This paradoxical book was difficult to read on many levels.
By far the most difficult aspect to experience was the book's multiple narrative sketches of man's inhumanity to man before, during, and after the Franco-Prussian war. Each horrifying sketch had me asking why - why do men do this to each other? Of course there are the usual suspects of greed, money, and power, but Smee doesn't allow us to ignore the lesser known perpetrators like vengeance and pride, to name two.
The book was also difficult to read on an artistic level. This level left me as incredulous as the first level. Why do so many "experts" feel the need to go beyond subjective evaluations, beyond even mocking, all the way to suppression and retaliation (retaliation for what, though, I don't know)?
So many warring factions! French vs Germans, religious vs secular, conservative vs radical, conservative vs republicans, republicans vs monarchists vs Bonapartists, Communards vs take your pick, artists vs artists, family vs family, friend vs enemy, friend vs friend.
All the loss. Not just the loss of life. The loss of security. The loss of joie de vivre. The loss of masterpieces. The loss of artists. The loss of innocence. The loss of self.
It was also difficult to read of the systemic suppression of Edma Morisot's talent, which some experts evaluated more highly than those of her talented, intelligent, empathetic sister Berthe. Society's norms forced her to give up her artistic aspirations when she married, as she was expected to focus on supporting her husband, having, and raising children, and foregoing any artistic pursuits she desired. Nero’s last words, ”qualis artifex pereo,” reverberated as I read of Edma Morisot, of Frederic Bazille, of others who were needlessly stifled or snuffed out almost before they had begun. “What an artist dies with her… with him… with them.”
Humanity lost so much during this war/siege and the subsequent civil conflicts. And there was so much ugliness. Yet somehow, paradoxically, out of it all we found so much beautiful new and lasting art, a new and refreshing approach to art, and even the Paris of today.
Speaking of Paris, and on a lighter note, was the difficulty I had repeatedly distinguishing "Parisian" from "Prussian." I hate to admit how many times I had to double back to get things straight.... I just now had a strange thought, a hopeless, hopeful thought that there is, in the end, no difference between the two. Did I say a lighter note?