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I padri lontani
"Io non piango e non mi stupisco, io racconto". Marina Jarre potrebbe assumere questa rigogliosa dichiarazione come motto del libro con cui torna alla narrativa dopo un silenzio di qualche anno. Si tratta, in apparenza, di un'autobiografia, che si snoda tra la Lettonia degli anni '20 e '30 (incrocio di culture e genti diverse, dove la Jarre è nata), il piccolo mondo ordinato e dignitoso delle valli valdesi e la Torino dei nostri giorni. Vi campeggiano figure e ambienti familiari: il padre, che viene da una famiglia di ebrei russi, con il suo aspetto di principe arabo, notturno ed elusivo, sempre impegnato in affari strampalati; la madre, volitiva insegnante di lingue, fedele alle altezze del proprio stile e alle regole che impone a sé e agli altri; la sorella, i nonni, e poi la nuova famiglia che l'autrice si costruisce.Il tono, tuttavia, non è quello del vagheggiamento del tempo perduto, in chiave lirica e nostalgica, di tanta letteratura di memoria, ma quello asciutto e essenziale di chi cerca un dialogo con se stesso, le persone della sua vita, i lettori. Il tema che corre per tutto il libro è il confronto tra le generazioni, l'opposizione radicale tra il mondo dell'infanzia e dell'adolescenza, poetico e fantasioso, ma anche sottilmente logico e rigoroso, e quello distratto e imperscrutabile degli adulti, tanto spesso assenti. Lontano e minaccioso appare anche il padre per eccellenza, il dio degli antenati valdesi, con le sue collere e le sue punizioni, con la sua richiesta di portare pesi sovrumani e di soffrire in silenzio. Eppure quel rapporto così difficile non si interrompe mai del tutto, segue ragioni e percorsi suoi, tra fedeltà di fondo e desideri di emancipazione, e sembra che solo il tempo e il ricordo riescano a farlo maturare. Il libro è soprattutto un «romanzo di formazione», dove campeggia un intrepido personaggio femminile che cerca tenacemente di restare se stesso e di realizzarsi, tra timore e fervore, rabbia e pietà, orgoglio e tenerezza.
161 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1987
34 people are currently reading
801 people want to read
About the author
Marina Jarre
17 books6 followersMarina Jarre è stata una scrittrice, drammaturga e insegnante italiana.
Nata in Lettonia, da padre ebreo lettone, Samuel Gersoni, e madre valdese italiana, trascorre l'infanzia nella capitale del paese fino al 1935, quando, dopo la separazione dei genitori, si trasferisce con la sorella Annalisa a Torre Pellice, paese piemontese dove vive la nonna materna: essendo di lingua madre tedesca, da quel momento apprenderà la lingua italiana.
Nel 1941 il padre viene ucciso dai nazisti insieme agli altri ebrei che appartenevano al ghetto della città di Riga.
A diciotto anni approda a Torino per frequentare l'Università di Torino e, dopo la laurea in letteratura cristiana antica ottenuta nel 1948, per oltre venticinque anni si dedica all'insegnamento del francese nelle scuole pubbliche del capoluogo. Nel 1949 sposa l'ingegnere Giovanni Jarre, da cui ha quattro figli.
Nel 2004 vince il Premio Grinzane Cavour con il romanzo "Ritorno in Lettonia", edito da Einaudi.
Muore a Torino il 3 luglio 2016.
Nata in Lettonia, da padre ebreo lettone, Samuel Gersoni, e madre valdese italiana, trascorre l'infanzia nella capitale del paese fino al 1935, quando, dopo la separazione dei genitori, si trasferisce con la sorella Annalisa a Torre Pellice, paese piemontese dove vive la nonna materna: essendo di lingua madre tedesca, da quel momento apprenderà la lingua italiana.
Nel 1941 il padre viene ucciso dai nazisti insieme agli altri ebrei che appartenevano al ghetto della città di Riga.
A diciotto anni approda a Torino per frequentare l'Università di Torino e, dopo la laurea in letteratura cristiana antica ottenuta nel 1948, per oltre venticinque anni si dedica all'insegnamento del francese nelle scuole pubbliche del capoluogo. Nel 1949 sposa l'ingegnere Giovanni Jarre, da cui ha quattro figli.
Nel 2004 vince il Premio Grinzane Cavour con il romanzo "Ritorno in Lettonia", edito da Einaudi.
Muore a Torino il 3 luglio 2016.
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September 11, 2023
Grāmata, ko lasīju lēnām.
Grāmata, kuras sižets nedzina mani uz priekšu.
Grāmata, ar kuras autores sajūtām es identificējos.
Grāmata, kurā bija arī interesanti, par spīti rāmajam stāsta ritējumam.
Grāmata, kuras vākā var iemīlēties. Kolēģe, uz kuras es eksperimentēju ar piedāvājamo lasāmvielu, teica, ka vāks viņai atgādinot Roberta Holdstoka “Mitago mežu”.
Grāmata, ko tulkojusi Dace Meiere.
Grāmata, kuras lasīšanai izmantoju vienā apskatnieku saietā dāvanā saņemtu skaistu grāmatzīmi.
Grāmata – kliedziens. Kliedziens, kas negriežas ausīs.
Grāmata, kurā man nebija nozīmes, ka autore ir dzimusi Rīgā.
Grāmata, kurā nozīme bija ģimenei.
Mans atslēgas vārds laikam ir “identificējos”. Jocīgi, identificējos, lai gan faktoloģiski mums nav nekā līdzīga. Vienojošas ir sajūtas, reakcija uz notiekošo (vai nenotiekošo).
Atsauksme, pilna ar personisku subjektīvismu, šeit: https://lililasa.wordpress.com/2023/0...
Grāmata, kuras sižets nedzina mani uz priekšu.
Grāmata, ar kuras autores sajūtām es identificējos.
Grāmata, kurā bija arī interesanti, par spīti rāmajam stāsta ritējumam.
Grāmata, kuras vākā var iemīlēties. Kolēģe, uz kuras es eksperimentēju ar piedāvājamo lasāmvielu, teica, ka vāks viņai atgādinot Roberta Holdstoka “Mitago mežu”.
Grāmata, ko tulkojusi Dace Meiere.
Grāmata, kuras lasīšanai izmantoju vienā apskatnieku saietā dāvanā saņemtu skaistu grāmatzīmi.
Grāmata – kliedziens. Kliedziens, kas negriežas ausīs.
Grāmata, kurā man nebija nozīmes, ka autore ir dzimusi Rīgā.
Grāmata, kurā nozīme bija ģimenei.
Mans atslēgas vārds laikam ir “identificējos”. Jocīgi, identificējos, lai gan faktoloģiski mums nav nekā līdzīga. Vienojošas ir sajūtas, reakcija uz notiekošo (vai nenotiekošo).
Atsauksme, pilna ar personisku subjektīvismu, šeit: https://lililasa.wordpress.com/2023/0...
July 15, 2023
Neapšaubāmi skaista proza, bet ļoti prasīga, izaicinoša lasītpieredze.
Kaut kas starp Valentīnas Freimanes Atlantīdu un Elzas Skjaparelli dzīvesstāstu. It kā pazīstami, Rīga, Latvija, bet tajā pašā laikā pavisam neaizsniedzama realitāte. Bet daudzas bērnības pieredzes man bija pazīstamas.
Kaut kas starp Valentīnas Freimanes Atlantīdu un Elzas Skjaparelli dzīvesstāstu. It kā pazīstami, Rīga, Latvija, bet tajā pašā laikā pavisam neaizsniedzama realitāte. Bet daudzas bērnības pieredzes man bija pazīstamas.
June 10, 2021
“La mamma ha dimenticato di prepararmi all’esame di religione per essere ammessa alla scuola luterana. Avevo otto anni. Mi chiesero: “Chi è Dio,” e io, presa dal panico, non avevo saputo rispondere. Come non compromettermi?
Dio è giusto, dice il nonno, ma noi, la sua giustizia non la possiamo comprendere. Questo non mi va, ci rimugino su, è un po’ come la storia della mamma che ama i suoi figli perché ha sofferto nel metterli al mondo. Non è affatto ragionevole.
Ma la fede non è ragionevole, mi spiegano a scuola. Io, allora, faccio il mio piccolo controllo privato. Un mattino, ritornando a casa, raccolgo un topo morto nella neve. Lo conservo nel cassetto del comodino della mia casa delle bambole. Ogni sera prego per risuscitarlo. Ma non risuscita e quando diventa molle, lo devo buttare via.”
Marina Jarre ha il piglio comico di Dolores Prato, il suo libro tuttavia spazia non soltanto sull’infanzia, ma sulla sua vita tutta (se così si può dire).
Splendido.
Dio è giusto, dice il nonno, ma noi, la sua giustizia non la possiamo comprendere. Questo non mi va, ci rimugino su, è un po’ come la storia della mamma che ama i suoi figli perché ha sofferto nel metterli al mondo. Non è affatto ragionevole.
Ma la fede non è ragionevole, mi spiegano a scuola. Io, allora, faccio il mio piccolo controllo privato. Un mattino, ritornando a casa, raccolgo un topo morto nella neve. Lo conservo nel cassetto del comodino della mia casa delle bambole. Ogni sera prego per risuscitarlo. Ma non risuscita e quando diventa molle, lo devo buttare via.”
Marina Jarre ha il piglio comico di Dolores Prato, il suo libro tuttavia spazia non soltanto sull’infanzia, ma sulla sua vita tutta (se così si può dire).
Splendido.
September 19, 2025
Il centenario di Marina Jarre
(con intervista a Marta Barone)
Nata il 21 agosto 1925 a Riga, capitale di una Repubblica di Lettonia da poco indipendente e che – tragicamente – non sarebbe rimasta tale a lungo dopo la sua avventurosa fuga, a dieci anni, causata dalla separazione dei genitori, Marina Gersoni (dopo il matrimonio, e in tutta la sua carriera di scrittrice Marina Jarre) avrebbe compiuto cento anni tra pochi mesi.
Alla morte, nel 2016, Alberto Cavaglion la definiva “una delle rare scrittrici contemporanee che ha saputo fare i conti con la storia”, capace di offrire “un ventaglio sorprendentemente ampio di riflessioni, stimoli, pensieri sottili e arguti sull’Italia degli anni Sessanta e Settanta” e di regalare un libro come Ritorno in Lettonia che spicca con forza rispetto alle banalità moralistiche di quanto spesso si scrive intorno alla Shoah. L’anno prima Claudio Magris, considerandola “una originale, forte e incisiva scrittrice”, con “un posto ormai indiscutibile nella letteratura italiana degli ultimi cinquant’anni”, lamentava però che i suoi libri non fossero presenti quanto dovrebbero nel dibattito culturale, benché affrontino “con intensità vissuta, asciutta maestria linguistica e rigore poetico e morale” temi pressanti come la polivalenza dell’identità o il rapporto tra le frontiere e la scrittura.
Un tentativo di riproporre questa presenza è avvenuto con la riedizione presso Bompiani, dal 2021 al 2023, un titolo all’anno, di I padri lontani, Negli occhi di una ragazza e Ritorno in Lettonia, tutti a suo tempo pubblicati da Einaudi (rispettivamente nel 1987, 1971 e 2004). La selezione e l’introduzione dei volumi si deve a Marta Barone, l’autrice di Città sommersa (Bompiani, 2020), un romanzo-inchiesta sul padre che si può accostare a quello di Jarre [vedi intervista].
Negli occhi di una ragazza è un romanzo condotto con una focalizzazione interna che diventa quasi un monologo in terza persona della protagonista, una ragazzina tonta che tonta non è ma ha una visione del mondo (siamo nel 1968 e si sfiora il Sessantotto del fratello maggiore) fondata sullo sguardo, le forme, i colori e totalmente refrattaria a una logica astratta. In una situazione un po’ da Lessico famigliare d’en bas, cioè in una famiglia popolare senza grandi amicizie intellettuali e politiche, Maria Cristina si vede ai margini e filtra tutto con la propria coscienza straniante.
Dei tre libri riproposti è l’unico non direttamente autobiografico, mentre gli altri formano un dittico, col secondo che – tornando sui luoghi e le vicende del padre fucilato dai tedeschi nel 1941, con tutti i suoi famigliari e la bambina di sei anni avuta dall’amante tedesca – riprende, rivede e anche corregge, a diciassette anni di distanza il primo, che rimane però probabilmente il capolavoro di Jarre. Perché la fusione degli orizzonti tra il presente della scrittrice e i suoi diversi passati riesce a illuminare per lampi, pieni di luce ma anche urticanti, un’esistenza complessa, a partire dall’origine stratificata che una straordinaria ricreazione di ottica infantile può riassumere così: “Il mio nonno lettone e la mia nonna russa sono ebrei. I miei nonni italiani – ma in realtà sono anche un po’ francesi – sono valdesi. Mia madre è valdese. Alcuni lettoni – i più stupidi – sono cattolici. Ma è anche cattolica la zia Jo che non è affatto stupida. Anche Petkevic, il nostro autista, è cattolico. I polacchi sono cattolici. I russi sono ortodossi, ma la mia nonna russa è ebrea. D’altronde i russi che stanno all’ambasciata sovietica non sono ortodossi. Sono come mio padre: non hanno religione.”
Il passaggio da Riga alla casa dei nonni materni a Torre Pellice, dove visse dai dieci ai venti anni, mette a sua volta in contatto con situazioni e eredità storico-religiose complesse (e ricordo che oltre a queste tre riedizioni, sono tuttora disponibili i libri più direttamente valdesi di Jarre: Ascanio e Margherita, del 1990, e Neve in Val d’Angrogna, del 2011, entrambi pubblicati dalla Claudiana). E anche il conclusivo periodo di pace ritesse un rapporto altrettanto affilato e mai semplificante come quello con il padre e i Padri, ossia quello con la madre e con le donne: rapporti decisivi ma anche fatti di rancori e dissimiglianze: “Le donne della mia vita mi furono donne di rado e a malincuore”.
Intervista a Marta Barone
Come è nata l’idea di proporre una ripubblicazione di Marina Jarre?
Avevo iniziato a leggerla prima che morisse e mi colpiva che i suoi libri fossero scomparsi dalle librerie. Avevo iniziato, per caso, con Il silenzio di Mosca (Einaudi, 2008): vi ho trovato qualcosa di diverso da ciò che mi aspettavo e che si incrociava di rado nella letteratura italiana; un testo che nasce da un’immagine (i soldati tedeschi catturati a Stalingrado che sfilavano davanti alla folla silenziosa a Mosca) che a sua volta fa nascere tutta una ricerca di verifica. Mi sembrava una cosa “estera”, un tipo di non fiction coinvolgente e scritto molto bene. Così ho proseguito nella scoperta, di libro in libro: risultavano tutti in qualche modo sorprendenti. Magari non tutti altrettanto belli, ma sempre in grado di replicare la capacità di Jarre di assumere uno sguardo proprio, di presentare la sua singolarità. Mi chiedevo come avevo fatto a non incrociarla prima. Evidentemente c’è un problema di durata, di possibilità di presenza di una voce così importante, che si deve continuare a poter leggere. Ho scritto un articolo sul “Tascabile” nel dicembre 2016, cercando di spiegare perché sono così interessanti questi libri, soprattutto quelli più non fiction; e gli eredi mi hanno contattata chiedendo se volessi prendermi la responsabilità curatoriale di una riproposta.
E come è andata?
Ho proposto l’idea a Bompiani, e sono usciti questi tre libri, purtroppo a ridosso della pandemia: ricordo la prima presentazione avvenuta in lockdown. In ogni caso, I padri lontani non è andato assolutamente male, e tra l’altro è stato molto tradotto, in una decina di lingue; compreso il lettone, cosa chiaramente molto significativa.
I padri lontani e Ritorno in Lettonia sono anche legati da copertine molto belle…
Sì, le ho proposte io: sono due quadri di Vilhelm Hammershøi, un pittore danese molto interessante, che in questi giorni tra l’altro è in mostra a Rovigo [Hammershøi e i pittori del silenzio, dal 21 febbraio al 29 giugno 2025]. Con quelle porte aperte su stanze vuote, raggelate e evocative, e i paesaggi nordici e solitari, mi sembravano adatti a entrare in dialogo con i toni della scrittura di Marina Jarre.
A parte questi tre libri riediti, quali le piacerebbe rivedere in circolazione?
Direi Galambra. Quattro storie con fantasmi (Bollati Boringhieri, 1987), bello e profondamente sofisticato, che contiene forse il più bel racconto sulla lotta armata degli anni Settanta in Italia. E sicuramente il grande romanzo Un leggero accento straniero (Einaudi, 1972), che era uscito prima con il titolo Monumento al parallelo (Samonà e Savelli, 1968). Scritto a partire da uno studio degli atti del processo di Norimberga è un romanzo epocale: decenni prima delle Benevole di Littell riesce a presentare il punto di vista di una SS non pentita, che si nasconde con successo in una nuova identità. Un altro libro che andrebbe recuperato è La principessa della luna vecchia: ambientato nell’anno del referendum sul divorzio mette in scena una famiglia sgarrupata, di sinistra torinese. A differenza di altri suoi libri più tragici fa molto ridere: riesce a mostrare tutto il lato divertente dell’infanzia; è un libro comico di alto livello ma anche molto legato a un tempo storico preciso.
In Un leggero accento straniero e poi in Ritorno in Lettonia questo lavoro con documenti, archivi, tracce scritte di memorie pubbliche e private è molto importante.
Sì il lavoro d’archivio di Jarre è fondamentale. E si collega a un altro elemento fondamentale e duraturo della sua opera: la volontà di dare voce agli scomparsi, l’attenzione per i piccoli, la capacità di portare a galla quello che normalmente rimane sommerso. In questo è veramente una scrittrice anche del presente. Così come nel lavoro sulle forme della scrittura autofinzionale, che ha anticipato molte esperienze che sarebbero emerse pienamente in seguito.
«L’Indice dei libri del mese», aprile 2025, p. 11.
(con intervista a Marta Barone)
Nata il 21 agosto 1925 a Riga, capitale di una Repubblica di Lettonia da poco indipendente e che – tragicamente – non sarebbe rimasta tale a lungo dopo la sua avventurosa fuga, a dieci anni, causata dalla separazione dei genitori, Marina Gersoni (dopo il matrimonio, e in tutta la sua carriera di scrittrice Marina Jarre) avrebbe compiuto cento anni tra pochi mesi.
Alla morte, nel 2016, Alberto Cavaglion la definiva “una delle rare scrittrici contemporanee che ha saputo fare i conti con la storia”, capace di offrire “un ventaglio sorprendentemente ampio di riflessioni, stimoli, pensieri sottili e arguti sull’Italia degli anni Sessanta e Settanta” e di regalare un libro come Ritorno in Lettonia che spicca con forza rispetto alle banalità moralistiche di quanto spesso si scrive intorno alla Shoah. L’anno prima Claudio Magris, considerandola “una originale, forte e incisiva scrittrice”, con “un posto ormai indiscutibile nella letteratura italiana degli ultimi cinquant’anni”, lamentava però che i suoi libri non fossero presenti quanto dovrebbero nel dibattito culturale, benché affrontino “con intensità vissuta, asciutta maestria linguistica e rigore poetico e morale” temi pressanti come la polivalenza dell’identità o il rapporto tra le frontiere e la scrittura.
Un tentativo di riproporre questa presenza è avvenuto con la riedizione presso Bompiani, dal 2021 al 2023, un titolo all’anno, di I padri lontani, Negli occhi di una ragazza e Ritorno in Lettonia, tutti a suo tempo pubblicati da Einaudi (rispettivamente nel 1987, 1971 e 2004). La selezione e l’introduzione dei volumi si deve a Marta Barone, l’autrice di Città sommersa (Bompiani, 2020), un romanzo-inchiesta sul padre che si può accostare a quello di Jarre [vedi intervista].
Negli occhi di una ragazza è un romanzo condotto con una focalizzazione interna che diventa quasi un monologo in terza persona della protagonista, una ragazzina tonta che tonta non è ma ha una visione del mondo (siamo nel 1968 e si sfiora il Sessantotto del fratello maggiore) fondata sullo sguardo, le forme, i colori e totalmente refrattaria a una logica astratta. In una situazione un po’ da Lessico famigliare d’en bas, cioè in una famiglia popolare senza grandi amicizie intellettuali e politiche, Maria Cristina si vede ai margini e filtra tutto con la propria coscienza straniante.
Dei tre libri riproposti è l’unico non direttamente autobiografico, mentre gli altri formano un dittico, col secondo che – tornando sui luoghi e le vicende del padre fucilato dai tedeschi nel 1941, con tutti i suoi famigliari e la bambina di sei anni avuta dall’amante tedesca – riprende, rivede e anche corregge, a diciassette anni di distanza il primo, che rimane però probabilmente il capolavoro di Jarre. Perché la fusione degli orizzonti tra il presente della scrittrice e i suoi diversi passati riesce a illuminare per lampi, pieni di luce ma anche urticanti, un’esistenza complessa, a partire dall’origine stratificata che una straordinaria ricreazione di ottica infantile può riassumere così: “Il mio nonno lettone e la mia nonna russa sono ebrei. I miei nonni italiani – ma in realtà sono anche un po’ francesi – sono valdesi. Mia madre è valdese. Alcuni lettoni – i più stupidi – sono cattolici. Ma è anche cattolica la zia Jo che non è affatto stupida. Anche Petkevic, il nostro autista, è cattolico. I polacchi sono cattolici. I russi sono ortodossi, ma la mia nonna russa è ebrea. D’altronde i russi che stanno all’ambasciata sovietica non sono ortodossi. Sono come mio padre: non hanno religione.”
Il passaggio da Riga alla casa dei nonni materni a Torre Pellice, dove visse dai dieci ai venti anni, mette a sua volta in contatto con situazioni e eredità storico-religiose complesse (e ricordo che oltre a queste tre riedizioni, sono tuttora disponibili i libri più direttamente valdesi di Jarre: Ascanio e Margherita, del 1990, e Neve in Val d’Angrogna, del 2011, entrambi pubblicati dalla Claudiana). E anche il conclusivo periodo di pace ritesse un rapporto altrettanto affilato e mai semplificante come quello con il padre e i Padri, ossia quello con la madre e con le donne: rapporti decisivi ma anche fatti di rancori e dissimiglianze: “Le donne della mia vita mi furono donne di rado e a malincuore”.
Intervista a Marta Barone
Come è nata l’idea di proporre una ripubblicazione di Marina Jarre?
Avevo iniziato a leggerla prima che morisse e mi colpiva che i suoi libri fossero scomparsi dalle librerie. Avevo iniziato, per caso, con Il silenzio di Mosca (Einaudi, 2008): vi ho trovato qualcosa di diverso da ciò che mi aspettavo e che si incrociava di rado nella letteratura italiana; un testo che nasce da un’immagine (i soldati tedeschi catturati a Stalingrado che sfilavano davanti alla folla silenziosa a Mosca) che a sua volta fa nascere tutta una ricerca di verifica. Mi sembrava una cosa “estera”, un tipo di non fiction coinvolgente e scritto molto bene. Così ho proseguito nella scoperta, di libro in libro: risultavano tutti in qualche modo sorprendenti. Magari non tutti altrettanto belli, ma sempre in grado di replicare la capacità di Jarre di assumere uno sguardo proprio, di presentare la sua singolarità. Mi chiedevo come avevo fatto a non incrociarla prima. Evidentemente c’è un problema di durata, di possibilità di presenza di una voce così importante, che si deve continuare a poter leggere. Ho scritto un articolo sul “Tascabile” nel dicembre 2016, cercando di spiegare perché sono così interessanti questi libri, soprattutto quelli più non fiction; e gli eredi mi hanno contattata chiedendo se volessi prendermi la responsabilità curatoriale di una riproposta.
E come è andata?
Ho proposto l’idea a Bompiani, e sono usciti questi tre libri, purtroppo a ridosso della pandemia: ricordo la prima presentazione avvenuta in lockdown. In ogni caso, I padri lontani non è andato assolutamente male, e tra l’altro è stato molto tradotto, in una decina di lingue; compreso il lettone, cosa chiaramente molto significativa.
I padri lontani e Ritorno in Lettonia sono anche legati da copertine molto belle…
Sì, le ho proposte io: sono due quadri di Vilhelm Hammershøi, un pittore danese molto interessante, che in questi giorni tra l’altro è in mostra a Rovigo [Hammershøi e i pittori del silenzio, dal 21 febbraio al 29 giugno 2025]. Con quelle porte aperte su stanze vuote, raggelate e evocative, e i paesaggi nordici e solitari, mi sembravano adatti a entrare in dialogo con i toni della scrittura di Marina Jarre.
A parte questi tre libri riediti, quali le piacerebbe rivedere in circolazione?
Direi Galambra. Quattro storie con fantasmi (Bollati Boringhieri, 1987), bello e profondamente sofisticato, che contiene forse il più bel racconto sulla lotta armata degli anni Settanta in Italia. E sicuramente il grande romanzo Un leggero accento straniero (Einaudi, 1972), che era uscito prima con il titolo Monumento al parallelo (Samonà e Savelli, 1968). Scritto a partire da uno studio degli atti del processo di Norimberga è un romanzo epocale: decenni prima delle Benevole di Littell riesce a presentare il punto di vista di una SS non pentita, che si nasconde con successo in una nuova identità. Un altro libro che andrebbe recuperato è La principessa della luna vecchia: ambientato nell’anno del referendum sul divorzio mette in scena una famiglia sgarrupata, di sinistra torinese. A differenza di altri suoi libri più tragici fa molto ridere: riesce a mostrare tutto il lato divertente dell’infanzia; è un libro comico di alto livello ma anche molto legato a un tempo storico preciso.
In Un leggero accento straniero e poi in Ritorno in Lettonia questo lavoro con documenti, archivi, tracce scritte di memorie pubbliche e private è molto importante.
Sì il lavoro d’archivio di Jarre è fondamentale. E si collega a un altro elemento fondamentale e duraturo della sua opera: la volontà di dare voce agli scomparsi, l’attenzione per i piccoli, la capacità di portare a galla quello che normalmente rimane sommerso. In questo è veramente una scrittrice anche del presente. Così come nel lavoro sulle forme della scrittura autofinzionale, che ha anticipato molte esperienze che sarebbero emerse pienamente in seguito.
«L’Indice dei libri del mese», aprile 2025, p. 11.
November 9, 2021
Se vi piace Annie Ernaux, Marina Jarre è assolutamente da riscoprire.
Autobiografia minimale.
[76/100]
Autobiografia minimale.
[76/100]
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July 13, 2023"Tālie tēvi" iedalās trīs nogriežņos (bērnība, jaunība, briedums)- "Gaismas loks", kurā autore gluži kā kino stopkadros attin atpakaļ bērnības ainiņas Latvijā, "Žēlums un dusmas" savukārt tiek parādīts skolas un pusaudžu laiks Itālijā un "Kā sieviete"- jau dzīvi briedumā, aprakstot sarežģītās attiecības ar māti un tuvajiem cilvēkiem, kā arī politisko vidi, kas attaino sabiedrības valdošo varu tā laika Itālijā.
Lai arī kopstāsts ir lineārs, tomēr viscaur romānam jūtama autores lēkāšana laikā, it sevišķi tas parādās bērnības atmiņās, kurās gluži kā sarunā ar draugiem, ainiņas uzzibznī ar klātesamības efektu, pārejot no vienas tēmas citā un atkal atgriežoties pie jau iepriekš paustā. Teksts reizē ar autori iet cauri šiem sievietes pieaugšanas posmiem, piemēram, bērnības sadaļa sarakstīta tā, it kā mums to aizrautīgi vēstītu pati desmitgadīgā vai piecgadīgā Marina- draiskulīgi, aizrautīgi un rotaļīgi, savukārt brieduma periods nāk plūstoši reizē ar atmiņām par pagājušo dzīvi.
Piedzimusi Latvijā ebreju uzņēmēja un itāļu pasniedzējas ģimenē, Marina kopā ar savu māsu Annalīzu, sauktu par Sisī, desmit gadus pavadījusi Rīgā.
Bet tā nav 20to, 30to gadu Rīga, ko mēs varam lasīt latviešu romānos. Augot vāciskā vidē un runājot vāciski, Marinas viens no retajiem kontaktiem uz latviešu valodu bija atsevišķas sarunas ar pastnieku un latviešu valodas stundas skolā.
Ilgā un dramatiskā vecāku šķiršanās mazo meiteņu dzīvi apvērš kājām gaisā, lai gan abu māsu atmiņas par piedzīvoto atšķiras. Tieši mātes emocionālā atsvešinātība un agrā tēva zaudēšana, atstāj Marinas dzīvē neizdzēšamas rētas, ik pa laikam spēcīgi atbalsojoties, it kā meklējot pierādījumu neesošajai mātes mīlestībai un līdz galam neiepazītajam tēvam.
Tāpēc arī savos atmiņas stāstos Marina īpašu nozīmi piešķir sarežģītajām attiecībām visas dzīves garumā, kā arī sieviešu un vīriešu lomai viņas dzīvē, uzsverot, ka tieši vīrieši ir tie, ar kuriem viņai vieglāk ir bijis būt pašai. "Caur sievietēm mani ir sasnieguši tēvi, kad staigāju pa kalnu akmeņainēm, un viņi nodeva man klinšainus sava mantojuma fragmentus, bastarda piederību valdiešiem, neuzticīgu, nākušu caur gadsimtiem no vectēva Džoanni Danieles senčiem, smagu un skopulīgu, taču neatņemamu mantojumu." (213.lpp.)
Starp rindiņām lasās nepieņemšanas skumjas, pieskārienu alkas un mīlestības izmisums, kurā bieži tikai vēstulēs ir iespējams sajust mazlietiņ tā maiguma, kas nekad nav izrādīts ikdienā.
"Viņas nelaimīgums gūlās pār mani kā t��ls, augsts, taču tumšs mākonis."
"Tālie tēvi" ir smalkjūtīga atkailināšanās, ieplūdinot dažādu valodu, reģionu krāsas, reizē attainojot trauslo līniju starp asinsradiniekiem un neremdināmās alkas tikt atzītam un mīlētam. Literatūras gardēžiem, kuriem gribas pa mazam malciņam baudīt kosmopolītisku kokteili, kurā literatūrai un valodai ir milzu nozīme. Un reizē šī ir Rīgas spoguļošana, tik sveša un mazlietiņ citādāka.
3.6 zvaigznes
Lai arī kopstāsts ir lineārs, tomēr viscaur romānam jūtama autores lēkāšana laikā, it sevišķi tas parādās bērnības atmiņās, kurās gluži kā sarunā ar draugiem, ainiņas uzzibznī ar klātesamības efektu, pārejot no vienas tēmas citā un atkal atgriežoties pie jau iepriekš paustā. Teksts reizē ar autori iet cauri šiem sievietes pieaugšanas posmiem, piemēram, bērnības sadaļa sarakstīta tā, it kā mums to aizrautīgi vēstītu pati desmitgadīgā vai piecgadīgā Marina- draiskulīgi, aizrautīgi un rotaļīgi, savukārt brieduma periods nāk plūstoši reizē ar atmiņām par pagājušo dzīvi.
Piedzimusi Latvijā ebreju uzņēmēja un itāļu pasniedzējas ģimenē, Marina kopā ar savu māsu Annalīzu, sauktu par Sisī, desmit gadus pavadījusi Rīgā.
Bet tā nav 20to, 30to gadu Rīga, ko mēs varam lasīt latviešu romānos. Augot vāciskā vidē un runājot vāciski, Marinas viens no retajiem kontaktiem uz latviešu valodu bija atsevišķas sarunas ar pastnieku un latviešu valodas stundas skolā.
Ilgā un dramatiskā vecāku šķiršanās mazo meiteņu dzīvi apvērš kājām gaisā, lai gan abu māsu atmiņas par piedzīvoto atšķiras. Tieši mātes emocionālā atsvešinātība un agrā tēva zaudēšana, atstāj Marinas dzīvē neizdzēšamas rētas, ik pa laikam spēcīgi atbalsojoties, it kā meklējot pierādījumu neesošajai mātes mīlestībai un līdz galam neiepazītajam tēvam.
Tāpēc arī savos atmiņas stāstos Marina īpašu nozīmi piešķir sarežģītajām attiecībām visas dzīves garumā, kā arī sieviešu un vīriešu lomai viņas dzīvē, uzsverot, ka tieši vīrieši ir tie, ar kuriem viņai vieglāk ir bijis būt pašai. "Caur sievietēm mani ir sasnieguši tēvi, kad staigāju pa kalnu akmeņainēm, un viņi nodeva man klinšainus sava mantojuma fragmentus, bastarda piederību valdiešiem, neuzticīgu, nākušu caur gadsimtiem no vectēva Džoanni Danieles senčiem, smagu un skopulīgu, taču neatņemamu mantojumu." (213.lpp.)
Starp rindiņām lasās nepieņemšanas skumjas, pieskārienu alkas un mīlestības izmisums, kurā bieži tikai vēstulēs ir iespējams sajust mazlietiņ tā maiguma, kas nekad nav izrādīts ikdienā.
"Viņas nelaimīgums gūlās pār mani kā t��ls, augsts, taču tumšs mākonis."
"Tālie tēvi" ir smalkjūtīga atkailināšanās, ieplūdinot dažādu valodu, reģionu krāsas, reizē attainojot trauslo līniju starp asinsradiniekiem un neremdināmās alkas tikt atzītam un mīlētam. Literatūras gardēžiem, kuriem gribas pa mazam malciņam baudīt kosmopolītisku kokteili, kurā literatūrai un valodai ir milzu nozīme. Un reizē šī ir Rīgas spoguļošana, tik sveša un mazlietiņ citādāka.
3.6 zvaigznes
August 11, 2021
This is a stunning memoir that is as enriching as it is demanding. Marina Jarre was born in Latvia to a Jewish father and a minority Protestant Italian mother. She spent her early childhood in Latvia before moving to Italy after her parents' divorce only to have her entire father's side of the family killed in the Holocaust. (Though I should say this is very much not a Holocaust nor WWII memoir.) Split into three parts—childhood, adolescence, and adulthood—I find myself particularly taken with how the author writes about time. More specifically how she writes about one's relationship with time at different stages in life. Whereas a child experiences time very much in the present, as reflected in her writing in tense as well as style, as an adolescent Jarre gains a relationship with the past and the passage of time. Though I haven't gotten as far as adulthood I'm very much looking forward to seeing how she chooses to keep representing this theme.
For a memoir it is very nonlinear, especially in the part about her childhood. Something I'm loving, and don't often see in this genre, is Jarre's ability to remove the distance with which one normally writes about their past. Her thoughts read very much as a child's thoughts instead of an adult impossing their own upon their childhood. It so perfectly encapsulates a child's view of the world.
You definitely cannot read this memoir passively, it requires your full attention, but I'm finding it all the more rewarding for it.
For a memoir it is very nonlinear, especially in the part about her childhood. Something I'm loving, and don't often see in this genre, is Jarre's ability to remove the distance with which one normally writes about their past. Her thoughts read very much as a child's thoughts instead of an adult impossing their own upon their childhood. It so perfectly encapsulates a child's view of the world.
You definitely cannot read this memoir passively, it requires your full attention, but I'm finding it all the more rewarding for it.
January 25, 2025
Lasot, manī nogulsnējās ne tikai skumjas, noklusēti vārdi un glāsti, nemiers un aizvainojums, bet arī saulainas dienas un laimīgas satikšanās, piedošana un samierināšanās. Cilvēka dzīve literārā apdarē ar filozofiskām pārdomām un savas attīstības analīzi. Tikai, izlasot pēdējo lapaspusi, un, ieskatoties pirmā vāka attēlā, ieraudzīju, ka virs arkas ir vārds "Angst" - bailes, jā, mūsu dzīves ceļu pavada bailes un šaubas, bet tad jau mēs nebūtu cilvēki, ja mums būtu vienalga, kā virzāmies uz priekšu.
August 12, 2023
Lirisks dzīvesstāsts, kas reizēm mazliet izklausās pēc rēķinu kārtošanas ar savas dzīves pāridarītājiem (galvenokārt māti), tomēr stāstījuma pavediens ļauj izstaigāt arī daudzas interesantākas takas.
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April 19, 2022Una Annie Ernaux ancora più gelida se possbile. Impossibile non riconoscere il valore del libro, di certo non nelle mie corde.
January 17, 2022
Trasparente
E' stata una lettura interessante, perchè mi ha indotta a informarmi sulla confessione valdese della quale sapevo ben poco; le pagine più belle sono quelle del racconto delle origini, ricerca storica e passeggiate nella val Pellice.
Marina Jarre si racconta come ibrido culturale fra l'infanzia in lingua tedesca a Riga, in Lettonia e la vita successiva in Piemonte in italiano e francese, con la famiglia materna, valdese. Di padri lontani comunque non ci sono solo gli antenati valdesi, ci sono anche gli antenati ebrei e il suo stesso padre, morto con tutta la famiglia durante l'occupazione nazista.
Per quanto abbia sempre avuto una famiglia intorno, l'autrice si vede come una persona isolata, non spontanea, soprattutto nell'infanzia, in cui persegue la perfezione e vorrebbe essere apprezzata, ma più spesso viene derisa; le mamme sarcastiche sono un vero flagello, i figli devono essere di pietra per non sviluppare insicurezze e infatti Marina mi sembra che ne abbia abbastanza risentito, c'è spesso il confronto lei perfettina e la sorellina pasticciona, che è più apprezzata perchè più naturale. Negli anni Marina ha continuato a coltivare le sue perfezioni morali e stilistiche, ma anche ha tenuto un lungo elenco delle sue personali mancanze e di quelle di tutta la famiglia nei suoi riguardi: mamma sarcastica, colta, esigente, nonna anaffettiva, sorella invidiata e adorata, marito probabilmente fedifrago, quattro figli allevati con dedizione, il più giovane cacciato di casa per incompatibilità di carattere. Conflitto irrisolto fra senso del dovere e peso del vivere da prima della classe, soprattutto quando gli anni passano, le forze diminuiscono e si comincia a realizzare l'assenza del premio finale. Grande onestà intellettuale, le pagine spirano un desiderio di trasparenza.
Guardo le foto dell'autrice in rete e immagino questa signora elegante e snob (snobismo culturale) che passeggia in collina (scarponcini sportivi ma belli, giacchetta in lana cotta) e intanto discorre con le amiche di argomenti elevati: modello Marella Caracciolo.
E' stata una lettura interessante, perchè mi ha indotta a informarmi sulla confessione valdese della quale sapevo ben poco; le pagine più belle sono quelle del racconto delle origini, ricerca storica e passeggiate nella val Pellice.
Marina Jarre si racconta come ibrido culturale fra l'infanzia in lingua tedesca a Riga, in Lettonia e la vita successiva in Piemonte in italiano e francese, con la famiglia materna, valdese. Di padri lontani comunque non ci sono solo gli antenati valdesi, ci sono anche gli antenati ebrei e il suo stesso padre, morto con tutta la famiglia durante l'occupazione nazista.
Per quanto abbia sempre avuto una famiglia intorno, l'autrice si vede come una persona isolata, non spontanea, soprattutto nell'infanzia, in cui persegue la perfezione e vorrebbe essere apprezzata, ma più spesso viene derisa; le mamme sarcastiche sono un vero flagello, i figli devono essere di pietra per non sviluppare insicurezze e infatti Marina mi sembra che ne abbia abbastanza risentito, c'è spesso il confronto lei perfettina e la sorellina pasticciona, che è più apprezzata perchè più naturale. Negli anni Marina ha continuato a coltivare le sue perfezioni morali e stilistiche, ma anche ha tenuto un lungo elenco delle sue personali mancanze e di quelle di tutta la famiglia nei suoi riguardi: mamma sarcastica, colta, esigente, nonna anaffettiva, sorella invidiata e adorata, marito probabilmente fedifrago, quattro figli allevati con dedizione, il più giovane cacciato di casa per incompatibilità di carattere. Conflitto irrisolto fra senso del dovere e peso del vivere da prima della classe, soprattutto quando gli anni passano, le forze diminuiscono e si comincia a realizzare l'assenza del premio finale. Grande onestà intellettuale, le pagine spirano un desiderio di trasparenza.
Guardo le foto dell'autrice in rete e immagino questa signora elegante e snob (snobismo culturale) che passeggia in collina (scarponcini sportivi ma belli, giacchetta in lana cotta) e intanto discorre con le amiche di argomenti elevati: modello Marella Caracciolo.
February 28, 2024
Iekšēji lieku grāmatiņai 3.5 zvaigznes, jo tajā ir kaut kas tik melanholiski sāpīgs un īsts, un pašironiski skumjš, turklāt arī literāri skaists, ka iekustināta es pavisam noteikti esmu. Un tomēr kaut kā man bija vai nu par daudz, vai par maz, vai par personisku, kā rezultātā es paliku ar pēcgaršu, ka neesmu sapratusi visu. Tajā pašā laikā, protams, paradoksāli skaista ir grāmatiņā iekļautā patiesība par to, kā izcelsme un tās "priekšnoteikumi" atspēlējas uz mums laika gaitā - tas vien ir novērošanas vērts brīnums.
March 13, 2022
Life alone can give peace and war, and the book has only to tell about that.
Oh my god, I'm utterly at a loss for words. This has got to be one of the most beautiful and heart-wrenching books I've ever read. I picked up this book impulsively — the title made me giggle — but oh how I absolutely do not regret it. Jarre's prose is so intricate and personal, and I deeply resonated with literally everything. Her memoir is written more like a conversation than a book; often using run-on sentences that digress and circle around as though I were sitting down with her, her telling me her life story in a quiet cafe. Every sentence just hit so deeply, like every word was stolen straight from the deepest pits of her soul. Moments better left forgotten are narrated with such tenderness and warmth, each wretched memory an individual brushstroke that painted her self portrait. Every aspect of her life — as a daughter, mother, and woman — is illustrated with such delicateness my heart ached for her. And so so so many times I would just yell out loud My god! because of how much everything hit so close to home. Not to mention the translation by Ann Goldstein which is just gorgeous! Everything about this book is just so damn perfect it hurts.
God is just, Grandfather says, but we can't understand his justice. I don't like that, I ponder it, it's sort of like the story of how the mother loves her children because she suffered bringing them into the world. It's not at all rational.
Oh my god, I'm utterly at a loss for words. This has got to be one of the most beautiful and heart-wrenching books I've ever read. I picked up this book impulsively — the title made me giggle — but oh how I absolutely do not regret it. Jarre's prose is so intricate and personal, and I deeply resonated with literally everything. Her memoir is written more like a conversation than a book; often using run-on sentences that digress and circle around as though I were sitting down with her, her telling me her life story in a quiet cafe. Every sentence just hit so deeply, like every word was stolen straight from the deepest pits of her soul. Moments better left forgotten are narrated with such tenderness and warmth, each wretched memory an individual brushstroke that painted her self portrait. Every aspect of her life — as a daughter, mother, and woman — is illustrated with such delicateness my heart ached for her. And so so so many times I would just yell out loud My god! because of how much everything hit so close to home. Not to mention the translation by Ann Goldstein which is just gorgeous! Everything about this book is just so damn perfect it hurts.
God is just, Grandfather says, but we can't understand his justice. I don't like that, I ponder it, it's sort of like the story of how the mother loves her children because she suffered bringing them into the world. It's not at all rational.
November 20, 2024
Un’autobiografia non cronologica, intimista e riflessiva, di un’autrice che non conoscevo e mi ha subito stregata. Figlia di un ebreo lettone ateo (fucilato dai nazisti) e di un’italiana valdese, l’infanzia di marina è davvero singolare. La scrittura è densissima e in poche righe racchiude riflessioni di anni. Ho il telefono pieno di foto di passaggi che mi hanno colpita. Consiglio.
August 9, 2022
Distant Fathers by Marina Jarre (tr. Ann Goldstein) is a memoir in three parts: her early childhood in Riga during the 1920s and 30s as the child of a Latvian-Russian Jew who would go on to die in the Holocaust and her Italian Lutheran mother from the Turin region; her move to Italy and adolescence during the war in Fascist Italy; and finally, her struggle to find her identity as a woman and a writer while also contending with the roles of daughter, mother, and wife. The style in each part is different. The first section—about her childhood years—is more stream of conscious, montages of moments, thoughts and themes. The latter two parts are more straightforward and likely it is these two sections that have led to comparisons of Jarre’s work to Annie Ernaux’s. Similar to Ernaux, she analyzes and comes to term with her past by creating distance and detachment. Ernaux famously does this in The Years and A Girl’s Story by substituting I with she or we. Jarre, on the other hand, uses these discrete images in the first section, she switches from the present tense of the first section to the past tense of the second and third sections, and she employs a detached and ironic tone in the third section. But by the end it is also clear that these different styles and ways Jarre creates distance in her work are not only to probe into her past and herself. They also mirror her own lack of belonging and estrangement from others.
“But what transported me on summer nights beyond the dark mass of the mountains and the unceasing roar of the river was the approach of a reality that I feared and tried to insulate myself from. I wrote in my diary: “I’m afraid of the woman that I’m about to become, that I will fatally become if nothing interrupts the necessary evolution of my spiritual life. I feel her already alive in me, and every day she becomes more mature and complete.”
“But what transported me on summer nights beyond the dark mass of the mountains and the unceasing roar of the river was the approach of a reality that I feared and tried to insulate myself from. I wrote in my diary: “I’m afraid of the woman that I’m about to become, that I will fatally become if nothing interrupts the necessary evolution of my spiritual life. I feel her already alive in me, and every day she becomes more mature and complete.”
April 13, 2021
Capolavoro di Marina Jarre, la cui prosa è così tersa e levigata da far invidia, Padri Lontani è una impressione di vita più che un'autobiografia, è la raccolta dei pensieri, dei ricordi, degli attimi e delle riflessioni di Jarre, l'infanzia in Lettonia, il padre assente, la madre amata ma impietosa, la sorella invidiata, i nonni, la patria, la religione, e l'arrivo in Italia, la sua casa fino alla morte nel 2016.
Nella versione recentemente riedita da Bompiani, una puntualissima Marta Barone, autrice del potente romanzo Città Sommersa, ne descrive la limpidezza della prosa, l'acutezza della psicologia, l'importanza della memoria imperfetta, del ricordo, della pietà e dell'immaginario.
Jarre ha scritto e riscritto e riscritto Padri Lontani per decadi, mai soddisfatta ne ha accarezzato gli orli, smerigliato i contorni, affilato le parole fino alla perfezione. Di rado si può ammirare una prosa così efficace, una intensità piana e conturbante, senza eccessi, eppure arricchita da dettagli commoventi nella loro semplicità, e riflessioni prodigiose, acute, dolorose.
Jarre non risparmia se stessa, non risparmia nessuno: non la guerra, non la religione, non il corpo, la famiglia, l'autorità, le relazioni, il Fascismo, la Resistenza, ma soprattutto accetta con caparbia rassegnazione che non può essere essa stessa narratrice onnisciente della propria vita, voce affidabile e insindacabile, ma dovrà accettarne l'imperscrutabilità.
Con l'umiltà e la saggezza di chi ha riscritto la propria storia per decenni, Jarre ci fa dono del suo sguardo impietoso ma affettuoso, della sua prosa asciutta ma gorgogliante di realtà, della sua memoria imperfetta e vagabonda, per navigare le acque ghiacciate di un secolo di storia che non è solo collettiva, ma anche profondamente personale.
Nella versione recentemente riedita da Bompiani, una puntualissima Marta Barone, autrice del potente romanzo Città Sommersa, ne descrive la limpidezza della prosa, l'acutezza della psicologia, l'importanza della memoria imperfetta, del ricordo, della pietà e dell'immaginario.
Jarre ha scritto e riscritto e riscritto Padri Lontani per decadi, mai soddisfatta ne ha accarezzato gli orli, smerigliato i contorni, affilato le parole fino alla perfezione. Di rado si può ammirare una prosa così efficace, una intensità piana e conturbante, senza eccessi, eppure arricchita da dettagli commoventi nella loro semplicità, e riflessioni prodigiose, acute, dolorose.
Jarre non risparmia se stessa, non risparmia nessuno: non la guerra, non la religione, non il corpo, la famiglia, l'autorità, le relazioni, il Fascismo, la Resistenza, ma soprattutto accetta con caparbia rassegnazione che non può essere essa stessa narratrice onnisciente della propria vita, voce affidabile e insindacabile, ma dovrà accettarne l'imperscrutabilità.
Con l'umiltà e la saggezza di chi ha riscritto la propria storia per decenni, Jarre ci fa dono del suo sguardo impietoso ma affettuoso, della sua prosa asciutta ma gorgogliante di realtà, della sua memoria imperfetta e vagabonda, per navigare le acque ghiacciate di un secolo di storia che non è solo collettiva, ma anche profondamente personale.
January 28, 2022
Joint review of Distant Fathers (Marina Jarre) and Innocent Witnesses (Marilyn Yalom)
Displaced, lost childhoods and influences in adulthood (Europe and US; 1925 – 1960): Today’s post is on January 27th because it’s International Holocaust Remembrance Day. Established by the UN in 2005, their 2022 global theme is “Memory, Dignity and Justice”. Memory is a running theme throughout both of these stellar books:
Innocent Witnesses shines a piercing lens on six European Jewish childhoods lived through the Holocaust and on the author’s, who grew up in Washington, DC, lost Polish family in the Holocaust, and was deeply affected by the suffering until the end of her life. Marilyn Yalom wrote this book while battling cancer.
In A Matter of Death and Life, you’ll be moved by how profoundly loved, loving, and life-affirming Yalom’s life was (she died in 2019). She had an extensive network of “colleagues and friends” – six whose mini-memoirs make up the heart of the book. Two she translated from the French as she was a French professor at Stanford University for thirty years. During her junior year in college, she spent time in France witnessing the Nazi’s destruction. (Yalom was also a pioneering feminist and nonfiction author of landmark books.)
In her personal introduction, Meg Waite Clayton, bestselling author of several novels set during WWII, says Marilyn Yalom was a “bringer-together-of-people.” That’s what she’s done in Innocent Witnesses. It’s the commonalities of their memories – unrelenting hunger, “brutal winters,” air raids, “carpets of bombs” – as they paid witness to the tremendous risks, sacrifices, and bravery of their mothers to protect them that stand out.
These memories and commentaries (Yalom offers hers in “A Sheltered Vision and the French Connection,” the Epilogue, and “When Memory Speaks”) inform our reading of Distant Fathers , especially from an intense psychological perspective.
Time and place now vary. Two places, Latvia and Italy. Time is structured in three parts – childhood, adolescence, and adulthood – yet they don’t necessarily come to us chronologically. They float, dream-like, “stream-of-consciousness.” That’s intentional so we sense Marina Jarre’s “disorientation and displacement – the feeling of not belonging,” explains Ann Goldstein in her insightful Translator’s Note. (Best known for translating Elena Ferrante’s four Neapolitan Novels; also The Complete Works of Primo Levi, who survived the Auschwitz Nazi concentration camp). Jarre, she also says, is an “unreliable narrator,” certainly compared to the innocent witnesses whose memories feel fixed in their souls.
Reliable or not, we’re drawn to both books.
The six children lived during the atrocious time of Hitler’s war in different places: France, Germany, Finland, Sweden, Czechoslovakia, England, and Hungary. We may not know their names – Alain Briottet, Philippe Martial, Winfried Weiss, Stina Katchadourian, Susan Groag Bell, and Robert “Bob” Berger – but we learn that what they remembered endured influencing who they became.
Given the resiliency of their suffering under the most extreme physical conditions and emotional duress, the innocent witnesses inspire us. Jarre’s prose affects us differently. Exquisitely sad. Intellectually powerful, yet she’s a jumble of emotions and contradictions. Her prose is clear and lyrical when she writes about the natural world, but when she writes about herself and her relationships with important people in her life – her mother, father, maternal grandmother, and husband – she’s painfully distant so we keep trying to figure her out. Because she was still searching. (She died in 2016.)
We want to understand one of the undiscovered “great Italian writers of the second half of the twentieth century,” says Italian writer Marta Barone in her aptly titled introduction, “A Stubborn Distance.” Translating this book is the first in a larger effort to give Jarre “a rightful place in Italian literature.”
Barone confirms Jarre was “a great and lingering mystery.” For instance: Was she haunted by the death of her Russian Jewish father killed by the Nazis in her homeland in Riga, Latvia? She hardly knows him, regrets her “silence” with him, but she doesn’t even mention the “extermination of the Jews of Riga” (25,000), It’s Goldstein who does.
Jarre lived in Riga for the first ten years of her life. She didn’t learn of her father’s death until after her mother left him, when she was living in her maternal grandmother’s house in the village of Torre Pellice in the Waldensian valleys of the Piedmont region of Italy near Turin for the next ten. Instead of the massacre of Jews, this French-speaking region is steeped in ancient Protestant “persecutions and battles of distant fathers,” Barone explains. The most famous the 1655 Piedmont Easter Massacre.
No one can really know why the innocent witnesses were resilient and Jarre’s distance kept her from thriving – the psychological question that fascinated me. I think Ben Yalom’s (one of the author’s sons) assessment in the Afterword that “love and empathy are deeply entwined” in all the stories provides the answer. Jarre’s life was also uprooted during wartime but there’s very little, if any, love and empathy.
What’s clear is she liked almost no one. Jealous of her younger sister Sisi who gets whatever “praise” is doled out by her mother, yet recognizes Sisi was the only one loyal to her. Her mother was constantly away working, so in the identity-searching years of adolescence she seems to have been raised by a governess, sometimes two, not her grandmother, but doesn’t even mention their names. Mother and grandmother severely lack the “warmth and love” Ben eloquently writes about. Her emotional detachment is glaring.
Jarre had the physical trappings the innocent witnesses were deprived of, but lacked love. Her mother didn’t go to extraordinary lengths to protect her like the others did. Jarre is so torn up, an innocent victim who turned inward and blamed herself for her fears, contradictions, insecurities. At times, she’s acutely self-aware; at other times she gravitates between feeling inferior and superior. She’s out of sync with how we read her, notably when she says she’s “serenely solitary.” Except for the natural world, she never comes across as serene. Solitary, indeed, in whatever space she’s in.
Religion occupies many of Jarre’s thoughts – her connection to G-d. There’s no legacy of her father’s Jewish roots. Raised Lutheran, her grandmother devoutly so. Since the outside world is so confusing and disturbing to her, it makes sense she’s drawn to religious rituals. Order to brace the dislocation. Language a piece of that as she spoke German in Latvia not Latvian, had to learn Italian, and picked up French spoken in her grandmother’s house. She speaks of a “repugnance” towards Hitler, perhaps because of her father, but this doesn’t surface until much later, in 1943 when Hitler occupied Italy and Fascism fell. Her mother once an early fascist. Since she’s so wrapped up in seeking – but never getting – her mother’s love, it’s hard to tell which oppressive ideology is more repugnant. At this life stage, “rage” tragically defines her. “When had I ever been happy?” We wonder too.
Distant Fathers is described as a “singular autobiography” (on the back cover) and a memoir (on the front cover). Both are right. As an autobiography, it encompasses the arc of her life; a memoir doesn’t. An autobiography should be fact-based, but her memories are muddled. It’s her elusive, discordant emotions that make Marina Jarre a singular and mysterious character whose prose captivates.
Both books show that what’s remembered, observed, sensed, reflected on, and dreamed of illuminate how trauma influences lives. For good and bad.
Lorraine (EnchantedProse.com)
Displaced, lost childhoods and influences in adulthood (Europe and US; 1925 – 1960): Today’s post is on January 27th because it’s International Holocaust Remembrance Day. Established by the UN in 2005, their 2022 global theme is “Memory, Dignity and Justice”. Memory is a running theme throughout both of these stellar books:
Innocent Witnesses shines a piercing lens on six European Jewish childhoods lived through the Holocaust and on the author’s, who grew up in Washington, DC, lost Polish family in the Holocaust, and was deeply affected by the suffering until the end of her life. Marilyn Yalom wrote this book while battling cancer.
In A Matter of Death and Life, you’ll be moved by how profoundly loved, loving, and life-affirming Yalom’s life was (she died in 2019). She had an extensive network of “colleagues and friends” – six whose mini-memoirs make up the heart of the book. Two she translated from the French as she was a French professor at Stanford University for thirty years. During her junior year in college, she spent time in France witnessing the Nazi’s destruction. (Yalom was also a pioneering feminist and nonfiction author of landmark books.)
In her personal introduction, Meg Waite Clayton, bestselling author of several novels set during WWII, says Marilyn Yalom was a “bringer-together-of-people.” That’s what she’s done in Innocent Witnesses. It’s the commonalities of their memories – unrelenting hunger, “brutal winters,” air raids, “carpets of bombs” – as they paid witness to the tremendous risks, sacrifices, and bravery of their mothers to protect them that stand out.
These memories and commentaries (Yalom offers hers in “A Sheltered Vision and the French Connection,” the Epilogue, and “When Memory Speaks”) inform our reading of Distant Fathers , especially from an intense psychological perspective.
Time and place now vary. Two places, Latvia and Italy. Time is structured in three parts – childhood, adolescence, and adulthood – yet they don’t necessarily come to us chronologically. They float, dream-like, “stream-of-consciousness.” That’s intentional so we sense Marina Jarre’s “disorientation and displacement – the feeling of not belonging,” explains Ann Goldstein in her insightful Translator’s Note. (Best known for translating Elena Ferrante’s four Neapolitan Novels; also The Complete Works of Primo Levi, who survived the Auschwitz Nazi concentration camp). Jarre, she also says, is an “unreliable narrator,” certainly compared to the innocent witnesses whose memories feel fixed in their souls.
Reliable or not, we’re drawn to both books.
The six children lived during the atrocious time of Hitler’s war in different places: France, Germany, Finland, Sweden, Czechoslovakia, England, and Hungary. We may not know their names – Alain Briottet, Philippe Martial, Winfried Weiss, Stina Katchadourian, Susan Groag Bell, and Robert “Bob” Berger – but we learn that what they remembered endured influencing who they became.
Given the resiliency of their suffering under the most extreme physical conditions and emotional duress, the innocent witnesses inspire us. Jarre’s prose affects us differently. Exquisitely sad. Intellectually powerful, yet she’s a jumble of emotions and contradictions. Her prose is clear and lyrical when she writes about the natural world, but when she writes about herself and her relationships with important people in her life – her mother, father, maternal grandmother, and husband – she’s painfully distant so we keep trying to figure her out. Because she was still searching. (She died in 2016.)
We want to understand one of the undiscovered “great Italian writers of the second half of the twentieth century,” says Italian writer Marta Barone in her aptly titled introduction, “A Stubborn Distance.” Translating this book is the first in a larger effort to give Jarre “a rightful place in Italian literature.”
Barone confirms Jarre was “a great and lingering mystery.” For instance: Was she haunted by the death of her Russian Jewish father killed by the Nazis in her homeland in Riga, Latvia? She hardly knows him, regrets her “silence” with him, but she doesn’t even mention the “extermination of the Jews of Riga” (25,000), It’s Goldstein who does.
Jarre lived in Riga for the first ten years of her life. She didn’t learn of her father’s death until after her mother left him, when she was living in her maternal grandmother’s house in the village of Torre Pellice in the Waldensian valleys of the Piedmont region of Italy near Turin for the next ten. Instead of the massacre of Jews, this French-speaking region is steeped in ancient Protestant “persecutions and battles of distant fathers,” Barone explains. The most famous the 1655 Piedmont Easter Massacre.
No one can really know why the innocent witnesses were resilient and Jarre’s distance kept her from thriving – the psychological question that fascinated me. I think Ben Yalom’s (one of the author’s sons) assessment in the Afterword that “love and empathy are deeply entwined” in all the stories provides the answer. Jarre’s life was also uprooted during wartime but there’s very little, if any, love and empathy.
What’s clear is she liked almost no one. Jealous of her younger sister Sisi who gets whatever “praise” is doled out by her mother, yet recognizes Sisi was the only one loyal to her. Her mother was constantly away working, so in the identity-searching years of adolescence she seems to have been raised by a governess, sometimes two, not her grandmother, but doesn’t even mention their names. Mother and grandmother severely lack the “warmth and love” Ben eloquently writes about. Her emotional detachment is glaring.
Jarre had the physical trappings the innocent witnesses were deprived of, but lacked love. Her mother didn’t go to extraordinary lengths to protect her like the others did. Jarre is so torn up, an innocent victim who turned inward and blamed herself for her fears, contradictions, insecurities. At times, she’s acutely self-aware; at other times she gravitates between feeling inferior and superior. She’s out of sync with how we read her, notably when she says she’s “serenely solitary.” Except for the natural world, she never comes across as serene. Solitary, indeed, in whatever space she’s in.
Religion occupies many of Jarre’s thoughts – her connection to G-d. There’s no legacy of her father’s Jewish roots. Raised Lutheran, her grandmother devoutly so. Since the outside world is so confusing and disturbing to her, it makes sense she’s drawn to religious rituals. Order to brace the dislocation. Language a piece of that as she spoke German in Latvia not Latvian, had to learn Italian, and picked up French spoken in her grandmother’s house. She speaks of a “repugnance” towards Hitler, perhaps because of her father, but this doesn’t surface until much later, in 1943 when Hitler occupied Italy and Fascism fell. Her mother once an early fascist. Since she’s so wrapped up in seeking – but never getting – her mother’s love, it’s hard to tell which oppressive ideology is more repugnant. At this life stage, “rage” tragically defines her. “When had I ever been happy?” We wonder too.
Distant Fathers is described as a “singular autobiography” (on the back cover) and a memoir (on the front cover). Both are right. As an autobiography, it encompasses the arc of her life; a memoir doesn’t. An autobiography should be fact-based, but her memories are muddled. It’s her elusive, discordant emotions that make Marina Jarre a singular and mysterious character whose prose captivates.
Both books show that what’s remembered, observed, sensed, reflected on, and dreamed of illuminate how trauma influences lives. For good and bad.
Lorraine (EnchantedProse.com)
August 3, 2024
Šī nav mana grāmata. Grūti formulēt, bet tajā aprakstītais, drīzāk veids un izteiksme, kādā autore ved pašanalīzes ceļojumā, mani neuzrunāja, neaizskāra. Lasīju kā faktus, kā tekstu, bet bez īpašas aizrautības, kas tomēr raksturīga lasītājam. Vienlaikus atsevišķi notikumi un autores refleksija par kādu no tiem vai tikai sajūtu viņā pašā vedina atkal un atkal domāt par to, kādas pēdas mūsos atstāj tuvāki un tālāki senči - tēvi.
No grāmatas uzzināju par valdiešiem un tas rosināja noskaidrot ko vairāk - viņi bija izteikti askētiski kristieši un gadsimtiem cieta no katoļu baznīcas vajāšanas. Autores domas grāmatā lēnām pārklāj valdiešu ēna... savdabīgi.
No grāmatas uzzināju par valdiešiem un tas rosināja noskaidrot ko vairāk - viņi bija izteikti askētiski kristieši un gadsimtiem cieta no katoļu baznīcas vajāšanas. Autores domas grāmatā lēnām pārklāj valdiešu ēna... savdabīgi.
December 18, 2025
Quite possible that Italian women writers are the very best? I’ll make that case. Distant Fathers is a wandering and beautifully written memoir, almost as if from a dream state, from a woman reflecting on her cultural heritage as a Waldensian and on her family life, in various states of disintegration. (Many thanks to Celeste for the recommendation. Whatever Celeste tells me to read goes to the top of the list.)
August 25, 2022
Non un brutto libro ma mi sono annoiata
October 23, 2024
Grāmata, kura aizrāva ar valodu, sižetu un noskaņu. Grāmata, ar kuru kādu brīdi bija savādi, jo nebija dialogu, bet ātri vien tas savaņģoja un ievilka dziļumā.
August 27, 2023
M. Žarres "Tālie tēvi" apbūra. Skaista valoda, smeldzīgs un tiešs vēstījums par piedzīvoto Latvijā un Itālijā-meitenes, jaunietes un jau pieaugušas sievietes dzīvesstāsts. Dzīves līkloči uz vēsturiskā fona, izceļot savdabīgi tvertu pieredzi. Autore lasītāju iepazīstina ar dažādām personiskajām izjūtām, mazliet rūgtu bērnības garšu un sevis meklējumiem, pārdomām un atmiņām. Vēstījums arī par to, kā dažu nedēļu laikā tiek nomainīta valsts, valoda un ierastā ğimenes vide.
Latviešu lasītājiem noteikti visinteresantākais varētu būt tas,ka grāmatā ir pieminēta Latvija- ne ļoti daudz, bet pietiekami, lai būtu kaut neliels ieskats par pirmskara gadiem citā perspektīvā. Autore diezgan daudz atgriežas pagātnē un savelk pavedienus no vairākiem savas dzīves posmiem vienotā veselumā. Viņas pirmie 10 dzīves gadi pavadīti Latvijā.
M. Žarre tekstā šķetina savas attiecības ar vecākiem, visvairāk ar māti, kā arī citiem tuviem cilvēkiem sev apkārt. Viņa savus līdzcilvēkus vērtē diezgan nesaudzīgi, nebaidoties tiem veltīt arī dažādas dzēlības. Pati autore savas dzīves laikā arī nejūtas līdz galam atzīta un novērtēta, bet tā no viņas puses nav žēlošanās, bet drīzāk vērojumu un faktu piefiksēšana, kas liecina vien par to, ka ir lietas, ko nevari pagātnē mainīt, bet vari uz tām atskatīties jau ar citu sapratni.
Teksts - literārs baudījums!
📝"Manā laikā kaut kas ir sabojājies, un turpmāk tas ritēs nekārtīgi; līdzīgi kā vecs pulkstenis tas brīžiem aizskries uz priekšu, brīžiem atsāks saraustīti kustēties tikai pēc sakratīšanas."(82.)
📝"Man,nosalušai un vientuļai, šķita,ka atgriežos ēnas klēpī-lai arī ne viesmīlīgā,toties pazīstamā,savā."(218.)
Latviešu lasītājiem noteikti visinteresantākais varētu būt tas,ka grāmatā ir pieminēta Latvija- ne ļoti daudz, bet pietiekami, lai būtu kaut neliels ieskats par pirmskara gadiem citā perspektīvā. Autore diezgan daudz atgriežas pagātnē un savelk pavedienus no vairākiem savas dzīves posmiem vienotā veselumā. Viņas pirmie 10 dzīves gadi pavadīti Latvijā.
M. Žarre tekstā šķetina savas attiecības ar vecākiem, visvairāk ar māti, kā arī citiem tuviem cilvēkiem sev apkārt. Viņa savus līdzcilvēkus vērtē diezgan nesaudzīgi, nebaidoties tiem veltīt arī dažādas dzēlības. Pati autore savas dzīves laikā arī nejūtas līdz galam atzīta un novērtēta, bet tā no viņas puses nav žēlošanās, bet drīzāk vērojumu un faktu piefiksēšana, kas liecina vien par to, ka ir lietas, ko nevari pagātnē mainīt, bet vari uz tām atskatīties jau ar citu sapratni.
Teksts - literārs baudījums!
📝"Manā laikā kaut kas ir sabojājies, un turpmāk tas ritēs nekārtīgi; līdzīgi kā vecs pulkstenis tas brīžiem aizskries uz priekšu, brīžiem atsāks saraustīti kustēties tikai pēc sakratīšanas."(82.)
📝"Man,nosalušai un vientuļai, šķita,ka atgriežos ēnas klēpī-lai arī ne viesmīlīgā,toties pazīstamā,savā."(218.)
August 28, 2021
“Well, this is me” could be the title of this very well written autobiography. It’s a written account of thoughts, feelings, insecurities and life of the writer during three periods of life. Early childhood where things are just confusing and adults make little sense. Youth/adolescence when it’s sad and lonely being different, but also kind of special and empowering. And then during middle-late life when regrets and loss, truth and even sometimes forgiveness become more central in one’s thoughts. The book is written in fragments of thoughts and recollections that bring the reader to feel what the writer is feeling, and to identify with many things despite maybe having a different life than the writer. Such as, the joy and happiness of being young and free, the bitterness of parents’ judgement on who you are, resentment of a spouse, falling in love… but this is no ordinary story. The writer lived during WWII, was born to a Jewish parent, and experienced quite a bit of loss and the terrors of fascism. But the story isn’t about that. It’s of being human. Beautiful piece of writing that will take my brain some time to digest.
October 11, 2021
Some individuals hide, or surpress their emotions,feelings. From the way the story was written, I feel the author did just that. It is a form of survival, for so many people who are faced with trauma, and events that are appalling and difficult to handle.
Marina Jarre lived through difficult times, and situations. I do not judge her way of being, as we each handle ourselves in the way we feel we can survive.
Thank you to LibraryThing Early Reviewers for the ARC.
Marina Jarre lived through difficult times, and situations. I do not judge her way of being, as we each handle ourselves in the way we feel we can survive.
Thank you to LibraryThing Early Reviewers for the ARC.
April 16, 2023
Beautiful poetic prose that perfectly encapsulate the wandering imperfection of memory and feeling. This book is truly a vibe. Stumbled upon this work at the Tucson Festival of Books and am very grateful for the exposure to Jarre and Italian autobiography. 3.5 stars!
June 25, 2025
Izjusta, inteliģenta stāstīšanas maniere, rāmu noskaņu virza lasītāju gluži kā pastaigā pa ēnainu, sen koptu, bet nu aizaugušu, muižas parku. Ļoti spilgti bija sajūtamas sāpes un uz mūžu atstātā ietekme, ko radīja mātes nevienlīdzīgā attieksme pret autori un viņas māsu.
January 28, 2024
Contrary to the title, it’s rlly more abt mothers. A wandering, proustian type memoir — plot AND vibes.
November 12, 2023
Apburošs, fascinējošs literārs autobiogrāfisks romāns, kurā autore - Rīgā dzimusī Marina (itāļu informācijas telpā saukta par itāļu-latviešu rakstnieci, bet grāmatā ir skaidrs, ka viņa piederējusi vāciski runājošajai Latvijas iedzīvotāju daļai, latviski esot uzdrošinājusies ar pastnieku aprunāties tikai viņas māsa) - "izpiņķerē tekstu no sevis un sevi no teksta". Sēdēdama Itālijas skolas skolotāju istabas sapulcēs (bezjēdzīgajās) pēdējā rindā, pārlasījusi visu Prustu - un šī grāmata patiešām jau no pirmajām rindām liek sajust savveida "zudušā laika meklējumus", šajā gadījumā šie meklējumi ir sevis un savu sakņu meklējumi - kas aktuāli, dzīvojot zemē, kur tavi tēvi (valdieši) dzīvojuši, bet pazinusi viņus neesi. Tie ir arī sevis meklējumi vecumā, kuram autore, atzīst, nav gatava. Divreiz tiek tverts mirklis 17 gadu vecumā, vienīgais mirklis, kuru atceroties, autore saka - es biju laimīga...viens mirklis. Autores likteni, būtību, spēcīgi iezīmē vēstures stingrie groži - 10 gadu vecumā, pametot Latviju, beidzas bērnība, bet laiku, kam būtu jābūt skaistākajam dzīvē, iegrožo II pasaules karš.
Grāmata, tālo tēvu meklējums ir savu sakņu meklējums zemē, kurā neesi dzimis, bet ir zināms, ka dzimta ar to ir saistīta.
"Es esmu bastards bez savas vēstures, tveros pie vēstures, kas pieder citiem, un man galu galā nav pat tādu nezināmu sakņu kā Končetīnai".
Atklājas grūtības iedzīvoties citas kultūras, mentalitātes zemē: "Bērni mājās mani apcēla, veltīja man apzīmējumus "barbetta" un "mitteleuropea", izsmējīgi norādot uz manu lokanības trūkumu, kas mantots no valdiešiem vai Viduseiropas protestantiskās kultūras. Viņiem mana spītība šķita eksotiska".
Iezīmējas konflikts arī ar mātes paaudzes un šķiras pieredzi: "Starp māti un mani, starp viņas paaudzi un manējo, pastāvēja visīstākās šķiru atšķirības; viņa nebija radusi pie roku darba [..], viņai vienmēr bijušas aukles, guvernantes, ķēkšas un istabenes." "Mana māte, nodzīvojusi mūžu kā vīrietis, viņa, kurai gluži kā vīrietim citas sievietes bija uzaudzinājušas bērnus un mazbērnus, tagad gluži kā vīrietis iedzina mani atpakaļ manā kalpones vietā."
Grāmatā iezīmējas ainas no Latvijas, aizkustinošā svecīšu liesma novembra svētkos logu ailēs: "Katru gadu novembrī vienu vakaru starp logu dubultajām rūtīm saliekam mazu svecīšu rindu: ir Latvijas neatkarības diena. Gaismeklīši mirdz visos pilsētas logos. Tēvs burkšķ, ka Ulmanis - Latvijas prezidents - esot draņķis. Tēvam nepatīk prezidenti."
Autore neizvairās asi kritizēt katoļus, kas asiņainās cīņās pagātnē vērsušies arī pret viņas tālajiem tēviem - valdiešiem: "Manas mātes drausmīgais senču dievs ir tas pats, kurš Ābrahāmam pavēlēja upurēt dēlu un kurš soda ar paša izraudzītu dusmu nūju. Un, kad Viņš mums atvēlē miera laikus - ierasto trīsdesmit gadu periodu, bet, ja tas ir ilgāks, tātad pa vidam mums uzsūtīs kādu sērgu-, mums jāturas pret pāvesta piekritējiem un jānomokās sacīkstēs par nopelniem, cenšoties pierādīt, ka esam labākie." "Protams, būtu jauki atrast kādu katoli, kurš spēj sakarīgi spriest, taču tumsonība diemžēl ir kā mūris, kam cauri nevar izlauzties neviens mēģinājums vai kārdinājums spriest racionāli."
Kopumā grāmata ir mēģinājums sameklēt, izvilkt pašas dzīves esenci, tuvojoties tās neizbēgamajai izskaņai: "Es cenšos stingri turēt sev priekšā tās dienas, kas nu jau ir palikušas aiz manis vairāk nekā trīsdesmit gadu tālumā".
Grāmata, tālo tēvu meklējums ir savu sakņu meklējums zemē, kurā neesi dzimis, bet ir zināms, ka dzimta ar to ir saistīta.
"Es esmu bastards bez savas vēstures, tveros pie vēstures, kas pieder citiem, un man galu galā nav pat tādu nezināmu sakņu kā Končetīnai".
Atklājas grūtības iedzīvoties citas kultūras, mentalitātes zemē: "Bērni mājās mani apcēla, veltīja man apzīmējumus "barbetta" un "mitteleuropea", izsmējīgi norādot uz manu lokanības trūkumu, kas mantots no valdiešiem vai Viduseiropas protestantiskās kultūras. Viņiem mana spītība šķita eksotiska".
Iezīmējas konflikts arī ar mātes paaudzes un šķiras pieredzi: "Starp māti un mani, starp viņas paaudzi un manējo, pastāvēja visīstākās šķiru atšķirības; viņa nebija radusi pie roku darba [..], viņai vienmēr bijušas aukles, guvernantes, ķēkšas un istabenes." "Mana māte, nodzīvojusi mūžu kā vīrietis, viņa, kurai gluži kā vīrietim citas sievietes bija uzaudzinājušas bērnus un mazbērnus, tagad gluži kā vīrietis iedzina mani atpakaļ manā kalpones vietā."
Grāmatā iezīmējas ainas no Latvijas, aizkustinošā svecīšu liesma novembra svētkos logu ailēs: "Katru gadu novembrī vienu vakaru starp logu dubultajām rūtīm saliekam mazu svecīšu rindu: ir Latvijas neatkarības diena. Gaismeklīši mirdz visos pilsētas logos. Tēvs burkšķ, ka Ulmanis - Latvijas prezidents - esot draņķis. Tēvam nepatīk prezidenti."
Autore neizvairās asi kritizēt katoļus, kas asiņainās cīņās pagātnē vērsušies arī pret viņas tālajiem tēviem - valdiešiem: "Manas mātes drausmīgais senču dievs ir tas pats, kurš Ābrahāmam pavēlēja upurēt dēlu un kurš soda ar paša izraudzītu dusmu nūju. Un, kad Viņš mums atvēlē miera laikus - ierasto trīsdesmit gadu periodu, bet, ja tas ir ilgāks, tātad pa vidam mums uzsūtīs kādu sērgu-, mums jāturas pret pāvesta piekritējiem un jānomokās sacīkstēs par nopelniem, cenšoties pierādīt, ka esam labākie." "Protams, būtu jauki atrast kādu katoli, kurš spēj sakarīgi spriest, taču tumsonība diemžēl ir kā mūris, kam cauri nevar izlauzties neviens mēģinājums vai kārdinājums spriest racionāli."
Kopumā grāmata ir mēģinājums sameklēt, izvilkt pašas dzīves esenci, tuvojoties tās neizbēgamajai izskaņai: "Es cenšos stingri turēt sev priekšā tās dienas, kas nu jau ir palikušas aiz manis vairāk nekā trīsdesmit gadu tālumā".
July 10, 2023
An autobiography/memoir by an Italian author. I’ll call her Marina and I’ll start with the book’s title which I think is a misnomer. Marina’s father wasn't all that distant. Sure, he was a busy man yet Marina relates several instances where her father showed his love, took her to various places and did things like teaching her Yiddish words while he was shaving. As we will see, if anyone was ‘distant,’ it was her mother. “Absent from my life in different ways, father and mother, symbolic ghosts... my mother with her inability to accept me, my father with his tragic death.”
I should say the following contains spoilers. (As does the Introduction which gives a summary of the book.) When she was ten her parents divorced, and she and her sister were sent to live with her mother’s parents in Italy. Two years later her father was arrested and died in a concentration camp. Marina feels guilty as if it had been her responsibility to get to know him better before he died.
There are two themes that permeate the book. The first is of a young girl who comes of age in such a polyglot, multi-cultural world that she is uncertain what her homeland is, what her ethnic-cultural background is, and what her religion is. Maybe the answer is simply that she doesn't have a homeland or a language because there are just too many.
Marina was born in Latvia and learned Latvian from maids and nannies. Her Russian Jewish father and Italian mother spoke German to each other. Her schooling was also in German. In school she studied Latin. Her father taught her Yiddish words. Then at age ten she moved to Italy to live with her mother's parents who spoke French while her mother stayed in Latvia for her job as a professor. Of course, now living in Italy, the young girl eventually learned Italian even though her grandparents spoke French.
Her grandparents were members of the Waldensian Christian sect, in an area west of Turin in northern Italy, just ten miles or so from the French border. They are largely anti-Catholic (as is her mother) yet living in a Catholic country. (One could say 'understandably anti-Catholic.' The Waldensians lost half their population to Catholic persecution in 1550 and again a hundred years later.) This group’s opposition to the Catholic Church pre-dates Luther and the Protestant Reformation.
So what nationality is Marina now? Is Italy her new ‘homeland’?
If anything, this book should be titled Distant Mother. Not three pages go by where there isn’t mention, sometimes a rant or a screed, or a passage with a sense of melancholy and sadness about her mother's feelings toward her. Her mother was a well-educated woman, a professor, who very much favored her younger sister. Her one-year-younger sister was talented in singing and dancing and playacting whereas ‘all Marina could do was read.’ Her sister was ‘inventive’ but Marina was a liar.
Her mother was always busy, so the girls grew up with nannies and tutors. After her parents’ divorce, and later, her father's death, her mother stayed in Latvia for a time and then moved to Italy to live near her daughters but she had her own apartment and ‘visited’ her daughters at their grandparents' home every evening.
Marina’s mother is so often absent that Marina comes to love the much-longed-for letters from her mother in her handwriting, almost more than she loves her mother herself. Even as a young woman in her twenties, she is devastated one day
When Marina’s now elderly mother comes to live with her, Marina is a proper, attentive, and caring daughter but
Marina arrived in Italy concurrently with the start of fascism and the rise of Mussolini. So she was in an interesting situation where, as she tells us, she couldn't tell what was normal, traditional Italian culture, and what started with fascism and the war. Were there always these military parades and political speeches in the park? Did Italian kids always have to stand and give the Nazi salute to greet their professor in the morning? On an ominous note, when she started attending classes in Italy, she had to file a ‘certificate of mixed race’ with the school system, in reference to her Jewish father. Neither she nor her family thought anything of this at the time – just silly paperwork.
We learn of some of Marina’s war adventures. She hides in bomb shelters when air raids sirens sound. Her school has been destroyed by bombs and now she fears having to take a train to classes at a new location because the train is constantly being bombed.
I'm of mixed opinion about reading first the introduction at the front of the book. On one hand, the reader should be aware that it gives a summary of all the major events of her life and therefore is a summary of the book. It's a memoir or even an autobiography, so there’s not really a ‘plot’ in the traditional sense. On the other hand, given how much the writing jumps around in time and tense in the first two-thirds of the book, knowing that timeline in advance is helpful in following the trajectory of Marina’s story.
So I can't finish without saying this, which I consider a weakness of the book. The introduction talks about the innovative style of much of the book, which is certainly true of the first two-thirds of the text that jumps around from past to present and changes tense from past to present to future. But then the last third of the book becomes a very well-organized, traditional autobiography of her life after age 20. In this part of the book the author switches to a straightforward chronological style, talking of her marriage, having four children by age 30 (of whom we read almost nothing), difficulties with her husband, and her career as a teacher and writer.
We can say the style is ‘innovative,’ but it gave me more of an appearance that it was disorganized or thrown together from separate parts. In fact I looked to see if this was published after her death (it wasn’t) because I started to think that editors compiled it from bits and pieces of her posthumous papers. That’s not the case, so this is how the author intended the book to be structured. It’s a ‘mother-daughter relationship book’ but that theme gets a bit repetitive when it is brought up every few pages. I gave it a ‘4’ for the story, but a ‘3’ overall for the writing and organization.
The author (1925-2016) wrote a dozen novels in Italian but this one appears to be the only one translated into English. She was a French teacher in Italy for 25 years.
Top photo: The town of Torre Pellice where the author lived which shows the world headquarters of the Waldensian Church from wikimapia.org
The author with one of her children in 1951 from primolevicenter.org
[Revised 7/10/23, spoilers hidden]
I should say the following contains spoilers. (As does the Introduction which gives a summary of the book.) When she was ten her parents divorced, and she and her sister were sent to live with her mother’s parents in Italy. Two years later her father was arrested and died in a concentration camp. Marina feels guilty as if it had been her responsibility to get to know him better before he died.
There are two themes that permeate the book. The first is of a young girl who comes of age in such a polyglot, multi-cultural world that she is uncertain what her homeland is, what her ethnic-cultural background is, and what her religion is. Maybe the answer is simply that she doesn't have a homeland or a language because there are just too many.
Marina was born in Latvia and learned Latvian from maids and nannies. Her Russian Jewish father and Italian mother spoke German to each other. Her schooling was also in German. In school she studied Latin. Her father taught her Yiddish words. Then at age ten she moved to Italy to live with her mother's parents who spoke French while her mother stayed in Latvia for her job as a professor. Of course, now living in Italy, the young girl eventually learned Italian even though her grandparents spoke French.
Her grandparents were members of the Waldensian Christian sect, in an area west of Turin in northern Italy, just ten miles or so from the French border. They are largely anti-Catholic (as is her mother) yet living in a Catholic country. (One could say 'understandably anti-Catholic.' The Waldensians lost half their population to Catholic persecution in 1550 and again a hundred years later.) This group’s opposition to the Catholic Church pre-dates Luther and the Protestant Reformation.
So what nationality is Marina now? Is Italy her new ‘homeland’?
If anything, this book should be titled Distant Mother. Not three pages go by where there isn’t mention, sometimes a rant or a screed, or a passage with a sense of melancholy and sadness about her mother's feelings toward her. Her mother was a well-educated woman, a professor, who very much favored her younger sister. Her one-year-younger sister was talented in singing and dancing and playacting whereas ‘all Marina could do was read.’ Her sister was ‘inventive’ but Marina was a liar.
Her mother was always busy, so the girls grew up with nannies and tutors. After her parents’ divorce, and later, her father's death, her mother stayed in Latvia for a time and then moved to Italy to live near her daughters but she had her own apartment and ‘visited’ her daughters at their grandparents' home every evening.
Marina’s mother is so often absent that Marina comes to love the much-longed-for letters from her mother in her handwriting, almost more than she loves her mother herself. Even as a young woman in her twenties, she is devastated one day
When Marina’s now elderly mother comes to live with her, Marina is a proper, attentive, and caring daughter but
Marina arrived in Italy concurrently with the start of fascism and the rise of Mussolini. So she was in an interesting situation where, as she tells us, she couldn't tell what was normal, traditional Italian culture, and what started with fascism and the war. Were there always these military parades and political speeches in the park? Did Italian kids always have to stand and give the Nazi salute to greet their professor in the morning? On an ominous note, when she started attending classes in Italy, she had to file a ‘certificate of mixed race’ with the school system, in reference to her Jewish father. Neither she nor her family thought anything of this at the time – just silly paperwork.
We learn of some of Marina’s war adventures. She hides in bomb shelters when air raids sirens sound. Her school has been destroyed by bombs and now she fears having to take a train to classes at a new location because the train is constantly being bombed.
I'm of mixed opinion about reading first the introduction at the front of the book. On one hand, the reader should be aware that it gives a summary of all the major events of her life and therefore is a summary of the book. It's a memoir or even an autobiography, so there’s not really a ‘plot’ in the traditional sense. On the other hand, given how much the writing jumps around in time and tense in the first two-thirds of the book, knowing that timeline in advance is helpful in following the trajectory of Marina’s story.
So I can't finish without saying this, which I consider a weakness of the book. The introduction talks about the innovative style of much of the book, which is certainly true of the first two-thirds of the text that jumps around from past to present and changes tense from past to present to future. But then the last third of the book becomes a very well-organized, traditional autobiography of her life after age 20. In this part of the book the author switches to a straightforward chronological style, talking of her marriage, having four children by age 30 (of whom we read almost nothing), difficulties with her husband, and her career as a teacher and writer.
We can say the style is ‘innovative,’ but it gave me more of an appearance that it was disorganized or thrown together from separate parts. In fact I looked to see if this was published after her death (it wasn’t) because I started to think that editors compiled it from bits and pieces of her posthumous papers. That’s not the case, so this is how the author intended the book to be structured. It’s a ‘mother-daughter relationship book’ but that theme gets a bit repetitive when it is brought up every few pages. I gave it a ‘4’ for the story, but a ‘3’ overall for the writing and organization.
The author (1925-2016) wrote a dozen novels in Italian but this one appears to be the only one translated into English. She was a French teacher in Italy for 25 years.
Top photo: The town of Torre Pellice where the author lived which shows the world headquarters of the Waldensian Church from wikimapia.org
The author with one of her children in 1951 from primolevicenter.org
[Revised 7/10/23, spoilers hidden]
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