Copy received courtesy of NetGalley
It’s so rare that Hungarian or Polish or Estonian writers get translated into English that I’m always keeping an eye out for works from that portion of the continent. So when notice came up on NetGalley of this one, “translated from Hungarian,” I decided to take a chance. Even thought that meant my rule of avoiding fiction about the Holocaust.
But in a way, I haven’t broken my rule, because this book reads like the fictional overlay is so light as to be ephemeral; it’s based on the love letters exchanged between the author’s parents, found by him after his father’s death. He had never been told their story—a silence that I have discovered in meeting children of survivors that is not unusual at all.
It’s three weeks after the end of World War II, and Miklos, one of just over two hundred concentration camp survivors, is being shipped to Sweden for hospitalization. He’s a mess—no teeth, bashed in face, weighing about 64 pounds, and coughing up blood.
But when he gets to the hospital, he has written to the Swedish Office for Refugees, and obtains the names of 117 Hungarian young women whom various hospitals are trying to bring back to life.
Miklos has exquisite handwriting, and he sends letters to all 117 of them, because he wants to get married. And out of the few who write back to him, he decides that Lili is the one for him, and sets about trying to woo her by letter, while meanwhile dealing with the fact that the doctors give him six months to live and try to talk him out of it.
Eighteen-year-old Lili, in her hospital, is a bit of a pet of her doctor, who watches carefully over her; we find out later that she lay with hundreds of starved-to-death concentration camp victims when her camp was liberated. But the doctor happened to turn, happened to look, and caught the movement of her finger.
Now she has kidney problems, but she, too, ignores those as she befriends two young women who talk about love, men, and put together concerts for fellow women but which end up packed by male patients as well. One encourages her to answer the letter and look for romance, the other does with ambivalence—and is increasingly dismayed as the unlikely friendship develops, and does her best to torpedo it.
The story switches back and forth between the two, with excerpts from their letters. The form is somewhat choppy—the novel reads like a novelized screenplay, except the details are poignantly, sometimes painfully, often hilariously real. The voice is humorous, but the truth resonating from some of the details never lets the reader forget the horror of those relatively few years that shaped the rest of their lives, and had so strong an impact on their children. Like, Lili being excited to transfer to a new hospital, until she sees that it has a tall central smoke stack. Detials like that hit hard in the otherwise warm, vivid flow.
When Miklos gets on the train to meet Lili at last, one of the lenses of his glasses is broken, so he stuffs the frame with newspaper, never giving it a second thought.
I suspect that to get the full impact of many of the casually thrown away details the reader needs to be aware of how concentration camps were run, and after the war was over, the fact that there were some twenty million displaces persons in Europe, most of them with nothing left but the ragged clothes they stood up in. And how stressed the war-exhausted nations—like Sweden—were, yet still they managed to find ways to take in these broken people, nurse them to health, and try to find the remnants of their families and homes.
The details are sometimes hilariously haphazard, underscoring how, in spite of the excruciating mental, physical, emotional cost of their experience, there is still a strong yearning for hope, for life. These people want to live, like Miklos’s friend, who is worried that he can’t get an erection as he wants to find a woman; but there are limits. Another, lugubrious, man receives notice that his wife is alive after all, and the entire dormitory parades around singing to celebrate with him . . . but Miklos had heard witnesses say that she’d been shot down by SS guards, and he can’t bear to speak up.
Though Miklos and Lili, and their vividly evoked friends, are at the center, the backbone of the story is Rabbi Emil Kronheim, who travels endlessly, calling on Jews to help them if he can, or just to listen. There is a powerful conversation between Miklos and the Rabbi later in the book, about being Jewish and God; Miklos is an atheist and a communist (a very enthusiastic communist, which opens up another door into painful poignancy because we know what’s going to happen with respect to the Iron Curtain), and the Rabbi exhorts him not to turn away from his fellow Jews, God or no God. And he exerts himself on behalf of this couple.
Likewise, Lili had on her rescue thrown away her Jewish background and claimed a random Catholic name for her mother, which resulted in her being fostered by a Catholic family. Of course the Refugee office can’t find her mother under the false name . . . and therein is yet another short but powerful, poignant bit when Lili’s mother comes into the story.
To conclude, the book is not long, and its form is episodic, told in an often-tongue-in-cheek manner, but it has stayed with me in the several weeks since my reading. I particularly recommend it to readers who enjoyed The Hare with Amber Eyes.