Makeshift

by Sarah Campion

A fascinating and long-forgotten novel about the experiences of a German Jewish woman from the end of the First World War to the mid-1930s, her growing awareness of the rise of Nazism and her search for a home as a refugee. The story of the struggle to establish an identity in an unstable and intolerant world, told in an unforgettable voice.

Makeshift traces the story of Charlotte Herz, a German Jewish woman, from the end of the First World War and the time of the Weimar Republic through the rise of Nazism and Hitler's takeover as Reichs Chancellor. Campion details Charlotte's struggle to establish her identity in the midst of increasing anti-Semitism and violence against Jews. Finally, driven into exile, she roams from England to South Africa and Australia before settling, uneasily, in New Zealand. Charlotte's stubborn, irascible outlook makes her a caustic and often bitingly funny observer and her unique voice becomes an irresistible narrative voice. A unique account of the experience of exile that makes for an unforgettable novel.

Genres: Fiction

Unknown Binding

Published January 1, 1940

About the author

Pen-name of Mary Rose Alpers, an English-born journalist and author who lived in Germany, Canada, Australia, and finally New Zealand.

Reviews

[Hux · Rating 4 out of 5]

An interesting one this given that it has some truly sublime writing but is also a book which stagnates and falters and, as such, never entirely kept my attention. The book begins in a nursing home in New Zealand where Charlotte, the narrator, is a woman in her late thirties convalescing after an illness. Here, in the first chapter, she details the intricacies of her life, her illness, and her apparently lukewarm relationship with a man named Adrian. Charlotte is immediately noticeable as a dry wit, aloof and sardonic, a quintessential misanthrope who, despite an abundance of high intelligence and thoughtfulness, is fundamentally repulsed by almost all aspects of the world she encounters. It's hard not to like her. She then moves on to telling us her life story, growing up in Berlin just after the First World War, her discomfort with her family, the landscape increasingly showing signs of Nazi development. She has a dalliance with her cousin, Kurt, gets pregnant before he saunters off to marry someone else. And what does she do with this baby that she did not want? That's right, she leaves it on a train and walks away to a new life in England. After all what's the alternative, marry some man who is willing to overlook her baggage?

A married life begun on shame, continued in boredom and stuffy closeness, made up of lustful unloving nights, nagging days, brats begotten in pure animal fury coming year after year to be suckled, clothed, washed, endured—all on a foundation of my shame and my rescuer’s brief nobility simmering down to a reminder of my shame. He would unendingly want gratitude. I hated gratitude then, I hate it still.

See what I mean, she's awful. But very funny and very clever with it. After some more pointless liaisons with other men, including a married man in England, she decides to go to South Africa. Here she is encouraged by relatives to marry a Jewish man but, despite being a Jew herself, and despite loathing the Nazis, she also -- like everything else -- has very little time for the Jews either, and hates being one in particular. She gets on a boat to Australia where she meets Harry, an older, more lascivious man who offers her another chance at love even though she seems incapable of that emotion. After begrudgingly tolerating him, because she only ever appears to tolerate or despise things, she succumbs to his charms. That is for a while, at least, before the book returns to its point of origin in New Zealand.

There are parts of this book that are utterly mesmerising, genuinely sublime. Some of the prose is insanely good, full of vitriolic invective and cynicism. Charlotte hates being Charlotte is what I came away with. She hates Germans, hates Jews, hates men, hates life. And she expressed this hatred in beautiful and comical fashion with inventive language. Like I said, some of the writing is really incredible.

Between the flowers and the vegetables, like angels with the flaming sword dividing innocence from sin, was a dark rich grove of naartjie trees: this evening, in the brilliant last light, the little mandarin oranges hung, small lanterns from the branches. A few weeks later, with fruit still on the topmost boughs, those trees burst inconsequent into a starry tide of blossom, and the bees were busy among them from light till dark.

That all being said, the book isn't always fun to read and Campion lingers a little too long on the same subject matter or gets bogged down in dense sections that get convoluted which, even when elevated by the rich prose, can become draining to the reader. She does this often, using wonderful writing but only in service of an idea or description that ought to have been concluded much earlier. The book would have greatly benefited from an experienced editor. Some of the chapters get stuck in unhelpful and unnecessary minutia. The only saving grace is Charlotte, her character, her relentless misanthropy and the occasional spurt of inspired prose. Otherwise, the book drags a great deal. It reminded me a lot of Nicholas Mosley's Hopeful Monsters (1990) and I'm tempted to believe that he was influenced by this because there are so many similarities, both in style and plotting. But while Mosley was looking back on the thirties (often self-indulgently), Campion is actually there, immersed in the events she is describing, writing this in the late 1930s.

I really wanted to love this, it has so many moments of intense quality that it deserves it. But it doesn't quite get there. I think there is a gem somewhere in here, though, a glorious soul but one which is sadly encased by a slightly bloated body. I would definitely recommend it (it's too good to be ignored) but with the caveat that you may find that it meanders a little. I may even go back to this one day and give it more of my time. I think it's worth it.

[Anna · Rating 2 out of 5]

~2.5