I’ve only finished six books so far in April, but at the rate I’m going with (not) sitting at my desk, I’ll probably need another six months to review them properly. So instead I’ll do some very brief reviews, with perhaps a little more detail to come about the ones shortlisted for the International Booker.
Mathias Enard: The Deserters, transl. Charlotte Mandel
I like Enard’s novels as much as anyone else, am always blown away and charmed by his erudition and inventive writing. And, on paper at least, I should have enjoyed the part of the book that was set in Berlin or, to be precise, mostly at a conference on board the Wannsee just outside Berlin.
I suppose the title is about two different kinds of deserters. The first type, the physical desertion of military duty when it becomes incompatible with one’s values, was obvious enough and is set possibly during the Second World War. A soldier who has deserted from his army unit is trying to make his way across the mountains into what is hopefully a neutral territory. Along the way, he meets a woman with a donkey, who happens to be from his own native village. At first they are mutually suspicious and fearful, but over time they develop a tenuous sort of understanding. It’s written in quite visceral language, an outpouring of feelings but, above all, physical sensations of fear, anger, lust and so on. I found some of the descriptions almost a little too graphic (the poor, loyal little donkey!). Of course all the devastation of war and the effects it has on people’s psyche are not new subjects, but Enard did it well enough.
The second part is written in a far more factual manner and is the story of a mathematician Paul Heudeber, who managed to survive a Nazi concentration camp, become famous in his field and remained in East Germany, because he was a committed Communist, although his wife and daughter moved to West Germany. The story is told through the eyes of his daughter, looking back at a conference they were trying to organise in posthumous honour of her father’s work at Wannsee in September 2001, but which lost its focus because of the tragic events of 9/11.
After pondering for a while what the possible link could be between the two distinct stories, I decided that perhaps Heudeber felt like a soldier deserting his regiment if he stopped believing in his Communist ideals simply because the GDR was not living up to his expectations, or that his wife might be considered the true deserter. But, to be honest, I couldn’t help feeling that Enard wanted to write two separate novellas and then somehow linked them by force to make a novel out of it.
In other words, I do wish that his previous novel The Annual Banquet of the Gravediggers’ Guild had been longlisted (even shortlisted) last year instead of this one.
Mieko Kawakami: Sisters in Yellow, transl. Laurel Taylor & Hitomi Yoshio
New translator duo for the latest Kawakami novel and I’m not sure if I noticed much of a difference, other than that perhaps it’s not as lyrical as Ms Icecream Sandwich or Heaven, but that probably has to do with the original being closer to Breasts and Eggs in style. However, given that I originally wondered if Breasts and Eggs might have sounded different if translated by women, this one answers the question, since this too is about a group of women and their search for some kind of home and family.
I think the publishers or publicists have also done this book a disservice by claiming it is a psychological thriller. Although there is some criminal activity in the book, and plenty of psychological depth, it is not even a slow burn thriller. It is more of a coming of age book and also a picture of Japanese society in the late 1990s, when the economic bubble had burst and people on the margins of society were pushed… well, even more to the margins. The main narrator Hana is shocked out of her self-effacing little routine by a news item about someone called Kimiko, who meant a great deal to her more than twenty years ago. Kimiko took over the role of her mother, who was too preoccupied with her lifestyle, drinking and boyfriends to really care for Hana. Hana becomes obsessed with the idea of making enough money to escape and start a new life elsewhere, and when she gets the opportunity to open a bar with Kimiko, it seems her dreams are coming true. For a short while, they have a little found family with two other runaway teens, but Hana’s fear of losing this semblance of home and stability leads her down some questionable paths. Meanwhile, we start suspecting that she is not the most rational or objective of narrators…
The story is a little bloated and repetitive (perhaps because it was published in installments and Kawakami admitted that she initially only had a vague idea where it was heading), and I found some of the details of card frauds over-extended, but I was struck by that profound sense of yearning for a safe space, a place to call home.
Park Eun-Woo: The Hostage Trial (Le procès des otages), transl. Son Mi-hae and Jean-Pierre Zubiate
This is a more conventional thriller, about a masked party at the country villa of a rich heir, which turns into a hostage situation. This has been translated into French, but not into English yet, so I was reading it with a view to seeing if it might suitable for Corylus Books, but the answer is no. It has too many characters that are difficult to keep apart (something most of the reviewers remarked upon) and the plot is a little too predictable. Nevertheless, I quite enjoyed it as a ‘fast food’ type of read.
Gwendoline Riley: The Palm House
Although I was quite impressed with Riley’s My Phantoms and was therefore very eager to read this new book by her, sadly it didn’t quite hit the spot for me. She is, once again, sublime in the way she captures what is said and what is not said through dialogue and gestures. She also has her customary sharp eye for human foibles, so she’s quite amusing in her characterisation of a not very likeable community based around a literary/political magazine in London, who have now been taken over by some corporate owner with a mission to modernise. I think I can detect traces of Muriel Spark there. Nevertheless, despite the striking cover, it was a little too bland and cold for my taste.
Martin Suter: Allmen und die Libellen
This prolific Swiss author has a series of crime capers featuring Allmen, a bon viveur with a champagne lifestyle but now with a lemonade budget. This is the first in the series, and we spend quite a bit of time establishing that Allmen has polished off most of the fortune his father accumulated through land speculation, and is living mostly off credit and his past reputation. He has managed to keep a faithful retainer Carlos from Guatemala (perhaps because Carlos is working illegally and fears being deported back to his home country). Through a series of coincidences, the two of them get involved in an art heist and murder case, and they manage to solve the situation with some humour and lots of devious actions.
I’m not sure I’ll continue this series – it was somewhat reminiscent of Highsmith’s Ripley in his later escapades, but it lacked the sense of genuine menace and danger. It was more of a light-hearted, comedic take on crime, and I can’t say I really fell in love with either Allmen or Carlos.
Rene Karabash: She Who Remains, transl. Izidora Angel
As an anthropologist, I’ve actually read quite a bit about blood feuds (in Albania and Crete, in particular) and about the ‘sworn virgins’ – essentially, daughters in highly patriarchal societies who are declared boys because there are no sons in the family and thus take over the family business. This used to happen in rural areas of Albania, Montenegro and Kosovo and to a lesser extent in other parts of former Yugoslavia. Although this custom is dying out now that women have equal legal rights, there are still a few families or communities that adhere to the highly misogynistic oral traditions of Kanun.
What’s important to know is that this gender reversal is all about social power rather than about sexuality. Teenage Bekija, the main protagonist and narrator in this book, is not the typical candidate to become a sworn virgin, since she does have a younger brother. However, her father has always been disappointed in the somewhat weak and effeminate son and thinks his daughter would have made a much better boy. Bekija also has an additional reason not to want to enter an arranged marriage: she is in love with another girl, Dhana. Needless to say, a lesbian relationship would be impossible in her community.
Most of the story is told by Bekija to a journalist interviewing her, since she cannot read or write. The journalist also reads out the letters her brother (who ran away) wrote to her over the years. There is also a Part Two, where Bekija, now renamed Matija, actually tries to leave her village after several years. I was not as impressed by this book as the official judges seem to have been (calling it a ‘modern fairytale’), since I thought the author was trying too hard to squeeze in trendy topics and the ending felt a little too convenient. I’m also, as I said many times before, getting a little tired of only reading stories of trauma from the Balkans – why is it only these kind of books that are considered worthy of translation?
So far this month none of the books have really bowled me over, but I remain an optimist.
findingtimetowrite 