Posts Tagged ‘history’

Book Review and Reflection: Disturbance of the Inner Ear

June 6, 2017

disturbanceWhen a best-selling author recommends someone else’s book, you listen. That’s what happened to me recently, and I’m glad it did.

The book is Disturbance of the Inner Ear by Joyce Hackett. I was surprised to learn that it was Hackett’s first book; it’s so beautifully written and masterfully crafted. I enjoyed Hackett’s writing style and learned a great deal about music, about human nature, and about a subject that’s of particular interest to me, The Holocaust. Hackett is both a gifted writer and a thorough, meticulous researcher.  This book won her the Janet Heidinger Kafka Prize when it appeared in 2002.

The author who made the recommendation to me was Jacky Collis Harvey, whose smashing debut book Red: A History of the Redhead, came out two years ago. My review of that book is here. Jacky, with whom I’m connected on Facebook, made the suggestion after learning of my interest in The Holocaust.

Jacky didn’t know that I’ve also been trying to learn a little bit more about music – its history, its techniques, its people. I’m totally ignorant about all things musical, but even I know how important that music has always been and will always be to humanity. Disturbance gives deep and informed insight into the motivations and mindset of the musically gifted and into the instruments that they play.

Joyce Hackett

Author Joyce Hackett

The protagonist of Disturbance is Isabel Masurovsky, daughter of Yuri, who was a survivor of the Nazi concentration camp at Theresienstadt in Czechoslovakia. That camp was smaller and somewhat less well known than the giant complexes like Auschwitz, Dachau, and Buchenwald. It was a Potemkin Village, a “model ghetto” that the Nazis spiffed up on the surface for visits by the International Red Cross. The Nazis had promoted the place as a resort or spa; they even conned many elderly Jews into paying large sums of money for “lakefront” locations that did not exist. Yuri’s parents were among those that paid up in this manner.

Yuri makes it out of the camp, aided by his musical talent and by the several favorable twists and turns of fate that we hear in many survivors’ stories.  He settles in Brooklyn, where Isabella is born. She becomes a child prodigy on the cello, making her debut at Carnegie Hall at age 14. But her parents get killed in a car accident and she gives up playing.

Ten years later, she’s adrift in Milan, Italy.  The elderly Signor Perso, her teacher, guardian, and the last person on earth who knows her story, suddenly dies.  Isabel takes up with the smooth and seductive Giulio Salvagente, a surgeon and a part-time male prostitute who is carrying his own heavy load of emotional baggage.  She also gets a gig teaching the viola to the American teenager Clayton Pettyward, whose father happens to own a priceless cello that she calls The Savant.

In an article in Bella Online, Hackett said that she interviewed about 400 cellists before writing.  She also visited the city of Terezin, where Theresiendstadt is located, and spoke with many Holocaust survivors. That’s the type of research that I imagine is done by another of my favorite fiction writers, Jodi Picoult. An author who works that hard obviously has great respect for her readers as well as for her subject.  Hackett, who doesn’t play an instrument, stated

“I think research is mostly about, not being ‘right,’ but about being ‘not wrong.’ So often it introduces a vocabulary for a life and a set of concerns and a way of perceiving, but once a writer knows everything, she is able to write very little on a topic.

“…While I was doing my research, at a certain point a cellist I was interviewing, Gary Hoffman, quoted a sentence to me almost word for word that I had written the week before in the voice of my narrator. He said: ‘When you are playing in that perfect zone, the notes come in slow motion, like a series of home run pitches you can smack–one after the other.’ Well, my narrator knew nothing about baseball, but I’d written in a line about how in a perfect performance the notes come in slow motion, and time stops.”

Giulio and Isabel need each other, but it takes a while for them and us to realize it. Hackett’s descriptions of their erotic encounters are alone worth the price of the book. They’re refresher courses in the facts of life, imparting new insights into lovemaking while giving the reader palmar hyperhidrosis and tachycardia.

Isabel neatly links Giulio’s sexual performances with her own musical performances, musing, “I wondered about the sex he had with the women he hung around with. Having to sweep away one rich, dead-bored woman after another seemed to me like having to perform the same program, over and over, to one tone-deaf music hater at a time.”

She brings in another musician-analogy when she jumps into the driver’s seat of Giulio’s new standard-shift automobile and teaches herself, on the spot, to drive it so that she can make a climactic escape to Theresienstadt with the precious cello:

“But I was not about to hand myself over to Giulio. Driving a car, I told myself, could hardly be more difficult than playing the Rococo Variations. I occurred to me to listen for the sound I wanted, the smooth, rhythmic groan from the groin of the engine that Giulio had made, and work back toward the movements. This was the secret: in second, my limbs had molded themselves to the needs of the machine. I managed to circle the parking lot without chugging, and then I was coasting up the exit ramp as if I’d always known how.”

We see more of Hackett’s elegant descriptions in Isabel’s climactic escape. She steals Giulio’s car and dashes from Italy through Austria and Germany into Czechoslovakia. She has no papers or passport, but manages to get through the border crossings with luck and guile. With the tension of the chase building, she approaches the Brenner Pass into Austria and says

“I was approaching the border with no passport but Clayton’s…There was no break in the rail, no exit to make a U-turn.  The slopes beside the highway were thickly covered with sharp, spiky evergreens that looked as if they’d impale you if you pulled over and jumped. “

But she makes it to Czechoslovakia. In the grimy town of Litomerice, adjacent to Terezin, she muses,

“I wandered around the won for what seemed like hours. Litomerice looked as if it had aspired to charm for fifteen minutes during the Hapsburg reign, then gotten drunk and let its face go to hell. Most of the buildings were decrepit and peeling: a few had been refaced in gooey apricot. There was not one tree in town.”

This is great writing. It not only paints pictures; it evokes strong, visceral reactions. You’re there, and you feel what she must have felt.  Hackett’s style here reminded me of Catherine Marenghi’s elegant yet gripping descriptions of everyday phenomena in her superb 2016 memoir Glad Farm – which, like Disturbance of the Inner Ear, was also its author’s first book.

Isabel and Giulio do exorcise their respective demons. She makes peace with her past. As she does so, Hackett gives the reader much food for thought about The Holocaust, about the people who survived it, and about their descendants who keep memories alive.

Of her own experience in the research and writing of the book, Hackett later wrote in Boston Review,

“More than anything else my book turned out to be about the task of living after trauma, about accepting that there is no mastery of the past, or another’s experience, while also facing the stark ethical imperative that is adulthood: to extricate ourselves from the warped narratives we inherit in order to avoid doing damage to others in the present. I wrote my way out of a past that was not my own by hurling myself back into its reality…”

She cites Holocaust survivor/author Imre Kertesz’s writing of the prisoners’ greatest fear, that the truth of history would not be told and recorded.  She also points out that when she took her trip to Terezin, “Still, all over Europe, the battle for the story was still being waged.”

That would have been close to 20 years ago, and I’m afraid that the battle for the story of The Holocaust is still being waged. Maybe the battle will never be over. That’s why books like this will always be important.

Book Review and Reflection: “The Chestry Oak”

April 22, 2016

chestryA while back I read that Albert Einstein supposedly said, “If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be very intelligent, read them more fairy tales.”

As it turns out, that’s not a direct quote, but it comes close to his message. One day, a mother of young children sought out the good doctor and asked what kind of books her kids should read in order to prepare for careers in science.

His reply was “Fairy tales and more fairy tales” because, he explained, a creative imagination is the essential element in the intellectual equipment of the true scientist. Fairy tales, in his opinion, are the childhood stimulus to this quality.

There’s more. Bulgarian-born Maria Popova, author behind the superb blog “Brain Pickings,” maintains that “Fairy tales — the proper kind, those original Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen tales I recall from my Eastern European childhood, unsanitized by censorship and unsweetened by American retellings — affirm what children intuitively know to be true but are gradually taught to forget, then to dread: that the terrible and the terrific spring from the same source, and that what grants life its beauty and magic is not the absence of terror and tumult but the grace and elegance with which we navigate the gauntlet.”

The Chestry Oak” by Kate Seredy was written for children. But is not a fairy tale. There are no ghosts, dragons, or evil witches. It is historical fiction, the story of young Prince Michael of the Chestry Valley in Hungary – the same part or the world that gave us Maria Popova.  The story has much of the terrible and the terrific. But the terror and tumult of the gauntlet that Michael navigates, as do his father, his nanny, and others in the tale, is all too real.

Michael is six years old when World War II breaks out and the Nazis conquer Chestry Valley. That kind of evil, National Socialism — and its accomplice and jackal Communism – actually existed, and not all that long ago. Moreover, it seems, we’ve been gradually taught to forget them and to dread them.  They can’t happen here, can they?

Michael’s home, Chestry Castle, becomes the local headquarters for the Nazi military. The vile Herman Goering’s presence is felt, though he doesn’t make an appearance. Michael’s father, the Prince of Chestry, does not actively resist or defy them, and many of his countrymen consider him a traitor.

Michael’s life, and that of the realm’s mighty stallion Midnight, is spared when an Allied bombing raid destroys the castle and kills almost everyone in the valley. He carries with him an acorn that had previously dropped from the thousand-year-old Chestry Oak. The tree had once sheltered Saint Stephen, patron saint of Hungary, as he led the people of the valley in battle against heathen hordes.

Every prince of Chestry would, on his seventh birthday plant, plant a seed from that oak.  Michael cannot plant the acorn on that day, however, and the tree is destroyed by bombs.  The story tells how he eventually learns the whole truth about what happened and how he keeps his solemn promise to his father. He eventually does plant the last acorn. He fulfills his mission as the bearer and custodian of his people’s history and collective memory.

Though “The Chestry Oak,” written in 1948, is based on actual events, it has many of the desirable qualities and lessons that Popova identifies in fairy tales.  It is unsanitized and unsweetened. It tells of both soaring goodness and monstrous evil springing from the same source – members of the human race. It tells of our need to preserve the ancient values, of the gallantry and nobility of ordinary people, of the precious worth of personal honor and fidelity to promises.

Also, even with its historical grounding, the story feels a little like both J.K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter” and C.S. Lewis’s “Chronicles of Narnia.” There’s a bit of the film “War Horse” in there too; my equestrian friends will like the descriptions of Prince Michael’s horsemanship.

My grandsons, ages three and one, are too young for “The Chestry Oak.” I’ll save it for them, maybe until the day when they’ve learned at least a bit of history of our world. In the meantime, I’ll try to share with them those wonderful stories and characters that you and I got to know when we were children.

That’s the least I can do, and I thank Dr. Einstein and Maria Popova for reminding me why those stories are so important.