Sweet “Suite Francaise” (2 cents)

When I picked up a copy of Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky, I did not have great expectations.  I thought it would be, more than anything else, an oddity.  A book written by a French-Jewish author while she was in hiding from the Nazis, hidden unread for years, and published over 60 years after her death at Auschwitz.  It would be interesting, but would it be good?

I thought it was great.

Nemirovsky wanted to write about France under occupation.  Her goal (unfulfilled) was a trilogy; she only wrote the first two portions (and probably would have altered them as she went along).

The first half of the book, entitled “Storm in June”, consists of a series of vignettes about residents of Paris who flee the city in the days before the arrival of the Nazis.  The second half, “Dolce”, concentrates on three families who live in a rural area of France under German occupation; there are references in their conversation  to some of the personalities in “Storm”, but these are fleeting.  The third portion of the book was to bring all of this together.

The book reads very smoothly; the personalities and their predicaments are ultimately interesting and credible.  I recommend it highly.

But let’s talk about Nemirovsky.  It turns out she really wasn’t French.  She was born in Russia to a wealthy banking family which escaped the Bolsheviks in 1919 and came to France.  Irene was 16.  She never became a French citizen.

She married another Russian emigree, Michael Epstein.  They had two daughters.  In 1939, the family converted to Catholicism (whether for political or spiritual reasons, I don’t know).  Her books (there were several best sellers before this book was written) are not about Jews.  OK, so she was Jewish according to the Nazis and killed at Auschwitz, but was she a Jewish writer?  This is obviously how she is being portrayed.

I don’t know the answer to that question.

In the back of the book, there are appendixes with excerpts from her notes on the book, and correspondence between family members and government officials after her arrest.  Her husband writes (before he was arrested and murdered): “And it seems to me both unjust and illogical that the Germans should imprison a woman who, despite of being of Jewish descent, has no sympathy whatsoever–all her books prove this–either for Judaism or the Bolshevik regime.”

Another strange point.  Apparently, Nemirovsky’s mother had her own problems.  She lived through the war years in Nice in some comfort, it is said, and after the war, Nemirovsky’s two young daughters, who had been hidden, went to their grandmother.  According to the preface of the French edition of the book, “Fanny [the grandmother] had spent the war years in Nice, living in great comfort, but when the children rang the doorbell, she refused to let them in, shouting through the closed door that if their parents were dead, they should go to an orphanage…”

The manuscript to Suite Francaise was kept by her oldest daughter Denise for over 50 years in an unopened trunk with other papers of her mother (how they were preserved, I do not know).  She decided about ten years ago to donate them to a French institution and, before they were handed over,  Denise decided to see what she had.  This decision led to the publication of the book.

All of this is quite odd.  The book is terrific.

To Keep You Up to Date

1.  The poor Washington Caps.  We saw them beat Tampa Bay 5-3 Wednesday, so hope was replenished.  But last night and the night before, they lost to Vancouver and St. Louis.  They have now lost five of their last six.  It doesn’t look good, does it?

2.  Caligula.  We saw Hannah’s friend Alexander Strain play the title role in Albert Camus’ “Caligula”.  He was as good as the reviews made him out to be.  But it is too bad that Camus’ play was not worthy of his effort.  To be fair to Camus (why?), perhaps there was a translation problem, perhaps it was meant for a larger cast, perhaps the play or edited or cut down.  Or, it might have been a problem with the direction, and certainly there was a gap between the performance of Alex and the performances of the remaining 10 or so cast members.  I can imagine the play being done differently and more engagingly, but this performance I thought was pretty flat overall.

3.  Our friends Frank and Ahuva.  How is it that they know everyone?  Whomever you mention, they say either “their friends of ours”, or “we have known them a long time”.  You can somehow understand how they might know members of the local Jewish community, but it goes beyond that.  Famous musicians, they know them all.  The rabbi of the National Synagogue, of course.  We visit a real estate development on the western shore of Oahu, and they have a timeshare there.  A friend buys a house in Chestertown, MD and joins the local Jewish community there, and they know everyone in that community.  They take a trip of the trans-Siberian railroad, and the guide suggests that everyone is no more than three persons from everyone else – and says “let’s see how close you are to Joseph Stalin”; they knew someone who translated for Stalin.  How can this be?

4.  Dinner last night at The Heights.  The Heights is a pretty close clone of Logan Tavern.  We went with our friends, Art and Carol from LA, and their daughter Julia, who works here for Greenpeace.  I had sliced crusted ahi tuna, and Edie had tilapia.  The food is excellent. The restaurant is located in one of the new buildings at 14th and Park, an area that is in the throes of such major changes.  We did not know how crowded it would be, and thought it would be struggling for a few years.  If last night was an example, customers are not going to be a problem; it was pretty much filled.

No Blacks, No Children, and (Probably) No Jews (3 cents)

These are some of my reactions to the Edward Hopper show at the National Gallery.   This is not necessarily a criticism, just a comment.  Of course, many of Hopper’s highly stylized, and extraordinarily appealing, paintings have no people in them whatsoever.  Just cityscapes, or seascapes, or images of rural New England.  As to the people who occasionally appear, citing at a bar, at an automat table, looking out of a window, or being viewed through a window, whether they are male or female, all seem to be in fact identical to each other.  Of course, some have dark hair, some light, and there may be some other surface differences, but that doesn’t seem to matter.  These aren’t really people; they are archetypes, inner-people, perhaps covered by an outer person who does not show up in the painting.  And who knows, these outer persons might be black, or youthful, or even Jewish.  Well, Reform Jewish.

There is something else about this show.  Every single piece (oil, watercolor and etching) is a masterpiece, and memorable.

And, oh yes, one other reaction.  Hopper only painted in the summer.  What did he do the rest of the year?

The Plot of the Plot’s Not Hot

I have read about one third of Philip Roth’s The Plot Against America, and I am not sure that I am going to finish it. It is very easy reading (we all know that Roth can write), and the story line is so far quite meager. The gimmick of the book (and this is one of my questions: is a book good because it has a gimmick?) is that it purports to be autobiographical, I think, but to take place in a time that never existed, during the period in which Charles A. Lindbergh became president of the United States and forged an alliance with Hitler’s Germany.

When I read Roth’s Goodbye Columbus, a short novel and collection of stories, at least 40 years ago, I thought I had discovered a master. His coming of age story in Newark (later a movie that was a mere shadow of the novella), his character Levine (I think, Levine, but 40 years is a long time), the secular Jew who was concerned that the Chasids were moving into the neighborhood and who then woke up one day to find that he himself had turned into one. All were masterful.

I have only very occasionally picked up a Roth book since then, and must admit that I don’t think that I ever finished any of them. I won’t blame the author for that; I will take responsibility. But in regard to the current book, I take no responsibility and push the blame back on Roth.

OK, I admit that alternative history may not be my thing. There have been many books written, for example, on the supposition that the South won the Civil War. Sorry, not interested. Sinclair Lewis wrote So It Can’t Happen Here, which I recall was another fascist-in-America book that I long ago started but dropped. (In the cinema, however, my tastes must be otherwise, because the alternative reality in ” Back to the Future II” I found mesmerizing.) So, even as a gimmick, the premise of Plot is a little stale.

I also don’t think it fair to Lindberg (OK, here I sound like a character in the book), whose anti-Semitism was not the most pervasive of his characteristics, who was an extraordinarily talented individual in all sorts of ways and who, as the relatively private person described in Scott Berg’s prize winning autobiography, would have shied away from the presidency in any event. I see that there are extensive notes in the back of Roth’s book to explain to the reader how much of this fictional account was historical, and how much not, and I am at least going to read that section. I do not know who wrote it, or what the circumstances were.

As to alternative histories of the World War II period, I frankly don’t see much of a challenge in conjuring up what might have happened if an anti-Semitic, anti-war party took control in the USA. I have always been interested in the opposite. What if there had been no Hitler, and the Weimar Republic had not gone out of existence in the early 1930s? What would then the course of European (and American and Middle East) history have been throughout the remainder of the century?

And, even more intriguing (by far), what if Hitler had succeeded in gaining power in Germany, but had not been anti-Jewish? There is no reason why a fascist regime has to be anti-Semitic, and exclude the Jews from its nationalist policies. Certainly, Mussolini did nothing to the Jewish community in Italy until forced to do so by Hitler, and there were many very prominent fascist Jews in Italy. And Franco, another fascist dictator, although he did not have a Jewish community to deal with, went out of his way to avoid anti-Semitism in his official policies, and even gave protection to Sephardic Jews (wherever they resided) escaping Hitler. The exploration of this topic would, to me, be both fascinating and challenging.

By the way, I hope that they don’t make a movie of The Plot Against America.

Asleep at the Switch

Today’s Drudgereport has two headlines:

1. “Stress mess in U.S.; 48% of us can’t sleep”

2.  “Drowsy V.P. Cheney nods off at meeting on California wildfires”

I take this to mean that Cheney knows something that at least 48% of us don’t know, and, because he appears to be the guy at the switch, that it is good.

All in the Family

Compare the following:

my daughter’s blog:  http://hanvnah.wordpress.com

with

my cousin Randy’s blog:  http://bornagainhippies.blogspot.com

with

my cousin Jonathan’s blog:  http://worldoffaith.wordpress.com

and maybe you will begin to understand why the world is so complicated.

Good salads, bad fish, no coffee and loud music (2 cents)

I was concerned that we were going to be the oldest at the Teapacks concert last night by far.  We may have been the oldest, but clearly not by far.  In fact, the audience although not extremely large, ranged from toddlers to us.  I would guess that the median age was probably mid to late 30s.  Our table neighbor suggested that the Teapacks were very popular in Israel 10 – 15 years ago, and that a lot of the audience were their fans then.

I don’t understand why the music needs to be so loud.  When playing the same music on a CD, no one would reach this decibel level.  The problem is that it drowns out much of the subtlety of the music, and certainly makes the words (irrespective of language) hard to understand.  In fact, Kobi Oz, the Teapacks lead, announced that one song would be in Gibberish, “so it doesn’t make any difference if you don’t know the language”.  It might of been Gibberish, but it could just as easily been the English or the Hebrew.

The words, which Oz writes, are very clever (of course, I take that on faith, since there is so much I couldn’t follow).  And much but not all of it expresses strong social positions.  In addition to “He’s Gonna Push the Button” (see the Youtube clip below several posts), there is a song trying to determine what is more important, peace or food.  The song is “Salaam, Salami”.  There is another song about the capitalists taking over the world, with a great line that reads something like “Go ahead and sue us, our lawyers work like snails”.  And there is a pounding song that attacks the audience directly:  “You’re so dumb, you’re stupid, stupid, stupid, and all we do is make money off of you.”  The audience loves it.

There was quite a bit of dancing.  Or maybe not.  Because the dancing seems to be bouncing.  You stand in front of the band, you do whatever you want with your hands (you can just let them hang, you can wave them back and forth, you can do anything) and you bounce like you are on a pogo stick.  You can do it with a partner, with your friends, by yourself.  You don’t even need to know if you are dancing with anyone.  Perhaps this is the way it is at all rock concerts now?

The members of the six man band (guitars of various types, drums and a keyboard/accordianist) look like you would expect them to, more or less.  Tall, thin, motley dressed, never been to a hair salon.  But Kobi Oz, who is the lead, and who sings ALL of the songs (it was a 90 minute set) is a small bundle of energy.  Small = maybe 5′2″  Bundle = compact, non- angular  Energy = rapid, kinetic, frantic, uncontrolled, awkward, graceful movement, without even a hint of slowing down.

The venue (State Theatre in Falls Church, right on Route 29) is quite nice.  I was told that they often have up to 700 people for a concert and, for the reggae and a few other concerts, they remove the tables and can fit in 1000.  (I assume that none of them is the fire marshal.)  They have a rather complete menu and friendly servers (“No, no, you’re not the oldest person we’ve ever had here, are you kidding?”), and the ceasar salad and the guacamole were first class, but watch out for the frozen, one-size-fits all salmon, which was dry and tough and not possible to really eat.  And their coffee brewer was broken, or so they said.

I’d go back to the State Theater, but would be a fish out of water at most events, so probably won’t.  But some upcoming programs seem interesting.  Anyone want to go with me to see Girl in a Coma?

The Ethicist

Here is my ethical dilemma.  My friend Bob has already given me his thoughts (you can expand on them if you wish, Bob), and I would like to hear from the rest of you.

When in Boston, if I have time and the weather is nice, I go to the Brattle Book Store, off Tremont Street near the Common, and roam through the many old books that they display on racks on their outdoor lot.  Occasionally I pick up something interesting.

Last week, I found a small book entitled “A Little Confederate Girl’s Recollections of the War”, written by a Kate Waller Chambers and privately published (“for her children and grandchildren”) in 1910.  The author was five years old when the Civil War broke out, living with her family in Montgomery, Alabama, the first capital of the Confederacy.  She remembers her family life, her relatives and her parents’ friends going off to war and (most of the time) returning, often injured.  She remembers the inauguration of Jefferson Davis as president.  She remembers how life changed in general, how food became scarce, how medicines were unavailable and old traditional remedies came back into vogue, how clothes were all homespun.

This is a rare book that I can not locate on any of the Internet used book sites.  It was probably printed in a very small edition. It is rarer still, I assume, because it is inscribed by Chambers.  The inscription reads:  “Kate Waller Chanbers, Crows Nest, Bronxville, May the tenth, 1911.  For my dear Uncle..”

Here is where the ethical dilemma arises.  The book was at one time part of the collection (actually, the ’special’ collection) of the library of Coker College, in Hartsville, South Carolina.  Coker College, now a co-ed liberal arts school, was founded as a Baptist girls college in 1908 by James L. Coker.

James L. Coker, it turns out, was Chambers’ uncle, the husband of her mother’s youngest sister (her mother’s oldest sister was married to a Confederate general, W.B. McClellan).  So it seems clear that at some point Coker, or Coker’s family donated the book to the college library.

There is nothing in the book to show that the college library ever disposed of the book.  So, I don’t know how it wound up at a used book store in Boston, much less on an outdoor bargain rack.

I looked up Coker College on the internet and went to the very attractive website of its library (complete with a quote by Michael Moore, something to the effect of “you may think that librarians are quiet meet people, but it is not so; they are really planning the revolution”) and looked at its on line catalog to see if there was anything shown by Kate Waller Chambers.

There was.  It was not this book, but another, privately published a few years later, which seemed to be a history of her family in general.  The “Little Confederate Girl’s Recollections” was not listed.

So, friends, here is my dilemma.  What should I do?

Freud, I’m Afreud.

Larry King’s show tonight is mostly about the fires in California.  But Valerie Plame is also a guest (she was supposed to be the only guest).  King introduces her as Valerie Flame.  He then corrected himself.

Musing on a Monday Night

Unfortunately, I did not make the talk on Alice Roosevelt Longworth at Politics and Prose. The reason? The vagaries of the DC Metro system.

I am not complaining, because these things happen, but my Red Line train stopped between Farragut North and DuPont because of mechanical difficulties on the train in front of us. We sat for about twenty minutes, long enough for me to miss the first fifteen minutes or so of the author’s presentation. So instead I came home.

And started thinking about Benazir Bhutto. I must admit that I know relatively little about Benazir Bhutto, but she is one of my favorites. Why is this? It is because when I went to my 25th college reunion, she was giving the commencement address. This would have been Harvard in 1989. She was unbelievably inspiring in talking about Pakistan and its future. And to my knowledge, she was quite a good prime minister (her father had been prime minister as well, and assassinated). She then had to leave the country, largely because her husband (I think they are still married) was accused of financial shenanigans. Whether the charges were legitimate, I do not know).

Pakistan clearly has more than its share of Islamic crazies. Look at what happened to Daniel Pearl, and I assume that the picture given of Karachi in the movie about his murder was fairly accurate. And we all know about the lawlessness of the hills separating Pakistan from Afghanistan.

But I have also seen many of the Pakistani diplomats in this country. They are, to a person, suave, intelligent and very western in their mannerism.

This must be an unbelievably complicated country.

So, Bhutto returns to her home, there is an assassination attempt, 135 people are killed, chaos results. I saw a brief interview of Bhutto today, conducted by Ann Curry, who is also in Pakistan now. Bhutto admitted that she expected trouble. Curry asked if it was worth having all these people killed.

Bhutto’s comment was surprising. She said, you know, all of these people (I think there were over a million) put their lives voluntarily at risk to show support for democracy in Pakistan. I put my own life at risk. We think it is a necessity and that it is worth it.

You have to give her credit. And, by the way, Ann Curry is another of my favorites. To see them together was a treat.

As we know, there has been a lot of emigration from Pakistan.  Could this mean that only the crazies are left?

I hope not.