and indifference towards his deceased wife. Sitting by the river, he has a sort of epiphany, realizing what a nasty and quarrelsome man he has become. But he catches a cold, which develops into pneumonia. Before dying, he bequeaths his violin to Rothschildt.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“The Student” [1894]
An Easter story. In the night of Good Friday a clerical student happens to meet two widows warming themselves at a fire in the open. He tells them the story of the Apostle Peter who three times denied Jesus, but later was overcome with remorse and forgiven - showing the hope of redemption for all humans. Both the student and his listeners are overcome by the story and filled with a feeling of mysterious happiness.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

"The Head-gardener's Story" [1894]
The story of Thomson, a doctor who was such a good man that nobody could imagine that anyone would do him harm. Then the doctor is found murdered and a vagrant is arrested as he is in the possession of the doctor's snuffbox. The judge, however, acquits the vagrant, because he can't admit the thought that anybody would sink so low as to willfully harm the good doctor. An instance of typical 19th century humanism and belief in basic human decency that would be shattered in the 20th century.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“Murder” [1895]
Two conservatively orthodox believers who run an inn clash with a man who has a more relaxed view of religion. The argument becomes so heated that they end up killing him. Sent to Siberia, the murderer first looses his faith, but then regains it in a sort of spiritual rebirth.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

“Ariadne” [1895]
On a steamer bound for Sebastopol, Shamokhin tells the story of his love for his neighbor Ariadne, a most beautiful but also very cold woman. She elopes with another, married man, but when things go bad, asks Shamokhin to join her in Italy. But the married man is still there and obviously the lover of Ariadne, making for an awkward menage-a-trois. Only when his money runs out a year later, does he go back to his wife and children. Now Shamokhin becomes Ariadne's lover. He is caught in her web: although his money, too, runs out, and he feels his life has been destroyed by his obsession for Ariadne, he is unable to extricate himself, and keeps running after her.
Adelaide; Gutenberg

"Three Years" [1895]
Another of Chekhov's five novellas, showing how people can change in the course of three years. When visiting his severely ill sister, Laptev falls in love with Julia, the 22-year-old daughter of the doctor treating the sister. The bland Yulia marries the good-hearted Laptev, not because she is attracted to him, but because she feels bad about disappointing him and also because she wants to live in the big city, Moscow. Although Laptev remains in love with Yulia, the marriage is not a success - Yulia dislikes her husband and his family. But she does not act on the cheap advice of a friend to take a lover or return to her father. The sister dies and her children stay for a while with the couple. Laptev and Yulia have a baby but the child soon dies of diphtheria. Then Laptev's family business fails and his brother has to be put into an asylum. Now Laptev becomes depressed... and, for the first time, Yulia, starts feeling tenderness for her battered husband. The story shows how people are neither good nor bad, they all have their faults. They muddle through to make the best of a given situation and with the passage of time, accommodation occurs. From blind infatuation in the case of Yakov and dislike in the case of Yulia, the feelings between the married couple finally mature into mutual understanding and appreciation.
AdelaideGutenberg

Also read my other posts about Chekhov's stories:
Best Short Stories by Anton Chekhov (1): Earliest Comical Stories (1882-1885)
Best Stories by Chekhov (2): The Years of High Production (1886-87)
Best Stories of Anton Chekhov (3): Period of Maturity A (1888-1891)



October 16, 2014

"The Road into the Open" by Arthur Schnitzler (1908)

The Road into the Open (Der Weg ins Freie) is one of only two novels Arthur Schnitzler wrote besides his many novellas, short stories and plays (see my posts about his short stories and about his novella Dream Story). The novel tells the story of the love relation between an aristocrat, Baron Georg von Wergenthin, and a lower middle class girl named Anna Rosner. Georg is a dilettante composer, Anna plans to become a singer and they first meet professionally.

The handsome Georg is rather experienced in love affairs - he has had relations with many women and Anna will not be the last one. Throughout the novel, which is told from Georg's perspective, he thinks in fact often with regret about these former girlfriends (he seems rather obsessed with the memory of one of them, Grace). The relation with Anna comes to a head after Georg has made her pregnant. They travel to Italy to hide her condition and later hire a house outside Vienna so that Anna can quietly have her baby.

But Georg, who has a rather flighty character, is unwilling to commit himself and although he says he will not leave her in the lurch, he does not want to marry her either. In the end, after she has had a miscarriage, she sets him free to go his own way, to which "the road into the open" of the title alludes ("ins Freie"has the connotation of "Freiheit," freedom; and it refers literally to the many walks and cycling tours Georg and his friends undertake in free nature just outside Vienna). As always, Schnitzler is strong in his probing of the contradictory psychology of love.

The same flightiness appears in Georg's work as a composer: he is unable to finish any piece of music longer than a song, but instead is always dreaming about writing a certain opera for which the libretto has not even been written yet. Lacking the drive to get down to work, Georg spends most of his time socializing with friends and acquaintances, who are all from artistic circles. 

This gives Schnitzler the chance - besides the main focus on the story of George and Anna - to paint a wonderful portrait of fin-de-siecle Vienna, then the capital of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire: the cafés, cultural salons, and musical concerts frequented by the Viennese elite. That many members of that elite were Jewish, allows Schnitzler to write about the position of these urban Jews - about the various positions they took, running the gamut from Zionism (following the ideas developed around this time by another Viennese, Hertz) to full assimilation, as well as about the rising specter of antisemitism. Schnitzler even dedicates so much space to this sub-theme, that some critics have considered that as the main subject of the novel, but I believe they are wrong - it would be very much out of character for Schnitzler to write about a social theme, where all his work is of a psychological nature and about unconscious desires.

As in his short stories, Schnitzler uses stream of consciousness techniques to delve into the unconsciousness of Georg. We see for example that Georg had repressed feelings of guilt about the suicide of a friend (that friend and Georg were traveling with Georg's previous girlfriend Grace in Italy when the suicide happened and as a result Grace left Georg), as well as the death of his father which has just happened when the novel opens. There is a strong suggestion Georg has these guilty feelings because he knows in his deepest heart that he in fact has betrayed his friend and his father - and he will do the same with Anna, leaving her in the lurch in a most ignoble way, while all the time trying to justify this act in his own mind. Georg has an unquenchable thirst for freedom for himself, but at the same time perpetuates wrong conventional attitudes towards women and lower classes (read: Anna), because that is convenient for him. He feels no empathy or compassion for others and in the end goes his own egoistic way, unable to balance his radical quest for freedom with even a modicum of responsibility. Everything in his life forms part of that same pattern. It is the great merit of Schnitzler that he brings this out by inner monologues which show how Georg lies to himself and how he suppresses his feelings of guilt. Without any authorial moralizing, the negative judgement about Georg by Schnitzler is clear.

The Road into the Open has been translated by Roger Byers and published by University of California Press. An older translation by Horace Samual (called The Road to the Open) is available at Gutenberg. The German original is available at the German-language Gutenberg site and at Zeno


October 13, 2014

"Dom Casmurro" by Machado de Assis (Book Review)

Dom Casmurro, written in 1900, is the greatest novel of the greatest Brazilian author, Machado de Assis, a superb feat of ambiguity and tragic comedy, featuring a wildly unreliable narrator. The name “Casmurro” means “the Morose,” and in this mock memoir written at an advanced age, Dom Casmurro explains the circumstances that made him eligible for this nickname. Machado writes with an almost postmodern sensibility, ironic, tricky and playful at the same time, in almost 150 short chapters of just two pages, full of digressions – which thanks to the shortness of the chapters are never too long – and with frequent direct addresses to the reader, not in the ponderous and patriarchal 19th century way, but in the light ironic manner of the 20th century.

[Machado de Assis]

The story is simple. Young Bento Santiago is inseparable from the vivacious, irresistible Capitu, who lives next door, but there is a big obstacle to their future happiness: his mother has promised God that he will become a priest. Despite much effort and contrivance, Bento can’t avoid entering the seminary, but there he becomes close friends with Escobar, a more active and vital spirit than he himself. Escobar finally comes up with the luminous idea that sets Bento free from his religious and celibate course. Bento now studies law, and Escobar becomes a successful business man. After graduating, when he starts his law practice, Bento can finally marry Capitu, his childhood sweetheart; Escobar marries Capitu’s friend Sancha and they remain close friends. Escobar and Sancha have a daughter, and after a long wait, a son is born to Bento and Capitu. Nothing seems to stand in the way of future happiness... but at a bad moment Bento discovers that his child looks exactly like Escobar and from then on, his life is filled with torture. He starts doubting the fidelity of his wife and looks for proof in her smallest glance at Escobar – he notices that she has eyes like the tides, or like a gypsy. Bento moves from the happiness of first love to the dark shadows of jealousy and obsession, from a blessed boyhood as Bento he changes into the morose and warped Dom Casmurro.

The bulk of the story is concentrated on Bento’s happy youth and his love for Capitu. We get to know his family: a saint-like mother, a grumbling aunt, a sickly uncle and a sycophantic “dependent,” Jose Dias, who lives with the family. But the most interesting character is Capitu, who is charming, warmhearted, beautiful and perhaps just a little bit flirtatious. The marriage and dark years of jealousy only take up one-fifth of the total novel, as if Dom Casmurro in the first place wanted to speak about his happy youth. How high he values that youth is shown by the fact that he has a new house built that is exactly the same as the family house in which he grew up. He seems stuck in the memories of his happy childhood, wanting to forget that his wife has cheated on him with his best friend, and that her child is not his.

The question is of course: has Capitu really been unfaithful to Bento? Or is her supposed betrayal merely the product of an obsessed and paranoid mind?

Machado de Assis leaves this on purpose ambiguous, but the answer seems clear to me: Capitu has not betrayed her husband, everything is the result of Bento’s own corrosive jealousy. Bento apparently can’t handle marriage. He has something of a mother-complex, which the sharp Capitu has noticed early on, for she takes good care to become close to his mother, also during the time that Bento is at the seminary. That he himself has a short moment of fleeting intimacy with Sancha, the wife of Escobar, perhaps also makes him think by inversion of Escobar and Capitu as a couple. And, as is shown so beautifully by Proust in Swann’s Way, once one starts doubting a beloved, no proof of fidelity will suffice anymore, it is like a contagious disease (a pity there was no DNA testing yet). In all, a brilliant and heart-rending novel, but keep your eyes open for the false bottoms.

Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis (1839-1908) was born in Rio de Janeiro, where he lived until his death. He started life with several disadvantages: he was epileptic, born in poverty and his father was a mulatto in a Brazil where slavery still existed. Machado received almost no formal education and was entirely self-taught. Yet he became Brazil’s most influential novelist and short story writer. He also rose to become the president of the Brazilian Academy of Letters, and at his death was given a state funeral. Two other great novels are Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas (The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas, also known in English as Epitaph of a Small Winner, 1881) and Quincas Borba (known in English as Philosopher or Dog?, 1891). There are also scores of superb stories and novellas. Despite his enduring fame in Brazil and notwithstanding praise by great writers and critics as Saramago, Fuentes, Roth, Rushdie, Sontag and Bloom, Machado has never gained the popularity outside Brazil that he deserves.

Dom Casmurro has been translated by Helen Caldwell and was published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux (FSG Classic). The same publisher has brought out several translations of other work by Machado.

September 9, 2014

"The Tunnel" by Ernesto Sabato (Book review)

The Tunnel  (Spanish: El Túnel) is a dark, psychological novella by Argentinian writer Ernesto Sabato, written in 1948. It tells about a deranged painter, Juan Pablo Castel, and his growing obsession with a woman named María. Castel stalks her after he notices her in a gallery studying one of his paintings with interest. Her attention to an apparently minor detail of one of the paintings (which other viewers usually miss) makes the artist take strong notice of her. After she has left the gallery, he starts obsessing about her.

By chance, some months later he sees her coming out of an office building in Buenos Aires and accosts her... she is willing to talk to him and meet him... they become friends. But during those trysts, the painter increasingly subjects her to a sort of interrogation about her life, forcing himself more and more into her privacy. He learns that she is married, but that her elderly husband is blind. He also hears that she once had a lover who killed himself. The more the unstable Castel learns about María, the more possessive and jealous he becomes.

[Ernesto Sabato - Photo Wikipedia]

That is why the story is called "The Tunnel:" a symbol for Castel's emotional isolation from society, his own private tunnel, the tunnel of his jealousy and obsession. Castel is rather introverted and narcissistic. Not surprisingly, he is also a strong misanthropist, which in literature is not so bad as in real life, for his harsh opinions of others offer readers secret pleasure. Take his caustic witticism about children: "I have always had a tenderness and compassion for children (especially when through supreme mental effort I have tried to forget that they will be adults like anyone else)."

We know from the first line of the book that this relationship will end in disaster, for Castel is telling his story from prison, just like Meursault in The Stranger by Albert Camus, published six years earlier. In fact, Camus saw similar existential themes in The Tunnel and enthusiastically supported the publication of the French translation. In my view, Sabato's novella is in many ways superior to the more famous one by Camus - if only, because his protagonist does have an inner life. His obsession is so intense that it becomes contagious. The book is full of energy. There are also really funny passages, such as where Castel has written a letter to María, hastily mailed it by express, then suddenly realized that he wanted to change something in the letter, tried to get it back from the post-office and ended up having a long row with a very bureaucratic post office employee.

We could say that Castel is already a prisoner before he is arrested: a captive of his existential loneliness, of his inability to really communicate, of his delusions and paranoia, leading him into a vicious circle. He finally murders María out of mad jealousy, because he feels she has been "disloyal" to him.

In this novella, Sabato brilliantly catches the intensity of passions where love brings not peacefulness but danger.

Ernesto Sabato (1910-2009) was active as writer, painter and physicist. Although he wrote little fiction (only three novels, including the present one) and was in the first place active as an essayist, he was very influential in the literary world throughout Latin America and won many international prizes. The Tunnel is his most famous work and has been rightly called "Camus on steroids."

The English translation of The Tunnel is available as a Penguin Modern Classic.

September 7, 2014

"The World of Yesterday" by Stefan Zweig (Book review)

This year it is 100 years ago that the Great War which would devastate Europe and European culture started. We have seen many new publications which look back at this disaster - one I have read is The Sleepwalkers by Christopher Clark, which borrows its title from the great novel by Hermann Broch - but the best book about this watershed in history and culture is in my view an older one: The World of Yesterday (Die Welt von Gestern), the autobiography of the Austrian writer Stefan Zweig (1881-1942). Different from most other autobiographies, Zweig did not write about his private or family life, but he wrote a memoir of a country, Austria, and a time irrevocably lost. He wrote the book in desperate times, by the rise of the Nazis chased out of Austria to England, and then having to leave England where at the start of WWII he was no longer welcome as a former Austrian (although he had lost his passport because of his flight), to end up - via the U.S. - in Brazil. Uprooted from his culture and having lost most things he valued, in February 1942 he and his second wife Lotte Altmann committed suicide, dying in each other's arms, just after he had send off the manuscript of The World of Yesterday to a Swedish publisher - making the book a sort of suicide note. The Zweigs, who already had lived through one terrible war and in the interbellum had seen their hopes for a better and peaceful world shattered, were too exhausted to wait for better days.

[Stefan Zweig in 1912 - image Wikipedia]

Indeed, Stefan Zweig was so to speak everything that Hitler and his brutish henchmen hated. He was born into a wealthy Jewish family in Vienna, was well-educated, spoke many languages and was an ardent pan-European. He believed in the need for an international community of artists that would oppose the short-sightedness of politics (Zweig did not see himself as an Austrian Jew, but as a European - his book carries not for nothing the subtitle "Memories of a European"). His novels, stories, plays and carefully researched biographies (Zweig in fact wrote more non-fiction than fiction) had been translated in countless languages and he was one of the most popular authors in the German language. Starting in 1933, these books were forbidden in all European continental countries where Nazis, Fascists or other barbarous rightists had come to power, and they were burned by the thousands. Unfortunately, Zweig was much less known in the Anglophone world (a condition which still persists), so with the persecution by the Nazis, he also lost his authority as an author, all that he had built up during a lifetime.

The autobiography is a lament for the past, written from the perspective of a man who grew up in the waning days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, who like others of his generation lost his innocence in the Great European War, worked hard for peace and understanding between the citizens of different nations in the interbellum, but finally had to concede defeat to the dark forces of barbarity that made him a stateless fugitive. In fact, Zweig was a pacifist who usually took an a-political stance - until events did not allow such luxury anymore.

Here are some points that struck me when reading The World of Yesterday:
  • In the last decades of the 19th century, up until WWI, people in the Austro-Hungarian Empire and other countries of Europe, firmly believed in a stable and peaceful world. They lived in well-ordered societies in which everything and everyone had its place. Their material lives were getting increasingly better, thanks to scientific progress and a flourishing economy. They believed in the stability of banks, of governments, of institutions. There was still - in the main - tolerance for religious and ethnic minorities, especially in the multi-ethnic state that was the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The outburst of the Great War, into which the politicians of the time entered while sleepwalking, meant the end of this belief. (I was born after WWII, when a similar belief in perpetuity existed under the protection of the Pax Americana - although there was the threat of the Cold War, we in Western-Europe believed that our stable societies, with their great social security systems would last forever - and how wrong we were).
  • Turn-of-the-century Vienna was a vibrant city, where culture was valued above all else. The school system was old-fashioned and fossilized (read Musil's Die Verwirrungen des Zöglings Törleß (The Confusions of Young Torless, 1906) or Hermann Hesse's Unterm Rad (Beneath the Wheel, 1906) for novels about the strict discipline and senseless root-learning in Austrian and German schools of the same period), but Zweig and his friends stealthily read poetry, plays, philosophy and literature in their class. It was a world full of books, theater performances, music, ideas, and debates about art. The culture of this period in Vienna in the first place rested on the shoulders of cosmopolitan Jews (Schnitzler, Hofmannsthal, Kraus, Klimt, Mahler, Schoenberg, Korngold, Kreisler, to name a few).
  • Nineteenth century society was a hothouse of sexuality, exactly because sex was negated and hidden (think only of the impossible dresses of the women that left no skin bare, the fact that young women could not go out without a chaperon, the segregated school system, etc). For this reason, the number of prostitutes in Vienna was huge and sexual diseases were rampant. This situation changed after WWI, when there came more equality between the genders, women dressed in modern clothes, could freely meet with friends of both sexes, joined sports clubs, etc. As a result, the hothouse atmosphere was replaced by a more healthy climate and the number of prostitutes dwindled. 
  • Before WWI Zweig traveled to the United States and to India - interestingly, in the period before the war passports, visa etc. were not yet necessary. Borders of countries were invisible lines, which were easy to cross. After WWI, that changed into the ever stricter system that still plagues us today. What a great time when as a world citizen you could travel without papers!
  • During a visit to a provincial movie theater in France in the years just before WWI, Zweig realized the hatred these locals felt towards the German Emperor - the public burst out in spontaneous booing and shouting of imprecations when the German head of state appeared on a newsreel. This deep hatred of neighbors in the same Europe had been caused by indoctrination at school and by an inimical populist press. Zweig now for the first time realized that a war in Europe was possible. 
  • In his book, Zweig describes friendships with many writers and artists, often of other countries - these friendships survived the war, as most of his friends were also pan-Europeanists: Romain-Rolland, Rilke, Hofmannsthal, Verhaeren, Freud, Rodin, James Joyce, Shaw, Gorki, H.G. Wells, Richard Strauss and the German politician Rathenau. 
  • After defeat in the Great War, the Empire which had had a population of more than 50 million, fell apart and only the rump state of Austria remained, with 7 million inhabitants and with Vienna as its "water head" capital of 2 million. But Austria was not allowed to join Germany, and new countries like Hungary didn't want it, so the small country had to survive on its own (something which was difficult in the interbellum - see the later fate of Austria, or of other small states. It was only after WWII, when the European Union was established, that small states could join into a stable and well-ordered system with larger states). 
  • Zweig had been in Switzerland for the last year of the war, and when returning, at the border he watched the train with the last emperor leave Austria. With little food, a housing shortage and run-away inflation, this was a period of privations (caused by the war, when all the men were fighting at the front and normal industrial and agricultural production was halted). That same inflation would soon afterwards also destroy savings accounts in Germany - something which for ordinary citizens was even a worse experience than losing the war. 
  • Between the wars Zweig lived in a small castle on the outskirts of Salzburg, where he found the quiet atmosphere to write his best works. Ironically, from his residence he could almost see the house where Hitler lived in Berchtesgaden, on the other side of the German border. He describes the rise of the Nazis, who utilized the feelings of humiliation left by the loss of WWI among the general population. They operated in gangs that were well-funded, riding in brand-new cars, wearing spotless uniforms and carrying shining weapons. In this form they would execute lightning fast attacks on people they considered as their enemies (often Socialists or Communists), severely beating them up with their cudgels. Thus democracy was intimidated and terrorized away by the violence by these political bullies. Gradually, the ominous signs of Nazi influence were growing.
  • In the interbellum, Zweig had become one of the most celebrated authors of the world. On his fiftieth birthday, his German publisher gave him a thick catalog listing all of his publications in various editions and translations. But in 1933 when Hitler had finally come to power, after just two performances, Strauss' opera Die Schweigsame Frau was banned because of the Jewish background of Zweig who wrote the libretto. Not long afterwards, all Zweig's works were banned and burned on huge bonfires with the books of other Jewish authors. From being one of the most widely read authors of both fiction and nonfiction, in only a few months time Zweig went to a stateless nobody.
[Zweig's novella collection Amok, a victim of book burning by the National-socialists in 1933 in Germany - Photo Wikipedia]

In this way, the world that Zweig had once lost, but recovered by hard work, was lost for a second time. Despite the often dramatic contents, and the fact that Zweig committed suicide soon after finishing this book, it is written in a lucid, calm and factual style. Although some readers may regret this, it is not a private account of Zweig's life - it is a "biography" of the times he lived through and only includes personal information where relevant to that purpose. It is a most beautiful book, one of the best accounts of the years before, after and during the Great War, which almost seamlessly fused into that second, even more horrible war. It is book full of the feeling of loss - a loss caused by the stupidity and bestiality of human beings, even in what was then the most civilized part of the world.

The World of Yesterday was translated by Anthea Bell and is available from Univ. of Nebraska Press. The German original is available from Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, as well as from Insel Verlag. The text is also freely available at the German Gutenberg site. English translations of several of Zweig's literary works have been published by New York Review Books.

September 4, 2014

"A Dog's Heart" by Bulgakov (Book review)

A Dog's Heart by Mikhail Bulgakov is the fiercest literary criticism of Soviet society imaginable, written in 1925 when that regime was in power, although going through a small crisis - Lenin had just died, Stalin still was to appear, and there seems to have been a tiny possibility that the political experiment would be abandoned. It was a time of both hope and despair. The hope was soon squashed and A Dog's Heart  could only be published in 1987, many decades after the death of its author. Although a sharp satire, the story is nowhere strident or overtly political - it is always good fun and above all, extremely well written, on a par with Bulgakov's large novel The Master and Margerita.

Bulgakov certainly knew his Modernism and one of the nifty things is how he starts the story from the consciousness of the dog, roaming a bleak, snowbound Moscow, until the hungry mongrel is picked up by a passing medical doctor and taken to his comfortable apartment. The dog, who is called Sharik by the Professor (a common name for dogs in Russian), can't believe his good fortune: lots of meaty food, a warm home, a friendly master... but of course things are not what they seem. An funny motive here is, by the way, the recurring animosity the dog feels towards a stuffed owl that sits in the professor's study and that he seeks to destroy.

[Mikhail Bulgakov - Photo Wikipedia]

Professor Preobrazhensky has enticed the dog to his house to use it for a medical experiment, that he undertakes together with his assistant, Dr Bormenthal: they plan to implant human testicles and a pituitary gland into the dog and make it "human" - a parody by Bulgakov of the Communist experiment, where the proletarian masses were forcibly "uplifted" by the State in its social laboratory.

Professor Preobrazhensky is an old-time bourgeois who still holds on to his large and comfortable, multi-room apartment, because as a doctor he is granted many privileges by the State for his rare skills (the members of the Politburo are after all not immune from illness). But all around him the apartments from his wealthy neighbors are seized and divided into tiny flats into which disparate households are crammed by a crude and offensive "housing committee." The professor is basically depicted with sympathy by Bulgakov, as an old-fashioned gentleman-intellectual who stands up against the encroaching communists, and whose home is a rare spot of warmth and comfort in the cold new society.

The operation is described in great and gory detail - Bulgakov had not for nothing been an army surgeon during WWI. And, although difficult, it is successful - too much so, we might say, for the dog who gradually develops human traits - he starts walking on his hind legs and learns speaking - proves to be a real "proletarian:" brutish, vulgarian, aggressive, using "class revenge" as a pretext to get everything he wants. He teams up with the housing committee so that he can demand his own rooms in the professor's apartment, he is often drunk, noisy and uses vulgar language - and he can't keep his greedy hands off women... Of course he refuses to learn etiquette, because that smacks of Tsarism.

He drives the professor almost insane... what to do with him? Should the doctor just kill him, as he is after all a dog? But that is difficult, as the former canine now has papers and is officially registered under the preposterous name "Poligraf Poligrafovich Sharikov."

Is there a more sophisticated way to make him disappear?

A hilarious satire and scathing indictment of the "New Soviet Man." The novella moves at high pace, mixing surrealist scenes with lucid realism, and perfectly captures the mad atmosphere of those strange times.

A Dog's Heart has been translated by Andrew Bromfield and is available from Penguin Books.


August 31, 2014

Bach Cantatas (52): Trinity XIX

The Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity. The readings for this Sunday combine an exhortation by Paul to the Romans to live better, more truthful lives, combined with the story of Jesus' cure of the paralyzed man.

There are three cantatas for this Sunday.

Readings:
Ephesians 4:22–28, "Put on the new man, which after God is created"
Matthew 9:1–8, Healing the paralytic at Capernaum

References:
BCWBDECNLSGJNLVHWPText

Cantatas:
  • Ich elender Mensch, wer wird mich erlösen, BWV 48, 3 October 1723
     
    Chorus: Ich elender Mensch, wer wird mich erlösen
    Recitative (alto): O Schmerz, o Elend, so mich trifft
    Chorale: Solls ja so sein
    Aria (alto): Ach, lege das Sodom der sündlichen Glieder
    Recitative (tenor): Hier aber tut des Heilands Hand
    Aria (tenor): Vergibt mir Jesus meine Sünden
    Chorale: Herr Jesu Christ, einiger Trost


    ("Wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me") As the tile already announces, this is a dark-hued, but also profound cantata. The text stresses the need of the sinner for redemption, but concludes in hope. The superb opening chorus sets the atmosphere of deep despair, based on a line from Paul's letter to the Romans, "Wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" The despairing text sung in a slow meter and with sparse accompaniment is set against an almost hidden chorale theme ("Herr Jesu Christ, du höchstes Gut") played in strict canon by the trumpet and oboes. A recitative of the alto, lamenting the "the poison of sin that rages in my breast and veins" (unfortunately, almost comical for a modern sensibility!) leads to a short chorale with an interesting chromatism. The ensuing alto aria starts with a nice oboe melody, but the text is far from congenial: "Ah, lay the Sodom of sinful limbs, as it be Your will, down destroyed!" In other words, this is a plea to destroy the sinful body but spare the soul. In the recitative and aria for tenor, the soul realizes that its redemption lies in Christ which forms the turning point to hope in the cantata. The tenor is accompanied by the strings with oboe, and the music has a characteristic lilting rhythm. That being said, the aria also retains the sorrowful demeanor of the beginning of the cantata, we don't find any real joy in this dark work. The cantata closes with a straightforward harmonization of the chorale "Lord Jesus Christ, only comfort, I will turn myself to you."


  • Wo soll ich fliehen hin, BWV 5, 15 October 1724
    Chorus: Wo soll ich fliehen hin
    Recitative (bass): Der Sünden Wust hat mich nicht nur befleckt
    Aria (tenor): Ergieße dich reichlich, du göttliche Quelle
    Recitative (alto): Mein treuer Heiland tröstet mich
    Aria (bass): Verstumme, Höllenheer
    Recitative (soprano): Ich bin ja nur das kleinste Teil der Welt
    Chorale: Führ auch mein Herz und Sinn


    ("Where shall I flee") Chorale cantata, based on a chorale in eleven stanzas of the same name by Johann Heermann (1630). The theme of Heermann's chorale and this cantata is the awareness of being a sinner who needs healing, like the paralytic in the story from Matthew. Like many of the cantatas, the theme is of a journey from dark into light, from the burden of sin to redemption. The opening chorus starts in an agitated and aggressive mood, with consciously erratic harmonies, picking up from Matthew, where Jesus almost begrudgingly cures a man with palsy to prove his qualification for forgiveness of sins. After a secco recitative follows a rather joyous tenor aria, accompanied by an obbligato viola. The tenor recitative announces that sins will be washed away by Christ's sacred blood, and the tenor aria sings of the actual washing away of these sinful stains: "Pour yourself richly, you divine fountain, Ah, wash over me with bloody streams!" The viola (only one of two times this instrument is used as an obbligato instrument in Bach, used here because it has more "red corpuscles" in its register than the violin) illustrates the washing movement, the gushing of the divine blood - a sort of divine washing machine churning away in a rather visually expressive manner. A brilliant and very rich aria. At the central position in the cantata follows a recitative by the alto, the turning point to hope, with the oboe playing the choral theme on top of the alto lines. The recitative finishes with the statement that Jesus' blood is also a shield from "the devil, death and sin" and in the ensuing aria for bass with obbligato slide trumpet (and full orchestra) this is further developed: "Be silent, host of hell... I need only show you this Blood, and you must suddenly be mute!" The virtuoso trumpet blazes fiercely away in this ferocious anthem, scattering the forces of evil. Next, the soprano (sung by a boy in Bach's time) offers a message of innocence and hope in the final recitative, after which the straightforward chorale setting brings the cantata to its close.

  • Ich will den Kreuzstab gerne tragen, BWV 56, 27 October 1726
    Aria: Ich will den Kreuzstab gerne tragen
    Recitative: Mein Wandel auf der Welt / ist einer Schiffahrt gleich
    Aria: Endlich wird mein Joch / wieder von mir weichen müssen
    Recitative: Ich stehe fertig und bereit
    Chorale: Komm, o Tod, du Schlafes Bruder


    ("I will the cross-staff gladly carry") Solo cantata. The text of this cantata is by an unknown poet, with only indirect references to the readings for this Sunday. Just like BWV 82, it is a solo cantata for bass voice. In the opening aria, the singer impersonates the follower of Christ who bears his cross and suffers torment until his sins are forgiven. There is some interesting music painting here: the awkward, stumbling song line symbolizes the dragging of a heavy cross, with descending sighing figures. It is an austere movement with an oppressive atmosphere. In the first recitative life is compared to a sea voyage to the Kingdom of Heaven - the faithful will have to suffer many tribulations, but will not be forsaken. This alludes to the reading from Mathew which starts with a voyage across a lake. The undulation of the sea is vividly depicted, as is the relief when Jesus steps on firm land. The feeling of relief is continued in the joyous second aria, a lively duet for bass and solo oboe. As often in Bach, the joy is coupled with a yearning for death. The second recitative halfway changes into an arioso, bringing back the last two lines of the first aria with a new text: "my Savior himself will wipe away my tears." The cantata concludes with a four-part chorale harmonization "Come, o death, brother of sleep" on a melody by Crüger from 1646. Here we find again the metaphor a ship being brought safely to port and the cantata concludes on a harmonious and glorious note.

August 26, 2014

"The Rider on the White Horse" by Theodor Storm (Book review)

The northern parts of the Netherlands and Germany - all the way to Denmark - are boarded by a shallow sea with tidal mud flats and wetlands, as well as a series of small islands. The land here is continually contested by the sea and must be protected behind tall dikes - the landscape was in fact formed by storm tides in the 10th to 14th centuries. At low tide, nowadays mud flat hiking is a popular pastime. For its biological diversity (you can find seals here), the Wadden Sea has been ascribed on UNESCO's World Heritage List.

[Mud flats of the Wadden Sea - Photo Wikipedia]

It is in this area, along the German coast, that Theodor Storm's novella The Rider on the White Horse (Der Schimmelreiter), written in 1888, is situated. It is, not surprisingly, the story of a dikemaster and his dike, which is battered by a huge storm as well. But the tale starts as a ghost story: a traveler along this North Sea coast is caught in rough weather, and through the wind and rain glimpses a ghostly rider on a white horse, rising and plunging somewhere offshore. He takes shelter at an inn in the area and when he happens to mention the apparition, the local schoolmaster volunteers to tell the history behind it - an alien tale, about a different world.

The story tells of an intelligent and determined young man, Hauke Haien, living in a remote community at the coast, close to these coastal marshlands continually threatened by storms and floods. He has a talent for numbers and a fascination with the ways of water and not surprisingly, becomes an apprentice to the local dikemaster. He soon makes himself indispensable and also falls in love with the daughter, Elke. When the old dikemaster dies, despite his youth, Hauke becomes his successor, and marries Elke.

[German Wadden Sea - Photo Wikipedia]

Hauke is full of ambition. His study of geometry has taught him that the present dikes with their steep sides towards the sea are not very good - it would be better to have dykes with more gradual profiles. This will also make the village safer.

Dikes are not only built for protection against the sea, they also serve to extend the land for grazing and cultivation. To open up new fields, Hauke orders the construction of a new dike, built on his new principles. But that goes against the wishes of the villagers - it will be much hard work and cost a lot of money before the new fields start bringing in profit. The villagers are also content with the dikes as they are and don't see why a - more laborious and expensive - new technique is necessary. They obey grumbling, as a dikemaster is not easily disobeyed, and the new dike is built, but Hauke stands all alone in the village, distrusted by the community. The fact that he forbids superstitious practices, such as burying something alive in the new dike (a dog), makes the separation only greater, which finally leads to sabotage. He is doing his job to technical perfection, but he forgets the human element. Symbolic for his isolation is the figure he makes when he sits on his white horse, towering high above the other villagers.

{Storm on the North Sea - Photo Wikipedia]

Of course, this is not the end of the story. A huge storm hits the village, and the old dyke is threatened... but read for yourself how this strange and powerful story ends. The climax is full of suspense... let me only say that finally, in death, Hauke becomes a ghost, galloping on his otherworldly horse along his dyke, as the narrator at the beginning of the story saw him.

This is a story of determination and devotion, of pettiness and superstition, of pride and loneliness, of the beauty and indifference of the natural world. Theodor Storm fills his tale with mud slicks, icy marshes, fog banks, raging waves, vulnerable dikes and howling winds, but in the end this is an inner landscape as well, where the savagery that forms the basis of human society is revealed. In this unenlightened universe, a great man pays with his life for his pride and creativity - a very pessimistic conclusion, were it not that his achievement - the new dike - survives his death.

The German original "Der Schimmelreiter" is available at Zeno.org and the German Gutenberg site. A new English translation by James Wright is available from New York Review Books under the title The Rider on the White Horse. This book also includes several other stories by Theodor Storm, such as the famous lyrical love story Immensee.


August 24, 2014

"Nadja" by André Breton (Book Review)

Nadja is the most famous literary work of André Breton (1896-1966), the founder of surrealism. Breton published his surrealist manifesto, in which he defined surrealism as "pure psychic automatism" in 1924, just four years before writing Nadja, which would become one of the iconic works of the surrealist movement.

Nadja is a near-novel that incorporates autobiography, a case study, and surrealist theory. It is decidedly a non-psychological novel, as Breton himself indicates at the beginning (“Happily the days of psychological literature, with all its fictitious plots, are numbered”). Interestingly, Breton has also included black-and-white photographs of Paris streets, buildings and of several drawings, in the same way as W.G. Sebald would do sixty years later.

The book starts with a blend of Surrealist theory, gossip, and Breton's back story. When Nadja appears, the novel shifts to dated diary entries, which take up most of the book, until the ending which is a straightforward epilogue. Besides Nadja, the city of Paris is also an important protagonist, as Breton as a flaneur roams its streets and takes pictures of houses and shop fronts. The book ends with an important and famous statement about beauty: "Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or will not be at all."

[André Breton in 1924 - Photo Wikipedia]

Nadja is a young woman Breton happens to meet on one of his walks through the streets of Paris. He immediately strikes up a conversation with her, and is struck by the fact that she seems the personification of the surrealist ideal. She is a totally free spirit who calls herself a "soul in limbo." She is called Nadja “because in Russian it is the beginning of the word hope." For a Surrealist like Breton, coincidences like the present accidental meeting were very important, as they were events transcending the limits of traditional logic. They spontaneously created new and unexpected connections.

Breton and Nadja meet daily over ten days in the book for bizarre conversations, about Surrealism and art, but also the surrealistic aspects of daily life. Nadja is a desperately poor but lovely woman, with gorgeous eyes outlined in black. She clearly holds power over Breton (who is already married), but although there are indications of a short romance, this is not a love story in the normal sense - Breton is in the first place in love with her bizarreness, her surrealistic attitude towards life. He stops meeting her when he has learned so much about her background that she becomes demystified. You can feel in Breton's prose when the obsession starts waning. But Nadja does not give up so easily and for a time keeps sending him letters with interesting surrealistic drawings (some of which have been reproduced in the novel).

The character of Nadja is based on an actual young woman Breton met in 1926, Léona Camile Ghislaine D. (1902-1941) - their meetings lasted a bit longer than in the book, but in early 1927 Léona was committed to a sanatorium for the mentally ill, where she also would die fifteen years later. So this is in fact a very sad story: Nadja paid with her sanity for her subversion of the rigid norms of society. She could not exist any longer in the normal world. It is rather unfeeling of Breton that he never visits her after her hospitalization (he only rants about the problems of psychiatry which causes more problems than solving them). But he does what Nadja has once asked him: write a book about her.
Andre? Andre? You will write a novel about me. I'm sure you will. Don't say you won't. Be careful: everything fades, everything vanishes. Something must remain of us...
P.S. Nadja was the second novel to appear with embedded photographs. The first one was Bruges-la-Morte by Georges Rodenbach (1892). Besides Sebald, another contemporary author who uses this technique is the Soviet author Leonid Tsypkin (Summer in Baden-Baden, 1981).

Nadja is available from Penguin Books in a translation by Richard Howard.