Death in Breslau by Marek Krajewski, translated by Danusia Stok

Rating

* * * * *

The book's description from the publisher's website:

Introducing one of the most stylish and moody historic detective series ever: The Inspector Eberhard Mock Quartet.
Occupied Breslau, 1933: Two young women are found murdered on a train, scorpions writhing on their bodies, an indecipherable note in an apparently oriental language nearby...Police Inspector Eberhard Mock's weekly assignation with two ladies of the night is interrupted as he is called to investigate. But uncovering the truth is no straightforward matter in Breslau. The city is in the grip of the Gestapo, and has become a place where spies are everywhere, corrupt ministers torture confessions from Jewish merchants, and Freemasons guard their secrets with blackmail and violence. And as Mock and his young assistant Herbert Anwaldt plunge into the city's squalid underbelly the case takes on a dark twist of the occult when the mysterious note seems to indicate a ritual killing with roots in the Crusades...

This was one crazy ride. I've been reading thrillers/mysteries/crime fiction for many years now. Therefore I'm not exactly a novice in this department. With my conscience clean and easy, I would place Mr. Krajewski's historical crime  novel among the best in this genre and beyond. Beyond, since Death in Breslau is one of those gems that blur the boundaries between several genres and display in front of a reader serious literary talents of the books' creators. And such indeed is the case with Death in Breslau. It is rightly called noir, with all the characters exhibiting various stages of moral and ethical decomposition. No superhero cop rising above corruption and other earthly traps will be found here. This one truly is a gritty, hardcore murder investigation set in a world of brutality, violence, death and ambiguous morals, a world where you either eat or get eaten. And sometimes not until your last breath do you know whether you're dying as prey or predator. 

Hidden within the folds of the crime novel is an unexpected treasure of historical fiction. Marek Krajewski paints a fascinating portrait of interwar Breslau, a German name for the city of Wroclaw, Poland, then under German occupation. It's a little embarrassing to admit but despite having been born and years later lived my wildest college years in my beautiful Wroclaw, I'd shown precious little knowledge or appreciation for the history within the brick walls of buildings, cathedrals, little side alleys and bridges (Breslau really is perceived by many as a city of islands because the rivers cut through it from all sides) that were part of my life a few years back just as they became the setting for Death in Breslau and a part of the lives of Inspector Mock, Herbert Anwaldt, other policemen, Gestapo officers, debauched aristocrats and prostitutes. Despite the gruesome murders and an uneasy atmosphere inundated with foreboding of what evil was yet to come (WWII), despite that ethical and moral decay slowly taking root in all who become entangled in the search for and the hiding of the truth, Mr. Krajewski gave us beauty too - the architectural beauty and the natural charm of Breslau, this majestic city that to this day retains all the appeal and is as a matter of fact rapidly becoming the cultural center of Europe. I'm waxing nostalgic here but hey, Wroclaw is and always has been worthy of every ounce of nostalgia poured over it :D.

Most importantly, in a true spirit of crime fiction, the plot is captivating and you'll find yourself utterly engaged in looking for the killer/s along with Eberhardt Mock and his sidekick from Berlin, Herbert Anwaldt. It's especially worthy of praise how the book's author developed these two characters who while playing the roles of 'the good guys' are probably the two most morally ambiguous people in the whole story. Mock and Anwaldt belong to the grey world of the 'not wholly good but not entirely evil either' human beings. Because of that, these two elements (totally my term of endearment) are also the most realistic characters in this story. Why, you ask? Because humans are nothing, if we're not morally ambiguous. Those Jean Claude Van Damme or Steven Segal cop characters belong in the fantasy world that is a close and good neighbor of Disneyworld. They do not exist. Mocks and Anwaldts, on the other hand, very much so.

I'm very happy and very excited to see that the Polish literary crime world counts among its ranks such a talented writer as Marek Krajewski. His prose is smart, intelligent but never ostentatious or, goodness forbid, condescending. When I was reading Death in Breslau, I was experiencing a creation of  a confident writer, who knows where he belongs on the crime fiction and literary scene and  who is fervently carving out a permanent place among the talents of the European Noir. He deserves it too.

A Note On Translation

Death in Breslau has been translated from Polish by Danusia Stok. Ms. Stok is a very accomplished and skilled translator bringing Polish books to the UK market for quite some time. I believe she is less known in the American publishing market, an unfortunate situation which I greatly hope is in the process of being remedied. Her translation of Krajewski's novel was really good, the potential obstacle or challenge of dealing with German names and phrases and Latin sayings sprinkled throughout, all to never break the flow of the narrative in the translation of the main text seemed to not have been a challenge at all. Danusia Stok is the necessary half to Krajewski's in forming a literary tandem to give the English world a hearty bite of the Polish mystery genre.

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FTC: I received an e-galley of Death in Breslau by Marek Krajewski from the publisher, Melville House via Edelweiss.

Just to give you a glimpse of Wroclaw, here are a few photos for your enjoyment

This is University of Wroclaw, my alma mater.

Inside the main building of the University, there is this astonishing room in which I got officially immatriculated into the folds of University of Wroclaw.

Stone Upon Stone by Wiesław Myśliwski, translated by Bill Johnston

Rating

* * * * *

The book's description from the publisher's site:

Myśliwski's grand epic in the rural tradition—a profound and irreverent stream of memory cutting through the rich and varied terrain of one man’s connection to the land, to his family and community, to women, to tradition, to God, to death, and to what it means to be alive. Wise and impetuous, plain-spoken and compassionate Szymek, recalls his youth in their village, his time as a guerrilla soldier, as a wedding official, barber, policeman, lover, drinker, and caretaker for his invalid brother. Filled with interwoven stories and voices, by turns hilarious and moving, Szymek’s narrative exudes the profound wisdom of one who has suffered, yet who loves life to the very core.

Nostalgia is the first word that comes to my mind after finishing this outstanding novel. Because if Szymek's life and my life are separated by decades, I spent half of my life (the first 15 years) pretty much living with my peasant grandparents on their farm. And I loved them, that life and I'm more a peasant myself than a city girl nowadays, even though I've had my share of big cities' living. What I'm driving at here is that every day of Szymek's life spent with his parents, farming the land and observing or not observing the traditions, was my life too and my maternal grandparents' and my mom's, her siblings' and our entire huge family's. I cannot believe how accurately Mr. Myśliwski depicted the realities of post-war Polish peasantry and beginnings of Stalinist government taking roots in our country. It was actually uncanny to read the minutest details, such as the way Szymek's mother cut the loaf of bread (this is how I learned and used to do it) to the father yelling at Szymek, "Dear God, hold me back or I'll kill him, I'll kill him like a dog!" (I remember my grandpa yelling the same way at my uncles, and yes they were adults but for us kids it was funny as hell) and realize those are all the things that happened in my life. Anyway, so far it's all personal, I know but to me that is the most important  part of Stone Upon Stone. Also, when you do get to read it, it's not all exaggerated, sentimentalized, romanticized view of the things long past. It's all true, exactly the way we, peasants lived in Poland for decades, including the parties, drinking and bloody fights, and the love of land above all. Nothing's made up. Historically, all details are very accurate. Shit, I even remember the scythes and helping my grandpa with their sharpening using the whetstone  and I'm not ancient (measly 35) :D.

Word and language mastery are the next three words staying in my mind all the time I was reading Stone Upon Stone. The author writes beautifully and gives the power of words their due. Life wisdom and insight into human nature abound. And even though it is written in a stream of memory, it's not the same as stream of consciousness and as a real stream, it flows smoothly and easily.

But thinking's no good. I mean, you're not going to think something up unless you actually do it. People thought and thought, and what did they come up with? The world's still the way it was, and all thinking does is make you think more and do less. (p.149)

 That's wisdom. Simple it may be but profound nonetheless. And the form mirrors the philosophy contained within it. Really, this novel is a masterpiece in its form, in its content and in its message. But most importantly, it's a tribute to farmers and rural Poland. I can't imagine anyone better suited for such an important role than Mr. Wiesław Myśliwski. A great, memorable read to which I'll be returning more than once.

Note on Translation

Stone Upon Stone (Kamien na kamieniu) was translated from Polish by Bill Johnston. The fact that this translation got three translation awards in 2012 - PEN Translation Prize, Best Translated Book Award, American Association of Teachers of Slavic and East European Prize (AATSEEL) - pretty much speaks for itself. I must say that Mr. Johnston did a superb job translating Myśliwski's novel and he did the Polish language proud. I'm looking forward to more translations of his in the future. And apparently, in 2014 there is going to be another novel by Wiesław Myśliwski, Treatise on Shelling Beans, translated by Bill Johnston hitting the American market in 2014.

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FTC: I purchased a copy of Stone Upon Stone by Wiesław Myśliwski.

Kiku's Prayer by Endō Shūsaku, translated by Van C. Gessel

Rating

* * * *

The book's description from the publisher's website:

Kiku’s Prayer is told through the eyes of Kiku, a self-assured young woman from a rural Japanese village who falls in love with Seikichi, a devoted Catholic man. Practicing a faith still banned by the government, Seikichi is imprisoned but refuses to recant under torture. Kiku’s efforts to reconcile her feelings for Seikichi’s religion with the sacrifices she makes to free him mirror the painful, conflicting choices Japan faced as a result of exposure to modernity and the West. Seikichi’s persecution exemplifies Japan’s insecurities, and Kiku’s tortured yet determined spirit represents the nation’s resilient soul.
Set in the turbulent years of the transition from the shogunate to the Meiji Restoration, Kiku’s Prayer embodies themes central to Endō Shūsaku’s work, including religion, modernization, and the endurance of the human spirit. Yet this novel is much more than a historical allegory. It acutely renders one woman’s troubled encounter with passion and spirituality at a transitional time in her life and in the history of her people. A renowned twentieth-century Japanese author, Endō wrote from the perspective of being both Japanese and Catholic. His work is often compared with that of Graham Greene, who himself considered Endō one of the century’s finest writers.

Just when you think you might be getting somewhere with your knowledge of history, a book comes along such as Kiku's Prayer. Thanks to Endō Shūsaku, how little I know of the history of the world was glaring me in the face from the first until the last page of this novel. I am still incredulous how history teachers (among other people)  never failed to pound into my head the Catholic Church's cruelty during the Inquisition. The other side of the coin, the hundreds of thousands of Christians made to apostatize under some of the most awful torture practices and thousands upon thousands of Christians persecuted and killed across the Asian continent alone, had never been presented, discussed or even mentioned in passing to me until Kiku's Prayer. Incredulous and grateful at the same time are two emotions that are prevalent in mind as I think about  Endō Shūsaku and his book.

Admittedly, Kiku's Prayer's begins slowly and it requires a bit of patience to keep going. However, the subject - the persecution of Japanese Christians (Kirishitans) in 19th century Nagasaki - is fascinating, worthy and deserving of notice and our attention. Not every book has to be a distraction and the effort you invest in reading Mr. Shūsaku's novel will be well paid off in the end.

Besides the subject matter, there are a couple of intriguing aspects of Kiku's Prayer that I was surprised to notice. I'm certainly not an expert in Japanese or Chinese literature. But nor am I a novice to it. I've read I think enough to see a  distinct quality to it, quite apart from the western tradition. The writing of Endō Shūsaku is the first time I encountered a change from what I became to identify as an Asian style of writing.  Here, there is a lot more emphasis on plot development than on descriptive, albeit always crisp and to the point, narrative where the physical surroundings, the mystical power of nature and landscape and how they relate to the growth or decline of human character. It was a different reading experience but by no means of inferior quality.

The narrative style takes an unusual turn as well. The narrator comes off as a kind of a documentary commentator/historical archivist living in the present but describing events from the 19th century. On the one hand it gives a reader confidence in the accuracy of historical events written about in Kiku's Prayer. Equally important is that this technique escapes the dangers of becoming an overtly moralizing tale whose message wouldn't or couldn't touch the hearts of readers in a way the essence of this novel will. On the other hand, the  side effect (and the only negative side of Kiku's Prayer) is the awkward and sudden switches of narrative from smooth retelling of the story to dry enumerating of the events in the fashion of almost a newspaper article. Overall, it doesn't detract from the importance and quality of Kiku's Prayer and from why it matters that you read it.

A Note On Translation

Kiku's Prayer by Endō Shūsaku has been translated into English from Japanese by Van C. Gessel for the first time. Below is a short description from Columbia University Press about this esteemed translator.

Van C. Gessel is professor of Japanese at Brigham Young University. He is the author of Three Modern Novelists: Sōseki, Tanizaki, Kawabata; coeditor of The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature; and translator of seven literary works by Endō Shūsaku, including The Samurai and Deep River.

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FTC: I received an e-galley of Kiku's Prayer from the publisher, Columbia University Press via NetGalley.

Roman Tales by Stendhal, translated by Susan Ashe

Rating

* * * 1/2

The book's description from NetGalley:

Revered by key literary figures including as Balzac and Merime, Stendhal is best known for his novels, but his shorter works were just as powerful. In this brand new translation, Susan Ashe brings his greatest Italian stories to the modern reader, whilst staying true to Stendhal’s style and brilliance. 

The collection includes:
-    The Abbess of Castro 

-Vittoria Accordamboni 

-The Cenci 

-Along with accompanying essays by Charles Dickens, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and Stendhal himself. 

Together, these stories convey Stendhal’s love of Italy and admiration for the society’s honesty, sincerity, and above all, passion. ‘Roman Tales’ will reaffirm Stendhal as one of the great French masters of the 19th Century.

Stendhal is one of those authors that I have known of for a long time (his Red and Black was recommended to me by my Language Arts teacher in high school) but that I just never read and what's worse, couldn't even give myself a good reason why. I reached for this collection of short stories then, mainly because I figured it would be a good introduction to Stendhal and a way to decide whether I'd want to read more of him.

This collection turned out to be somewhat of a mixed bag. I loved The Abbess of Castro (the longest of the stories). Stendhal is witty there and his admiration for Italy and Italian people is evident. He didn't even try to disguise it in any hyperbolas or metaphors. His sharp criticism of the French (his natives) and biting comparisons to the Italians are quite fun to read whether one agrees with it or not. Here's a fine example of what I mean:

In sixteenth-century France a man could show his manhood and true mettle (...) only on the battlefield or in a duel. And as women love bravery and daring, they became the supreme judges of a man's worth. Thus gallantry was born. This led to the successive destruction of all passions, including love, thereby benefitting (sic!) that cruel tyrant whom we all obey - vanity (...)
In Italy a man could distinguish himself as much by the discovery of an old manuscript as by the sword (...) Passions rather than gallantry held sway. This is why Italy gave birth to a Raphael, a Giorgione, a Titian, and a  Correggio, while France produced all the brave commanders of the sixteenth century, each of whom slew numberless numbers of the enemy and yet today are utterly unknown. (loc. 149-57)*

Throughout that first novella as well as the remaining stories Stendhal doesn't hesitate to point out such cultural and national differences negatively contrasting his native country with Italy, Spain or even Germany.

Probably the most interesting aspect of Roman Tales to me is Stendhal revealing himself to be both a historical author and a translator. It presents a certain charm as well as a new perspective on history when learning about it from a figure to whom 16th century may have been long gone but nevertheless not as long ago as five centuries it is for us. Stendhal may have even had better resources in available texts and maybe even oral history that hadn't had a chance to become utterly diluted by outright fibs or myths. And again, Stendhal had an opinion or two on historians as well.

If anyone wants to know the history of Italy, the important thing is not to read the widely accepted authors. Nowhere has the value of a lie been better appreciated, nowhere better paid. (loc. 181-82)*

I don't know about others but I think those words spoken in the 19th century are astoundingly accurate to many historical writers of the late 20th & early 21st centuries.

Stendhal as a translator is yet another beast. He claimed that the stories within Roman Tales were not his creation but merely translations of the records put together from witness accounts of actual incidents. According to what Norman Thomas di Giovanni wrote in his introduction, the stories are Stendhal's own creation, albeit based on the records available to him, not an ad verbum translation. And I got the same feeling after the fourth or fifth time Stendhal reassures the reader about it. It's a clear case of 'Madame, thou protest too much'. The introduction however is fantastic and sheds a lot of light on who Stendhal was and his creative body of work. It will certainly make you all the more excited to begin reading the stories.

One thing that I could do without was "The Cenci" story. It was almost all narrative, without barely any dialogue and despite it being a short story, it still got pretty tedious. I admit to having skimmed it after about one third of the way.

A Note on Translation

The stories are translated  by Susan Ashe, who appears to be quite an accomplished Italian translator. This edition also mentions other translations done by her, in cooperation with Norman Thomas di Giovanni, also an Italian translator. The quality is evident in the stories, I don't really have a word of criticism to impart here. I greatly appreciated the fact that the translator decided to eliminate certain parts of the collection, even though the purists in the translating world would cry 'foul!' on this one. But Stendhal really seemed to be in love with long, descriptive passages and 'careless repetition of words and phrases that today we find only clumsy and annoying' (Di Giovanni, loc. 120-29) seemed to be right to be eliminated so that a contemporary reader may enjoy the tales. The process of translating this particular work is described nicely, even if not in length, in the introduction and explanations given are absolutely valid and shed a little bit of light into the world of translating.

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FTC: I received an e-galley of Roman Tales by Stendhal from the publisher, HarperCollins via NetGalley.

*All quotes are from an unedited copy. Please verify against a finished one for any inaccuracies.

Notes on Chopin by André Gide, translated by Bernard Frechtman

Rating

* * *

The book's description from the publisher:

An inspiring discourse on the power of music from one of the twentieth century’s most important figures, André Gide. 

André Gide, one of the great intellectuals of the twentieth century and a devoted pianist, invites readers to reevaluate Frédéric Chopin as a composer “betrayed . . . deeply, intimately, totally violated” by a music community that had fundamentally misinterpreted his work. As a profound admirer of Chopin’s “promenade of discoveries,” Gide intersperses musical notation throughout the text to illuminate his arguments, but most moving is Gide’s own poetic expression for the music he so loved.

I'm not very familiar with the works of André Gide, the French writer, philosopher and Nobel laureate. Notes on Chopin did thankfully give me a pretty good idea of what kind of writer Gide was. He had strong opinions on topics he cared for and it's very clear in Notes on Chopin where he didn't hesitate to use strong words, such as imbecile when talking about pianists who misunderstood the music of Chopin, or barbarity when describing what direction the whole music movement was going. I admit, it was refreshing to read such unchecked anger and indignation when nowadays one is surrounded by authors who seem to be walking on tiptoes careful not to make to strong of a statement dictated by this awful monster of 'political correctness'.

First and foremost, Notes on Chopin is a kind of an homage to Chopin by one of his most ardent admirers who not only was passionate about classical music but also knew quite well what he was talking about. Such knowledge is displayed in what is perhaps the most exasperating side of this work for readers who are not music afficionados: very technical explanations and instructions on how certain notes should or should not be played, complete with drawings of such noted, names of tempos, etc. Thankfully, Gide counterbalances his classical music 'lessons' with opinions and judgements that at times become thrilling and spicy, as well as inviting to music laymen, such as myself. Whether he does it with intent is quite another issue. Something tells me, not so much. André Gide seemed to have taken on a pompous and condescending attitude, and he certainly didn't care one whit about it.

I may be unjust in such judgement of this accomplished and esteemed writer. It may also be some residue from reading Notes on Chopin. One probably shouldn't pay any mind to it. Mostly because, even if you know little about Chopin or classical composers, it won't be a waste of time to devote a day at most (the book is quite sort) to reading this book/essay. Especially if one likes to expand one's knowledge in the field of music world.

A Note On Translation

This Open Road e-book edition has been translated from French by Bernard Frechtman. After some investigation of mine as to his body of work, he seems to be quite  an accomplished translator of French literature. It is therefore somewhat baffling to me that there should be errors, such as can not instead of cannot, repeatedly appearing throughout the book and signs of a bit of a struggle with sentence composition making a few of them sound slightly off and/or awkward. I'm inclined to fault the translation and the editing equally, instead of putting the blame solely on Mr. Frechtman's. Overall, it doesn't make the reading experience unbearable. This issue only takes a little bit of enjoyment away from what otherwise is a work quite worthy of a reader's time and attention.

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FTC: I purchased Notes on Chopin e-book.

The Hunger Angel by Herta Müller; translated by Philip Boehm

Rating

* * * * *

The book's description from the publisher's website:

A masterful new novel from the winner of the 2009 Nobel Prize, hailed for depicting the "landscape of the dispossessed" with "the concentration of poetry and the frankness of prose" (Nobel Prize Committee)

It was an icy morning in January 1945 when the patrol came for seventeen-year-old Leo Auberg to deport him to a camp in the Soviet Union. Leo would spend the next five years in a coke processing plant, shoveling coal, lugging bricks, mixing mortar, and battling the relentless calculus of hunger that governed the labor colony: one shovel load of coal is worth one gram of bread.
In her new novel, Nobel laureate Herta Müller calls upon her unique combination of poetic intensity and dispassionate precision to conjure the distorted world of the labor camp in all its physical and moral absurdity. She has given Leo the language to express the inexpressible, as hunger sharpens his senses into an acuity that is both hallucinatory and profound. In scene after disorienting scene, the most ordinary objects accrue tender poignancy as they acquire new purpose—a gramophone box serves as a suitcase, a handkerchief becomes a talisman, an enormous piece of casing pipe functions as a lovers' trysting place. The heart is reduced to a pump, the breath mechanized to the rhythm of a swinging shovel, and coal, sand, and snow have a will of their own. Hunger becomes an insatiable angel who haunts the camp, but also a bare-knuckled sparring partner, delivering blows that keep Leo feeling the rawest connection to life.
Müller has distilled Leo's struggle into words of breathtaking intensity that take us on a journey far beyond the Gulag and into the depths of one man's soul.

 That which doesn't kill me...doesn't make me stronger either.

No man is an Island, entire of itself...Every man is an Island, entire of itself.
(emphasis and changes are mine)

These two quotes are simply thoughts of two individuals. Nietzsche's quote isn't even accurate ('kill' should be 'destroy'); I suppose it was changed by simply another individual to make the message more powerful And yet, people use these witticisms as guides/mental support for their lives. I really dislike these and many other 'sayings' because they're misleading and untrue. Nowhere is it more obvious than in The Hunger Angel. Soviet Union's regime and its gulags had that absolute power which could and did kill a great number of people; those who had the misfortune to come back from the dead, existed among the living as if suspended between life and death. They indeed survived the camps but returned weaker, conditioned to fear, yearning for the relief of death and not receiving it. They were little islands floating among those saved from the cruel reality of the camps and living entirely of and dependent on themselves. This is the truth Leo Auberg embodies.

When I picked up The Hunger Angel, I didn't know what to expect. I was hoping I would like it and would be able to appreciate the aspects of Herta Müller's writing that earned her the title of a Nobel Prize winner. What I didn't expect was to be stunned into silence by the power of Müller's gift. From page three, when I read

I carry silent baggage. I have packed myself into silence so deeply and for so long that I can never unpack myself using words. When I speak, I only pack myself a little differently.

I knew that, from then on, my life would be split into two phases, the life before The Hunger Angel and the life after. I knew that because those words spoken by Leo were my life, my most secret and yet most fundamental feelings that I'd always wanted to articulate and that I couldn't even express cohesively to myself. This review is the most difficult to write because The Hunger Angel became very personal to me. Reading it was an epiphanic experience. With every page, all the murky, undefinable emotions rising within me and causing me so much anguish became crystalline clear.

To avoid the danger of ending up with a mini memoir of mine, instead of a somewhat helpful review of  Ms. Müller's book, I will only say that when Leo writes about his homesickness, about displacement, about feelings of not really belonging anywhere, he writes about me as well.

Müller's writing is incredible, it has clarity and shoots meaningful images like arrows, straight through your heart. And yet, this same writing created a novel that's so layered with messages, that every time you read it, you'll find meanings and depths you hadn't the time before. Every person that reads The Hunger Angel will come away from it with a different understanding, a different message and a different interpretation from other readers.

There is one thing though that is unmistakeable and undeniable regardless of what else all who read The Hunger Angel understand from it. And that is the power of words.Words are what helps Leo survive the five years of terror and horror and I believe words propel him to live just one more day of his life after the gulag. Not being able to tell his story to anyone, facing the cruel realization that no one really wanted to listen, to know, he writes it all down. He unburdens himself of the silence he carried for so long by pouring all the words he can never speak onto paper.

There are so many weighty subjects that Herta Müller writes about in The Hunger Angel, that whole dissertations could be written about it (and no doubt they will some day soon). The life in the gulags, the loss of dignity, the hunger angel that becomes Leo's constant companion and that never goes away, even if the food is abundant, because there's always something else we'll desire and the hunger angel will be there to fuel it.

To me, it's the themes of dispossession and displacement that were crucial. Once it happens to a person, it can never be healed. Because, contrary to one of those sayings again, time doesn't always heal all wounds. Indeed, when you're uprooted, denied life where you had always belonged, not only can you spend the entire rest of your life searching for that which can never be found, but you can also,  on some subconscious level or through an upbringing doom your descendants in the way you were doomed. How am I drawing this conclusion? My great-grandparents and my grandparents were Poles living in Ukraine and I believe a few months into the WWII, they had to run, literally like thieves in the middle of the night, from the Red Army. They left everything behind, their vast lands (they were farmers), their homes, everything in them. All they could take, they carried in potato sacks on their backs. I am now 34 years old, with a family of my own and the most prominent factor present in all my life is that I never really have felt at home, felt an attachment to a place that would make me realize this is where I belong. I still don't. Most importantly, displacement isn't just geographical. It's also the displacement of the soul. And Leo is and will always remain doubly displaced: from his Romanian town and by being denied his sexuality. Leo is homosexual and that's yet another silent baggage that he carries, that will never allow him to find a place where he belongs, as long as he has to fear being discovered.

I have to finish these wandering thoughts of mine about The Hunger Angel. I would love for you to just know this: read this book not for the plot, certainly not for seat-of-the-edge suspense, and maybe not even all that much for the characters. There's no happy ending either. Read The Hunger Angel to experience the most incredible writing, to witness the work of a literary genius. Not one sentence can be skipped because they all carry meanings and when you find those meanings, which will probably in some way become personal to you gasp and hold your breath in shock. Read it also for the history that has been mostly ignored and still is. Soviet Union's communist regime with Stalin for a leader performed ethnic cleansings on an unimaginable scale. Herta Muller gives our generation an opportunity to be ignorant no longer. And don't be that person who exclaims with disdain, 'It's only fiction!'. The quote I'll share below is not the author's figment of imagination. The speech of an officer to the prisoners of the gulag, as absurd as it may sound, does give you a real taste of the ideology behind Soviet Union's communism.

An officer...gave a speech at the roll-call grounds, the Appellplatz. He spoke about peace and FUSSKULTUR...: Fusskultur strengthens our hearts. And in our hearts beats the heart of the Soviet Socialist Republics. Fusskultur steels the strength of the working class. Through Fusskultur the Soviet Union will blossom in the strength of the Communist Party and in the peace and happiness of the people.

Translation

The Hunger Angel is translated by Philip Boehm, who is an accomplished translator of works in German and Polish. He obviously performed magic when translating Muller's novel. To be put to task to translate such a complex novel, with meanings and words as the main themes, must have been awe-inspiring. You'll catch yourself forgetting that The Hunger Angel is originally written in German and thinking that maybe English is Muller's native language. And the thing I admired the most when considering Mr. Boehm's approach to this novel, is his choice of the title. Original one (Atemschaukel - breath-swing) is not easily and literally translatable into English in order to make sense, like it does in German. I know that it's just my opinion, but The Hunger Angel is the title (and what it represents throughout the novel) that was meant to be. One may wonder what sense does it make that The Hunger, that awful, persistent and never-ending sensation, is called an angel. My understanding is that firstly, as Leo personifies sensations and things and objectifies people to maybe develop some kind of mental detachment pivotal to survival, a hunger becomes a being, a companion, a presence that never leaves, the Hunger Angel. Secondly, now that it's no longer simply a bodily sensation, in the end, the Hunger Angel is the only one that never abandons Leo and lets him know that Leo's not alone in that world he no longer belongs to. Sick and twisted, yes. But that's mercy nonetheless, and angels and mercy travel in pairs.

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Here I'd like to share with you some of the quotes that are especially meaningful to me.*

No words are adequate for the suffering caused by hunger. To this day I have to show hunger that I escaped his grasp. Ever since I stopped having to go hungry, I literally eat life itself. And when I eat, I am locked up inside the taste of eating. For sixty years, ever since I came back from the camp, I have been eating against starvation.

I'm always telling myself I don't have many feelings. Even when something does affect me I'm only moderately moved. I almost never cry. It's not that I'm stronger than the ones with teary eyes, I'm weaker. They have courage. When all you are is skin and bones, feelings are a brave thing. I'm more of a coward. The difference is minimal though, I just use my strength not to cry. When I do allow myself a feeling, I take the part that hurts and bandage it up with a story that doesn't cry, that doesn't dwell on homesickness.

Some people speak and sing and walk and sit and sleep and silence their homesickness, for a long time, to no avail. Some say that over time homesickness loses its specific content, that it starts to smolder and only then becomes all-consuming, because it's no longer focused on a concrete home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FTC: I was provided an ARC of The Hunger Angel for review from the publisher, Metropolitan Books, an imprint of Macmillan.

* All the quotes are from an uncorrected proof and need to be verified against a finished copy for any inaccuracies.

The Sadness of the Samurai by Victor Del Arbol, translated by Mara Lethem

Rating

* * * * *

The book's synopsis from the publisher's website:

A betrayal and a murder in pro-Nazi Spain spark a struggle for power that grips a family for generations in this sweeping historical thriller
Fierce, edgy, brisk, and enthralling, this brilliant novel by Victor del Árbol pushes the boundaries of the traditional historical novel and in doing so creates a work of incredible power that resonates long after the last page has been turned.
When Isabel, a Spanish aristocrat living in the pro-Nazi Spain of 1941, becomes involved in a plot to kill her Fascist husband, she finds herself betrayed by her mysterious lover. The effects of her betrayal play out in a violent struggle for power in both family and government over three generations, intertwining her story with that of a young lawyer named Maria forty years later. During the attempted Fascist coup of 1981, Maria is accused of plotting the prison escape of a man she successfully prosecuted for murder. As Maria's and Isabel's narratives unfold they encircle each other, creating a page-turning literary thriller firmly rooted in history.

After I finished The Sadness of the Samurai, I had been seriously worried that there might not have been much reason to try and read anything else for a while. The intensity of this novel seemed unparalleled by anything that might come after it. Even though I am now lucky enough to be reading another astonishing novel, I can say with all honesty that within the past ten years, I haven't read anything like The Sadness of the Samurai.

This novel is raw and brutal. It seemed that all my nerve endings were working beyond their capacity, just to help me process the story enough to concentrate on my next day routines until I could read some more (I primarily read at night when my two toddlers are sleeping). What makes The Sadness of the Samurai so special however, is that all the cruelty is juxtaposed with Victor Del Arbol's beautiful, at times tragic, writing. It's verging on poetic sometimes, other times it's straightforward, yet so powerful, it made me catch my breath.And it always crept up on me unexpectedly. That element of surprise, not in the events, but in the writing, added yet another layer of depth.

Now, you'll probably see The Sadness of the Samurai categorized as one genre or another. But don't let it discourage you, if you don't read one specific genre this book is listed under. A thriller? Yes, it is that. A spy novel? I suppose one could call it that, as well. A historical fiction? Most definitely. One that will at the very least make you want to look up Spain's 20th century history, especially the years of WWII and after. But most importantly, it's a complex literary work of fiction. And that means,  having read it, you won't end up dumber. The characters are frighteningly human...in their capacity for cruelty and in their fragility. Some of the people there are truly evil. There's no redemption for them, nor would they seek any. Not one remorseful thought enters their minds. Some are innocent victims, who pay a dear price for the sins of their parents. And of course, those in between: not wholly good but not wholly evil either. You'll have plenty of people to pick from to hate and to admire. I particularly liked Maria, who in the end is, when it really matters, a very brave woman. She's a person with integrity, one who fought, one who knowing full well the consequences, didn't turn her back on her moral responsibility. Really, I could go on for hours about how well Del Arbol builds up his characters, but that's one of the reasons why you may want to read the book and judge for yourself.

I need to stress that The Sadness of the Samurai is not for people whose sensibilities are easily offended. It is not for those who can't stand graphic violence, rape and the bestial side of human nature. I'm saying this not because the brutality takes anything away from the story, but because it is a very important, crucial even, element that makes Del Arbol's book so raw and so astounding, and if a wrong person reads it, they will give a low rating and low opinion on a book they shouldn't be reading in the first place.

Translation

The Sadness of the Samurai has been translated from Spanish by Mara Lethem. While I couldn't find much information on the web about this translator, I did notice that she has a fairly established record and has been a translator for at at least three different Spanish authors. Just like Del Arbol is a splendid writer, so is Ms. Lethem a talented translator. As a native European, for lack of a better word, I know that there are noticeable differences in a story's overall atmosphere between a novel written by a European author and that by an American one. European novels generally take on a slightly darker tone, explore existential questions and the nature of humans with gloomy outcomes, as opposed to the lighter tones of American novels, where the outlook on life is almost always positive in the end, offering hope and at least some little bit of optimism. Mara Lethem captured the character and atmosphere of that Spanish novel really well, for which I am very grateful.

~~~~~~~~~

FTC: I received a copy of The Sadness of the Samurai by Victor Del Arbol from the publisher, Henry Holt & Co.

The Map of Time by Felix J. Palma, translated by Nick Caistor

Rating:

*****


The book's description from the publisher:

Set in Victorian London with characters real and imagined, The Map of Time boasts a triple-play of intertwined plots in which a skeptical H.G. Wells is called upon to investigate purported incidents of time travel and thereby save the lives of an aristocrat in love with a murdered prostitute from the past; of a woman bent on fleeing the strictures of Victorian society; and of his very own wife, who may have become a pawn in a 4th-dimensional plot to murder the authors of Dracula, The Time Machine and The War of the Worlds, in order to alter their identities and steal their fictional creations.

But, what happens if we change history? Félix J. Palma raises such questions in The Map of Time. Mingling fictional characters with real ones, Palma weaves a historical fantasy as imaginative as it is exciting, a story full of love and adventure that also pays homage to the roots of science fiction while transporting its readers to a fascinating Victorian London for their own taste of time travel.

The Map of Time is my first adventure with steampunk and it also convinced me to allow this genre more of my attention and maybe even to make it one of my favorite novel categories. However, this is a novel that must not be limited to steampunk. If you're a fan of alternate history (otherwise known as alternate universe), if you like literary fiction or like reading books set in Victorian England, I invite you to try The Map of Time. Felix J. Palma really had a great idea and followed up on it with fantastic writing (as opposed to some authors who despite having interesting ideas, can't quite put them on paper to create a successful novel).

I've read in some other reviews that readers didn't appreciate the three different plots which read more like separate novels rather than one, cohesive book but I suppose that's just a matter of personal taste. I like such a style if it's done well (which it is, in The Map of Time) and they all do come together at the finish line, so they're not really separate stories when they all play a role in creating one ending. And it's really written so well that there wasn't a minute of annoying confusion as to who did what or why.

I underlined the 'annoying' because (here comes the best part of Mr. Palma's time-travel, science-fiction work) the author managed to really play with my head. There was a point at which I really couldn't tell what was real and what was imagined, trying to guess in error where the reality ended and fantasy began. This wonderful 'guessing game' that Felix J. Palma served the readers, combined with intelligent, at times very lyrical writing, made it a true pleasure to immerse myself in The Map of Time.

P.S.
Do not let the size of the novel discourage you. It might just be my personal preference since I do like long books but I really didn't think that even one paragraph was unnecessary. I like reading books to enter a different world and to lose myself in it and for that, it has to be a book with some 'meat' on it. Anything shorter and it seems to me that the story ends before it begun true and proper.

~~~~~~~

A note on the translator, Nick Caistor. He did a wonderful job of turning Palma's words into English. Nothing is 'lost in translation', I don't think a reader could even tell that The Map of Time was a novel originally written in Spanish. The 'soul' of the book is there and that's what the best translators do.

*********

FTC: I received an ARC of The Map of Time from Atria, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, for a review.

Best news of the day: there's part two of The Victorian Trilogy (which began with The Map of Time), The Map of the Sky, coming out in September, 2012.

Links to visit: 

1) Felix J. Palma's website.

2) The Map of Time website. This one is a must if want to get a feel of the novel before committing yourself to reading it.

Me and You by Niccolo Ammaniti, translated by Kylee Doust

Rating:

****

The book's description from the publisher's website:

From internationally best-selling author Niccolò Ammaniti, comes a funny, tragic, gut-punch of a novel, charting how an unlikely alliance between two outsiders blows open one family’s secrets. Lorenzo Cumi is a fourteen-year-old misfit. To quell the anxiety of his concerned, socially conscious parents, he tells them he’s been invited on an exclusive ski vacation with the popular kids. On the morning of the trip, Lorenzo demands that his mother drop him off before they arrive at the train station, insisting that his status will be compromised if he shows up accompanied by his mother. Reluctantly, she agrees, and as soon as she is safely out of the vicinity, he turns around and makes his way back to his neighborhood, to put his real plan in motion: for one blessed week, Lorenzo will retreat to a forgotten cellar in his family’s apartment building, where he will live in perfect isolation, keeping the adult world at bay. But when his estranged half-sister, Olivia, shows up in the cellar unexpectedly, his idyll is shattered, and the two become locked in a battle of wills—forced to confront the very demons they are each struggling to escape.


I seem to be on some kind of a European fiction binge right now and I'm quite enjoying it. Just as I did enjoy Me and You. I have to say I'm perplexed as to why it's getting a low rating in Goodreads. Maybe it's just the kind of fiction that doesn't appeal to everyone but when it does get your attention, it possesses it fully.

The main character, Lorenzo, is an introvert through and through and, being one myself, I identified with many feelings and thoughts of his, and most importantly didn't find it all that strange that he had closed himself off for those couple of days, just to be left alone for once. His motives were so very clear to me that I had no problems accepting the whole premise of this novel as perfectly natural. And the appearance of his half-sister, Olivia, only added more sense to the story and made it all the more believable.

Yes, Me and You is a sorrowful and a slightly dark story but because it doesn't have a 'Happily ever after' ending, it's that much closer to real life. And at least in my real life, things don't always have a happy ending, there are sadness and grief and unfulfilled promises to deal with. And it's okay, c'est la vie. And that 'la vie' as portrayed by Niccolo Ammaniti, is not a Disney World one and a lot more precious despite its fallibility.

It is a short novel but it did manage to give me fully developed characters that I couldn't help but be empathetic with. I can easily say that if it were longer (not that it needed to), I would love this pair of imperfect siblings and wouldn't want to part with them. But Me and You is the right length and as such it reminded me of the lessons life teaches us even if we are momentarily blind to them.

FTC: I received an e-galley from the publisher, Grove/ Atlantic, Inc. via NetGalley.

Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, translated by Tiina Nunnally

The book's description written by (because it seems the most accurate and no simple synopsis will suffice) Brad Leithauser in the introduction to the edition translated by Tiina Nunnally:

Kristin Lavransdatter's dense, decade-spanning plot might be summarized as the story of a daddy's girl who refuses daddy's choice of husband and marries for love, with often harrowing long range consequences. Kristin's father wishes her to marry Simon Andresson, an honorable thoughtful, devoted, and woefully unglamorous man. Kristin falls instead for Erlend Nikulausson, a proud, impulsive, fearless young knight who seems constitutionally unable to steer clear of scandal (...)

When you enter Kristin Lavransdatter, you enter a marriage, a contract expansively unfolding through time. Disturbingly, fascinatingly, it's a union of two people who share a proud, combative stubbornnes that ultimately undoes them. (p.XI)

I have so many thoughts about this most wonderful of all epics that I don't know where to start and I am certain that no matter what I write, will it do Kristin Lavransdatter enough justice. I'll write what I can and you decide for yourself whether you want to enter or, should I say, let the world of 14th century Norway enter your life. Sigrid Undset cetainly wrote about the country and the time, and the people in a way that will never let me forget this diamond of a novel.

There really isn't much I can do about it but mostly it's feelings and emotions that come to my mind when thinking of this masterpiece. There's no need to bother my head with proper character development, exceptional historical detail, the flow of the plot, etc. It's all there, yes, all in proper condition as even the most demanding would seek, but that's not what you pay attention to when reading about Kristin, about wild Erlend, about noble, goodhearted Simon, about the beautiful Norway with traditions and culture long gone (although hopefully not forgotten). You, instead, focus on the life itself, its trials and tribulations, tragedies and sadness, intermingled with happiness, joy and miracles it brings.

Kristin Lavransdatter is the ultimate coming-of-age story following the young girl from the days of her sweet, innocent childhood all through the end of her life ravished with sorrows, misfortunes, but also blessed with many good things that were not given to others. Even Kristin herself ruminates later in her life on how she lost sight of all the good things she'd been granted in life, because she could only think about the next tragedy to come along as a result of her wantonness.

If you're looking for the novel of motherhood, look no more. If you want a romance, this is a story that aces all other romances. and finally, if it's historical fiction you're after, you'll find Kristin Lavransdatter to be the one all other HF novels will be judged upon.

Kristin Lavransdatter is the masterpiece of literature. It's sublime. Just the thought that I've already finished it tightens my throat and almost makes me cry (I kid you not). I miss it, I'm nostalgic and I want to go back to it.

A word on translation: Tiina Nunnally is fantastic and she did a beautiful job, showing the full extent of Sigrid Undset's writing genius. For more in depth information, I'm directing you to the article about Nunnally's translation of Kristin Lavransdatter on Norway, the Official Site in the United States.

P.S.
Try to look for it at library sales or other used book's sales sites. Chances are you won't find it. At least I couldn't. And I visit tons of sales. That's because most people who've read Kristin Lavransdatter, do not want to part with it. Ever.

FTC: I bought this book.

The Keeper of Lost Causes by Jussi Adler-Olsen, translated by Lisa Hartford

Rating:

*****

The book's synopsis from the publisher's website:

The Keeper of Lost Causes, the first installment of Adler- Olsen's Department Q series, features the deeply flawed chief detective Carl MØrck, who used to be a good homicide detective-one of Copenhagen's best. Then a bullet almost took his life. Two of his colleagues weren't so lucky, and Carl, who didn't draw his weapon, blames himself.
So a promotion is the last thing Carl expects.
But it all becomes clear when he sees his new office in the basement. Carl's been selected to run Department Q, a new special investigations division that turns out to be a department of one. With a stack of Copenhagen's coldest cases to keep him company, Carl's been put out to pasture. So he's as surprised as anyone when a case actually captures his interest. A missing politician vanished without a trace five years earlier. The world assumes she's dead. His colleagues snicker about the time he's wasting. But Carl may have the last laugh, and redeem himself in the process.
Because she isn't dead . . . yet.

  I really, really enjoyed this crime novel. One of the best I've read (European and otherwise) in a long time. Everything just clicked for me; the pace, the characters, the suspense and the setting worked beautifully and made up for a memorable read in the mysteries department. I absolutely loved Assad, the assistant to Carl, the head of the Department Q (that makes up all of two members of the said department). He is the strongest character in the novel and his interactions with Carl caused me to chuckle quite a few times and helped me enjoy the whole story all the more. 

Call me slow-witted but, contrary to other reviewers, it wasn't obvious to me who the 'perpetrator' was from early on in the novel at all. Which wouldn't have made all that much difference in the end anyway because The Keeper of Lost Causes is a lot more than just a simple 'whodunit' book. I'm very glad it's the beginning of the series and will be jumping on the next installment when it hits American market. 

Let's not forget about the translator, Lisa Hartford. A lot of credit goes to her for doing a wonderful job giving us this Danish crime novel without a blemish and translated it so that an American reader can easily transport him/herself into the world of contemporary Denmark and to the streets of Copenhagen.

FTC: I received an e-galley from the publisher via NetGalley.