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A Legacy
The Kaiser's Germany is the setting of Sybille Bedford's first and best-known novel, in which two families -- one from solid, upholstered Jewish Berlin, the other from the somnolent, agrarian Catholic South -- become comically, tragically, irrevocably intertwined. "Each family," writes the author, "stood confident of being able to go on with what was theirs, while in fact they were playthings, often victims, of the now united Germany and what was brewing therein." Did the monstrous thing that followed have its foundation in families such as these? "Writing about them made me think so. Hence the title."
368 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1956
160 people are currently reading
2819 people want to read
About the author
Sybille Bedford
48 books99 followersSybille Bedford, OBE (16 March 1911 – 17 February 2006) was a German-born English writer. Many of her works are partly autobiographical. Julia Neuberger proclaimed her "the finest woman writer of the 20th century" while Bruce Chatwin saw her as "one of the most dazzling practitioners of modern English prose.
Works
The Sudden View: a Mexican Journey - 1953 - (republished as A Visit to Don Otavio: a Traveller's Tale from Mexico, a travelogue)
A Legacy: A Novel - 1956 - her first novel, a work inspired by the early life of the author's father, which focuses on the brutality and anti-Semitism in the cadet schools of the German officer class.
The Best We Can Do: (The Trial of Dr Adams) - 1958 - an account of the murder trial of suspected serial killer John Bodkin Adams
The Faces of Justice: A Traveller's report - 1961 - a description of the legal systems of England, Germany, Switzerland, and France.
A Favourite of the Gods - 1963 - a novel about an American heiress who marries a Roman Prince
A Compass Error - 1968 - a sequel to the above, describing the love affairs of the granddaughter of that work's protagonist
Aldous Huxley: A biography - 1973 - the standard, authorized biography of Huxley
Jigsaw: An Unsentimental Education - 1989 - a sort of followup to A Legacy, this novel was inspired by the author's experiences living in Italy and France with her mother
As It Was: Pleasures, Landscapes and Justice - 1990 - a collection of magazine pieces on various trials, including the censorship of Lady Chatterley's Lover, the trial of Jack Ruby, and the Auschwitz trial, as well as pieces on food and travel.
Pleasures and Landscapes: A Traveller's Tales from Europe - a reissue of the above, removing the legal writings, and including two additional travel essays.
Quicksands: A Memoir - 2005 - A memoir of the author's life, from her childhood in Berlin to her experiences in postwar Europe.
Works
The Sudden View: a Mexican Journey - 1953 - (republished as A Visit to Don Otavio: a Traveller's Tale from Mexico, a travelogue)
A Legacy: A Novel - 1956 - her first novel, a work inspired by the early life of the author's father, which focuses on the brutality and anti-Semitism in the cadet schools of the German officer class.
The Best We Can Do: (The Trial of Dr Adams) - 1958 - an account of the murder trial of suspected serial killer John Bodkin Adams
The Faces of Justice: A Traveller's report - 1961 - a description of the legal systems of England, Germany, Switzerland, and France.
A Favourite of the Gods - 1963 - a novel about an American heiress who marries a Roman Prince
A Compass Error - 1968 - a sequel to the above, describing the love affairs of the granddaughter of that work's protagonist
Aldous Huxley: A biography - 1973 - the standard, authorized biography of Huxley
Jigsaw: An Unsentimental Education - 1989 - a sort of followup to A Legacy, this novel was inspired by the author's experiences living in Italy and France with her mother
As It Was: Pleasures, Landscapes and Justice - 1990 - a collection of magazine pieces on various trials, including the censorship of Lady Chatterley's Lover, the trial of Jack Ruby, and the Auschwitz trial, as well as pieces on food and travel.
Pleasures and Landscapes: A Traveller's Tales from Europe - a reissue of the above, removing the legal writings, and including two additional travel essays.
Quicksands: A Memoir - 2005 - A memoir of the author's life, from her childhood in Berlin to her experiences in postwar Europe.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 153 reviews
February 13, 2018
This surprised me. Not that it was good, but that it was so funny. I'm just not used to getting this many yucks out of tales of pre-WWI German haute bourgeoisie and the landed aristocracy. And subtly done, too; done with a mastery of language.
For instance . . .
The old folks notice some amorous leanings in their son: He ruined his career by meeting a Frenchwoman, who though presentable was not respectable. One of the counts against her was that in an age of rubber tubs she travelled with a silver bidet. The old people put their foot down. They managed to prevent marriage, but they prevented nothing else.
And . . .
The French Revolution was still alive with them as a calamity, and of the Industrial one they were not aware.
And that's all before the chimpanzees show up.
There's a Jewish family and a Catholic one, and they will intertwine, causing a theological deadlock between non-practicing members of two religions.
Even tragic events are rendered with humor: bigotry, insanity, attempted suicide, military pedantry.
I confess to being a bit overwhelmed with the number of characters, and the copious insertion of French and German sentences and phrases. But even if I didn't totally understand the meaning of the ending, I liked that a woman hides certain letters in a book (The Correspondence of Gustave Flaubert) with a mistaken assumption that her husband is not a reader.
Oh, and there's a bit of a scandal when it's discovered that a son, insane, has been hidden in the Army as a decorated Captain. The citizenry take to the streets, some dressed up like ridiculous Army officers, with signs around their necks proclaiming ME TOO. This was a time before hashtags.
This confusion of nationality and religion and class all comes, I've learned, from the author's own jumbled history. And, indeed, there is a narrator, a young girl. Yet, the young girl relates things that occurred long before she was born, and tells things she witnesses but with a perception far beyond her few years. So, you know, it's the author really, when the little girl speaks:
"Mummy--I've got it."
"What?"
"The question."
"Let's hear it."
"Mummy," I said, "why are you here?"
For instance . . .
The old folks notice some amorous leanings in their son: He ruined his career by meeting a Frenchwoman, who though presentable was not respectable. One of the counts against her was that in an age of rubber tubs she travelled with a silver bidet. The old people put their foot down. They managed to prevent marriage, but they prevented nothing else.
And . . .
The French Revolution was still alive with them as a calamity, and of the Industrial one they were not aware.
And that's all before the chimpanzees show up.
There's a Jewish family and a Catholic one, and they will intertwine, causing a theological deadlock between non-practicing members of two religions.
Even tragic events are rendered with humor: bigotry, insanity, attempted suicide, military pedantry.
I confess to being a bit overwhelmed with the number of characters, and the copious insertion of French and German sentences and phrases. But even if I didn't totally understand the meaning of the ending, I liked that a woman hides certain letters in a book (The Correspondence of Gustave Flaubert) with a mistaken assumption that her husband is not a reader.
Oh, and there's a bit of a scandal when it's discovered that a son, insane, has been hidden in the Army as a decorated Captain. The citizenry take to the streets, some dressed up like ridiculous Army officers, with signs around their necks proclaiming ME TOO. This was a time before hashtags.
This confusion of nationality and religion and class all comes, I've learned, from the author's own jumbled history. And, indeed, there is a narrator, a young girl. Yet, the young girl relates things that occurred long before she was born, and tells things she witnesses but with a perception far beyond her few years. So, you know, it's the author really, when the little girl speaks:
"Mummy--I've got it."
"What?"
"The question."
"Let's hear it."
"Mummy," I said, "why are you here?"
November 1, 2013
I have decided that I do not read enough female authors and so I intend to make sure that at least one of the books I am reading is written by a woman. Sybille Bedford is not very well known; just over 100 ratings and just over 20 reviews for this, her most famous novel. Yet listen to what has been said about her. Julia Neuberger called her the finest woman writer of the 20th Century (not sure I agree), the novelist and critic Francis King called A Legacy one of the greatest books of the 20th Century and Bruce Chatwin (no mean writer himself) described her as “one of the most dazzling practitioners of English prose”. I can guarantee that had a man had such plaudits then he would be well known and read by all and sundry; yet Bedford only died in 2006 and she seems to be mostly forgotten. She was a close friend of Aldous Huxley and his wife and was also friends with Mann and Brecht. She had written critical articles about the Nazis and was living in the South of France as the Nazis closed in. She needed a passport to escape and Huxley and his wife arranged a marriage of convenience to one of W H Auden’s male friends. The marriage was soon ended but Bedford retained the surname. She had a fascinating life and her main relationships were with other writers; Evelyn Gendel and Eda Lord. I now have Quicksands, Bedford’s memoirs on my tbr list. Eda Lord has two novels on GR, neither have a rating or review.
The novel is partly autobiographical a portrait of two families (one Catholic, one Jewish) in pre World War One Germany. It captures the tensions in German society, the rise of militarism, the Catholic agrarian south vs the more cosmopolitan north (Berlin). It also explores the tensions of a marriage between a Jewish family and a Catholic family. It is a saga that spans generations and we see the central characters grow up and begin to grow old. There are some good comic turns from the minor characters (servants, grandparents etc) but the themes are powerful; madness, adultery, betrayal, financial ruin. The men in the novel tend to be moody, often distant, often feckless and idle and struggling to come to terms with a rapidly changing world. The women form something of a sisterhood (admittedly fragile at times) and tend to be the strong ones. There is a sense of gloom about the passages set in Berlin; they are very claustrophobic and so well written.
Bedford is a remarkable writer of conversational passages; although she does make the reader work sometimes. I’m reading The Recognitions at the moment and she has the same habit Gaddis has of launching into dialogue whilst not mentioning to the reader who is involved! Incidentally the two novels were published about the same time.
This is the first of a trilogy of autobiographical novels and I would highly recommend it
The novel is partly autobiographical a portrait of two families (one Catholic, one Jewish) in pre World War One Germany. It captures the tensions in German society, the rise of militarism, the Catholic agrarian south vs the more cosmopolitan north (Berlin). It also explores the tensions of a marriage between a Jewish family and a Catholic family. It is a saga that spans generations and we see the central characters grow up and begin to grow old. There are some good comic turns from the minor characters (servants, grandparents etc) but the themes are powerful; madness, adultery, betrayal, financial ruin. The men in the novel tend to be moody, often distant, often feckless and idle and struggling to come to terms with a rapidly changing world. The women form something of a sisterhood (admittedly fragile at times) and tend to be the strong ones. There is a sense of gloom about the passages set in Berlin; they are very claustrophobic and so well written.
Bedford is a remarkable writer of conversational passages; although she does make the reader work sometimes. I’m reading The Recognitions at the moment and she has the same habit Gaddis has of launching into dialogue whilst not mentioning to the reader who is involved! Incidentally the two novels were published about the same time.
This is the first of a trilogy of autobiographical novels and I would highly recommend it
October 20, 2024
Every family, indeed every person, has a skeleton in the closet. The higher the social status, the more the money and the idiosyncratic personalities, the more those skeletons lend themselves to colorful stories. One look at Sybille Bedford’s biography on Wikipedia is enough to convince the potential reader of this quasi-memoir that it will be an exciting read.
The introduction alone, written by the author at the request of her publisher, in order to “say something” about where she was and what she did while she was writing it, is a great piece on its own and you could walk away from the book satisfied that you’ve just read a really good story.
The author’s own words best describe the setting, the characters and the intricacies of the novel: “…the time was late nineteenth century and early twentieth, the country Germany, the people a triangle of three families who, somewhat unfortunately linked by marriages, were wholly unlike each other in habits, values and religions.”
The aforesaid skeleton was an event concerning a member of one of the families that was badly and cruelly dealt with by all the rest, according to personal interest, values and weakness. Their decisions and actions were dictated as much by their individual stances, as by the politics and mores of their time. As often is the case with such buried stories, fate or chance bring them to light years later, and the consequences are suffered by both the sinful and the innocent.
In the case of Bedford’s family, a private tragedy caused a very public scandal that involved the upper echelons of the newly formed, Kaiser’s unified Germany. Although she changed the names of the characters, they were the members of her family and the events were part of her family’s history. They had happened before she was born but she had “heard and overheard” them as a child. With this novel, she managed to do what we all wish we could do with our family stories: “…absorb, retain and decades after, re-shape them in an adult mode.”
It was an uneven read, in that its language, however witty and elegant, felt overly constructed at times, especially for a non-native English speaker like me. It also contained numerous untranslated sentences in German and French that, however much made the dialogue sound authentic, had me running to the dictionary more than was good for the reading flow. I think that the publisher could have mended that by including their translations. The tone was so insinuating at times that it felt like an inside joke I couldn’t grasp; in the introduction Bedford admits that she was writing “in deep emotion”, “passages streaming onto the page through sudden seeing and feeling”. She “wishes she knew” if they would be “discernable to a reader”, and that is enough for me to ‘forgive’ the exclusion, especially since the occasional discomfort was evened by other passages of extraordinary beauty and insight that deeply resonated.
As for the title, it connects the personal with the broader, sociopolitical aspects of the story. It all happened at a time and place full of “German dottiness and devoid of humour”, according to the author. She herself wonders if some of it wasn’t “a foundation of the vast and monstrous thing that followed.” In this light, I agree that it was as much a personal, as a national legacy.
It’s fascinating and enlightening to be reminded how people and countries shape the small and big events of their times. Events that become unavoidable legacies and consequently shape our own lives, however much we think we’ve distanced ourselves from our ancestors.
The introduction alone, written by the author at the request of her publisher, in order to “say something” about where she was and what she did while she was writing it, is a great piece on its own and you could walk away from the book satisfied that you’ve just read a really good story.
The author’s own words best describe the setting, the characters and the intricacies of the novel: “…the time was late nineteenth century and early twentieth, the country Germany, the people a triangle of three families who, somewhat unfortunately linked by marriages, were wholly unlike each other in habits, values and religions.”
The aforesaid skeleton was an event concerning a member of one of the families that was badly and cruelly dealt with by all the rest, according to personal interest, values and weakness. Their decisions and actions were dictated as much by their individual stances, as by the politics and mores of their time. As often is the case with such buried stories, fate or chance bring them to light years later, and the consequences are suffered by both the sinful and the innocent.
In the case of Bedford’s family, a private tragedy caused a very public scandal that involved the upper echelons of the newly formed, Kaiser’s unified Germany. Although she changed the names of the characters, they were the members of her family and the events were part of her family’s history. They had happened before she was born but she had “heard and overheard” them as a child. With this novel, she managed to do what we all wish we could do with our family stories: “…absorb, retain and decades after, re-shape them in an adult mode.”
It was an uneven read, in that its language, however witty and elegant, felt overly constructed at times, especially for a non-native English speaker like me. It also contained numerous untranslated sentences in German and French that, however much made the dialogue sound authentic, had me running to the dictionary more than was good for the reading flow. I think that the publisher could have mended that by including their translations. The tone was so insinuating at times that it felt like an inside joke I couldn’t grasp; in the introduction Bedford admits that she was writing “in deep emotion”, “passages streaming onto the page through sudden seeing and feeling”. She “wishes she knew” if they would be “discernable to a reader”, and that is enough for me to ‘forgive’ the exclusion, especially since the occasional discomfort was evened by other passages of extraordinary beauty and insight that deeply resonated.
As for the title, it connects the personal with the broader, sociopolitical aspects of the story. It all happened at a time and place full of “German dottiness and devoid of humour”, according to the author. She herself wonders if some of it wasn’t “a foundation of the vast and monstrous thing that followed.” In this light, I agree that it was as much a personal, as a national legacy.
It’s fascinating and enlightening to be reminded how people and countries shape the small and big events of their times. Events that become unavoidable legacies and consequently shape our own lives, however much we think we’ve distanced ourselves from our ancestors.
December 8, 2017
Reseña completa: https://cronicasdemagrat.wordpress.co...
Este es uno de esos libros extraños de los que cuesta hablar por ser tan peculiares, pero a mi me ha conquistado por completo.
Gira en torno a dos familias aristocráticas en la Alemania de principios del siglo XX, el argumento es todo menos lineal y sus personajes extravagantes a más no poder. La manera de escribir de la autora fue lo que realmente me atrapó, esos saltos temporales, la descripción minuciosa de las diferentes personalidades, el humor y la ironía que lo impregna todo, la profunda melancolía y el drama escondido.... Muy muy fan. Estoy deseando leer más cosas de esta autora..
Ah, y ojalá un árbol genealógico, esta es una de esas lecturas que me hubieran hecho la vida más fácil con un árbol genealógico...
Este es uno de esos libros extraños de los que cuesta hablar por ser tan peculiares, pero a mi me ha conquistado por completo.
Gira en torno a dos familias aristocráticas en la Alemania de principios del siglo XX, el argumento es todo menos lineal y sus personajes extravagantes a más no poder. La manera de escribir de la autora fue lo que realmente me atrapó, esos saltos temporales, la descripción minuciosa de las diferentes personalidades, el humor y la ironía que lo impregna todo, la profunda melancolía y el drama escondido.... Muy muy fan. Estoy deseando leer más cosas de esta autora..
Ah, y ojalá un árbol genealógico, esta es una de esas lecturas que me hubieran hecho la vida más fácil con un árbol genealógico...
October 28, 2022
As it happened I first read Jigsaw, something like a sequel published thirty years later. I was entranced in a bookstore and some pages in I knew I was not leaving without it, and would not pause my reading. (The same with Patrick Leigh Fermor. I started a chance copy of Between the Woods and the Water knowing it was volume two; the writing was so good I didn't care.) I became fascinated by the narrator’s mother, portrayed in her 40s, and I actually looked forward to reading backward in time, to see where she came from, who she had been, and discovering the difficult choices she had made. In A Legacy I was surprised, and reminded. Caroline is familiar and strange, recognizable and different, and surrounded by quite a cast. My favorite is Sarah Merz, the sister-in-law of Caroline’s husband’s first, dead wife. Sarah is imperious and melancholy, a steely manager of her fortune and feckless husband, and a great aesthete and collector, living her own life in Paris, if dutifully returning to Berlin when required.
Sarah is for a time quietly in love with Caroline, and at a critical juncture she forms a proposal to offer her, a plan of how they could go away together; but Sarah hesitates and gives way to the narrator’s father. Bedford’s delicacy is just wonderful.
“Do you like this picture?” she said.
Clara stabbed her lorgnette in the direction of the wall.
“What is the subject?” she asked.
“A farm-yard in Normandy, if you like.”
“I do not see the use of these things,” said Clara. “Is it not insisting on error, this making images of what is itself illusion?”
“What?” said Sarah. “Is that how you see it? All of it? Illusion. You may be right; for me it is this that can make a farm-yard real.”
“Of course Sarah’s house is lovely.”
“Sarah does everything à l’anglaise,” said Jeanne.
Caroline laughed.
“Not her pictures, though.”
“No, not those,” said Jeanne; “I’m coming round to them.”
“I was round. But I never really saw them until Sarah. She taught me.”
Sarah is for a time quietly in love with Caroline, and at a critical juncture she forms a proposal to offer her, a plan of how they could go away together; but Sarah hesitates and gives way to the narrator’s father. Bedford’s delicacy is just wonderful.
September 22, 2015
I’m so far behind on my reviews that this has to be shorter than it deserves.
This book is so allusive that after you’ve finished and go back to an early scene, you see how much is contained and hidden in this apparently throw away exchange of four lines about two yellow 17th century Persian ceramic cats. Layers of meaning, deception, weakness, love and oblivion.
Bedford writes incredibly indirect yet deep prose about the intermarriages of these Jewish and Catholic families. But it seems that even more she is writing about the unsuccessful merging of Prussia and southern Germany, the clash of cultures and how compromises or ignoring differences lead to disaster. And she writes about money, and how it’s possession allows people to go through life oblivious to their effect on other people, both within their families and in the larger society. And of course she writes about sex of every variety, and the psychological consequences of sex that is imposed or denied.
This is also a very funny and very tragic book. The accommodation of mistresses and debts in the wealthy Berlin world of the Merzes shows what went on below the surface on the social level, while the politicking and religious finagling of the Feldon and Bernin families in the south and the military culture that is the root cause of the ultimate tragedy for all these families foreshadows two wars to come.
I’m definitely going to read more Bedford. It’s not quick or easy. As others have noted, the reader works hard to figure out who’s talking and what they mean, but the oblique conversations mean that every nuance counts. Very nice.
The next day Sarah took him to Voss Strasse [the house of the elderly Merzes; they are both married into the Merz family]. On their way in she stopped. “Oh look at them! So beautiful. Your cats.”
He seemed taked aback. He glanced at the yellow creatures on their pedestals. “I’d forgotten about them,” he said.
“They give me pleasure every time. I really must see that they’re left to me.”
“Oh I shouldn’t,” he said.
This book is so allusive that after you’ve finished and go back to an early scene, you see how much is contained and hidden in this apparently throw away exchange of four lines about two yellow 17th century Persian ceramic cats. Layers of meaning, deception, weakness, love and oblivion.
Bedford writes incredibly indirect yet deep prose about the intermarriages of these Jewish and Catholic families. But it seems that even more she is writing about the unsuccessful merging of Prussia and southern Germany, the clash of cultures and how compromises or ignoring differences lead to disaster. And she writes about money, and how it’s possession allows people to go through life oblivious to their effect on other people, both within their families and in the larger society. And of course she writes about sex of every variety, and the psychological consequences of sex that is imposed or denied.
This is also a very funny and very tragic book. The accommodation of mistresses and debts in the wealthy Berlin world of the Merzes shows what went on below the surface on the social level, while the politicking and religious finagling of the Feldon and Bernin families in the south and the military culture that is the root cause of the ultimate tragedy for all these families foreshadows two wars to come.
I’m definitely going to read more Bedford. It’s not quick or easy. As others have noted, the reader works hard to figure out who’s talking and what they mean, but the oblique conversations mean that every nuance counts. Very nice.
Read
July 16, 2023The audience for this must be a pretty select group. Bedford displays the same wit and narrative propulsion that made A Visit to Don Otavio such a joy to read, but unless you're deeply informed about the mores and manners of Badische barons, well-versed in the various forces at play in the original unification of Germany under Kaiser Wilhelm and so forth, a lot of this will go right over your head. Or at least, I felt it was going over mine.
One reason fiction has become a simpler enterprise in modern times is that few people have seven siblings anymore, let alone all the cousins and aunts and uncles that must be placed on the reader's mental map.
Maybe I'll revisit this one in retirement.
One reason fiction has become a simpler enterprise in modern times is that few people have seven siblings anymore, let alone all the cousins and aunts and uncles that must be placed on the reader's mental map.
Maybe I'll revisit this one in retirement.
January 16, 2020
Que 'rara avis' ha resultado ser 'El legado'.
Relato autobiográfico, saga familiar, cuadro costumbrista e incluso retrato satírico, esta novela, publicada por primera vez en 1956, ha conseguido algo harto difícil: cautivarme y exasperarme a partes iguales.
Esta es la historia de dos familias, radicalmente opuestas, unidas por un matrimonio. Por un lado los tradicionales Merzen, judíos acaudalados afincados en Berlín, y por otro los Felden una aristocrática y excéntrica familia católica asentada en el sur de Alemania.
Estamos a finales del s.XIX y el país, recién unificado, avanza a trompicones hacia un futuro incierto. Es en este ambiente donde evolucionan las dos familias protagonistas. Dos familias marcadas por la tragedia y por los cambios acelerados que trajo consigo el recién inaugurado s. XX.
Es difícil detallar una trama concreta de la novela. 'El legado' es básicamente el retrato de un variopinto grupo de personas esbozado por uno de sus descendientes, la pequeña Francesca.
Trágicos episodios, momentos cómicos, secretos que tardan en ser desvelados...
Recuerdos de un tiempo que fue y de un mundo desvanecido que solo existe ya en los viejos retratos de familia.
En este aspecto, en la descripción minuciosa que Sybille Bedford hace de la vida en esa Alemania de finales de siglo, la novela me ha cautivado. Todo esta detallado con mimo: la ropa de unos y otros, los numerosos viajes en tren que hacen los protagonistas, las comidas, las pequeñas costumbres...
Desgraciadamente no me he sentido tan a gusto con algunas situaciones demasiado absurdas, y con la abundante sucesión de diálogos, descosidos y algo caóticos, que dejan entrever a duras penas quién habla y lo que está ocurriendo en cada momento. Si leéis la novela, id despacito para poder captar los recurrentes sobrentendidos.
Cómo veis, he disfrutado mucho pero me cuesta recomendaros 'El legado' sin reservas. Si estáis buscando un saga familiar 'al uso' que transcurra y describa el s.XIX alemán (justo el período anterior a la historia narrada en 'El legado') entonces corred a por un ejemplar de 'Los Buddenbrook'.
Relato autobiográfico, saga familiar, cuadro costumbrista e incluso retrato satírico, esta novela, publicada por primera vez en 1956, ha conseguido algo harto difícil: cautivarme y exasperarme a partes iguales.
Esta es la historia de dos familias, radicalmente opuestas, unidas por un matrimonio. Por un lado los tradicionales Merzen, judíos acaudalados afincados en Berlín, y por otro los Felden una aristocrática y excéntrica familia católica asentada en el sur de Alemania.
Estamos a finales del s.XIX y el país, recién unificado, avanza a trompicones hacia un futuro incierto. Es en este ambiente donde evolucionan las dos familias protagonistas. Dos familias marcadas por la tragedia y por los cambios acelerados que trajo consigo el recién inaugurado s. XX.
Es difícil detallar una trama concreta de la novela. 'El legado' es básicamente el retrato de un variopinto grupo de personas esbozado por uno de sus descendientes, la pequeña Francesca.
Trágicos episodios, momentos cómicos, secretos que tardan en ser desvelados...
Recuerdos de un tiempo que fue y de un mundo desvanecido que solo existe ya en los viejos retratos de familia.
En este aspecto, en la descripción minuciosa que Sybille Bedford hace de la vida en esa Alemania de finales de siglo, la novela me ha cautivado. Todo esta detallado con mimo: la ropa de unos y otros, los numerosos viajes en tren que hacen los protagonistas, las comidas, las pequeñas costumbres...
Desgraciadamente no me he sentido tan a gusto con algunas situaciones demasiado absurdas, y con la abundante sucesión de diálogos, descosidos y algo caóticos, que dejan entrever a duras penas quién habla y lo que está ocurriendo en cada momento. Si leéis la novela, id despacito para poder captar los recurrentes sobrentendidos.
Cómo veis, he disfrutado mucho pero me cuesta recomendaros 'El legado' sin reservas. Si estáis buscando un saga familiar 'al uso' que transcurra y describa el s.XIX alemán (justo el período anterior a la historia narrada en 'El legado') entonces corred a por un ejemplar de 'Los Buddenbrook'.
May 29, 2021
Está claro que no he conectado con la forma de escribir de esta mujer. Pese a que la historia que narra está muy bien y es interesante, ni los diálogos, que a ratos me parecían absurdos, ni el como avanza la trama, me han gustado.
El personaje que ha interesado más y más "cómico" me ha parecido ha sido Johanes, los demás me han dejado indiferente.
Aburrido y pesado, prescindible.
El personaje que ha interesado más y más "cómico" me ha parecido ha sido Johanes, los demás me han dejado indiferente.
Aburrido y pesado, prescindible.
November 19, 2018
Sybille Bedford no sólo ejecuta unas descripciones magistrales, sino que sus diálogos, esas conversaciones entre dos personas, son tan interesantes, tan llenos de referencias (históricas, sociales, culturales, económicas), ese aire culto casi elitista hasta el punto de resultar pedantes en muchas ocasiones.... esos corrillos de viejos apolillados y el comadreo general entre las mujeres, qe hacen y deshacen para luego lavarse las manos de todo... Todo ello y más me ha parecido tan maravilloso y me lo he pasado tan bien imaginándome sus caras, sus narices casi todas apuntando hacia arriba... Sybille Bedford, en definitiva, retrata una sociedad que languidece y parece abocada a la desaparición, que huele a naftalina y a habitación cerrada, pero que, a pesar de todo y del paso del tiempo, aun pervive: es un tipo de sociedad que, a veces parece que remonta, pero sigue languideciendo, muriendo sin llegar a morir del todo. Si uno se fija bien aún puede encontrársela envuelta en pieles, ya sea invierno o verano, siempre ocupando las terrazas de los cafés, para dejarse ver.
En cuanto a la narración ésta es tan elegante y amena que en ningún momento se hace pesada ni tediosa, aun cuando en determinado momento se nos esté relatando la tarde más aburrida que uno u otro de los personajes pudiera estar sufriendo. La vida ociosa es lo que tiene ¿verdad Caroline? ¿no es cierto Jules?
En cuanto a la narración ésta es tan elegante y amena que en ningún momento se hace pesada ni tediosa, aun cuando en determinado momento se nos esté relatando la tarde más aburrida que uno u otro de los personajes pudiera estar sufriendo. La vida ociosa es lo que tiene ¿verdad Caroline? ¿no es cierto Jules?
May 1, 2020
3.5
Se trata de una novela autobiográfica de la familia de la escritora: Sybille Bedford.
Ubicada en los últimos años del siglo XIX y primeros del siglo XX, nos presenta la vida de los componentes de dos familias muy diferentes entre si: una perteneciente a la clase burguesa judía de la ciudad de Berlín, y otra a la nobleza católica del sur del país.
Costumbres y tradiciones muy distintas que chocan y entremezclan a lo largo de la historia.
Cuenta con unos personajes realmente peculiares y excéntricos, y con unas formas de vida desaparecidas con la primera guerra mundial.
Hay momentos realmente cómicos, y situaciones inverosímiles que parecen totalmente imposibles en nuestros días, y que sorprenden a una mentalidad de nuestros días.
Se trata de una novela autobiográfica de la familia de la escritora: Sybille Bedford.
Ubicada en los últimos años del siglo XIX y primeros del siglo XX, nos presenta la vida de los componentes de dos familias muy diferentes entre si: una perteneciente a la clase burguesa judía de la ciudad de Berlín, y otra a la nobleza católica del sur del país.
Costumbres y tradiciones muy distintas que chocan y entremezclan a lo largo de la historia.
Cuenta con unos personajes realmente peculiares y excéntricos, y con unas formas de vida desaparecidas con la primera guerra mundial.
Hay momentos realmente cómicos, y situaciones inverosímiles que parecen totalmente imposibles en nuestros días, y que sorprenden a una mentalidad de nuestros días.
May 18, 2019
Potenzialmente, un romanzo imprescindibile.
La vicenda delle tre famiglie alle prese con gli effetti dell'unificazione della Germania sotto il segno della Prussia, costruita dall'autrice prevalentemente sulla base dei propri ricordi, consente in effetti di gettare uno sguardo sui costi, sociali e psicologici, che quell'unità ebbe per alcuni gruppi minoritari che non furono in grado di comprendere prontamente la minaccia per la propria condizione privilegiata e per la propria stabilità psichica personale.
Il romanzo però soffre -specie nella parte centrale- la scelta stilistica dell'autrice la quale, pur disponendo di una penna in grado di immortalare un personaggio in quattro righe e tratteggiare un intero scenario sociale in mezza pagina, da un certo punto in poi affida prevalentemente ai dialoghi la comprensione degli eventi e delle loro risonanze nella vita dei protagonisti.
Scelta probabilmente dovuta alla grande ammirazione della Bedford per l'arte di Ivy Compton-Burnett, dalla cui abilità resta però parecchio distante; forse anche per l'ampiezza delle vicende raccontate, lo strumento appare in ogni caso poco funzionale e il romanzo finisce così per sfilacciarsi parecchio, perdendo di forza drammatica e rendendo a momenti quasi incomprensibile l'evoluzione psicologica dei protagonisti.
Peccato.
La vicenda delle tre famiglie alle prese con gli effetti dell'unificazione della Germania sotto il segno della Prussia, costruita dall'autrice prevalentemente sulla base dei propri ricordi, consente in effetti di gettare uno sguardo sui costi, sociali e psicologici, che quell'unità ebbe per alcuni gruppi minoritari che non furono in grado di comprendere prontamente la minaccia per la propria condizione privilegiata e per la propria stabilità psichica personale.
Il romanzo però soffre -specie nella parte centrale- la scelta stilistica dell'autrice la quale, pur disponendo di una penna in grado di immortalare un personaggio in quattro righe e tratteggiare un intero scenario sociale in mezza pagina, da un certo punto in poi affida prevalentemente ai dialoghi la comprensione degli eventi e delle loro risonanze nella vita dei protagonisti.
Scelta probabilmente dovuta alla grande ammirazione della Bedford per l'arte di Ivy Compton-Burnett, dalla cui abilità resta però parecchio distante; forse anche per l'ampiezza delle vicende raccontate, lo strumento appare in ogni caso poco funzionale e il romanzo finisce così per sfilacciarsi parecchio, perdendo di forza drammatica e rendendo a momenti quasi incomprensibile l'evoluzione psicologica dei protagonisti.
Peccato.
September 8, 2017
Una crónica un poco atípica de dos familias alemanas de principios del siglo XX (antes de la Primera Guerra Mundial): los nobles católicos del sur y los ricos comerciantes judíos de la ciudad de Berlín. Dos mundos, dos formas de vivir y ver las cosas, unidos por el primer matrimonio de Julius von Felden con la hija de los Merz.
Tiene más de comedia que de costumbrismo, pero no calificaría la novela de ninguno de los dos géneros. De hecho, me es muy difícil categorizarlo. Los personajes son extravagantes y sus historias, al final, también lo parecen, aunque estén teñidas de drama. En un principio parece no tener trama, pero poco a poco la historia se va encauzando hasta no solo construir una trama, sino tener incluso un giro.
No se lo aconsejo a todo el mundo, pues puede ser considerado demasiado lento, con un humor demasiado absurdo, por no mencionar que nada parece decirse claramente, el lector debe sacar sus propias conclusiones de los sobrentendidos y medias verdades; pero a mí me ha seducido esta historia familiar un poco loca, un poco nostálgica, que me pareció bastante fresca.
Tiene más de comedia que de costumbrismo, pero no calificaría la novela de ninguno de los dos géneros. De hecho, me es muy difícil categorizarlo. Los personajes son extravagantes y sus historias, al final, también lo parecen, aunque estén teñidas de drama. En un principio parece no tener trama, pero poco a poco la historia se va encauzando hasta no solo construir una trama, sino tener incluso un giro.
No se lo aconsejo a todo el mundo, pues puede ser considerado demasiado lento, con un humor demasiado absurdo, por no mencionar que nada parece decirse claramente, el lector debe sacar sus propias conclusiones de los sobrentendidos y medias verdades; pero a mí me ha seducido esta historia familiar un poco loca, un poco nostálgica, que me pareció bastante fresca.
June 3, 2025
Hay libros que son como casas viejas: uno entra con cautela, pensando que quizá no aguanten el peso de los años o de nuestras expectativas, y de pronto se encuentra en medio de un salón lleno de ecos, pasados y secretos que nadie ha sabido barrer.
El legado es una de esas casas. No cruje, no chirría, pero sus paredes han visto demasiadas cosas y lo saben. Y uno lo nota desde la primera página: aquí ha pasado algo. Algo terrible, probablemente. Y Sybille Bedford, en lugar de gritárnoslo al oído, se limita a encender un cigarrillo y sentarse a mirar, con ese estilo suyo que parece no levantar la voz jamás, pero que termina resonando más fuerte que cualquier estruendo.
Uno intenta entonces ponerle nombre a eso que pesa, a esa atmósfera espesa, y se encuentra con una sinopsis que suena demasiado simple para tanta sombra. Porque sí, uno podría resumir El legado en una frase y no decir nada: tres familias alemanas entrelazadas por matrimonios, dinero y resentimientos, en los años previos a la Primera Guerra Mundial. Fin. Pero claro, eso sería como decir que Los Buddenbrook trata sobre comerciantes en declive o que Los hermanos Karamázov va de un parricidio. Técnicamente cierto, humanamente irrelevante. Porque esta novela no se lee para saber qué pasa, sino para saber cómo se pudre lentamente todo lo que se da por sentado: las convenciones, la autoridad, la familia, el amor. La herencia —en todos los sentidos posibles— como condena.
Y claro, ¿quién si no alguien como Bedford iba a escribir algo así? Tenía muchas vidas dentro antes de sentarse a escribir esta novela: hija de un barón alemán y una madre inglesa adicta a los escándalos, conocía de primera mano esa aristocracia venida a menos, sus silencios atroces, su histeria educada. Hay una veta autobiográfica, claro, pero no esperéis confesiones lacrimógenas. Aquí nadie llora. Aquí se disimula, se calla y se mira hacia otro lado, y precisamente por eso el dolor es más devastador. El narrador, en apariencia neutro, adopta una distancia justa: no juzga, pero tampoco se deja engañar. Y cuando parece que estamos leyendo una saga familiar con tonos victorianos, Bedford nos lanza de pronto una frase que lo resquebraja todo, como si Henry James se hubiese tomado un whisky con Thomas Bernhard y decidido escribir sobre los efectos secundarios de pertenecer a una casta que ya no se sostiene ni a sí misma.
De ahí, quizá, esa forma tan suya de escribir: como quien corta el aire con un cuchillo sin afilar. Elegante, sí, pero con una incomodidad constante, con ese ritmo preciso que obliga a leer despacio, no por densidad, sino por respeto. Hay momentos en que la frase parece estar a punto de derrumbarse de puro contenida, como si la autora supiera que el lector no necesita ser arrastrado, sino provocado. Nada de ornamentos, nada de lágrimas baratas ni frases con moño: Bedford confía en que estamos despiertos, que no venimos buscando frases para subrayar en Instagram. Aquí no hay redención. Sólo memoria, y la memoria es selectiva, cruel y a veces absurda.
Y con una escritura así, los personajes no podían ser simples figurines de época. Aquí hay de todo: aristócratas petrificados en su propia rigidez, mujeres que se deshacen por dentro mientras sostienen la fachada, niños que miran sin entender pero ya saben que nada bueno les espera. Ahí está Caroline, por ejemplo, con esa elegancia que esconde más miedo que altivez: su pasividad elegante no es simple decoro, es una forma de autodefensa ante un mundo que nunca la va a tomar en serio. Y Julius, ese hombre que parece más una institución que un ser humano. Porque Julius no ama: administra afectos como quien gestiona una propiedad heredada. Y luego están el entrañable Johannes, o los abuelos Merz, los Bernin, las cuñadas. Todos, sin excepción, arrastran algo que no se puede nombrar del todo.
Esta densidad emocional y esa carga invisible que llevan los personajes es lo que ha llevado a algunos críticos a comparar la novela con Casa desolada de Dickens, por su retrato de la herencia como condena legal y emocional; a mí me resuena más con La muerte de Virgilio de Hermann Broch, aunque sin el delirio metafísico: esa sensación de que todo lo que ocurre es irrelevante frente a lo que se ha perdido para siempre. Hay una escena —no diré cuál— en la que lo no dicho pesa más que veinte páginas de diálogo. Y ahí está el genio de Bedford: lo que calla nos habla más que lo que muestra.
Ese modo de sugerir, de insinuar, se refleja también en la estructura de la novela. Aunque parece lineal, en realidad se mueve como un recuerdo: va y viene, se detiene en detalles aparentemente inútiles que después se revelan fundamentales, y nunca da la satisfacción de un cierre completo. No hay catarsis. No hay castigo. Sólo una especie de bruma moral que se va espesando. Y en eso se parece a lo mejor de Natalia Ginzburg o incluso a la Suite francesa de Irène Némirovsky: esa capacidad de narrar lo íntimo como si fuera histórico y lo histórico como si fuese doméstico. La Historia, en mayúsculas, se desliza por debajo como una corriente subterránea, pero lo que se impone es la psicología del desgaste, del conformismo, del tedio. La violencia de lo no espectacular.
Y si hay una grieta que lo atraviesa todo en El legado, es la religión. No como epifanía ni consuelo, sino como arma de clase, de ideología, de poder. El contraste entre los católicos y los judíos no es solo un tema: es el suelo minado sobre el que caminan los personajes sin saberlo. Los católicos, férreamente estructurados, simbólicamente unidos al imperio, al ejército, al deber. Los judíos, por el contrario, ilustrados, liberales, urbanos, más cosmopolitas que nacionalistas. Y Bedford lo plantea sin necesidad de levantar pancartas: lo muestra en gestos, en decisiones que parecen personales pero están condicionadas por siglos de prejuicio, por ese antisemitismo latente que atraviesa la Europa burguesa como una corriente eléctrica sorda.
Ese choque sordo también explica por qué los matrimonios entre familias funcionan más como alianzas de poder que como vínculos afectivos. Y no es casual que las tensiones entre suegros, cuñados y parientes vengan teñidas de un desprecio que rara vez se formula en voz alta, pero se cuela en cada conversación, en cada ceja alzada ante una costumbre “ajena”. Bedford no necesita sermonear; basta con poner a convivir dos formas de estar en el mundo, dos culturas, dos religiones, y dejar que el lector sea testigo del desastre cuando ninguna está dispuesta a comprender a la otra. No hay villanos claros, pero sí un poso de toxicidad que se filtra en los intersticios del lenguaje, en los silencios, en lo que se dice con cortesía y se ejecuta con violencia.
Y así, la novela se convierte también en una meditación sobre la intolerancia: no la del fanatismo exaltado, sino la más corrosiva, la más respetable, la que se esconde detrás de un apellido ilustre y una misa dominical. La que prepara, sin saberlo, el caldo de cultivo perfecto para los horrores del siglo XX.
De ahí que uno de los grandes temas sea la imposibilidad de escapar de lo heredado. Ya sea un apellido, una finca, un puñado de valores obsoletos o una forma de mirar el mundo, todo pesa. Todo se hereda. Y cuando crees que puedes romper con ese legado, descubres que ya lo llevas tatuado en la piel. Bedford lo refleja con una lucidez implacable, sin moralinas ni sermones. Simplemente está ahí, como una enfermedad genética de la que nadie quiere hablar.
Lo que más me ha fascinado, sin embargo, es el tono. Ese equilibrio imposible entre lo sarcástico y lo trágico. Bedford tiene el talento de insinuar que todo es ridículo —los protocolos, las poses, las guerras— y, sin embargo, no se burla. No del todo. Porque sabe que la ridiculez, cuando se vive desde dentro, duele. Y eso es lo que queda al cerrar el libro: una mezcla incómoda de risa amarga y silencio respetuoso. Como cuando uno asiste a un funeral y no puede evitar pensar en lo grotesco del sombrero del cura, pero tampoco se atreve a reírse.
Esa sensación, esa tensión entre el humor y el dolor, no se olvida. El legado es de esos libros que no te regalan frases para lucir en redes, sino una sensación que no se va. Una incomodidad densa. Un malestar elegante. No es un libro amable, ni uno que recomendaría a quien busque “una lectura ligera para desconectar”. Aquí se viene a conectar con lo que duele. Con lo que incomoda. Con lo que arrastramos sin saber de dónde viene. Y en ese sentido, es una obra maestra.
Así que si tenéis el cuerpo para una novela que disecciona el alma de Europa con bisturí templado y sonrisa torcida, si os apetece mirar de frente a una época que no está tan muerta como creemos, El legado os espera. No para consolaros, ni para entreteneros, sino para recordaros que la historia —personal o colectiva— nunca pasa del todo. Se queda, como una vieja fotografía en la que ya no reconocemos las caras, pero seguimos sintiendo que algo ahí nos pertenece. Aunque no queramos. Aunque nos dé miedo. Aunque ya sea demasiado tarde.
El legado es una de esas casas. No cruje, no chirría, pero sus paredes han visto demasiadas cosas y lo saben. Y uno lo nota desde la primera página: aquí ha pasado algo. Algo terrible, probablemente. Y Sybille Bedford, en lugar de gritárnoslo al oído, se limita a encender un cigarrillo y sentarse a mirar, con ese estilo suyo que parece no levantar la voz jamás, pero que termina resonando más fuerte que cualquier estruendo.
Uno intenta entonces ponerle nombre a eso que pesa, a esa atmósfera espesa, y se encuentra con una sinopsis que suena demasiado simple para tanta sombra. Porque sí, uno podría resumir El legado en una frase y no decir nada: tres familias alemanas entrelazadas por matrimonios, dinero y resentimientos, en los años previos a la Primera Guerra Mundial. Fin. Pero claro, eso sería como decir que Los Buddenbrook trata sobre comerciantes en declive o que Los hermanos Karamázov va de un parricidio. Técnicamente cierto, humanamente irrelevante. Porque esta novela no se lee para saber qué pasa, sino para saber cómo se pudre lentamente todo lo que se da por sentado: las convenciones, la autoridad, la familia, el amor. La herencia —en todos los sentidos posibles— como condena.
Y claro, ¿quién si no alguien como Bedford iba a escribir algo así? Tenía muchas vidas dentro antes de sentarse a escribir esta novela: hija de un barón alemán y una madre inglesa adicta a los escándalos, conocía de primera mano esa aristocracia venida a menos, sus silencios atroces, su histeria educada. Hay una veta autobiográfica, claro, pero no esperéis confesiones lacrimógenas. Aquí nadie llora. Aquí se disimula, se calla y se mira hacia otro lado, y precisamente por eso el dolor es más devastador. El narrador, en apariencia neutro, adopta una distancia justa: no juzga, pero tampoco se deja engañar. Y cuando parece que estamos leyendo una saga familiar con tonos victorianos, Bedford nos lanza de pronto una frase que lo resquebraja todo, como si Henry James se hubiese tomado un whisky con Thomas Bernhard y decidido escribir sobre los efectos secundarios de pertenecer a una casta que ya no se sostiene ni a sí misma.
De ahí, quizá, esa forma tan suya de escribir: como quien corta el aire con un cuchillo sin afilar. Elegante, sí, pero con una incomodidad constante, con ese ritmo preciso que obliga a leer despacio, no por densidad, sino por respeto. Hay momentos en que la frase parece estar a punto de derrumbarse de puro contenida, como si la autora supiera que el lector no necesita ser arrastrado, sino provocado. Nada de ornamentos, nada de lágrimas baratas ni frases con moño: Bedford confía en que estamos despiertos, que no venimos buscando frases para subrayar en Instagram. Aquí no hay redención. Sólo memoria, y la memoria es selectiva, cruel y a veces absurda.
Y con una escritura así, los personajes no podían ser simples figurines de época. Aquí hay de todo: aristócratas petrificados en su propia rigidez, mujeres que se deshacen por dentro mientras sostienen la fachada, niños que miran sin entender pero ya saben que nada bueno les espera. Ahí está Caroline, por ejemplo, con esa elegancia que esconde más miedo que altivez: su pasividad elegante no es simple decoro, es una forma de autodefensa ante un mundo que nunca la va a tomar en serio. Y Julius, ese hombre que parece más una institución que un ser humano. Porque Julius no ama: administra afectos como quien gestiona una propiedad heredada. Y luego están el entrañable Johannes, o los abuelos Merz, los Bernin, las cuñadas. Todos, sin excepción, arrastran algo que no se puede nombrar del todo.
Esta densidad emocional y esa carga invisible que llevan los personajes es lo que ha llevado a algunos críticos a comparar la novela con Casa desolada de Dickens, por su retrato de la herencia como condena legal y emocional; a mí me resuena más con La muerte de Virgilio de Hermann Broch, aunque sin el delirio metafísico: esa sensación de que todo lo que ocurre es irrelevante frente a lo que se ha perdido para siempre. Hay una escena —no diré cuál— en la que lo no dicho pesa más que veinte páginas de diálogo. Y ahí está el genio de Bedford: lo que calla nos habla más que lo que muestra.
Ese modo de sugerir, de insinuar, se refleja también en la estructura de la novela. Aunque parece lineal, en realidad se mueve como un recuerdo: va y viene, se detiene en detalles aparentemente inútiles que después se revelan fundamentales, y nunca da la satisfacción de un cierre completo. No hay catarsis. No hay castigo. Sólo una especie de bruma moral que se va espesando. Y en eso se parece a lo mejor de Natalia Ginzburg o incluso a la Suite francesa de Irène Némirovsky: esa capacidad de narrar lo íntimo como si fuera histórico y lo histórico como si fuese doméstico. La Historia, en mayúsculas, se desliza por debajo como una corriente subterránea, pero lo que se impone es la psicología del desgaste, del conformismo, del tedio. La violencia de lo no espectacular.
Y si hay una grieta que lo atraviesa todo en El legado, es la religión. No como epifanía ni consuelo, sino como arma de clase, de ideología, de poder. El contraste entre los católicos y los judíos no es solo un tema: es el suelo minado sobre el que caminan los personajes sin saberlo. Los católicos, férreamente estructurados, simbólicamente unidos al imperio, al ejército, al deber. Los judíos, por el contrario, ilustrados, liberales, urbanos, más cosmopolitas que nacionalistas. Y Bedford lo plantea sin necesidad de levantar pancartas: lo muestra en gestos, en decisiones que parecen personales pero están condicionadas por siglos de prejuicio, por ese antisemitismo latente que atraviesa la Europa burguesa como una corriente eléctrica sorda.
Ese choque sordo también explica por qué los matrimonios entre familias funcionan más como alianzas de poder que como vínculos afectivos. Y no es casual que las tensiones entre suegros, cuñados y parientes vengan teñidas de un desprecio que rara vez se formula en voz alta, pero se cuela en cada conversación, en cada ceja alzada ante una costumbre “ajena”. Bedford no necesita sermonear; basta con poner a convivir dos formas de estar en el mundo, dos culturas, dos religiones, y dejar que el lector sea testigo del desastre cuando ninguna está dispuesta a comprender a la otra. No hay villanos claros, pero sí un poso de toxicidad que se filtra en los intersticios del lenguaje, en los silencios, en lo que se dice con cortesía y se ejecuta con violencia.
Y así, la novela se convierte también en una meditación sobre la intolerancia: no la del fanatismo exaltado, sino la más corrosiva, la más respetable, la que se esconde detrás de un apellido ilustre y una misa dominical. La que prepara, sin saberlo, el caldo de cultivo perfecto para los horrores del siglo XX.
De ahí que uno de los grandes temas sea la imposibilidad de escapar de lo heredado. Ya sea un apellido, una finca, un puñado de valores obsoletos o una forma de mirar el mundo, todo pesa. Todo se hereda. Y cuando crees que puedes romper con ese legado, descubres que ya lo llevas tatuado en la piel. Bedford lo refleja con una lucidez implacable, sin moralinas ni sermones. Simplemente está ahí, como una enfermedad genética de la que nadie quiere hablar.
Lo que más me ha fascinado, sin embargo, es el tono. Ese equilibrio imposible entre lo sarcástico y lo trágico. Bedford tiene el talento de insinuar que todo es ridículo —los protocolos, las poses, las guerras— y, sin embargo, no se burla. No del todo. Porque sabe que la ridiculez, cuando se vive desde dentro, duele. Y eso es lo que queda al cerrar el libro: una mezcla incómoda de risa amarga y silencio respetuoso. Como cuando uno asiste a un funeral y no puede evitar pensar en lo grotesco del sombrero del cura, pero tampoco se atreve a reírse.
Esa sensación, esa tensión entre el humor y el dolor, no se olvida. El legado es de esos libros que no te regalan frases para lucir en redes, sino una sensación que no se va. Una incomodidad densa. Un malestar elegante. No es un libro amable, ni uno que recomendaría a quien busque “una lectura ligera para desconectar”. Aquí se viene a conectar con lo que duele. Con lo que incomoda. Con lo que arrastramos sin saber de dónde viene. Y en ese sentido, es una obra maestra.
Así que si tenéis el cuerpo para una novela que disecciona el alma de Europa con bisturí templado y sonrisa torcida, si os apetece mirar de frente a una época que no está tan muerta como creemos, El legado os espera. No para consolaros, ni para entreteneros, sino para recordaros que la historia —personal o colectiva— nunca pasa del todo. Se queda, como una vieja fotografía en la que ya no reconocemos las caras, pero seguimos sintiendo que algo ahí nos pertenece. Aunque no queramos. Aunque nos dé miedo. Aunque ya sea demasiado tarde.
September 9, 2020
I won't clarify the story for readers who are on the fence about reading a difficult novel. I think of this book as combining the depth and lushness (and vague loveliness) of Proust with the 19th century novel tradition of Buddenbrooks or similar.
Bedford lays out a sophistocated accounting of the Kaiser's Germany in many areas, and if you are looking for a a book like Stones from the River (Ursula Hegi) which seeks to explain the root causes of Germany's aggression, this book should be on your list.
The facts and finances and family connections matter in this book; the reader needs to go slowly. And reviewers are right when they advise readers to get some historical background before they jump into A Legacy. I think reading this book in middle age will also help. As with many really good family sagas that span the generations, the poignancy may be lost on young readers.
It is also in the Pantheon of lesbian novels for a good reason, all the more moving and important because Bedford wrote that part of the story the way it really would have happened--in the shadows.
I just want to close with saying that the heart of this novel involves an Impressionist painting and and act of love so sweet and poignant that my heart ached for weeks after I finished the book.
Bedford lays out a sophistocated accounting of the Kaiser's Germany in many areas, and if you are looking for a a book like Stones from the River (Ursula Hegi) which seeks to explain the root causes of Germany's aggression, this book should be on your list.
The facts and finances and family connections matter in this book; the reader needs to go slowly. And reviewers are right when they advise readers to get some historical background before they jump into A Legacy. I think reading this book in middle age will also help. As with many really good family sagas that span the generations, the poignancy may be lost on young readers.
It is also in the Pantheon of lesbian novels for a good reason, all the more moving and important because Bedford wrote that part of the story the way it really would have happened--in the shadows.
I just want to close with saying that the heart of this novel involves an Impressionist painting and and act of love so sweet and poignant that my heart ached for weeks after I finished the book.
September 30, 2020
El libro tenía todos los ingredientes para gustarme pero al final la forma en que está escrito se lo ha cargado todo.
La autora no ha conseguido que me metiera en la historia pese a que me gustaban los personajes. Además el ritmo de la narración me pareció nulo.
Una pena la verdad.
Reseña: https://contandoteunlibro.blogspot.co...
La autora no ha conseguido que me metiera en la historia pese a que me gustaban los personajes. Además el ritmo de la narración me pareció nulo.
Una pena la verdad.
Reseña: https://contandoteunlibro.blogspot.co...
June 2, 2020
3,5 / 4 estrellas
Redondeo al alza por la originalidad de la obra, que no sabría muy bien cómo definir: ¿novela? ¿falsas memorias? ¿recopilatorio de anécdotas?
Lo que sí tengo claro es que en modo alguno es una novela histórica, porque desde luego el contexto en el que se desenvuelve la trama, esa Alemania (y otras partes de Europa) de finales del s. XIX y principios del s. XX están muy esbozados a grandes rasgos y muy de refilón... no es que estén en segundo plano, es que forman parte de un decorado muy difuso y en varias ocasiones, si no fuera por ciertas mentalidades o porque casualmente se menciona alguna obra de arte, los hechos que se van desarrollando lentamente (muuuy lentamente) ante nuestros ojos, podrían haber transcurrido en cualquier otra época: no tenemos suficientes referentes sobre los que anclarnos.
Dice la autora en su introducción "en ocasiones me ha preguntado por mis fuentes, y debo responder que éstas no se basan en documentos ni en un conocimiento exhaustivo de la sociedad alemana y la época. Lo cierto es que no llevé a cabo ninguna investigación". No hace falta que lo jure. Se nota, y mucho. Y, para mí, ese es uno de los puntos flacos de la novela.
Los puntos fuertes, como contrapartida, son una galería de personajes a cual más extraño, original, extravagante y fuera de lo normal. Y, sobre todo, un estilo narrativo maravilloso y una manera de manejar los diálogos súper original, como no había visto nunca. (De hecho, están tan fuera de lo común, que eso, unido a la falta de contextos históricos definidos, me hacen cuestionarme si realmente podríamos tildar este libro como novela -o lo que sea- costumbrista).
Bedford exige un esfuerzo mental por parte del lector, mediante insinuaciones, y verdades mostradas solo a medias. Es como si dejara la puerta entreabierta, o nos forzara a observar por una mirilla de la puerta.
Por otro lado, está claro que lo importante para Bedford es la historia (o historias) que cuenta (o que nos insinúa), y ello prima sobre la ambientación, sobre la definición de algunos personajes secundarios... pero no me parece una mala estrategia, dada la fuerza de todo lo que nos quiere contar (o insinuar).
Finalmente, debo decir que la novela tiene un ritmo muy lento, muy pasado; en ocasiones en extremo, así que a aquellos a los que les gusten los libros con más acción, no se lo recomendaría.
A mí esto no me molesta, porque muchas veces el trayecto me hace disfrutar incluso más que el destino final.
El problema que sí le veo es que Bedford se lo juega todo a una carta: a las historias de varios miembros de la familia, y ese es un juego arriesgado, porque dependerá del interés que suscite cada personaje, para que te mantenga más o menos enganchado.
En mi caso, ha habido personajes que me han atrapado y cuyas historias me tenían fascinada (mi Johannes... snifff), y otros que no me han interesado en lo más mínimo (no puedo con Caroline, por ejemplo), lo cual ha provocado que me haya parecido una obra irregular, con partes que me han encantado, y otras que se me han llegado a hacer un poco pesadas.
Pero, en general, es una obra muy meritoria y cuya estructura y estilo me han gustado muchísimo.
Redondeo al alza por la originalidad de la obra, que no sabría muy bien cómo definir: ¿novela? ¿falsas memorias? ¿recopilatorio de anécdotas?
Lo que sí tengo claro es que en modo alguno es una novela histórica, porque desde luego el contexto en el que se desenvuelve la trama, esa Alemania (y otras partes de Europa) de finales del s. XIX y principios del s. XX están muy esbozados a grandes rasgos y muy de refilón... no es que estén en segundo plano, es que forman parte de un decorado muy difuso y en varias ocasiones, si no fuera por ciertas mentalidades o porque casualmente se menciona alguna obra de arte, los hechos que se van desarrollando lentamente (muuuy lentamente) ante nuestros ojos, podrían haber transcurrido en cualquier otra época: no tenemos suficientes referentes sobre los que anclarnos.
Dice la autora en su introducción "en ocasiones me ha preguntado por mis fuentes, y debo responder que éstas no se basan en documentos ni en un conocimiento exhaustivo de la sociedad alemana y la época. Lo cierto es que no llevé a cabo ninguna investigación". No hace falta que lo jure. Se nota, y mucho. Y, para mí, ese es uno de los puntos flacos de la novela.
Los puntos fuertes, como contrapartida, son una galería de personajes a cual más extraño, original, extravagante y fuera de lo normal. Y, sobre todo, un estilo narrativo maravilloso y una manera de manejar los diálogos súper original, como no había visto nunca. (De hecho, están tan fuera de lo común, que eso, unido a la falta de contextos históricos definidos, me hacen cuestionarme si realmente podríamos tildar este libro como novela -o lo que sea- costumbrista).
Bedford exige un esfuerzo mental por parte del lector, mediante insinuaciones, y verdades mostradas solo a medias. Es como si dejara la puerta entreabierta, o nos forzara a observar por una mirilla de la puerta.
Por otro lado, está claro que lo importante para Bedford es la historia (o historias) que cuenta (o que nos insinúa), y ello prima sobre la ambientación, sobre la definición de algunos personajes secundarios... pero no me parece una mala estrategia, dada la fuerza de todo lo que nos quiere contar (o insinuar).
Finalmente, debo decir que la novela tiene un ritmo muy lento, muy pasado; en ocasiones en extremo, así que a aquellos a los que les gusten los libros con más acción, no se lo recomendaría.
A mí esto no me molesta, porque muchas veces el trayecto me hace disfrutar incluso más que el destino final.
El problema que sí le veo es que Bedford se lo juega todo a una carta: a las historias de varios miembros de la familia, y ese es un juego arriesgado, porque dependerá del interés que suscite cada personaje, para que te mantenga más o menos enganchado.
En mi caso, ha habido personajes que me han atrapado y cuyas historias me tenían fascinada (mi Johannes... snifff), y otros que no me han interesado en lo más mínimo (no puedo con Caroline, por ejemplo), lo cual ha provocado que me haya parecido una obra irregular, con partes que me han encantado, y otras que se me han llegado a hacer un poco pesadas.
Pero, en general, es una obra muy meritoria y cuya estructura y estilo me han gustado muchísimo.
December 18, 2017
A tiresome, difficult novel about the fortunes of a pair of families in fin-de-siecle Germany, one Catholic, one Jewish. Having intermarried and then remained parallel after said marriage died in the wife's death, the story twists and turns through banal goings-on, with a flash-in-the-pan style that would serve well in a different kind of story, but in one like this, driven, ostensibly, by character, never allows anything more than the shallowest view of the characters.
Often touted as darkly hinting at fascism and the Nazis, one comes away with little sense of that since what is happening is sometimes so unclear. Some of the characters are mildly interesting but never explored, like Jules, the orangutan-wielding baron from southern Germany, and the fickle, clever Englishwoman he eventually marries. All in all, not much to speak of here.
Often touted as darkly hinting at fascism and the Nazis, one comes away with little sense of that since what is happening is sometimes so unclear. Some of the characters are mildly interesting but never explored, like Jules, the orangutan-wielding baron from southern Germany, and the fickle, clever Englishwoman he eventually marries. All in all, not much to speak of here.
March 16, 2012
The plot - such as it was - had potential: two interrelated upper-class families in Wilhelmine Germany, one Jewish, the other Catholic, a few difficult marriages, and one son's terrible experience at a harsh cadet school which would have repercussions for the entire family. The execution was horrid. Critics intend it as a compliment when they say someone writes dialogue like Ivy Compton-Burnett; it's not. Consider it the kiss of death.
March 14, 2018
I enjoyed this book even though some of the characters were not properly introduced or developed. The book does become somewhat of a slog towards the middle but it resumes its easy pace after that.
March 16, 2018
One of the best books I’d never heard of! Thank goodness it was chosen for our next group read at my Goodreads group “Anglophiles Anonymous.” Actually, it turns out Bedford (née von Schoenebeck) was really the daughter of German aristocrats, but the Queen made her an OBE so we turned a blind eye. Advance reports had it that this debut novel was enthusiastically embraced by two of my favourites – Nancy Mitford and Evelyn Waugh. And one can see why. It’s a Belle Epoque Love in a Cold Climate with a hefty dose of Brideshead thrown in – full of wit, nostalgia, eccentric families, religious satire, delightful comedy, dashes of drama, child-like wonder and utterly adult sophistication. There’s a beastly lot of French throughout, but one just skips over it and gets the gist. It’s exquisitely done.
August 13, 2012
An extraordinary elliptical novel written in a concise, elegant and slightly distant style. I loved this book from the first paragraph and was surprised to read so many negative reviews on Goodreads. Don't be dissuaded from reading this beautiful book full of irony and subtle humour if you are a reader who enjoys doing a bit of the work and does not expect to be guided through every character and plot development with the literary equivalent of airport runway lights. The book is to some extent autobiographical. Sybille Bedford's experience of the twentieth century was shaped by her mix of German, Italian and Jewish ancestry. It is clear that in writing about nineteenth century Germany she sees a connection or "legacy" but she does not feel the need to spell this out to us.
September 20, 2014
Sybille Bedford's first novel, very autobiographical with a stunning sense of place and of a time in Germany history now long gone. Bedford's prose as always is glorious.
Read the full review here. http://heavenali.wordpress.com/2014/0...
Read the full review here. http://heavenali.wordpress.com/2014/0...
December 1, 2013
Read many years ago, and I could barely stand to turn the pages, as their truthfulness was too painful, as if it were myself telling my history. But it wasn't my history, and it was scarcely Sybille Bedford's - although she knew Germany well. But the experience of the German Jewish boy in and out of his family, as they tried to fit and fit him into a Germany that did not fit him - crystallized in the military academy the boy is sent to, called to me in a way that made it almost impossible to read except as a one of those ultra-realistic dreams that I was dreaming, not reading. And the "day-residue" for me is so thin - memories of the old German-Jewish refugee ladies who filled every park bench in East End Park in Hyde Park when I was a little boy, clucking disapprovingly of everything they saw in the US, even one day remarking on a fat, rude Chicago policeman, "our Schupos at home would never behave that way" - even though they were driven out by Hitler's police when they were middle-aged! And my grandmother's stories of her great-grandparents from the west bank of the Rhine, whence they fled in 1849, after the antisemitic riots after the German revolution. I read it so long ago that I can't offer more about "The Legacy" than I can here: I do know that I read it in the pre-Internet 70s or 80s, and so could not easily learn more about Sybille Bedford, and was stunned to learn that The Legacy was not her story, at all, nor was it her greatest achievement. That, I think, is her account of Aldous Huxley's wife Maria, in her biography of Huxley, an account so compelling that it has compelled me to fall violently in love with Maria Huxley, who died long ago.
In some ways "The Legaacy" is an example of a genre I adore: - the slightly humorous, intensely observed Anglo-Saxon view of Germany long before Hitler, Germany known well, loved well, but seen in all its weirdness by means of a deeply Anglo-Saxon sensibility. I say Anglo-Saxon because it has been practiced by Americans and antipodeans as well as English writers: The "Elizabeth" of "Elizabeth and her German Garden" is one such example; another is Katherine Mansfield's collection "From a German Pension," with stories like "Germans at Meat,"; EM Forster's Schlegel sisters in "Howard's End,"; Penelope Fitzgerald's last novel, "The Blue Flower," about the German poet Novalis' youthful romance; some of DH Lawrence's characters based on Frieda Lawrence fall into this category, and so, in a way, does Louisa May Alcott's character, darling Professor Fritz Bhaer.
Maybe I can dare to try read it again. Thanks to "Sophia" who made me think about it again.
In some ways "The Legaacy" is an example of a genre I adore: - the slightly humorous, intensely observed Anglo-Saxon view of Germany long before Hitler, Germany known well, loved well, but seen in all its weirdness by means of a deeply Anglo-Saxon sensibility. I say Anglo-Saxon because it has been practiced by Americans and antipodeans as well as English writers: The "Elizabeth" of "Elizabeth and her German Garden" is one such example; another is Katherine Mansfield's collection "From a German Pension," with stories like "Germans at Meat,"; EM Forster's Schlegel sisters in "Howard's End,"; Penelope Fitzgerald's last novel, "The Blue Flower," about the German poet Novalis' youthful romance; some of DH Lawrence's characters based on Frieda Lawrence fall into this category, and so, in a way, does Louisa May Alcott's character, darling Professor Fritz Bhaer.
Maybe I can dare to try read it again. Thanks to "Sophia" who made me think about it again.
October 21, 2016
تاريخ القراءة الأصلي : ٢٠٠٢
حزينة جدا رغم كل كوميديتها
حزينة جدا رغم كل كوميديتها
November 7, 2020
Dos familias alemanas, una judía y otra católica, los judíos son el estereotipo de lo que siempre se cuenta, ricos, aislados, en este caso poco practicantes de su religión y los católicos de la baja nobleza del sur alemán, por medio de cruces matrimoniales se interrelacionan y el resultado es un culebrón en toda regla de finales del siglo XIX y principios del XX.
No he llegado a saber si lo que cuenta la autora son memorias, recuerdos o ficción adaptada, pero no me ha parecido nada del otro mundo, demasiados personajes, cambios de escenarios, matrimonios concertados, hijos incapaces de tomar decisiones en momentos cruciales, en fin que para tardes aburridas y poco más.
No he llegado a saber si lo que cuenta la autora son memorias, recuerdos o ficción adaptada, pero no me ha parecido nada del otro mundo, demasiados personajes, cambios de escenarios, matrimonios concertados, hijos incapaces de tomar decisiones en momentos cruciales, en fin que para tardes aburridas y poco más.
February 22, 2023
Ein wunderbarer historischer Roman aus dem Jahre 1956 über die Kaiserzeit 1870-1914, der leider relativ wenig bekannt ist. Zu großen Teilen ist es ein Gesellschaftsroman nach britischem Vorbild (wer heiratet wen, wer liebt wen, wer stirbt, wer wird geboren), doch viel interessanter als ich es für möglich gehalten habe.
Damit verwoben sind die gesellschaftlichen und politischen Veränderungen z.B durch die Einheit 1870 mit der Übernahme der deutschen Staaten durch die Preußen ("überall Uniformen"), dem Niedergang des Adels oder das Aufkommen der Roten nach 1900, was zumindest in diesem Roman auch ein Aufkommen des Antisemitismus bedeutet.
Zwei Familien werden durch Hochzeit verbunden, die kaum zusammenpassen wollten: auf der einen Seite die sehr reiche jüdische Familie Merz aus Berlin. Nicht praktizierend, sehr zurückgezogen lebend, die Großeltern distinguiert, die Elterngeneration weitgehend Spieler und Bankrotteure, wenige bedauernswerte Kinder. So leben fast alle im Wolkenkuckucksheim bei den Alten.
Die andere Familie sind die Barone von Felden in Landen (erfundener Ort, irgendwo im Badischen): Papa, vier Söhne, verbunden mit den Grafen Bernin. Die Adeligen sind erzkatholisch, weitgehend verarmt, aber sie besitzen Land und Namen.
Viele tragische Schicksale, komische Typen, einige politische Karrieren wie etwa Außenminister des Deutschen Reichs. Internationaler Jetset. Vieles ist erfunden, manches historisch.
Dieser Roman hat mir sehr gut gefallen wegen des Plots verbunden mit der deutschen Geschichte. Kriege spielen übrigens keine Rolle.
Damit verwoben sind die gesellschaftlichen und politischen Veränderungen z.B durch die Einheit 1870 mit der Übernahme der deutschen Staaten durch die Preußen ("überall Uniformen"), dem Niedergang des Adels oder das Aufkommen der Roten nach 1900, was zumindest in diesem Roman auch ein Aufkommen des Antisemitismus bedeutet.
Zwei Familien werden durch Hochzeit verbunden, die kaum zusammenpassen wollten: auf der einen Seite die sehr reiche jüdische Familie Merz aus Berlin. Nicht praktizierend, sehr zurückgezogen lebend, die Großeltern distinguiert, die Elterngeneration weitgehend Spieler und Bankrotteure, wenige bedauernswerte Kinder. So leben fast alle im Wolkenkuckucksheim bei den Alten.
Die andere Familie sind die Barone von Felden in Landen (erfundener Ort, irgendwo im Badischen): Papa, vier Söhne, verbunden mit den Grafen Bernin. Die Adeligen sind erzkatholisch, weitgehend verarmt, aber sie besitzen Land und Namen.
Viele tragische Schicksale, komische Typen, einige politische Karrieren wie etwa Außenminister des Deutschen Reichs. Internationaler Jetset. Vieles ist erfunden, manches historisch.
Dieser Roman hat mir sehr gut gefallen wegen des Plots verbunden mit der deutschen Geschichte. Kriege spielen übrigens keine Rolle.
March 5, 2023
Wow! This book was just so incredibly disappointing. Probably because the abstract promises more than the book is about – clearly a case of misleading marketing. I wanted to read it because I have just recently found out about this writer, who grew up about 50 km from where I am from. So I was interested in the times and that little town that framed her childhood. Oh well, there is very little of it in this novel, though. Perhaps I will have to read another one of her books, either “Jigsaw” or “Quicksands”.
This novel deals with the author’s parents’ generation before WW I, and most of it is set either in Berlin or abroad. There are three families interwoven by marriage; two from the rural German southwest, both aristocratic, one of them Catholic and in financial demise, but still living preposterously privileged lives, the other one very rich, of political influence and belonging to some obscure religious faction (Jesuit? Anabaptist?). In Berlin, the third family is Jewish and also very wealthy – I forgot where their money comes from.
The narrator is the only child of the second marriage of the Catholic baron. The story of the baron’s brother serves as a kind of parenthesis for the novel - how he was forced to go to military school by his father, which broke his spirit and led to an adultery murder scandal fifty years later. This story frame is almost the only worthwhile aspect of the book: the way the 1920s yellow press lashes out this shit storm on the family, kindling resentment and envy in the population by whipping up every possible stereotype about the military, the aristocracy and the Jewish upper class. The novel also makes an important point concerning the newly formed German Empire and how the iron discipline the Prussian leadership had in mind for their country led to multiple catastrophes, both on a personal and on a national level. Nevertheless, this point is not very prominently articulated. To that end, I would recommend the feature film “The White Ribbon” over this book.
True, all these historical developments are an undercurrent of the story, and this is how it is marketed. However, it comprises only about a quarter of the book. For the remainder, you have to read through all those incredibly boring chapters of family gossip and numerous iterations of what rich people do to squander their money. The dialogues are often erratic and, more often than not, very trite. And while parts of the book make an interesting read, the narration fades considerably after the baron’s first wife dies. It was interesting, though, to find out what an enormous difference religion played in those days in German society. There is an amusing episode where the Jewish bride decides to be baptized, but chooses the wrong faith, and is thus baptised twice in a row, first Protestant, then Catholic.
I really wish that the author had chosen to write a family biography instead of shrouding everything and everyone with made-up names. Confusingly enough, she sometimes uses place names for locations that exist while others have been given fake names. (Benzheim and Landen don’t exist, while Breisach and Colmar do. It matters if you are a local.) Actually, I had planned to give this book to a friend who grew up only two towns away from the writer’s home in Südbaden. I don’t think he has ever heard of her though, as Sybille Bedford is virtually unknown in Germany. However, I don’t think I will. Overall, the book is just too stodgy. Once more, I was baffled by all those praises on the book jacket. Perhaps the book was ground-breaking in some sort of way in the 1950s, when it came out, and the praises are from the same era.
This novel deals with the author’s parents’ generation before WW I, and most of it is set either in Berlin or abroad. There are three families interwoven by marriage; two from the rural German southwest, both aristocratic, one of them Catholic and in financial demise, but still living preposterously privileged lives, the other one very rich, of political influence and belonging to some obscure religious faction (Jesuit? Anabaptist?). In Berlin, the third family is Jewish and also very wealthy – I forgot where their money comes from.
The narrator is the only child of the second marriage of the Catholic baron. The story of the baron’s brother serves as a kind of parenthesis for the novel - how he was forced to go to military school by his father, which broke his spirit and led to an adultery murder scandal fifty years later. This story frame is almost the only worthwhile aspect of the book: the way the 1920s yellow press lashes out this shit storm on the family, kindling resentment and envy in the population by whipping up every possible stereotype about the military, the aristocracy and the Jewish upper class. The novel also makes an important point concerning the newly formed German Empire and how the iron discipline the Prussian leadership had in mind for their country led to multiple catastrophes, both on a personal and on a national level. Nevertheless, this point is not very prominently articulated. To that end, I would recommend the feature film “The White Ribbon” over this book.
True, all these historical developments are an undercurrent of the story, and this is how it is marketed. However, it comprises only about a quarter of the book. For the remainder, you have to read through all those incredibly boring chapters of family gossip and numerous iterations of what rich people do to squander their money. The dialogues are often erratic and, more often than not, very trite. And while parts of the book make an interesting read, the narration fades considerably after the baron’s first wife dies. It was interesting, though, to find out what an enormous difference religion played in those days in German society. There is an amusing episode where the Jewish bride decides to be baptized, but chooses the wrong faith, and is thus baptised twice in a row, first Protestant, then Catholic.
I really wish that the author had chosen to write a family biography instead of shrouding everything and everyone with made-up names. Confusingly enough, she sometimes uses place names for locations that exist while others have been given fake names. (Benzheim and Landen don’t exist, while Breisach and Colmar do. It matters if you are a local.) Actually, I had planned to give this book to a friend who grew up only two towns away from the writer’s home in Südbaden. I don’t think he has ever heard of her though, as Sybille Bedford is virtually unknown in Germany. However, I don’t think I will. Overall, the book is just too stodgy. Once more, I was baffled by all those praises on the book jacket. Perhaps the book was ground-breaking in some sort of way in the 1950s, when it came out, and the praises are from the same era.
February 22, 2010
This was an exceptionally difficult book to read, largely because of the author's habit of not clearly introducing characters, relationships or events, but leaving the reader somehow to devine what is going on. The writing is highly stylised, and the dialogue is opaque.
The setting, newly united Germany in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, is potentially an interesting one, and students of that period would probably understand a great deal more of the subtext than I did. Clearly the roots of both World Wars are under scrutiny here, but they are buried so deep under the pretentious style of writing that it is hard to dig them out.
The characters are so lightly sketched as to be transparent, and their feelings and motives impossible to discern most of the time. The story hinges on a number of significant marriages, but we never truly understand why the characters undertake them, especially when some of them seem spectacularly unsuited.
There is a good story lurking within this book, but the writing style does not do it justice.
The setting, newly united Germany in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, is potentially an interesting one, and students of that period would probably understand a great deal more of the subtext than I did. Clearly the roots of both World Wars are under scrutiny here, but they are buried so deep under the pretentious style of writing that it is hard to dig them out.
The characters are so lightly sketched as to be transparent, and their feelings and motives impossible to discern most of the time. The story hinges on a number of significant marriages, but we never truly understand why the characters undertake them, especially when some of them seem spectacularly unsuited.
There is a good story lurking within this book, but the writing style does not do it justice.
March 2, 2015
As I was becoming comfortably immersed in high-society, pre-WW1 Europe, enjoying the kind of jaunty elegance depicted in the Impressionist paintings one character shrewdly collects, I began to sense an ominous undercurrent: time seemed to be speeding up. The story of the mingling of the Merzes and the Feldens starts with the patriarchs of these two families: both are near the pinnacles of their separate realms (the Jewish haute-bourgeousie and the Catholic aristocracy) but their most important luxury is to be able to live out their lifespans while time still moves at a human pace. For their children technology, politics and manners are transforming, and in a milieu where a sign of a true gentleman is that he never reads the newspapers, that can be dangerous. A Legacy is an amusing, enlightening Grand Tour that quietly reminds you of the tragedies, both small and large, of a world where history has overtaken a person's ability to adapt.
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