What a reading experience!
After reading Animal Farm, The Life of Insects, Kafka's Metamorphosis and various novels and historical accounts on post-Communist countries and individuals, most recently Svetlana Alexievich, I expected to be on familiar ground. But apart from the author's direct reference to Orwell in the beginning, and to Aesopian language as a means of psychological analysis in one of the stories, it was something completely different from other modern novels written in the form of fables. In eight short stories, different animals talk about their life in Communist Europe, all of them representing different species, social functions and countries. It sounds like a rather silly idea, but the light-hearted approach quickly turns into something deeper and darker, as the London-based pig lady from Hungary admits at the end of her introduction to cooking:
"At the end, dear patient reader, I am aware that I started this long but necessary introduction in a light tone and ended up embroiled in politics, history, and identity - just like a typical East European intellectual - and I don't apologize for that."
The interesting twist in this collection of stories is the fact the various animals experience their environment clearly, and according to their personal needs and characteristics, but with a human reflective mind. They allow themselves to question objectively the situations that human beings would be far too personally affected by to describe without bias and political opinion. The animals thus illustrate that it is possible to reject the system itself and feel compassion for and understanding of the human beings within it at the same time.
One of the most thrilling stories concerns a raven who turns psychotic after witnessing (or instigating) a suicide. The narrator turns the classic raven in the tradition of Poe into its opposite: instead of creating an atmosphere of ominous foreshadowing itself, it is the victim of an oppressive, dangerous and incomprehensible situation that it can't handle. The symbol of fear has to go to psychoanalysis to overcome its panic attacks! What a sad and ironic metaphor!
The story that touched me most was the one told by a mole in Berlin, trying to make sense of the wall. He describes his struggle to understand the motivation for people to escape from one side to the other by taking up the mole's profession: digging tunnels.
In the materialistic, detached concept of the moles, human beings try to get into the prison that constitutes West Berlin in order to be able to eat bananas, which are a mystery to moles but can be compared to an especially delicious worm.
"After that I had no other option but to conclude that, in these ancient times of the Wall(s), what Men defined as freedom was moving from one banana place to another."
I could not help laughing tears at this. First of all because it is still true! We do indeed want to be able to move from one banana place (republic) to another, and we want to have the option to eat bananas, even if we don't actually like them. Secondly, it reminded me of the time at the beginning of the 1990s, when I went to school in a (West) German town, and people started to move there from Eastern towns. Bananas were indeed not a joke. It was a real topic, a symbol for the difference between the two Germanys. There are a lot of questions underneath the surface of that ironical storyline. As Draculic herself states in the introduction:
"I am aware that, if you are not familiar with Eastern Europe under Communism, some stories from this book might appear to you highly fictitious, if not outright fantasy. Therefore, I would like to assure you that, unfortunately, this is not the case. From the point of view of persons and events described, regardless of whether a story is narrated by a dog, a cat, or some other domestic, wild, or exotic animal, it all really happened. This is easy enough to check. Indeed, as a fiction writer I often felt ashamed by the imagination of politicians, of which there is ample proof in this book!"
This is an argument I have heard from giants of magical realism in South America and Asia as well, such as Marquez or Salman Rushdie, and the more life experience I gain, the more I tend to agree with them. The benefit of introducing animal storytellers to relate the historical facts is simply to add a platform for interpretation from a different angle, and it works beautifully. It is unlikely the reader will forget the characters described in this novel, and it should be part of any library concerned with human beings living within timeframe of the social experiments of the 20th century, like Koestler, Pasternak, Doris Lessing, Milan Kundera, Milosz etc. They all added a dimension to the task of writing down history so it won't be repeated in all its surrealism and folly, and they did so writing brilliant fiction.
As Kipling said:
"If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten."