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Badenheim 1939
Actiunea romanului este plasata in pragul celui de-al Doilea Razboi Mondial. In primavara anului 1939, oraselul austriac Badenheim este invadat, ca de obicei, de turistii burghezi veniti la festivalul anual organizat de doctorul Pappenheim, un ins cu inclinatii artistice dintre cele mai excentrice. Localnicii - un farmacist si sotia sa bolnava, cele doua prostituate ale orasului, un cofetar mereu indignat - se pregatesc pentru multimea de vizitatori, cind, din senin, apare un „Departament al Asanarii” care incepe sa faca inspectii si liste lungi de nume. In scurt timp, nimeni, fie turist, fie localnic, nu mai poate parasi orasul. Totusi, atmosfera de vacanta se pastreaza, pe fundalul bizar al festivalului, iar viata oraselului dobindeste un aspect suprarealist, ca intr-un joc de societate - o societate amenintata sa dispara fara urma.
200 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1978
26 people are currently reading
1557 people want to read
About the author
Aharon Appelfeld
65 books199 followersAHARON APPELFELD is the author of more than forty works of fiction and nonfiction, including Until the Dawn's Light and The Iron Tracks (both winners of the National Jewish Book Award) and The Story of a Life (winner of the Prix Médicis Étranger). Other honors he has received include the Giovanni Bocaccio Literary Prize, the Nelly Sachs Prize, the Israel Prize, the Bialik Prize, the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize, and the MLA Commonwealth Award. He is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and has received honorary degrees from the Jewish Theological Seminary, Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, and Yeshiva University.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 144 reviews
February 4, 2020
An absurdist, surreal story about a group of jewish tourists in an Austrian resort in the fictional village of Badenheim, in the year 1939.
Slowly, the idyllic resort transforms into a sealed ghetto.
The guests are ignorant and in denial of the tragedy that is about to befall them, and fantasize about emigrating to Poland where a better future awaits them.
As I'm writing this, I realize what a strong premise this is. How can anyone foresee such an apocalyptic fate ?
Unfortunately, I didn't think it was well executed, and I really struggled to get through this short book.
The characters were eccentric and uninteresting ; the writing was erratic and choppy ; there was neither flow nor emotion in the storytelling.
The writing was as confusing and awkward ‘as a dream that has faded in the morning, leaving only a few obscure remnants’.
A masterpiece to some, a huge disappointment for me. Only the ending of the book affected me.
Slowly, the idyllic resort transforms into a sealed ghetto.
The guests are ignorant and in denial of the tragedy that is about to befall them, and fantasize about emigrating to Poland where a better future awaits them.
As I'm writing this, I realize what a strong premise this is. How can anyone foresee such an apocalyptic fate ?
Unfortunately, I didn't think it was well executed, and I really struggled to get through this short book.
The characters were eccentric and uninteresting ; the writing was erratic and choppy ; there was neither flow nor emotion in the storytelling.
The writing was as confusing and awkward ‘as a dream that has faded in the morning, leaving only a few obscure remnants’.
A masterpiece to some, a huge disappointment for me. Only the ending of the book affected me.
September 6, 2024
First published in 1980, Aharon Appelfeld’s story’s set in an imagined spa town somewhere in the Austrian countryside. It’s spring 1939, holidaymakers are flocking in: a few are recuperating from illness; many are here for the annual music festival directed by Viennese impresario Dr Pappenheim who’s led proceedings for over thirty years. On the surface this is an idyllic place, despite the gloomy forest surrounding it, the streets are lined with fragrant, blossoming trees, visitors devour pink ice cream and delicate strawberry tarts in the village square. Yet some people are strangely restless, one local woman, frail, sickly Trude is plagued by Cassandra-like visions of doom, of a diseased and dangerous society. And this year something unexpected happens a mysterious organisation, known only as the Sanitation Department, sends an inspector to pry into individuals’ circumstances and compile a report.
Time passes, the Sanitation Department sends more and more representatives, setting up a Badenheim office, then requiring anyone of Jewish descent to visit to register in the Golden Book. Gradually the Sanitation Department steps up its activities, bringing in wire fencing, pouring concrete; advertising the benefits of migrating to Poland. Rumours start to spread, divisions come to the fore, those who see themselves as thoroughly Austrian wonder if registration is the fault of the Ostjuden – Yiddish-speaking, Eastern European Jews forced to leave their homes after WW1. Ostjuden whose culture’s perceived as alien by established, liberal Westjuden (Western Jews). It’s a divide which invokes the use of the Ostjuden as scapegoats, immigrants whose presence was politicised to fuel virulent nationalism and antisemitism in Nazi Germany. Although Appelfeld’s narrative, which often resembles a nightmarish fairy tale, rarely refers to historical or current events, except in the most elliptical manner. He relies on his title as a framing device to position his readers.
Badenheim’s slowly transformed, cut off from the outside: the Post Office closes, supplies dry up, and amenities shut down one by one. Trude sees wolves ravening all around, something blamed on her inability to forget her childhood in Poland – a veiled reference to the brutal pogroms that spurred an earlier wave of immigration. Others deny that there’s a problem, that their Jewishness is overridden by their status as Austrian citizens with generations of Austrian ancestors. They cling to a faith in law and order - they can’t see why they should worry about things that took place long ago, in countries not their own. The atmosphere in Badenheim’s increasingly ominous, frenetic, relationships are fractious, fractured. There’s a sense of time being disrupted. As large numbers of strangers start to arrive, Viennese Jews abruptly uprooted from their homes, some insist things can return to normal if just the Ostjuden are sent to Poland. But Pappenheim, who seems to be a stand-in for collaborationists, urges everyone to embrace Poland as a marvellous opportunity for radical change.
Appelfeld’s piece has an allegorical flavour that reminded me of T. F. Powy’s Mr Weston’s Good Wine and Barbara Comyns at her most surreal. It’s disorientating and episodic – the imagery’s a tad heavy-handed at times – but it’s also uncomfortably timely, with a chilling, hallucinatory quality I found hypnotic. Appelfeld’s perspective’s intriguing, unsettling and contradictory. Phillip Roth, an admirer of his work, dubbed him a writer primarily engaged with dislocation and displacement, these are certainly key themes - both internal and external. Badenheim itself gradually morphs into a version of the ghettoes and transit camps set up during WW2. But Appelfeld’s also writing as a survivor who escaped a concentration camp. He’s clearly invested in exploring why some Jews survived the Holocaust and others didn’t: caught up in questions about culpability; debates around submission versus resistance. He sometimes seems disdainful of his characters, portraying them as incapable of learning from history, decadent and deluded - they ultimately accept, perhaps even embrace their situation. Translated by Dalya Bilyu.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Penguin Modern Classics for an ARC
Rating: 3.5 rounded up
Time passes, the Sanitation Department sends more and more representatives, setting up a Badenheim office, then requiring anyone of Jewish descent to visit to register in the Golden Book. Gradually the Sanitation Department steps up its activities, bringing in wire fencing, pouring concrete; advertising the benefits of migrating to Poland. Rumours start to spread, divisions come to the fore, those who see themselves as thoroughly Austrian wonder if registration is the fault of the Ostjuden – Yiddish-speaking, Eastern European Jews forced to leave their homes after WW1. Ostjuden whose culture’s perceived as alien by established, liberal Westjuden (Western Jews). It’s a divide which invokes the use of the Ostjuden as scapegoats, immigrants whose presence was politicised to fuel virulent nationalism and antisemitism in Nazi Germany. Although Appelfeld’s narrative, which often resembles a nightmarish fairy tale, rarely refers to historical or current events, except in the most elliptical manner. He relies on his title as a framing device to position his readers.
Badenheim’s slowly transformed, cut off from the outside: the Post Office closes, supplies dry up, and amenities shut down one by one. Trude sees wolves ravening all around, something blamed on her inability to forget her childhood in Poland – a veiled reference to the brutal pogroms that spurred an earlier wave of immigration. Others deny that there’s a problem, that their Jewishness is overridden by their status as Austrian citizens with generations of Austrian ancestors. They cling to a faith in law and order - they can’t see why they should worry about things that took place long ago, in countries not their own. The atmosphere in Badenheim’s increasingly ominous, frenetic, relationships are fractious, fractured. There’s a sense of time being disrupted. As large numbers of strangers start to arrive, Viennese Jews abruptly uprooted from their homes, some insist things can return to normal if just the Ostjuden are sent to Poland. But Pappenheim, who seems to be a stand-in for collaborationists, urges everyone to embrace Poland as a marvellous opportunity for radical change.
Appelfeld’s piece has an allegorical flavour that reminded me of T. F. Powy’s Mr Weston’s Good Wine and Barbara Comyns at her most surreal. It’s disorientating and episodic – the imagery’s a tad heavy-handed at times – but it’s also uncomfortably timely, with a chilling, hallucinatory quality I found hypnotic. Appelfeld’s perspective’s intriguing, unsettling and contradictory. Phillip Roth, an admirer of his work, dubbed him a writer primarily engaged with dislocation and displacement, these are certainly key themes - both internal and external. Badenheim itself gradually morphs into a version of the ghettoes and transit camps set up during WW2. But Appelfeld’s also writing as a survivor who escaped a concentration camp. He’s clearly invested in exploring why some Jews survived the Holocaust and others didn’t: caught up in questions about culpability; debates around submission versus resistance. He sometimes seems disdainful of his characters, portraying them as incapable of learning from history, decadent and deluded - they ultimately accept, perhaps even embrace their situation. Translated by Dalya Bilyu.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Penguin Modern Classics for an ARC
Rating: 3.5 rounded up
January 17, 2022
An engrossing novella translated from the Hebrew. The Shoah begins in a parallel universe. The resort town of Badenheim is undergoing a quarantine. All the Jews must register with the Sanitation Department. Mail service is stopped; all phones disconnected. The performing artists Dr. Pappenheim, the impresario, has contracted with don’t show up for the season’s cultural festival. Then word gets out that everyone will be resettled in Poland. The locals and visitors—all Jews—go through phases of doubt and optimism, resignation and acceptance. Some residents, a few, are upset at being labeled Jews. Surely the Sanitation Department must mean the Ostjuden, not them. “Every day new people arrived, the descendants of old Badenheim families. The curse of the town had pursued them all these years and now it had finally caught up with them. They wandered about in the paralyzed void of the town like lost souls.” (p. 105)
There is among the Poland boosters this dreamy language of the aspiring emigrant, which, though here referring to a fictional Poland, might have been a dream shared among many about Israel itself once: “‘I come from there,’ he went on in the same whisper. ‘I spent my childhood and youth in Poland. I know them well. A year or two among them and you’ll forget everything. To get up in the morning and go to synagogue. Is that bad? You’ll pray. Is that bad? Is it a sin to pray? And if you’re lucky enough to have a shop in the center of town you’ll earn a good living too.’”
The speaker is Salo (which might refer to either Pier Pasolini’s film Salò or 120 Days of Sodom, or the German puppet state in Italy after the fall of Mussolini, Republic of Salò, or both, or neither). “Don’t put on airs,” Salo says to a registrant with the Sanitation Department who is unconvinced resettlement bodes well. “You’re going to my birth place and motherland. All I’m trying to do is give you a little information. I’d advise you to leave your arrogant ways behind you. In Poland people treat each other with respect.” (p. 123) I think Salo is a shill. Merits re-reading, high praise in my book.
There is among the Poland boosters this dreamy language of the aspiring emigrant, which, though here referring to a fictional Poland, might have been a dream shared among many about Israel itself once: “‘I come from there,’ he went on in the same whisper. ‘I spent my childhood and youth in Poland. I know them well. A year or two among them and you’ll forget everything. To get up in the morning and go to synagogue. Is that bad? You’ll pray. Is that bad? Is it a sin to pray? And if you’re lucky enough to have a shop in the center of town you’ll earn a good living too.’”
The speaker is Salo (which might refer to either Pier Pasolini’s film Salò or 120 Days of Sodom, or the German puppet state in Italy after the fall of Mussolini, Republic of Salò, or both, or neither). “Don’t put on airs,” Salo says to a registrant with the Sanitation Department who is unconvinced resettlement bodes well. “You’re going to my birth place and motherland. All I’m trying to do is give you a little information. I’d advise you to leave your arrogant ways behind you. In Poland people treat each other with respect.” (p. 123) I think Salo is a shill. Merits re-reading, high praise in my book.
January 4, 2018
Il mio ricordo di lettura di Aharon Appelfeld, scomparso ieri.
Come pesci in bottiglia
Sono un po' perplessa da questo mio primo incontro con Aharon Appelfeld.
La lettura della prima pagina mi ha irritata: frasi cortissime, periodi semplici: soggetto, predicato verbale, punto. Una sensazione di interruzione continua.
Ho pensato «Se è tutto così saranno le centoquarantuno pagine più lunghe della storia!», poi per fortuna la narrazione (ed io con lei) ha preso respiro ed è partita la storia.
Una storia semplice, ma mai chiara, come avvolta dalla foschia, da un velo che spostandosi, o dissolvendosi lentamente, permette di scoprire oggetti e persone che ci circondano solo quando li urtiamo.
La storia, dicevo, è piuttosto semplice: è primavera a Badenheim, ridente località di villeggiatura austriaca, e come ogni anno gli abitanti e i villeggianti - per la maggior parte ricche famiglie ebree di origine polacca - sono in fermento per l'organizzazione del Festival delle Arti.
L'impresario Pappenheim riesce a fatica a gestire le attrazioni: l'Orchestra che quest'anno è riuscita ad ottenere stanze migliori, gli altezzosi "Gemelli" che si chiudono nella loro camera senza comunicare con nessuno, il bambino prodigio che nessuno sa bene se trattare come un adulto o come un bambino, persino il famosissimo artista che dovrebbe arrivare ma che ancora non si è visto.
Nonostante alcune incertezze che sembrano essere ormai consolidata tradizione del Festival, tutto sembra però proseguire per il meglio, finché un misterioso Dipartimento della Salute inizia a promulgare provvedimenti restrittivi nei confronti degli ebrei e la voce di un'imminente partenza degli stessi per la Polonia a diffondersi nell'albergo, dove ruotano incessantemente artisti, villeggianti e gli abitanti di Badenheim.
L'atmosfera che crea Applfeld però non è di dramma imminente ma di sospensione e attesa fiduciosa e le stesse restrizioni non sono vissute come tali dai protagonisti, ma semplicemente come attenzioni che hanno lo scopo di tutelarli e proteggerli.
Così quando saranno chiuse le porte della città, quando inizieranno a non poter più uscire dall'albergo, quando infine inizieranno persino a scarseggiare i viveri, quando tutti gli ebrei saranno riuniti ed isolati dal resto della popolazione, anche l'ultimo provvedimento, quello che li trasporterà in colonna alla stazione della cittadina, sarà accettato con pacata rassegnazione e con un brivido di emozione nei confronti di quell'ormai certo ritorno in Polonia, che sarà sì un ritorno a casa per molti di loro, ma anche un viaggio verso l'ignoto.
Un viaggio che nessuno tra loro sa ancora di dover affrontare tra privazioni e sofferenze, come i pesci dell'acquario dell'albergo, ormai abbandonato a se stesso, che la mano pietosa di un cliente chiude in una bottiglia decidendo di portarli con sé; quei pesci, simbolo persino troppo evidente dell'inutile sacrificio, soffriranno la mancanza di ossigeno, lo spazio troppo piccolo e alcuni tra loro moriranno prima di arrivare alla meta: come gli ebrei di Badenheim nel 1939 in partenza per la Polonia.
Peccato però che a fronte di una storia a mio parere bellissima, corrispondano uno stile ed una scrittura che non riescono a scendere mai in profondità e che quella nebulosa iniziale non si dissolva mai, lasciando il lettore costantemente in attesa di un evento o di un cambio di registro nella narrazione che contribuiscano a metterlo di fronte alla realtà.
Ma forse, lo stupore e la meraviglia, lo spaesamento e la supina accettazione di ogni decisione, senza clamori né proteste, senza ribellioni né lacrime, sono proprio quello che l'autore voleva descriverci: agnelli che vanno al sacrificio colmi di fiducia verso la mano che li guida. Anzi, come pesci in bottiglia che sperano di tornare a nuotare in acque libere.
Come pesci in bottiglia
Sono un po' perplessa da questo mio primo incontro con Aharon Appelfeld.
La lettura della prima pagina mi ha irritata: frasi cortissime, periodi semplici: soggetto, predicato verbale, punto. Una sensazione di interruzione continua.
Ho pensato «Se è tutto così saranno le centoquarantuno pagine più lunghe della storia!», poi per fortuna la narrazione (ed io con lei) ha preso respiro ed è partita la storia.
Una storia semplice, ma mai chiara, come avvolta dalla foschia, da un velo che spostandosi, o dissolvendosi lentamente, permette di scoprire oggetti e persone che ci circondano solo quando li urtiamo.
La storia, dicevo, è piuttosto semplice: è primavera a Badenheim, ridente località di villeggiatura austriaca, e come ogni anno gli abitanti e i villeggianti - per la maggior parte ricche famiglie ebree di origine polacca - sono in fermento per l'organizzazione del Festival delle Arti.
L'impresario Pappenheim riesce a fatica a gestire le attrazioni: l'Orchestra che quest'anno è riuscita ad ottenere stanze migliori, gli altezzosi "Gemelli" che si chiudono nella loro camera senza comunicare con nessuno, il bambino prodigio che nessuno sa bene se trattare come un adulto o come un bambino, persino il famosissimo artista che dovrebbe arrivare ma che ancora non si è visto.
Nonostante alcune incertezze che sembrano essere ormai consolidata tradizione del Festival, tutto sembra però proseguire per il meglio, finché un misterioso Dipartimento della Salute inizia a promulgare provvedimenti restrittivi nei confronti degli ebrei e la voce di un'imminente partenza degli stessi per la Polonia a diffondersi nell'albergo, dove ruotano incessantemente artisti, villeggianti e gli abitanti di Badenheim.
L'atmosfera che crea Applfeld però non è di dramma imminente ma di sospensione e attesa fiduciosa e le stesse restrizioni non sono vissute come tali dai protagonisti, ma semplicemente come attenzioni che hanno lo scopo di tutelarli e proteggerli.
Così quando saranno chiuse le porte della città, quando inizieranno a non poter più uscire dall'albergo, quando infine inizieranno persino a scarseggiare i viveri, quando tutti gli ebrei saranno riuniti ed isolati dal resto della popolazione, anche l'ultimo provvedimento, quello che li trasporterà in colonna alla stazione della cittadina, sarà accettato con pacata rassegnazione e con un brivido di emozione nei confronti di quell'ormai certo ritorno in Polonia, che sarà sì un ritorno a casa per molti di loro, ma anche un viaggio verso l'ignoto.
Un viaggio che nessuno tra loro sa ancora di dover affrontare tra privazioni e sofferenze, come i pesci dell'acquario dell'albergo, ormai abbandonato a se stesso, che la mano pietosa di un cliente chiude in una bottiglia decidendo di portarli con sé; quei pesci, simbolo persino troppo evidente dell'inutile sacrificio, soffriranno la mancanza di ossigeno, lo spazio troppo piccolo e alcuni tra loro moriranno prima di arrivare alla meta: come gli ebrei di Badenheim nel 1939 in partenza per la Polonia.
Peccato però che a fronte di una storia a mio parere bellissima, corrispondano uno stile ed una scrittura che non riescono a scendere mai in profondità e che quella nebulosa iniziale non si dissolva mai, lasciando il lettore costantemente in attesa di un evento o di un cambio di registro nella narrazione che contribuiscano a metterlo di fronte alla realtà.
Ma forse, lo stupore e la meraviglia, lo spaesamento e la supina accettazione di ogni decisione, senza clamori né proteste, senza ribellioni né lacrime, sono proprio quello che l'autore voleva descriverci: agnelli che vanno al sacrificio colmi di fiducia verso la mano che li guida. Anzi, come pesci in bottiglia che sperano di tornare a nuotare in acque libere.
January 7, 2021
"Işık yer değiştirmiyordu. Havada donup kalmış bir dikkat vardı. Yabanıl, turuncu bir gölge sardunyanın yapraklarını gizlice dişliyordu."
(s.53)
122 sayfa, 76.000 kelime olmuş 2013'ten beri buraya yazdığım 1029 yorumun yekünü. 2013 yılında başlamıştı Goodreads serüvenim. Öncesinde kırmızı naylon kaplı bir defterim vardı 12 yaşımdan beri tuttuğum. Bunun dijital ortamda bulunup bulunmadığını araştırırken keşfetmiştim burayı. 8 yılda çok anılarım oldu. Buradan tanıştığım insanlar oldu. Bazılarıyla görüştük. Bazıları ile yollarımız ayrıldı. Hiç yüzünü görmediğim dostlarım oldu burada, her yorumumu takip eden. Her yorumunu takip ettiğim... Başka sitelerde yorumlarımı çalanlar oldu. Hiç gocunmadan kendi yorumlarıymış gibi yazan... Ve şimdi 1030. yoruma başlıyorum bunları düşünerek...
Çok etkiledi bu kitap beni. Pek çok yönüyle. İnsanların küçüklüğü, zayıflığı, acizliği... Küçün insanların kendilerinden büyük kudretler karşısında savrulup gidişleri. Romanımda da değinmiştim buna benzer bir duruma. Romanımda verdiğim örnek bir insanın alıp incelediği salyangozun çaresizliği idi. Kendinden büyük bir kudret karşısında duyulan korku ile karışık teslimiyet...
Bu roman çok etkileyici. İnsana şu soruyu sorduruyor, şimdi bu rahat koltuğumda oturuyorum ancak bundan 20 yıl sonra ne olacağını, 10 yıl sonra ne olacağını ve hatta yarın ne olacağını hiç bilmeden!
Bu kitabın girişindeki önsöz talihsiz olmuş. Önsözü yarıda bıraktım çünkü kitapla ilgili kilit bazı ipuçlarını ortaya çıkarıyor. Ben kitapları okumadan önce haklarında hiçbir şey okumamayı yeğlerim. Buradaki yorumları da genellikle kitapları okuduktan sonra okurum. Bu nedenle bu önsözden keyif alacağımı sanmıyordum.
İnsanı derinden sarsan bir eser. Hüzünlü, üzücü. Ancak Anne Sexton insanın kötü olduğunu söylemişti, değil mi?
Haklıydı.
M. Baran
08.01.2021
Bir de şarkı bırakayım; Elena Ledda - Pesa
122 sayfa, 76.000 kelime olmuş 2013'ten beri buraya yazdığım 1029 yorumun yekünü. 2013 yılında başlamıştı Goodreads serüvenim. Öncesinde kırmızı naylon kaplı bir defterim vardı 12 yaşımdan beri tuttuğum. Bunun dijital ortamda bulunup bulunmadığını araştırırken keşfetmiştim burayı. 8 yılda çok anılarım oldu. Buradan tanıştığım insanlar oldu. Bazılarıyla görüştük. Bazıları ile yollarımız ayrıldı. Hiç yüzünü görmediğim dostlarım oldu burada, her yorumumu takip eden. Her yorumunu takip ettiğim... Başka sitelerde yorumlarımı çalanlar oldu. Hiç gocunmadan kendi yorumlarıymış gibi yazan... Ve şimdi 1030. yoruma başlıyorum bunları düşünerek...
Çok etkiledi bu kitap beni. Pek çok yönüyle. İnsanların küçüklüğü, zayıflığı, acizliği... Küçün insanların kendilerinden büyük kudretler karşısında savrulup gidişleri. Romanımda da değinmiştim buna benzer bir duruma. Romanımda verdiğim örnek bir insanın alıp incelediği salyangozun çaresizliği idi. Kendinden büyük bir kudret karşısında duyulan korku ile karışık teslimiyet...
Bu roman çok etkileyici. İnsana şu soruyu sorduruyor, şimdi bu rahat koltuğumda oturuyorum ancak bundan 20 yıl sonra ne olacağını, 10 yıl sonra ne olacağını ve hatta yarın ne olacağını hiç bilmeden!
Bu kitabın girişindeki önsöz talihsiz olmuş. Önsözü yarıda bıraktım çünkü kitapla ilgili kilit bazı ipuçlarını ortaya çıkarıyor. Ben kitapları okumadan önce haklarında hiçbir şey okumamayı yeğlerim. Buradaki yorumları da genellikle kitapları okuduktan sonra okurum. Bu nedenle bu önsözden keyif alacağımı sanmıyordum.
İnsanı derinden sarsan bir eser. Hüzünlü, üzücü. Ancak Anne Sexton insanın kötü olduğunu söylemişti, değil mi?
Haklıydı.
M. Baran
08.01.2021
Bir de şarkı bırakayım; Elena Ledda - Pesa
February 2, 2025
Con questo romanzo molto breve e molto corale, il lettore si beccherà per prima cosa un pugno nello stomaco, e poi una coltellata nella schiena. Si tratta sì di una fiaba, ma una fiaba più che gotica, una fiaba dell'orrido. Orrido nel senso di sprofondo.
Con un'allegoria blandissima e semplicissima (e pertanto di immediata comprensione), qui si dimostra concretamente come è stata possibile la Shoah (questo il pugno nello stomaco di cui sopra); ma per tutta la durata della lettura non ho potuto fare anche a meno di notare come questo autore, nel 1980 o giù di lì, abbia profetizzato con sorprendente esattezza e precisione una miriade di situazioni e termini, e ancora pensieri e affermazioni e contesti che tutti noi abbiamo vissuto in quello che passerà universalmente alla storia come "il lockdown" (e questa è quindi la coltellata nella schiena).
Non mi sento di dire che il libro mi ha emozionata, per lo meno non nel senso positivo del termine, ma di sicuro ha saputo destabilizzarmi e trasmettermi la sua angoscia; dunque se lo scopo della letteratura deve essere di smuoverti qualcosa dentro, in un modo o nell'altro, di certo questo libro il suo mestiere l'ha fatto. Paradossalmente, anche se non descrive nessun orrore in maniera esplicita, trovo sia uno dei più duri in tema di Shoah. Anche un po' ipnotico, con la sua cantilena fatta di frasi brevissime e semplicissime.
In maniera indiretta, questa fiaba/allegoria si collega alle domande che l'autore stesso si pone in L'amore, d'improvviso , per tramite del suo protagonista: ha senso raccontare la Shoah, ha senso mettersi a scrivere, tentare di mettere nero su bianco una catastrofe così indescrivibile? Non potrebbe avere senso, piuttosto, ammettere che se la catastrofe è immane e indescrivibile, tanto vale portarle il rispetto di non provarcisi nemmeno? E comunque, ammettendo che abbia un senso provare a raccontare, ha senso farlo in forma di fiaba (anche se solo un po' più lugubre)?
La tesi del "silenzio definitivo", a mio modesto parere, non sarebbe del tutto sciocca e del tutto da scartare. Mi si potrebbe replicare che se non si racconta, se non se ne parla, tutto finisce dimenticato, che i giovani non sapranno mai e non impareranno. Al che io risponderei, un po' cinicamente, che basta guardare cosa è successo in questo lockdown, come ha fatto in fretta a propagarsi l'odio smodato, la cattiveria che ha separato amici e nuclei familiari; la smania di "nuovo ordine", di una novità qualsiasi pur che sia, e un certo ottimismo ingenuo, un'euforia aggressiva. In quella occasione siamo tutti finiti in un orribile tritacarne, bastava un niente e violenze assurde ed insensate si sarebbero manifestate ovunque; eppure l'olocausto a scuola ce l'hanno ben spiegato e insegnato a tutti, e comunque nessuno a scuola ha mai ricevuto l'insegnamento "odia a morte tutti quelli un poco diversi da te e tutti quelli che fanno un poco diversamente da te". Forse c'è qualcos'altro che deve essere spiegato ai bambini (ma anche ai grandini), qualcosa di più essenziale ed impellente della semplice meccanica della distruzione e della morte. Quindi, alla fin fine, mi ritrovo sempre a rimuginare gli stessi dubbi e a ripensare sempre ad Austelitz di Loznitsa (ormai sarà la centesima volta che lo cito in una recensione, ora non so se mi daranno un premio o una multa).
Ancora, mi si potrebbe replicare che sto vaneggiando ed esagerando, che paragonare le assurdità e la disorganizzazione ed anche l'emotività in tempi di lockdown da covid-19 con il massacro di milioni di ebrei, significa paragonare due cose completamente diverse su due piani immensamente distanti. Per carità, l'esito è stato immensamente distante, questo è fuori di dubbio. Ma l'inizio-inizio mostra somiglianze impressionanti. L'ottimismo ingenuo, la fiducia nel fatto che le procedure frettolose sarebbero poi state rivedute e corrette, una certa rilassatezza e quasi contentezza nell'accettare e subire restrizioni ("...e quest'anno, per via delle restrizioni, l'atmosfera è intima"), il piacere quasi esibito di sentirsi protagonisti della Storia ("questi tempi resteranno per sempre nella memoria"), la rilassatezza con cui tutta la comunità ripiega sui piaceri del cibo e del bere e si gode l'intera faccenda come una vacanza inaspettata e immeritata, l'inebriante follia dello starsene sulla terrazza ad osservare il tutto - giuro, mi aspettavo che da un momento all'altro qualcuno di questi protagonisti appendesse sulla terrazza uno striscione con su scritto "andrà tutto bene" - dapprima in una fase di iperventilazione e in seguito di prostrazione; le somiglianze che ho osservato mio malgrado andando avanti con la lettura sono davvero impressionanti, sono troppe per non rilevarle e non restarne sgomenti. Poi, ovviamente, ciascuno potrà trarne le conclusioni che meglio crede. Fino al prossimo giro di giostra.
Con un'allegoria blandissima e semplicissima (e pertanto di immediata comprensione), qui si dimostra concretamente come è stata possibile la Shoah (questo il pugno nello stomaco di cui sopra); ma per tutta la durata della lettura non ho potuto fare anche a meno di notare come questo autore, nel 1980 o giù di lì, abbia profetizzato con sorprendente esattezza e precisione una miriade di situazioni e termini, e ancora pensieri e affermazioni e contesti che tutti noi abbiamo vissuto in quello che passerà universalmente alla storia come "il lockdown" (e questa è quindi la coltellata nella schiena).
Non mi sento di dire che il libro mi ha emozionata, per lo meno non nel senso positivo del termine, ma di sicuro ha saputo destabilizzarmi e trasmettermi la sua angoscia; dunque se lo scopo della letteratura deve essere di smuoverti qualcosa dentro, in un modo o nell'altro, di certo questo libro il suo mestiere l'ha fatto. Paradossalmente, anche se non descrive nessun orrore in maniera esplicita, trovo sia uno dei più duri in tema di Shoah. Anche un po' ipnotico, con la sua cantilena fatta di frasi brevissime e semplicissime.
In maniera indiretta, questa fiaba/allegoria si collega alle domande che l'autore stesso si pone in L'amore, d'improvviso , per tramite del suo protagonista: ha senso raccontare la Shoah, ha senso mettersi a scrivere, tentare di mettere nero su bianco una catastrofe così indescrivibile? Non potrebbe avere senso, piuttosto, ammettere che se la catastrofe è immane e indescrivibile, tanto vale portarle il rispetto di non provarcisi nemmeno? E comunque, ammettendo che abbia un senso provare a raccontare, ha senso farlo in forma di fiaba (anche se solo un po' più lugubre)?
La tesi del "silenzio definitivo", a mio modesto parere, non sarebbe del tutto sciocca e del tutto da scartare. Mi si potrebbe replicare che se non si racconta, se non se ne parla, tutto finisce dimenticato, che i giovani non sapranno mai e non impareranno. Al che io risponderei, un po' cinicamente, che basta guardare cosa è successo in questo lockdown, come ha fatto in fretta a propagarsi l'odio smodato, la cattiveria che ha separato amici e nuclei familiari; la smania di "nuovo ordine", di una novità qualsiasi pur che sia, e un certo ottimismo ingenuo, un'euforia aggressiva. In quella occasione siamo tutti finiti in un orribile tritacarne, bastava un niente e violenze assurde ed insensate si sarebbero manifestate ovunque; eppure l'olocausto a scuola ce l'hanno ben spiegato e insegnato a tutti, e comunque nessuno a scuola ha mai ricevuto l'insegnamento "odia a morte tutti quelli un poco diversi da te e tutti quelli che fanno un poco diversamente da te". Forse c'è qualcos'altro che deve essere spiegato ai bambini (ma anche ai grandini), qualcosa di più essenziale ed impellente della semplice meccanica della distruzione e della morte. Quindi, alla fin fine, mi ritrovo sempre a rimuginare gli stessi dubbi e a ripensare sempre ad Austelitz di Loznitsa (ormai sarà la centesima volta che lo cito in una recensione, ora non so se mi daranno un premio o una multa).
Ancora, mi si potrebbe replicare che sto vaneggiando ed esagerando, che paragonare le assurdità e la disorganizzazione ed anche l'emotività in tempi di lockdown da covid-19 con il massacro di milioni di ebrei, significa paragonare due cose completamente diverse su due piani immensamente distanti. Per carità, l'esito è stato immensamente distante, questo è fuori di dubbio. Ma l'inizio-inizio mostra somiglianze impressionanti. L'ottimismo ingenuo, la fiducia nel fatto che le procedure frettolose sarebbero poi state rivedute e corrette, una certa rilassatezza e quasi contentezza nell'accettare e subire restrizioni ("...e quest'anno, per via delle restrizioni, l'atmosfera è intima"), il piacere quasi esibito di sentirsi protagonisti della Storia ("questi tempi resteranno per sempre nella memoria"), la rilassatezza con cui tutta la comunità ripiega sui piaceri del cibo e del bere e si gode l'intera faccenda come una vacanza inaspettata e immeritata, l'inebriante follia dello starsene sulla terrazza ad osservare il tutto - giuro, mi aspettavo che da un momento all'altro qualcuno di questi protagonisti appendesse sulla terrazza uno striscione con su scritto "andrà tutto bene" - dapprima in una fase di iperventilazione e in seguito di prostrazione; le somiglianze che ho osservato mio malgrado andando avanti con la lettura sono davvero impressionanti, sono troppe per non rilevarle e non restarne sgomenti. Poi, ovviamente, ciascuno potrà trarne le conclusioni che meglio crede. Fino al prossimo giro di giostra.
April 1, 2008
I so wanted to like this book. It's hard to know if its failure lies partly in the translation or if the work itself just lacks. The flow of the story felt choppy, the language sometimes repetitive. For a Holocaust story it entirely lacked emotion. At times I found it confusing, especially with the characters. There were so many 2-dimensional characters that I just didn't feel like I got to know any of them at all, which lead me to sometimes forget who was who - and even worse, I formed no emotional attachment to any of them and therefore was not moved by their imminent extermination. The story follows the mountain vacation town of Badenheim from Spring to Autum 1939. The story progresses from their leisurely vacation in the beginning, to their mandatory registration with the Sanitation Dept, to their ghettoization in the summer, to their forced removal to Poland in the Fall. However, most characters are complacent to emigrate to Poland, except for the few Jews that are Austrian born and don't understand why they, too, have to leave. This creates resentment with the Ostjuden, which I presume are non-Austrian Jews?? or non-modern Jews? To sound cliched, they are like sheeps to the slaughter happily going to the train station, thinking that there is some reward for them in Poland. Even when the trains arrive, which turn out to be cargo trains and not passenger cabins, Dr. Pappenhaim comments that it must be a short journey if they are permitted to travel in such a filthy way. The story felt entirely undeveloped to me. Almost like an outline that was never filled in. There were details where none were necessary, and a total lack of detail and emotion everywhere else. Such a disappointment.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 1, 2015
হলোকস্ট সাহিত্য যে অল্প কিছু পড়েছি, একেকজন লেখকের একেকরকম দৃষ্টিকোণ থেকে। আর্ট স্পিগেল্ম্যানের বিখ্যাত কমিক উপন্যাস "মাউস" ছিল কল্পনায় অভিনব - গ্যাস চেম্বার থেকে কপাল-জোরে বেঁচে যাওয়া পিতা-মাতার শিল্পী সন্তানের হলোকস্ট-ভাবনা। চেক লেখক জিরি ভাইল একদম ভেতর থেকে দেখেছিলেন যজ্ঞ - নাৎসি-কবলিত প্রাগে একজন মরিয়া ইহুদির লুকিয়ে থাকার গল্প "লাইফ উইথ আ ষ্টার"। অর্ধাহার-অনাহারে মরে যাবে প্রয়োজনে কিন্তু তবুও স্বেচ্ছায় ক্যাম্পের ট্রেনের জন্যে সে নাম লেখাবে না, কোনক্রমেই সে তেরেজিনে যা-বে-না। এলি ভিজেলের ততোধিক বিখ্যাত "নাইট" উপন্যাসের শুরুতে কিশোর লেখক আর তার বাবা রওনা হচ্ছে ভিটে-মাটি ছেড়ে বেওয়ারিশ মৃত্যুর উদ্দেশ্যে। আর আহারন আপেলফেল্ডের "বাডেনহাইম ১৯৩৯" বলা যেতে পারে মরণ-যাত্রার পূর্ববর্তী অধ্যায়। এই বইটা fable নাকি parable, রূপকথা নাকি উপমা, এখনো সিদ্ধান্ত নিতে পারছি না। কিন্তু হলোকস্ট সাহিত্যের আদর্শ উদাহরন কোন সন্দেহ নেই।
সময়কাল ১৯৩৯ - দ্বিতীয় বিশ্বযুদ্ধের আগে শেষ বসন্ত। স্থান অস্ট্রিয়ার অভ্যন্তরে একটি ছোট পর্যটন-নগরী বাডেনহাইম - খনিজ-সমৃদ্ধ প্রাকৃতিক ঝর্ণার জন্যে বিখ্যাত। শীতের শেষে আড়মোড়া ভাঙ্গে ঘুমঘুম শহর, শিগগিরই স্পা ট্রিটমেন্ট নেয়ার জন্যে হাজির হবেন অসংখ্য অতিথি। হোটেলের রূম সব ভরে যায়, রেস্তোরা-কাফের ব্যবসা চলে জমজমাট।
অতিথিদের একটা বিরাট সংখ্যা হচ্ছে ইহুদি, স্বচ্ছল মধ্যবিত্ত বা ধনিক শ্রেণীর সদস্য। বহু আগে হয়তো পোল্যান্ড থেকে এসেছিল এদের বাপ-দাদারা কিন্তু এখন সবাই আপাদমস্তক অস্ট্রিয়ান। মাতৃভাষাও খাঁটি জার্মান - হিব্রু, পোলিশ, বা পূর্ব ইউরোপের ইহুদিদের য়িডিশ (Yiddish) ভাষা প্রায় কেউই জানে না আর। এক কথায়, পুরোদমে assimilated জার্মান ইহুদি।
প্রতি বছর ডক্টর পাপেনহাইম নামে একজন নিরলস উদ্যোক্তা হোটেলের অতিথিদের মনোরঞ্জনের জন্যে সাংস্কৃতিক অনুষ্ঠানের আয়োজন করেন - নিয়ে আসেন ব্যান্ড পার্টি, নামকরা গায়ক, সঙ্গীতজ্ঞ, আবৃত্তিকার। এই বছরও তার ব্যত্যয় ঘটেনি। একটি আয়েশী নির্ঝঞ্ঝাট ছুটি কাটানোর জন্যে সবরকম সুব্যবস্থা আছে মনোরম বাডেনহাইমে।
কিন্তু কিছু কিছু জিনিস ব্যতিক্রম হচ্ছে এবার। স্যানিটেশন ডিপার্টমেন্ট থেকে হঠাৎ আদেশ এলো সবাইকে রেজিস্ট্রেশন করতে হবে - মানে সবাই না ঠিক, শুধু শহরের ইহুদি পরিবার, আর হোটেলের ইহুদি অতিথিরা। তারপর আবার যেন কি হলো, শহর থেকে আসা-যাওয়ার রাস্তাও বন্ধ করে দেয়া হলো - কে জানে কেন, নিশ্চয়ই টেম্পোরারি ব্যবস্থা হবে হয়তো?
সূর্যের সতেজ স্নান আর উচ্ছল আনন্দঘন পরিবেশ দিয়ে শুরু হয়েছিল যে বই, ক্রমশ তার গদ্যে পচন ধরে, অসুস্থ অন্ধকার ঘনীভূত হয়। আরো বাদে নির্দেশ আসে সকল ইহুদিকে আদিভূমি পোল্যান্ডে স্থানান্তর করা হবে। পোলিশ-য়িডিশ সব ভূলে যাওয়া হোটেলের অতিথিরা এই সংবাদ কিভাবে নেবে ঠাহর করে উঠতে পারে না। বাপ-দাদাদের ফেলে আসা অচেনা দেশে এত যুগ পরে ফেরত গিয়ে কি করবে সবাই? শহরের বাইরে থেকেও প্রচুর ইহুদি নিয়ে আসা হচ্ছে, সবাইকে একত্রে রাখার উদ্দেশ্যে। নতুন জীবনে চালানের দিন যেন ঘনিয়ে আসে।
এভাবে করেই রূপকের মাধ্যমে আপেল্ফেল্ড দেখিয়েছেন গলায় ফাঁস পড়ানোর অমোঘ প্রক্রিয়া - পূর্ব ইউরোপের ছয় লক্ষ ইহুদি যেন টেরও পায়নি ফাঁস কিভাবে টাইট হয়েছিল, অতি ধ��রে, সন্তর্পণে, এমনকি গ্যাস চেম্বারের ভেতরে দাঁড়িয়েও অনেকে ভেবেছিলেন স্রেফ গোসলখানা, মাথার উপর গ্যাসকল খুলে দেয়ার ঠিক আগমুহূর্ত পর্যন্ত। এই ইচ্ছাকৃত অজ্ঞতা, ঘোরতর denial, বিপর্যয়ের মুখে নির্লিপ্ত-নির্জীব-নিবীর্য-নিষ্ক্রিয় ইহুদিদের চিরস্থায়ী চিত্র বাডেনহাইম ১৯৩৯।
উপন্যাসের অন্যতম আকর্ষণ এর চরিত্র চিত্রণ - ডক্টর প্যাপেনহাইম, অসুস্থ ট্রুডি আর তার ফার্মাসিস্ট স্বামী মার্ট��ন, দুই বয়স্ক বারবনিতা গার্টি আর স্যালি, বিদ্যান প্রফেসর ড: ফুসহোল্ট এবং ড: শুটস, কোম্পানির সেলসম্যান সালো, কার্ল আর তার নতুন বান্ধবী লোটে, ব্যান্ডের বুড়ো বাদক সামিৎস্কি, স্বাস্থ্যনিবাস থেকে পলাতক যক্ষারোগী ফ্রাউ জাউবার্ব্লিট, বিখ্যাত শিল্পী ম্যান্ডেলবাউম, রিলকের কবিতা আবৃত্তি করা দুই জমজ ভাই, হোটেলের হেড ওয়েটার, আরো অনেকে। জেনোসাইডের আগে ইউরোপীয় ইহুদি সমাজের রংধনু বৈচিত্র্য ফুটে উঠেছে বইয়ের পাতায় পাতায়।
Ostjuden বা eastern Jews, পূবদেশ থেকে আগত ইহুদিদের বিরুদ্ধে সনাতনী জার্মান/অস্ট্রিয়ান ইহুদিদের প্রচলিত বিদ্বেষ বা বৈষম্যও টের পাওয়া যায়। (ঠিক যেন মফস্বলের বহিরাগতদের বিরুদ্ধে ঢাকার পোলাপাইনের উষ্মা-অবজ্ঞার মত।) কিন্তু কি যায় আসে? হিটলার তো আর বেছে দেখেনি কে পূবের আর কে পশ্চিমের। গণহত্যার শীতল সংকল্পে নাৎসিরা ছিল উদারমনা, নির্বিচার। সবাইকেই ঘাড় ধরে পাঠানো হয়েছিল মৃত্যুর পথে।
ছয় মিলিয়ন মৃতের সংখ্যা। ৭০ বছর কেটে গেছে, কিন্তু ইউরোপে ইহুদিদের জনসংখ্যা এখনো টেনেটুনে ১ মিলিয়নের মত হবে। অথচ পাশ্চাত্যে আধুনিকতাবাদ বা মডার্নিজমের জন্মই হয়েছিল ইউরোপীয় ইহুদিদের হাত ধরে। বিংশ শতাব্দীর সভ্যতা সৃষ্টিতে মার্ক্স, ফ্রয়েড, আইনস্টাইনের মত জার্মান ইহুদিদের অবদান সর্বাগ্রে, কিন্তু ঠিক পেছনেই ছিলেন আরো শত শত নক্ষত্র - কাফকা, প্রুস্ত, শাগাল, ট্রটস্কি, পাস্তের্নাক, মাহ্লার, শ্যোনবার্গ, ডুর্খাইম, মেন্ডেলসন, মোদিগ্লিয়ানি, আইজেনস্টাইন - এদের বাদ দিয়ে পশ্চিমা সভ্যতা কল্পনা করা নিতান্ত অসম্ভব।
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লেখক আপেলফেল্ডের জীবনেও ট্র্যাজেডি বা এডভেঞ্চার কম আসেনি। যুদ্ধের শুরুতে আর্মির হাতে খুন হয় মা, বাপের হাত ধরে বাড়ি ছাড়ে নয় বছর বয়েসী আহারন। কনসেনট্রেশন ক্যাম্প থেকে পালিয়ে টানা তিন বছর বনে-জঙ্গলে লুকিয়ে ছিল বাচ্চা ছেলে। যুদ্ধ শেষে প্যালেস্টাইনে অভিবাসী হয়।
আপেলফেল্ডের মাতৃভাষা ছিল জার্মান, কিন্তু পণ করেন যে নাতসিদের ভাষায় আর যাই হোক, লেখালেখি করা তার পক্ষে সম্ভব নয়। সাহিত্যচর্চার জন্যে বেছে নেন হিব্রু ভাষা। আধুনিক ইসরায়েলের অন্যতম শ্রেষ্ঠ সাহিত্যিক, নোবেল প্রাইজের জন্যে কয়েকবার মনোনয়ন প্রাপ্ত, ৮৩ বছর বয়েসী আপেলফেল্ড আজও লিখে চলছেন নিরলস গতিতে। সম্প্রতি বেরিয়েছে তার পয়তাল্লিশ নম্বর বই। সেই উপলক্ষ্যে লেখকের প্রদত্ত একটি সাক্ষাৎকার চোখে পড়লো - দ্ব্যর্থহীন ঘোষণা দিয়েছেন যে ইউরোপে ইহুদি জীবনের আর কোন অস্তিত্ব নেই।
সেই হারানো পৃথিবীকে জানতে হলে মর্মস্পর্শী এই স্ন্যাপশট দেখে নিতে পারেন পাঠক।
সময়কাল ১৯৩৯ - দ্বিতীয় বিশ্বযুদ্ধের আগে শেষ বসন্ত। স্থান অস্ট্রিয়ার অভ্যন্তরে একটি ছোট পর্যটন-নগরী বাডেনহাইম - খনিজ-সমৃদ্ধ প্রাকৃতিক ঝর্ণার জন্যে বিখ্যাত। শীতের শেষে আড়মোড়া ভাঙ্গে ঘুমঘুম শহর, শিগগিরই স্পা ট্রিটমেন্ট নেয়ার জন্যে হাজির হবেন অসংখ্য অতিথি। হোটেলের রূম সব ভরে যায়, রেস্তোরা-কাফের ব্যবসা চলে জমজমাট।
অতিথিদের একটা বিরাট সংখ্যা হচ্ছে ইহুদি, স্বচ্ছল মধ্যবিত্ত বা ধনিক শ্রেণীর সদস্য। বহু আগে হয়তো পোল্যান্ড থেকে এসেছিল এদের বাপ-দাদারা কিন্তু এখন সবাই আপাদমস্তক অস্ট্রিয়ান। মাতৃভাষাও খাঁটি জার্মান - হিব্রু, পোলিশ, বা পূর্ব ইউরোপের ইহুদিদের য়িডিশ (Yiddish) ভাষা প্রায় কেউই জানে না আর। এক কথায়, পুরোদমে assimilated জার্মান ইহুদি।
প্রতি বছর ডক্টর পাপেনহাইম নামে একজন নিরলস উদ্যোক্তা হোটেলের অতিথিদের মনোরঞ্জনের জন্যে সাংস্কৃতিক অনুষ্ঠানের আয়োজন করেন - নিয়ে আসেন ব্যান্ড পার্টি, নামকরা গায়ক, সঙ্গীতজ্ঞ, আবৃত্তিকার। এই বছরও তার ব্যত্যয় ঘটেনি। একটি আয়েশী নির্ঝঞ্ঝাট ছুটি কাটানোর জন্যে সবরকম সুব্যবস্থা আছে মনোরম বাডেনহাইমে।
কিন্তু কিছু কিছু জিনিস ব্যতিক্রম হচ্ছে এবার। স্যানিটেশন ডিপার্টমেন্ট থেকে হঠাৎ আদেশ এলো সবাইকে রেজিস্ট্রেশন করতে হবে - মানে সবাই না ঠিক, শুধু শহরের ইহুদি পরিবার, আর হোটেলের ইহুদি অতিথিরা। তারপর আবার যেন কি হলো, শহর থেকে আসা-যাওয়ার রাস্তাও বন্ধ করে দেয়া হলো - কে জানে কেন, নিশ্চয়ই টেম্পোরারি ব্যবস্থা হবে হয়তো?
সূর্যের সতেজ স্নান আর উচ্ছল আনন্দঘন পরিবেশ দিয়ে শুরু হয়েছিল যে বই, ক্রমশ তার গদ্যে পচন ধরে, অসুস্থ অন্ধকার ঘনীভূত হয়। আরো বাদে নির্দেশ আসে সকল ইহুদিকে আদিভূমি পোল্যান্ডে স্থানান্তর করা হবে। পোলিশ-য়িডিশ সব ভূলে যাওয়া হোটেলের অতিথিরা এই সংবাদ কিভাবে নেবে ঠাহর করে উঠতে পারে না। বাপ-দাদাদের ফেলে আসা অচেনা দেশে এত যুগ পরে ফেরত গিয়ে কি করবে সবাই? শহরের বাইরে থেকেও প্রচুর ইহুদি নিয়ে আসা হচ্ছে, সবাইকে একত্রে রাখার উদ্দেশ্যে। নতুন জীবনে চালানের দিন যেন ঘনিয়ে আসে।
এভাবে করেই রূপকের মাধ্যমে আপেল্ফেল্ড দেখিয়েছেন গলায় ফাঁস পড়ানোর অমোঘ প্রক্রিয়া - পূর্ব ইউরোপের ছয় লক্ষ ইহুদি যেন টেরও পায়নি ফাঁস কিভাবে টাইট হয়েছিল, অতি ধ��রে, সন্তর্পণে, এমনকি গ্যাস চেম্বারের ভেতরে দাঁড়িয়েও অনেকে ভেবেছিলেন স্রেফ গোসলখানা, মাথার উপর গ্যাসকল খুলে দেয়ার ঠিক আগমুহূর্ত পর্যন্ত। এই ইচ্ছাকৃত অজ্ঞতা, ঘোরতর denial, বিপর্যয়ের মুখে নির্লিপ্ত-নির্জীব-নিবীর্য-নিষ্ক্রিয় ইহুদিদের চিরস্থায়ী চিত্র বাডেনহাইম ১৯৩৯।
উপন্যাসের অন্যতম আকর্ষণ এর চরিত্র চিত্রণ - ডক্টর প্যাপেনহাইম, অসুস্থ ট্রুডি আর তার ফার্মাসিস্ট স্বামী মার্ট��ন, দুই বয়স্ক বারবনিতা গার্টি আর স্যালি, বিদ্যান প্রফেসর ড: ফুসহোল্ট এবং ড: শুটস, কোম্পানির সেলসম্যান সালো, কার্ল আর তার নতুন বান্ধবী লোটে, ব্যান্ডের বুড়ো বাদক সামিৎস্কি, স্বাস্থ্যনিবাস থেকে পলাতক যক্ষারোগী ফ্রাউ জাউবার্ব্লিট, বিখ্যাত শিল্পী ম্যান্ডেলবাউম, রিলকের কবিতা আবৃত্তি করা দুই জমজ ভাই, হোটেলের হেড ওয়েটার, আরো অনেকে। জেনোসাইডের আগে ইউরোপীয় ইহুদি সমাজের রংধনু বৈচিত্র্য ফুটে উঠেছে বইয়ের পাতায় পাতায়।
Ostjuden বা eastern Jews, পূবদেশ থেকে আগত ইহুদিদের বিরুদ্ধে সনাতনী জার্মান/অস্ট্রিয়ান ইহুদিদের প্রচলিত বিদ্বেষ বা বৈষম্যও টের পাওয়া যায়। (ঠিক যেন মফস্বলের বহিরাগতদের বিরুদ্ধে ঢাকার পোলাপাইনের উষ্মা-অবজ্ঞার মত।) কিন্তু কি যায় আসে? হিটলার তো আর বেছে দেখেনি কে পূবের আর কে পশ্চিমের। গণহত্যার শীতল সংকল্পে নাৎসিরা ছিল উদারমনা, নির্বিচার। সবাইকেই ঘাড় ধরে পাঠানো হয়েছিল মৃত্যুর পথে।
ছয় মিলিয়ন মৃতের সংখ্যা। ৭০ বছর কেটে গেছে, কিন্তু ইউরোপে ইহুদিদের জনসংখ্যা এখনো টেনেটুনে ১ মিলিয়নের মত হবে। অথচ পাশ্চাত্যে আধুনিকতাবাদ বা মডার্নিজমের জন্মই হয়েছিল ইউরোপীয় ইহুদিদের হাত ধরে। বিংশ শতাব্দীর সভ্যতা সৃষ্টিতে মার্ক্স, ফ্রয়েড, আইনস্টাইনের মত জার্মান ইহুদিদের অবদান সর্বাগ্রে, কিন্তু ঠিক পেছনেই ছিলেন আরো শত শত নক্ষত্র - কাফকা, প্রুস্ত, শাগাল, ট্রটস্কি, পাস্তের্নাক, মাহ্লার, শ্যোনবার্গ, ডুর্খাইম, মেন্ডেলসন, মোদিগ্লিয়ানি, আইজেনস্টাইন - এদের বাদ দিয়ে পশ্চিমা সভ্যতা কল্পনা করা নিতান্ত অসম্ভব।
*
লেখক আপেলফেল্ডের জীবনেও ট্র্যাজেডি বা এডভেঞ্চার কম আসেনি। যুদ্ধের শুরুতে আর্মির হাতে খুন হয় মা, বাপের হাত ধরে বাড়ি ছাড়ে নয় বছর বয়েসী আহারন। কনসেনট্রেশন ক্যাম্প থেকে পালিয়ে টানা তিন বছর বনে-জঙ্গলে লুকিয়ে ছিল বাচ্চা ছেলে। যুদ্ধ শেষে প্যালেস্টাইনে অভিবাসী হয়।
আপেলফেল্ডের মাতৃভাষা ছিল জার্মান, কিন্তু পণ করেন যে নাতসিদের ভাষায় আর যাই হোক, লেখালেখি করা তার পক্ষে সম্ভব নয়। সাহিত্যচর্চার জন্যে বেছে নেন হিব্রু ভাষা। আধুনিক ইসরায়েলের অন্যতম শ্রেষ্ঠ সাহিত্যিক, নোবেল প্রাইজের জন্যে কয়েকবার মনোনয়ন প্রাপ্ত, ৮৩ বছর বয়েসী আপেলফেল্ড আজও লিখে চলছেন নিরলস গতিতে। সম্প্রতি বেরিয়েছে তার পয়তাল্লিশ নম্বর বই। সেই উপলক্ষ্যে লেখকের প্রদত্ত একটি সাক্ষাৎকার চোখে পড়লো - দ্ব্যর্থহীন ঘোষণা দিয়েছেন যে ইউরোপে ইহুদি জীবনের আর কোন অস্তিত্ব নেই।
সেই হারানো পৃথিবীকে জানতে হলে মর্মস্পর্শী এই স্ন্যাপশট দেখে নিতে পারেন পাঠক।
January 16, 2013
A Japanese proverb states that 'The nail that sticks out gets hammered down'. Now, let's play the perspective game, imbuing some life into the nails and into the hammer. The nails sticking out, whether deliberately or not, the hammer coming down, steady, inevitable, fast or slow, the impact is in the wings and it won't be softened or lessened, it can't, these things don't factor in. Now, what to make of it? What, if anything, can be done?
With that salvo fired, let me say that this book is a bit of an anomaly. But then, so is the author. Aharon Appelfeld is an Israeli author who was born outside of the country in the town of Sadhora which is now a sub-district of another town in Ukraine. Appelfeld writes in Hebrew which, to him, is a language he only started to learn when he was 15 after having escaped the collapsing horror that was much of Europe for Jews. What sets Appelfeld apart from his colleagues is what he chooses to write about. Unlike his fellows who write about Israel as it is now, or what it was in the not so distant past, or what it possibly might become in the not too distant future, Appelfeld writes about Jews in the galut/diaspora/exile, specifically in Europe.
Now, there's a joke here. Yair, you're reading a book by an Israeli-Jewish author about Jews in a town near Vienna, Austria in the year 1939...what the hell were you expecting? A farce? A summer romance? Maybe a spot of joy?
Of course not. This book is fecund, but mostly fetid. It's a book of rotting and decay and delusions about excess and decadence and how these things can, somehow, stave off the inevitable. They can't. In an odd but resonant way this book feels like the opposite number of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's '100 Years of Solitude'. Both take great pains to describe the lush details of their respective settings that acts almost as a commentary, or even a near Greek style chorus. But where Marquez shows life in its multifarious faces despite its eventual supplanting of humanity, this book (very much like Lars von Trier's Melancholia which through apparent kismet I watched in the time I read this) shows only the one unreadable expression of death and people's coping, or lack thereof, with it.
You know from page one what's going to happen, where this is going to lead for the characters. And the dialogue is loaded with foreboding to the point of cliche and even black comedy. I wondered as I read what Appelfeld was trying to say with all this. Just by dint of his own experiences I highly doubt he was mocking or gloating, not at all. Similarly, I don't think he was playing into the tired and sagging meta-narrative of all golden roads leading through the woods of exile and into the honey pot of Israel for the Jews. There's a brief mention of a half-crazed prophet warning of the coming doom of the Jews if they don't 'save their souls' who's quickly disregarded as a lecher (a fairly sly reference to, I believe, Zeev Jabotinksy) but for the most part Israel is barely touched upon, even, jarringly absent. Curiously, the one stated religious Jew, the rabbi, is decrepit and jeering, resigned to fate and secured by his assumed superior knowledge but doing nothing to warn, to help, to even comfort or teach others to understand.
And that's what this book seems to be about. Missing pieces, missing halves more specifically. The rabbi is disdainful of the secular and offers them nothing. The mostly secular Jews pay face value, if that, to religion and don't acknowledge it at all, relegating it to an obligated labor well symbolized by the tottering rabbi's being consigned to a wheelchair for the majority of his described time. But the most curious thing Appelfeld does is to imply that these missing halves have no counterparts, that their other halves either stopped existing, never existed, or the gaps separating them have altered both so irrevocably that there is only the path forward, the path of lacking that essential half. Or, as Appelfeld shows us as an alternative, the path of denial, stagnation, and eventually, death.
I rated this book lower than 'The Conversion' because that work better straddled the line between story in a novel and parable in a Jewish meta-narrative. Here, the line dissolves completely in favor of the parable, of the allegory, and suffers for it. The hammering away of Appelfeld's dialogue and descriptions while suffused with melancholy and dread and a grim harbinger of things to come, serve only to drown the characters into near irrelevance. Returning to the initial visual metaphor, do we cry for the nails, scream at the hammer, or question or even rage against the hands holding and controlling everything?
Here, Appelfeld gives us death as inevitability, which as a truism is fairly standard. But where he falters is thinking life is only the deluded and rushed preamble when, in fact, it is the half that gives the other its power, as the latter sweetens the former into something eternal.
With that salvo fired, let me say that this book is a bit of an anomaly. But then, so is the author. Aharon Appelfeld is an Israeli author who was born outside of the country in the town of Sadhora which is now a sub-district of another town in Ukraine. Appelfeld writes in Hebrew which, to him, is a language he only started to learn when he was 15 after having escaped the collapsing horror that was much of Europe for Jews. What sets Appelfeld apart from his colleagues is what he chooses to write about. Unlike his fellows who write about Israel as it is now, or what it was in the not so distant past, or what it possibly might become in the not too distant future, Appelfeld writes about Jews in the galut/diaspora/exile, specifically in Europe.
Now, there's a joke here. Yair, you're reading a book by an Israeli-Jewish author about Jews in a town near Vienna, Austria in the year 1939...what the hell were you expecting? A farce? A summer romance? Maybe a spot of joy?
Of course not. This book is fecund, but mostly fetid. It's a book of rotting and decay and delusions about excess and decadence and how these things can, somehow, stave off the inevitable. They can't. In an odd but resonant way this book feels like the opposite number of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's '100 Years of Solitude'. Both take great pains to describe the lush details of their respective settings that acts almost as a commentary, or even a near Greek style chorus. But where Marquez shows life in its multifarious faces despite its eventual supplanting of humanity, this book (very much like Lars von Trier's Melancholia which through apparent kismet I watched in the time I read this) shows only the one unreadable expression of death and people's coping, or lack thereof, with it.
You know from page one what's going to happen, where this is going to lead for the characters. And the dialogue is loaded with foreboding to the point of cliche and even black comedy. I wondered as I read what Appelfeld was trying to say with all this. Just by dint of his own experiences I highly doubt he was mocking or gloating, not at all. Similarly, I don't think he was playing into the tired and sagging meta-narrative of all golden roads leading through the woods of exile and into the honey pot of Israel for the Jews. There's a brief mention of a half-crazed prophet warning of the coming doom of the Jews if they don't 'save their souls' who's quickly disregarded as a lecher (a fairly sly reference to, I believe, Zeev Jabotinksy) but for the most part Israel is barely touched upon, even, jarringly absent. Curiously, the one stated religious Jew, the rabbi, is decrepit and jeering, resigned to fate and secured by his assumed superior knowledge but doing nothing to warn, to help, to even comfort or teach others to understand.
And that's what this book seems to be about. Missing pieces, missing halves more specifically. The rabbi is disdainful of the secular and offers them nothing. The mostly secular Jews pay face value, if that, to religion and don't acknowledge it at all, relegating it to an obligated labor well symbolized by the tottering rabbi's being consigned to a wheelchair for the majority of his described time. But the most curious thing Appelfeld does is to imply that these missing halves have no counterparts, that their other halves either stopped existing, never existed, or the gaps separating them have altered both so irrevocably that there is only the path forward, the path of lacking that essential half. Or, as Appelfeld shows us as an alternative, the path of denial, stagnation, and eventually, death.
I rated this book lower than 'The Conversion' because that work better straddled the line between story in a novel and parable in a Jewish meta-narrative. Here, the line dissolves completely in favor of the parable, of the allegory, and suffers for it. The hammering away of Appelfeld's dialogue and descriptions while suffused with melancholy and dread and a grim harbinger of things to come, serve only to drown the characters into near irrelevance. Returning to the initial visual metaphor, do we cry for the nails, scream at the hammer, or question or even rage against the hands holding and controlling everything?
Here, Appelfeld gives us death as inevitability, which as a truism is fairly standard. But where he falters is thinking life is only the deluded and rushed preamble when, in fact, it is the half that gives the other its power, as the latter sweetens the former into something eternal.
July 11, 2011
an odd, dreamlike novel set in an imagined Austrian resort town at the beginning of the Second World War as groups of middle-class Jews arrive to spend another idyllic summer vacation at an annual arts festival.
There is a fair whiff of Kafka in Appelfeld's restrained prose, and the incongruity of the characters’ struggle to maintain (simulate?) normality against the intimations of the approaching catastrophe. Although the reader has no choice but factor in the impending Holocaust as both the historical backdrop as well as its imaginative focus, the author deftly does so from surreptitiously and achieves a subtlety that you would think impossible.
The awkward ignorance of what is to come for the vacationers dominates this book. Spring is in the air and summer is about to blossom as the vast range of characters spend their days strolling among gardens, lounging in cafés, courting, swimming, gossiping and bickering as much as any other vacationer. The mounting tension (indeed horror), that any reader of this sensitive and elegant book will realise, is magnified by the fact that it is a reality that the characters simply cannot, or simply refuse to, see.
Despite the subject matter, this is a picturesque and ‘calm’ tale, and one told with delicate imagery and understatement. The narrative alters in much the same way the seasons do, in minimal and moving increments. Similarly, subtly and with seeming resigned acceptance, the townsfolk’s rights and choices are reduced and constrained: shops are closed, town gates are sealed, the postal service ceases operation. The fact that WE know where this is going to end up really does make you want to stamp your feet and shout out aloud, quite an achievement for such a quiet novel.
This really is a fantastic piece of work, and something that I can heartily recommend to anyone.
There is a fair whiff of Kafka in Appelfeld's restrained prose, and the incongruity of the characters’ struggle to maintain (simulate?) normality against the intimations of the approaching catastrophe. Although the reader has no choice but factor in the impending Holocaust as both the historical backdrop as well as its imaginative focus, the author deftly does so from surreptitiously and achieves a subtlety that you would think impossible.
The awkward ignorance of what is to come for the vacationers dominates this book. Spring is in the air and summer is about to blossom as the vast range of characters spend their days strolling among gardens, lounging in cafés, courting, swimming, gossiping and bickering as much as any other vacationer. The mounting tension (indeed horror), that any reader of this sensitive and elegant book will realise, is magnified by the fact that it is a reality that the characters simply cannot, or simply refuse to, see.
Despite the subject matter, this is a picturesque and ‘calm’ tale, and one told with delicate imagery and understatement. The narrative alters in much the same way the seasons do, in minimal and moving increments. Similarly, subtly and with seeming resigned acceptance, the townsfolk’s rights and choices are reduced and constrained: shops are closed, town gates are sealed, the postal service ceases operation. The fact that WE know where this is going to end up really does make you want to stamp your feet and shout out aloud, quite an achievement for such a quiet novel.
This really is a fantastic piece of work, and something that I can heartily recommend to anyone.
April 12, 2019
Έτος 1939, παραμονές του Β' Παγκοσμίου Πολέμου και στη λουτρόπολη του Μπάντενχαϊμ όλα κυλούν αρμονικά, μια νωχελική ανεμελιά διακρίνει τους κατοίκους και τους παραθεριστές, οι οποίοι περιμένουν πώς και πώς το φεστιβάλ μουσικής που διοργανώνεται κάθε χρόνο. Μάλιστα, σύμφωνα με τον διοργανωτή, ειδικά αυτή τη χρονιά αναμένονται σπουδαίοι καλλιτέχνες. Μέχρι το φεστιβάλ, οι αδιακρισίες, τα κουτσομπολιά και τα ειδύλλια είναι στην ημερήσια διάταξη. Όμως, ξαφνικά, τα πάντα στραβώνουν, φαίνεται ότι υπάρχει κάποιος κίνδυνος για τη δημόσια υγεία και η Υγειονομία διατάζει να κλείσουν οι πύλες και όλοι οι Εβραίοι κάτοικοι και παραθεριστές να καταγραφούν. Μια ιδιότυπη καραντίνα απομονώνει όλους τους ανθρώπους που βρίσκονται στη λουτρόπολη, μέχρι τελικά να υποχρεωθούν να φύγουν...
Πρόκειται σαφώς για μια παραβολή, για μια αλληγορία ενός τραγικού ιστορικού γεγονότος, μιας πραγματικής καταστροφής. Αρχικά είναι όλα ρόδινα, μετά αρχίζουν τα παράξενα και τα στραβά, και στο τέλος έρχεται η μαυρίλα. Η όλη ατμόσφαιρα της ιστορίας είναι κάπως ονειρική και ίσως κλειστοφοβική από ένα σημείο και μετά, η αφήγηση αρκετά γραφική και γλαφυρή, με διάφορα κωμικοτραγικά περιστατικά. Μέσω των χαρακτήρων και των αντιδράσεών τους, μπορούμε να καταλάβουμε τους ανθρώπους που έζησαν πραγματικά αυτόν τον εφιάλτη. Η γραφή είναι πολύ ωραία μέσα στην απλότητά της, με λιτές περιγραφές και ζωντανούς διαλόγους. Γενικά πρόκειται για ένα πολύ καλό και ενδιαφέρον μυθιστόρημα, το οποίο αναδεικνύει με ξεχωριστό τρόπο τις απαρχές του Ολοκαυτώματος. Χάρη στον τρόπο γραφής δεν μου μαύρισε την ψυχή, αλλά με έβαλε σε πολλές σκέψεις. Σίγουρα στο μέλλον θα διαβάσω και άλλα βιβλία του συγγραφέα.
Πρόκειται σαφώς για μια παραβολή, για μια αλληγορία ενός τραγικού ιστορικού γεγονότος, μιας πραγματικής καταστροφής. Αρχικά είναι όλα ρόδινα, μετά αρχίζουν τα παράξενα και τα στραβά, και στο τέλος έρχεται η μαυρίλα. Η όλη ατμόσφαιρα της ιστορίας είναι κάπως ονειρική και ίσως κλειστοφοβική από ένα σημείο και μετά, η αφήγηση αρκετά γραφική και γλαφυρή, με διάφορα κωμικοτραγικά περιστατικά. Μέσω των χαρακτήρων και των αντιδράσεών τους, μπορούμε να καταλάβουμε τους ανθρώπους που έζησαν πραγματικά αυτόν τον εφιάλτη. Η γραφή είναι πολύ ωραία μέσα στην απλότητά της, με λιτές περιγραφές και ζωντανούς διαλόγους. Γενικά πρόκειται για ένα πολύ καλό και ενδιαφέρον μυθιστόρημα, το οποίο αναδεικνύει με ξεχωριστό τρόπο τις απαρχές του Ολοκαυτώματος. Χάρη στον τρόπο γραφής δεν μου μαύρισε την ψυχή, αλλά με έβαλε σε πολλές σκέψεις. Σίγουρα στο μέλλον θα διαβάσω και άλλα βιβλία του συγγραφέα.
January 4, 2012
I was quite disturbed by this book. The fact that the outcome is known gives you almost a voyeuristic feeling. The characters came across to me as quite human, albeit very naive. Some of them see themselves as Austrians first, Jewish second, and blame the problem on the Ostjuden. I think the reaction of the characters to the events is not unrealistic. If you are middle class, grow up in a country where there is law and order and bureaucracy is lauded, it probably does take a while to realise something is wrong, by which time so many freedoms have been taken away that it is too late. Large groups of people being misled and suppressed by restriction of communication happens all the time, look at the communists in Wild Swans and the Gilead society in The Handmaid’s Tale. Let’s stay vigilant and hope we spot it should it ever happens to us.
July 17, 2018
Nu am mare lucru de spus despre cartea asta, dar m-a deranjat major faptul că e tradusă din engleză în română, în loc să fie din ebraică...
A, se citește fenomenal de repede (eu citind foarte lent de felul meu).
A, se citește fenomenal de repede (eu citind foarte lent de felul meu).
February 15, 2022
Badenheim 1939 est une allégorie de la persécution des Juifs dans lequels des éléments sont aisément reconnaissables (le service sanitaire, les gardes, la fermeture de la ville, l'arrivée des "étrangers" dans la ville balnéaire fictive de Badenheim...), d'autres beaucoup moins (le symbole de l'aquarium, les trois chiens, la folie apparente de Trude...)
Il faudrait compléter sa lecture par une analyse de l'oeuvre pour l'apprécier à sa juste valeur.
3,5/5
Il faudrait compléter sa lecture par une analyse de l'oeuvre pour l'apprécier à sa juste valeur.
3,5/5
August 18, 2024
2.5
Set in an Austrian resort town during the summer of 1939, the residents and visitors are preparing for the arts festival; meanwhile, the sanitation department are wanting the news in the town to register with them, and later there is talk of moving them to Poland. It's a slim novel about one of the darkest periods of 20th century history, and get I found that I felt very little. The characters weren't very well drawn, there were too many of them - I didn't feel that I got to know any of them, it probably didn't help that many weren't even named, they were known as the head waiter etc; as such felt no emotional connection to them. It was an unsettling read, for a lot of it I just felt I was waiting for something to happen. I don't know if this is to do with the original text or the translation. I wish I had liked it more than I did.
*Many thanks to Netgalley and Penguin for a copy in exchange for an honest opinion
Set in an Austrian resort town during the summer of 1939, the residents and visitors are preparing for the arts festival; meanwhile, the sanitation department are wanting the news in the town to register with them, and later there is talk of moving them to Poland. It's a slim novel about one of the darkest periods of 20th century history, and get I found that I felt very little. The characters weren't very well drawn, there were too many of them - I didn't feel that I got to know any of them, it probably didn't help that many weren't even named, they were known as the head waiter etc; as such felt no emotional connection to them. It was an unsettling read, for a lot of it I just felt I was waiting for something to happen. I don't know if this is to do with the original text or the translation. I wish I had liked it more than I did.
*Many thanks to Netgalley and Penguin for a copy in exchange for an honest opinion
March 11, 2021
Bir tatil kasabasında olağan hayat devam ederken, sağlık dairesi yahudileri kaydetmeye başlıyor. Badenheim 1939, okuduğum en iyi soykırım romanı olabilir. Kısa, yoğun ve gerçekliği okurken insanın canını acıtıyor.
December 6, 2017
Strange little book
March 13, 2024
Primavera 1939.
Badenheim è una pacifica cittadina austriaca, meta, ogni anno, di villeggianti desiderosi di assistere, insieme agli abitanti (perlopiù ebrei di origine polacca), al Festival del Arti. Ma quest’anno tira un’aria diversa: agli ebrei il Dipartimento Sanitario installatosi in città chiede una registrazione al fine di gestire la loro prossima partenza verso la Polonia. E così, a poco a poco la cittadina si svuota, i negozianti chiudono, gli artisti tardano ad arrivare, i viveri iniziano a scarseggiare. Eppure l’ impresario Pappenheim, personaggio centrale, che da sempre gestisce il festival e tutto ciò che gli sta dietro, mantiene un incredibile ottimismo, sicuro che si andrà in Polonia per ricongiungersi con le proprie origini, come è giusto che sia.
Non sarà così, ovviamente. Noi lo sappiamo, i poveri personaggi del romanzo no. E quando, alla fine, obbedendo all’ultimo ordine che viene loro calato dall’alto, si dirigono verso la stazione, con un senso tra la curiosità e lo smarrimento, ci viene da stringere il cuore. Un po’ quello che proviamo alla fine del famoso film “Train de vie”, seppur in senso inverso: là abbiamo sperato noi, spettatori, qui sperano loro, i personaggi, marionette le cui fila sono tirate da un destino nero e mostruoso.
Ecco perché “Badenheim 1939”, creando loro questo senso di attesa, misterioso, quasi fiabesco (considerando la piacevole cornice), sa paradossalmente parlare di orrore senza parlare di orrore.
Aharon Appelfeld, scomparso nel 2018, è decisamente un autore da approfondire.
Badenheim è una pacifica cittadina austriaca, meta, ogni anno, di villeggianti desiderosi di assistere, insieme agli abitanti (perlopiù ebrei di origine polacca), al Festival del Arti. Ma quest’anno tira un’aria diversa: agli ebrei il Dipartimento Sanitario installatosi in città chiede una registrazione al fine di gestire la loro prossima partenza verso la Polonia. E così, a poco a poco la cittadina si svuota, i negozianti chiudono, gli artisti tardano ad arrivare, i viveri iniziano a scarseggiare. Eppure l’ impresario Pappenheim, personaggio centrale, che da sempre gestisce il festival e tutto ciò che gli sta dietro, mantiene un incredibile ottimismo, sicuro che si andrà in Polonia per ricongiungersi con le proprie origini, come è giusto che sia.
Non sarà così, ovviamente. Noi lo sappiamo, i poveri personaggi del romanzo no. E quando, alla fine, obbedendo all’ultimo ordine che viene loro calato dall’alto, si dirigono verso la stazione, con un senso tra la curiosità e lo smarrimento, ci viene da stringere il cuore. Un po’ quello che proviamo alla fine del famoso film “Train de vie”, seppur in senso inverso: là abbiamo sperato noi, spettatori, qui sperano loro, i personaggi, marionette le cui fila sono tirate da un destino nero e mostruoso.
Ecco perché “Badenheim 1939”, creando loro questo senso di attesa, misterioso, quasi fiabesco (considerando la piacevole cornice), sa paradossalmente parlare di orrore senza parlare di orrore.
Aharon Appelfeld, scomparso nel 2018, è decisamente un autore da approfondire.
August 19, 2018
""You could see that they wanted to die, but Death did not seem to want them yet . . . they had retreated into the bushes and waited for Death, and because Death did not come for them they came out and stood under the light.""
The book has a simple opening line, "Spring returned to Badenheim." On the face of it an occurrence that happens every year but the reader, with the benefit of history, suddenly begins to realise that this is not going to be an ordinary year. Spring, normally a time of rebirth will this year mark the start of something far more sinister.
The novel opens to the sound of country church bells ringing and two Sanitation Department inspectors examining a flow of sewage. As the tourists and musicians gather the town is abuzz with activity and joviality but gradually the Sanitation Department begins to exert their influence. The Jews have to register the fact and their rights are gradually curtailed. Posters extolling the virtues of Poland are posted, the pastry shop and the post office are closed and the non-Jews leave the town. Slowly the town fills with other Jews and food supplies dwindle and they realise that they are being held prisoner. Even four dogs who try to escape are forced back inside the town walls by the guards.
Finally the time for deportation arrives and they walk to the rail station in high spirits glad to be free of their confinement. “How easy the transition was—they hardly felt it.”
I find this is a hard book for me to review. Firstly it is the tone. The story features a third-person narrator who seems totally detached from the action, merely reporting the events as they happen in a disquieting matter of fact, understated style. This in turn means that it was written almost as a fairy tale or comic opera yet it represents a tragic period of world history and symbolic events. The book opens with a group of Jewish tourists arriving in an Austrian resort in the spring of 1939 for an annual music festival and culminates in the deportation of these Jews in the autumn of the same year.
Secondly, it is because we read this with the benefit of history. We know about the concentration camps and the gas chambers. We want to scream at them to show some resistance to somehow fight back. Instead we just see a sense of inevitability about it all. Only one man, Peter the pastry shop owner, seems to make some token resistance. But we have got to realise that these people didn't have the benefit of hindsight. They didn't know what was going to happen to them. Part of me questions whether or not I really liked this book but then again it has made me stop and think about the situation that Jews at that time found themselves in and surely that can be no bad thing.
The book has a simple opening line, "Spring returned to Badenheim." On the face of it an occurrence that happens every year but the reader, with the benefit of history, suddenly begins to realise that this is not going to be an ordinary year. Spring, normally a time of rebirth will this year mark the start of something far more sinister.
The novel opens to the sound of country church bells ringing and two Sanitation Department inspectors examining a flow of sewage. As the tourists and musicians gather the town is abuzz with activity and joviality but gradually the Sanitation Department begins to exert their influence. The Jews have to register the fact and their rights are gradually curtailed. Posters extolling the virtues of Poland are posted, the pastry shop and the post office are closed and the non-Jews leave the town. Slowly the town fills with other Jews and food supplies dwindle and they realise that they are being held prisoner. Even four dogs who try to escape are forced back inside the town walls by the guards.
Finally the time for deportation arrives and they walk to the rail station in high spirits glad to be free of their confinement. “How easy the transition was—they hardly felt it.”
I find this is a hard book for me to review. Firstly it is the tone. The story features a third-person narrator who seems totally detached from the action, merely reporting the events as they happen in a disquieting matter of fact, understated style. This in turn means that it was written almost as a fairy tale or comic opera yet it represents a tragic period of world history and symbolic events. The book opens with a group of Jewish tourists arriving in an Austrian resort in the spring of 1939 for an annual music festival and culminates in the deportation of these Jews in the autumn of the same year.
Secondly, it is because we read this with the benefit of history. We know about the concentration camps and the gas chambers. We want to scream at them to show some resistance to somehow fight back. Instead we just see a sense of inevitability about it all. Only one man, Peter the pastry shop owner, seems to make some token resistance. But we have got to realise that these people didn't have the benefit of hindsight. They didn't know what was going to happen to them. Part of me questions whether or not I really liked this book but then again it has made me stop and think about the situation that Jews at that time found themselves in and surely that can be no bad thing.
July 2, 2017
This small book was recommended to me by a friend with whom I share similar literary tastes and political leanings. She recommended it as a bit of bibliotherapy for this difficult time. Ever since the election I have struggled to make sense of my world in this particular time. It feels very much like we are at a pivot point. But around what are we pivoting? And where are we headed? There is an awful lot of talk comparing this moment either to the days leading up to the fall of the Roman Empire or to Nazi Germany. And so why not read about a small resort town in Austria on the eve of the Holocaust? It is fiction – allegorical, satiritical fiction – written in 1978 by an Israeli novelist. And while his hindsight about that point in history may be 20/20 that doesn’t make it reliably predictive about this point in history. Still it was fascinating to meet the residents of a fictional Jewish summer town known for its arts festival. The characters are a mix of naive and wise, hopeful and afraid, expansive and petty. Most are creatives and so the personalities are very quirky (though the townies are pretty quirky themselves). As the summer wears on with few visitors to the town and an increasingly authoritarian Sanitation Department governing their actions, relationships between people suffer and individuals begin to break down. What I liked best about this book was how clearly it served to remind me what we have at best is each other and the perils we face when we turn away from one another.
June 18, 2023
The story took place right before the Holocaust began, at a Jewish vacation resort. One day, the local authorities shut the place down, but forced those visiting to stay in the resort. Over time, they brought many local Jewish citizens to live within the now guarded gates of the resort.
The people in the resort initially thought they were pretty damn lucky. They were able to remain at their favorite resort for free! Authorities brought in cases of food, medications and other necessities and the 'guests' all had themselves a grand old time. As time went on, they started to get restless and worried. The food stopped coming in and they began to live on the luxury goods being kept in the cellar of the main dining hall. Eventually they were fighting one another for food and raiding the stores within the resort.
The story was haunting and uncomfortable to read. Of course you know what's going to happen to these people, so as you read their initial thoughts of excitement at staying in the resort, you're filled with dread. Throughout the story they remained full of hope, even in the last pages as the trains came to take them away to the concentration camps.
I'd recommend this book to those with an interest in history or the Holocaust but it really was a disturbing book that isn't for the faint of heart.
The people in the resort initially thought they were pretty damn lucky. They were able to remain at their favorite resort for free! Authorities brought in cases of food, medications and other necessities and the 'guests' all had themselves a grand old time. As time went on, they started to get restless and worried. The food stopped coming in and they began to live on the luxury goods being kept in the cellar of the main dining hall. Eventually they were fighting one another for food and raiding the stores within the resort.
The story was haunting and uncomfortable to read. Of course you know what's going to happen to these people, so as you read their initial thoughts of excitement at staying in the resort, you're filled with dread. Throughout the story they remained full of hope, even in the last pages as the trains came to take them away to the concentration camps.
I'd recommend this book to those with an interest in history or the Holocaust but it really was a disturbing book that isn't for the faint of heart.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 13, 2011
This is not for me. I'm sure it's great, it certainly has quite a reputation. But this dreamlike kind of narrative doesn't do it for me. That endless sequence of short declarative statements, a certain dreamlike lack of narrative cohesion, plus the lack of focus on one character or a narrow set of characters, the lack of insight in any inner lives...
Let's say this is a genre that just isn't to my taste, however well Appelfeld probably succeeds in what he's trying to do in that genre.
Pity.
Let's say this is a genre that just isn't to my taste, however well Appelfeld probably succeeds in what he's trying to do in that genre.
Pity.
July 30, 2017
Scarno, surreale, terribile: i personaggi di questo libro sembrano usciti da un quadro di George Grosz. Piu' vai avanti nel libro e piu' ti domandi come mai i personaggi non si rendano conto dell'orrore che li attende, perche' non si fanno domande, perche' continuano ad accettare le imposizioni senza reagire, ma quasi con contentezza.
Un libro controverso, ma sicuramente da consigliare.
Un libro controverso, ma sicuramente da consigliare.
January 1, 2025
This was a faintly surreal book with a structure and tone that reminded me of Kafka, 'Magic Realism' and -in particular- the haunting first part of DM Thomas's superlative 'The White Hotel'.
An account of the Jewish inhabitants of an Austrian town 'sleep-walking' into deportation to Poland, it surveys a range of attitudes towards the sinister 'Sanitation Department' (a thinly veiled Nazi Party) from optimistic to fatalistic.
The fact that this was written 40 years after the events it describes lends the book a resignedly sombre tone as the reader is aware of the outcome of the villagers' trip to Poland even if some of them refuse to accept the truth of their predicament.
An uncomfortable but important book!
An account of the Jewish inhabitants of an Austrian town 'sleep-walking' into deportation to Poland, it surveys a range of attitudes towards the sinister 'Sanitation Department' (a thinly veiled Nazi Party) from optimistic to fatalistic.
The fact that this was written 40 years after the events it describes lends the book a resignedly sombre tone as the reader is aware of the outcome of the villagers' trip to Poland even if some of them refuse to accept the truth of their predicament.
An uncomfortable but important book!
Read
October 22, 2023Read for my Topics in Postcolonial and Diaspora Lit Class. This book was super effective for me, specifically the ending. I was stunned by the last line and overall, by the whole ending. The "If the coaches are so dirty it must mean that we have not far to go" is so sad. It puts a spin on holocaust narratives by depicting life before and ending where most holocaust narratives begin.
I did get lost in all the characters and how quickly the narrative went, though.
I did get lost in all the characters and how quickly the narrative went, though.
September 28, 2022
“Pasta ustası pastane sahibinin boyunduruğundan kurtulmuştu. Geceleri, Lüksemburg Bahçeleri’nin arka kısmında ölenleri gömüyordu. Hareketlerinde sakin bir kayıtsızlık vardı, sanki hayatı boyunca mezar kazmıştı. Kasabaya her gün daha çok sayıda insan getiriliyordu. Yeni gelenler öyle zayıf ve içe kapanıktılar ki, gökyüzüyle teması kesilmiş kuşlara benziyorlardı. Sessizce, bağırıp çağırmadan ölüyorlardı. Eski pasta ustası onları mezara hazırlıyor, gece olunca da gömüyordu.”
March 5, 2020
Ratings:
Writing 5
Story line 5
Characters 3
Emotional impact 5
Overall rating 4.5
Writing 5
Story line 5
Characters 3
Emotional impact 5
Overall rating 4.5
November 25, 2012
The idyllic resort town of Badenheim is not all it appears to be in 1939. Aharon Appelfeld’s novel, Badenheim 1939, is an extremely beautifully written novel, yet between the pages lurks an underlying sense of doom and gloom.
Badenheim is a resort town somewhere in Austria where Jews go to vacation. It is known for its arts, poetry readings and for its music festival which is headed by one Dr. Pappenheim. He has been busy trying to get musicians from Vienna to come to Badenheim to participate in the festival.
This is the first book I have read in 2010, and although slim on pages, it is nonetheless extremely forceful in its message. We know what occurred, we know the horrors, atrocities and defining moments of World War II and the Holocaust. The residents and vacationers in Badenheim have no idea what is happening, and quite frankly, don’t seem to want to open their eyes to what is occurring around them.
That is the tragedy within the pages. Appelfeld is masterful in his writing, in depicting the Jews and the situations thrust upon them. He is cognizant, as a survivor himself, what Jews encountered. He has taken Badenheim 1939 to a new level of exploration and insight in portraying characters who are obsessed with their own lives, too absorbed with the vacation season to notice the truth behind the restrictions.
Badenheim is a resort town somewhere in Austria where Jews go to vacation. It is known for its arts, poetry readings and for its music festival which is headed by one Dr. Pappenheim. He has been busy trying to get musicians from Vienna to come to Badenheim to participate in the festival.
This is the first book I have read in 2010, and although slim on pages, it is nonetheless extremely forceful in its message. We know what occurred, we know the horrors, atrocities and defining moments of World War II and the Holocaust. The residents and vacationers in Badenheim have no idea what is happening, and quite frankly, don’t seem to want to open their eyes to what is occurring around them.
That is the tragedy within the pages. Appelfeld is masterful in his writing, in depicting the Jews and the situations thrust upon them. He is cognizant, as a survivor himself, what Jews encountered. He has taken Badenheim 1939 to a new level of exploration and insight in portraying characters who are obsessed with their own lives, too absorbed with the vacation season to notice the truth behind the restrictions.
March 1, 2018
What an eerie book. Picked it up after learning of the death of its prolific author, a multi-lingual survivor of the Holocaust originally from Romania who settled & eventually began his writing career in Israel (& in Hebrew). This first novel launched that career in 1978, and is impossible to comprehend without the knowledge of the horror that engulfed the Jews in Europe during the middle of the last century. The Holocaust is the elephant in, around, and all over the room here, and Appelfeld's particular genius is to tell his story without mentioning any of the usual details (Nazis, camps, etc.) but instead by concentrating on the little stories of a group of residents & vacationers in a small Austrian town. Things become incrementally less enjoyable, arbitrary restrictions appear, tensions follow, and to the bitter end the cast strains to believe that all will be well. The inexorable conclusion is brutal in its simplicity & Appelfeld's insistence on stopping short of any violence or familiar shred of the many other stories dealing with this impossible subject. Original & haunting.
November 15, 2013
I don't know if this book was poorly written or if it suffered from poor translation. I think it might be a combination of both issues. The narrative, such that it was, was extremely choppy, there was no flow whatsoever. The characters were one-dimensional at best. I couldn't even remember who some of the characters were, that's how little impression they made. The concept had so much potential, but it did not live up to it at all.
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