Memoirs of an Anti-Semite

by Gregor von Rezzori, Deborah Eisenberg (Introduction)

The elusive narrator of this beautifully written, complex, and powerfully disconcerting novel is the scion of a decayed aristocratic family from the farther reaches of the defunct Austro-Hungarian Empire. In five psychologically fraught episodes, he revisits his past, from adolescence to middle age, a period that coincides with the twentieth century’s ugliest years. Central to each episode is what might be called the narrator’s Jewish Question. He is no Nazi. To the contrary, he is apolitical, accommodating, cosmopolitan. He has Jewish friends and Jewish lovers, and their Jewishness is a matter of abiding fascination to him. His deepest and most defining relationship may even be the strange dance of attraction and repulsion that throughout his life he has conducted with this forbidden, desired, inescapable, imaginary Jewish other. And yet it is just this relationship that has blinded him to—and makes him complicit in—the terrible realities of his era.

Lyrical, witty, satirical, and unblinking, Gregor von Rezzori’s most controversial work is an intimate foray into the emotional underworld of modern European history.

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, German Literature, 20th Century, Literature, Jewish, Romania

320 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1979

About the author

Gregor von Rezzori was born in 1914 in Chernivtsi in the Bukovina, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and now part of Ukraine. In an extraordinarily peripatetic life von Rezzori was succesively an Austro-Hungarian, Romanian and Soviet citizen and then, following a period of being stateless, an Austrian citizen.

The great theme of his work was the multi-ethnic, multi-lingual world in which he grew up and which the wars and ideologies of the twentieth century destroyed. His major works include The Death of My Brother Abel, Memoirs of an Anti-Semite and his autobiographical masterpiece The Snows of Yesteryear.

He died in his home in Donnini, Italy in 1998.

Reviews

[Guille · Rating 3 out of 5]

Una buena lectura, especialmente la de los tres primeros relatos o tres primeras partes, pero que no ha conseguido entusiasmarme.

[Eva Pliakou · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ένα αριστούργημα που σε φέρνει σε τρομερή αμηχανία όταν πας να το χαρακτηρίσεις αριστούργημα. Ο Ρετσόρι στις τέσσερις πρώτες ιστορίες αυτοβιογραφείται και περιδιαβαίνει την ανατολική Ευρώπη του μεσοπολέμου λίγο πριν ανέβει ο Χίτλερ στην εξουσία. Η αφήγηση είναι πρωτοπρόσωπη, οι τεχνικές που χρησιμοποιεί άψογες και ο αναγνώστης από τη μία συμπαθεί κι από την άλλη απεχθάνεται αυτόν τον ξεπεσμένο αριστοκράτη που κάνει παρέα με Εβραίους, τους ερωτεύεται, αλλά αδιαφορεί για την κατάσταση γύρω του, γιατί ο ίδιος δεν είναι Εβραίος. Πρέπει να έρθει όμως η πέμπτη ιστορία, ένα αναστοχαστικό κείμενο σε τρίτο πρόσωπο αυτή τη φορά (ο συγγραφέας κοιτάει πλέον τον εαυτό του από ψηλά, τον αναλύει και τον κρίνει), για να μπορέσει ο Ρετσόρι να παραδεχθεί ότι γνώριζε τι συνέβαινε αλλά επέλεξε λόγω καταγωγής και μιας πανάρχαιης ακατανόητης παράδοσης να παραμείνει αντισημίτης, να μην μισεί ακριβώς αλλά να θεωρεί κατώτερους τους Εβραίους παρότι τους συναγελάζεται. Πέρα από την ίδια την αφήγηση που θυμίζει κατά παράδοξο τρόπο τις περιηγήσεις και τις περιγραφές του -Εβραίου- Γιόζεφ Ροτ, το βιβλίο αυτό παρέχει μια οπτική που σπάνια συναντάμε στη μυθιστοριογραφία που ασχολείται με εκείνη την περίοδο: όχι του θύματος, ούτε του θύτη ακριβώς, αλλά του προνομιούχου πολίτη που τα συμφέροντά του δεν του επέτρεπαν να αναλάβει δράση και να εναντιωθεί στην κληρονομημένη του ταυτότητα, ακόμη κι αν ένιωθε -σπανίως- πραγματική συμπόνοια για τους Εβραίους φίλους ή τις συντρόφους του.

«Οι όρκοι. Πρέπει να χρησιμοποίησε τη λέξη ασυναίσθητα, χωρίς να καλοσκεφτεί το απροσμέτρητο βάθος της. Για μερικές μέρες το σκεφτόμουν διαρκώς. Είχε δίκιο: γύρω μας συντελούνταν μια απίστευτη παράβαση των όρκων· αλλά ποιων όρκων ακριβώς; Ένιωθες ξεκάθαρα ότι είχε ήδη προδοθεί η αγνή πίστη, ο άδολος ενθουσιασμός, με τον οποίο ο κόσμος λαχταρούσε εδώ και χρόνια αυτή τη μεταμόρφωση και που τώρα επιτέλους την υποδεχόταν. Ατιμαζόταν η ίδια η έννοια του όρκου, έλεγα μέσα μου. Οι όρκοι πίστης στην παλαιά αυτοκρατορία, για παράδειγμα. Αυτό το Ράιχ είχε τόση σχέση με το όνειρό μου για μια αναβίωση της Αγίας Ρωμαϊκής Αυτοκρατορίας όση και με το ένδοξο όνειρο της Διπλής Μοναρχίας των Αψβούργων. Σύντομα όμως βαρέθηκα να τα κλωθογυρίζω όλα αυτά στο μυαλό μου. Στο κάτω κάτω εγώ ήμουν Ρουμάνος. Αλλά ακόμα κι αν ήμουν Αυστριακός, πώς θα μπορούσα να αποτρέψω κάτι που όλοι οι άλλοι Αυστριακοί το αποδέχονταν με τόση χαρα; Λυπόμουν τρομερά για τη Μίνκα και τους φίλους της, δεν έφταιγα εγώ, όμως, που είχαν γεννηθεί Εβραίοι και, τέλος πάντων, εάν τυχόν τους συνέβαινε κάτι σοβαρό, μπορούσα να χρησιμοποιήσω τις γνωριμίες μου με τα SS για να τους βοηθήσω.»

[Mike · Rating 5 out of 5]

Easily the strongest book I've read this year--five novellas, each written in a voice of unbelievable richness and power. I can't think of any other writer who can can play the kinds of tricks with time and consciousness that von Rezzori does here, except maybe James in The Ambassadors. The New York Review of Books deserves a freaking medal.

[Ian · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yes, that title is a bit off-putting isn’t it? I imagine most of us would feel a bit self-conscious leafing through this in the local bookshop. It’s also worth warning the reader that the author doesn’t hold back in offering us an authentic portrayal of a pre-WWII anti-Semite.

How much is memoir and how much is fiction? The book consists of five stories, each told from the first-person perspective. Four of the tales are set in the 1920s and 30s, the last is a reflection on his life set in 1979. In outline the narrator’s life closely mirrors the real life of the author. Just like the author, our narrator is born in 1914 to an Austrian family of Sicilian descent, in the city of Czernowitz in Bukovina, then part of Austria-Hungary. The family were part of the minor nobility and held lands on the eastern frontier of the Dual Monarchy, “within walking distance of the Dniester, where Russia began.” The first of the stories is set in rural Bukovina, two are set in Bucharest and one in Vienna, and the last in Rome. Again, these settings mirror the author’s life story.

If this is mostly autobiographical, then it is one of the most painfully honest memoirs I have read. Quite simply, the narrator is brought up to regard Jews with contempt. That said, he’s too refined to be an out-and-out Nazi. He knows full well that “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion” is a forgery and the Blood Libel is fictitious medieval propaganda.

“But our kind of people, the educated kind, did not require such heavy arguments to look upon Jews as second-class people. We just didn’t like them, or at least liked them less than other fellow human beings.”

Throughout the novel the narrator expresses the opinion that Jews should be constantly reminded of their second-class status. He regards this as the natural order of things. This was presumably the sort of attitude that led people to support the Nazis, even if they didn’t realise the full implications of doing so, and that’s part of the theme of “Troth”, which is the best of the stories. But the narrator’s ingrained anti-Semitism does not stop him interacting with Jews in each story. In the first tale he becomes friends with a Jewish boy of the same age. In the next three he has relationships (both platonic and sexual) with Jewish women. In “Troth”, he even associates with Viennese Jews after the Nazi takeover of Austria, something that would have had him marked as a “race traitor”. He’s a mix of contradictory attitudes, and all the more realistic for being so.

In many ways (not just his racism) the narrator is quite an unpleasant character. That’s often enough for me to dislike a book, but not on this occasion. “Troth” is a superb story and worth 5 stars, but whilst the rest of the stories are good I wouldn’t have rated them at 5-stars in themselves. The overall effect though, was both compelling and unsettling, so much so that I found myself thinking about this book even when I wasn’t reading it. A work that is unflinching in its honesty.

[Elina · Rating 5 out of 5]

Πόση απόλαυση αντλείς από σελίδες γραμμένες με ψυχή. Ένα καταπληκτικό βιβλίο ❤

[Roula · Rating 4 out of 5]

"το σκουτσνο είναι μια ρωσική λέξη που δύσκολα μεταφράζεται. Σημαίνει τη μελαγχολική Πλήξη, αλλά και κάτι παραπάνω : ένα ψυχικό κενό που σε ρουφάει σαν απροσδιοριστη αλλά σφοδρή λαχτάρα"

Ο συγγραφέας είναι γεννημένος στη Μπουκοβινα, μια περιοχή ανάμεσα στη Ρουμανία και την Ουκρανία, οι γονείς του είναι οι κλασικοί ξεπεσμενοι αριστοκράτες, που όλοι είναι πολύ "λίγοι" γιαυτους. Όλοι και κυρίως οι Εβραίοι. Έτσι από την αρχή της ζωής του, μαθαίνει να τους μισεί. Χωρίς γιατί και πως. Όμως όταν κάτι τελικά το μισείς χωρίς εξήγηση, χωρίς επιχειρήματα, τελικά αυτό σου ασκεί μια έλξη. Αυτό αποδεικνύεται από το ότι ο συγγραφέας σε όλη του τη ζωή βρίσκει τον εαυτό του να έχει Εβραίους ως πολύ σημαντικά κομμάτια του, είναι ο μικρός φίλος του, ο μαγκακος που του δείχνει πως οι Εβραίοι δεν είναι όπως του είπαν, είναι οι όμορφες γυναίκες που ερωτεύεται και τον σημαδευουν σε όλη του τη ζωή.. Και τόσοι άλλοι.
Το βιβλίο αυτό μου έδωσε πολλά νέα στοιχεία για να μάθω, πράγμα που γενικά μου αρέσει. Είχε έναν πρωταγωνιστή απόλυτα ειλικρινή, σε σημείο που μπορει να τον μισούσες για το πόσο άδικος κ κακός ήταν κατά περιπτώσεις. Όμως έβγαζε μια αληθεια, το ότι η κακία τις περισσότερες φορές οδηγείται από την άγνοια και όχι από τη λογική. Και τελικά εξέφραζε την αλήθεια όλης αυτής της μεταπολεμικής εποχής που διακατεχονταν από μια θλίψη και μελαγχολία, ένα "σκουτσνο", όπως το περιέγραψε παραπάνω ο συγγραφέας. Συγκινητικό, Αληθινό, σε σημεία του αστείο, αλλά πάνω από όλα ένα βιβλίο με όλα τα "κουσούρια" του ανθρώπου.
🌟🌟🌟🌟 Αστέρια

[Steven Godin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Like Gregor Von Rezzori's The Snows of Yesteryear - of which I much preferred - the writing here was impeccable, and very much felt like from the age of Robert Musil - who is an obvious comparison. But I just couldn't get on board properly with the narrator, who really did start out as a smug little aristocratic brat when living with his aunt & uncle. The second he played a cruel prank on his Jewish playmate - which impacted his life in more ways than he could have expected - he just wasn't going to get back into my good books.
The highlight for me was when as a nineteen-year-old he travelled to Bucharest and caught the clap from a Gypsy. In fact, for most of part 2 of this 5 part novel he spent an awful lot of time wandering about the red-light district with a constant boner, before having a fling with a Jewish proprietress. After his sexual adventures I found parts 3 & 4 to be the most boring - although in part 4 he does start to do away with his anti-Semitic ways after striking up a close friendship with the Jew who lives above his grandmother's apartment in Vienna. The final part is very much one of reflection and nostalgia as the narrator - now in Rome in the late 70s - looks back to history and the vast changes that shaped his life.
Recommended to those who love a slow, writing over plot read, that delves back in time. An interest in central Europe between the wars, and the coming-of-age novel.

[Αντίποδες · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ο αληθινός θεματοφύλακας του κοσμοπολιτισμού, της πολυεθνικής μνήμης και της συγκρουσιακής παράδοσης της κεντρικής και ανατολικής Ευρώπης δεν είναι άλλος από την εβραϊκή πεζογραφία. Ο Κάφκα, πρώτος από όλους, αλλά και ο Μπάμπελ, ο Ροτ, ο Σίνγκερ, και πολλοί άλλοι σπουδαίοι Εβραίοι συγγραφείς διέσωσαν στη λογοτεχνία τους τον διπλό διχασμό που βίωναν, καθώς συντρίβονταν ανάμεσα σε μια εβραϊκότητα που αποκήρυτταν ως κατεξοχήν τέκνα του Διαφωτισμού και σε μια κοινωνική και θεσμική κουλτούρα που αρνούνταν να τους εντάξει και να τους αναγνωρίσει ακριβώς λόγω αυτής της εβραϊκότητας. Οι βαθιές εντάσεις που προκαλούσε η κοινωνική ύπαρξη των Εβραίων μέσα σε ένα άγρια αντισημιτικό περιβάλλον αναδεικνύονται εκ του αντιθέτου στο βιβλίο του Γκρέγκορ φον Ρετσόρι Αναμνήσεις ενός αντισημίτη. Ο Ρετσόρι, κοσμοπολίτης και αριστοκράτης γερμανόφωνος συγγραφέας, τέκνο μιας αυτοκρατορίας που είχε από καιρό χαθεί, αποτίνει στο σπονδυλωτό του μυθιστόρημα φόρο τιμής στην εβραϊκότητα, οικειοποιούμενος ακριβώς τα θεματικά, υφολογικά και τεχνικά υλικά της εβραϊκής πεζογραφίας. Το αποτέλεσμα είναι ένα μυθιστόρημα όπου κυριαρχούν η συναισθηματική αμεσότητα, η διεισδυτική παρατήρηση, αλλά κυρίως η βαθύτατη ειρωνεία προς τον ίδιο τον αφηγητή.

[William2 · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a wonderful novel. The title is ironic. The writing dazzles. Occasionally, just occasionally, I come across a book that wallops me into silence. . . .

[Konstantinos · Rating 5 out of 5]

Οι Αναμνήσεις ενός αντισημίτη είναι από τα πιο δυνατά βιβλία της χρονιάς.
Πέντε ιστορίες όπου οι τέσσερις πρώτες είναι πρωτοπρόσωπες αφηγήσεις ενώ το τελευταίο μέρος είναι γραμμένο στο τρίτο πρόσωπο.
Η επιτακτική ανάγκη του αφηγητή, ενός κεντροευρωπαίου ξεπεσμένου αριστοκράτη και μετανάστη, σε κάθε μία από τις αφηγήσεις να βρει την πραγματική ταυτότητα του, σε ένα κόσμο που αλλάζει συνεχώς, ετεροπροσδιοριζόμενος με τους Εβραίους, τον οδηγεί σε μία έντονη και τραγική αμφιθυμία με μεγάλη δόση σκοτεινού - και σοκαριστικά αφοπλιστικού - σαρκασμού, για τους άλλους, και για τον εαυτό του.
Μου θύμιζε έντονα όσο το διάβαζα, εκείνον τον κακότυχο και τραγικό ήρωα που επινόησε ο Μαξ Φρις, τον Αντρί, στο σπουδαίο θεατρικό έργο Ανδόρρα, όπου όλοι στο χωριό μισούσαν τους Εβραίους και μαζί με όλους και εκείνος, μέχρι που του είπαν πως είναι Εβραίος...

[Carlos · Rating 4 out of 5]

She shouted scornfully, “He’ll respect you more if you confess what you really are! …”
“What?” he then asked, “an anti-Semite?”

The misconception of nationalism and racism in Europe is the focus of Gregor von Rezzori’s partly autobiographical novel (the distinction is capital) written in five parts (although formally, it is perhaps not a novel, and more a set of stories or novellas), that takes us from Bucharest to Vienna in an elaborate and intricate plot during the years between wars, and the flow of hatred towards jews that abounded and escalated, particularly in the middle and upper classes, with the rise of Nazism.

One of the feelings that prevails throughout the book is that of yearning over the past and the motherland, a certain nostalgia that carries the more lyrical sections, directed particularly to the narrator’s early years; another one is anti-Semitism, showed by way of expressions, comments and acts, all rooted in a common belief at the time, that is not only a recurring theme, but a structural component in all five sections.

All stories except for the last, are narrated in the first person, and the name of the narrator happens to be Gregor, who belongs to an aristocratic family, and whose life goes parallel with the most difficult years of the war. The last one switches to the third person narrator, and shifts its geographical center to Rome. Thematically, each section contributes to the full diapason that constitutes the formal plan of the book.

In the wonderful introduction, impeccably written and conceived, Deborah Eisenberg thoughtfully analyzes the moral dilema of the reader, a question that seems to grow in significance as the book unfolds:

If we take Rezzori’s anti-Semite seriously—and how can we not?—we are compelled also to recognize the portrait, or reflection, of a comfortable person in a period of social deterioration or economic crisis, a period of political fragility. Now and again it occurs to most of us to wonder, I suppose, what the consequences of our own unexamined attitudes or biases might be; it occurs to us to wonder how something to which we’re not particularly forced to pay much attention is going to develop, or whom it affects.

Centered in a world of a century ago and first published in 1979, the scope and dexterous prose of Memoirs of an Anti-Semite seem, nevertheless, quite contemporary.

__

[Rosenkavalier · Rating 4 out of 5]

L'antisemita riluttante

Ammetto di essere stato fuorviato dal titolo, che mi aveva fatto pensare a un romanzo molto più ideologicamente connotato di quanto in realtà non sia.
L'antisemita in questione è una sorta di alter ego dell'autore (che, a scanso di equivoci, con l'antisemitismo non ha nulla a che fare), un giramondo nato nella Bucovina ex austriaca e divenuta romena dopo la Grande Guerra, rampollo di una famiglia di piccola nobiltà semidecaduta, sostanzialmente un relitto del vecchio Impero in terra ormai straniera e in rapido moto centrifugo rispetto all'Europa occidentale (a fare piazza pulita ci penseranno la Seconda Guerra Mondiale, il comunismo e Ceausescu).

Nei cinque racconti, il narratore inizia dall'infanzia del protagonista, lo segue negli anni in giro per il continente, fino al crepuscolo della sua vita relativamente avventurosa, ambientato a Roma (ed effettivamente Von Rezzori visse buona parte della sua vita in Italia, in Toscana, dove esiste anche un premio letterario a suo nome).
Nel mezzo, la Bucarest dell'intermezzo monarchico, balcanica come ce la si potrebbe solo immaginare, la Vienna dell'Anschluss, al suo ultimo ballo di grande capitale cosmopolita prima di diventare solo un capoluogo di provincia del Tausendjähriges Reich.

Serve alla narrazione che il protagonista sia spesso a contatto con l'oggetto del suo razzismo.
Ed è sempre un rapporto di amore e odio, di attrazione e repulsione, di sfida e rifiuto che si materializza, l'impossibilità di vedere nella controparte di queste relazioni un essere umano per come è. Il pregiudizio, per l'appunto.

L'antisemita non ci spiega la ragione del suo atteggiamento. Gli ebrei non gli piacciono, non piacevano a suo padre, non piacevano al suo adorato zio ex adepto di una di quelle congregazioni studentesche che furono bacino elettivo di reclutamento del Nazionalsocialismo, non piacciono ai suoi amici.
Non è un antisemita religioso, perchè della religione gli importa ben poco. Non è nemmeno un antisemita "biologistico", perchè non ha alcuna simpatia per il nazismo e le sue abiette e assurde teorie pseudoscientifiche. Forse si può dire che è un antisemita per abitudine, per eccessiva esposizione a un ambiente nel quale il pregiudizio antiebraico era la regola. Di per sè, la cosa non è sorprendente, ma onestamente non mi è parso un approccio sufficientemente robusto per innervare un romanzo. Certo, si può concordare con Claudio Magris che sottolinea come questo atteggiamento possa risultare tanto più nocivo in quanto apparentemente meno motivato, meno profondo, meno incisivo. Quindi meritevole di trattazione a sé, anzi forse più meritevole di altre forme di intolleranza.

La mia perplessità rimane, rafforzata dalla circostanza che gli ebrei che il protagonista incontra sono tutti più o meno dei tipi inconsueti quando non speciali, addirittura eccezionali. Il ragazzino incredibilmente dotato per il pianoforte, la bella vedova dall'irresistibile sensualità, l'affascinante intellettuale libertina, la moglie ipersensibile e nevrotica.

Insomma, in questo perdurante e controverso rapporto con gli ebrei, il Nostro non ne incontra uno che sia un comune individuo, un impiegato, un contabile, una noiosa casalinga. A ben vedere, sarebbe da considerare una sorta di pregiudizio anche questo, l'eccezionalità degli ebrei, che anche quando declinata in positivo nasconde quasi sempre il sottinteso di una certa "anormalità", di un'irregolarità di queste doti, una sorta di "ingiusto vantaggio" non si sa bene da cosa originato.
Certo non è questo il caso di Von Rezzori, quindi inclinerei a rubricare il caso alla voce "necessità romanzesche", laddove parlare dell'amicizia con un Travet qualsiasi rende meno avvincente la narrazione rispetto a un interlocutore con caratteristiche più marcate (peraltro, basta leggere qualcosa della sua vita per capire che le sue frequentazioni non includevano più di tanto il popolino).

A questa nota aggiungo che, quando ha sentito la necessità di una sottolineatura storica o politica più netta, Von Rezzori ha fatto ricorso a "oratori" interni al racconto di non sempre grande efficacia, come il fuoruscito austriaco che, nel primo capitolo, rammenta a tutti il ruolo "pacificatore" della vecchia Austria.

Messo da parte (almeno per quanto mi riguarda) l'interesse per così dire teorico e storico (in senso stretto), resta il valore letterario, con una ricchezza di immagini e descrizioni, una vivissima memoria di luoghi e ambienti, che solo un autentico viveur della vecchia Europa poteva mettere insieme (e solo un grande scrittore poteva rielaborare senza scadere nella memorialistica più banale). Questo sì costituisce un motivo di grande interesse, con tanti passaggi che meriterebbero una sottolineatura o una citazione.
E così rivive un mondo balcanico e centro europeo ormai scomparso, con le sue miserie e il suo fascino, la sua complessa e variopinta umanità, le contraddizioni che diventano regole e le regole che scoloriscono più o meno bonariamente nella consuetudine del quieto vivere. Forse non a caso il padre del protagonista si sentiva un evangelizzatore occidentale inviato in terra incognita, un ambiente levantino nel quale la pedante efficienza austrotedesca non era (evidentemente) riuscita a mettere radici nonostante una presenza plurisecolare.
Qui le memorie sono più dell'autore che del suo personaggio, un mediocre cui fatico a riconoscere la sensibilità necessaria per tanta intensità.
E qui forse sta la cifra del romanzo, una ricerca di memorie forse appannate, forse addomesticate dalla nostalgia, ancora vive ma in pericolo, che Von Rezzori ha tentato con maestria di fissare per noi in questo romanzo, che solo per questo merita di esser letto.

[Greg · Rating 3 out of 5]

The easiest way of thinking about "the Jewish Question" (isn't that so polite?) and the Nazis is to think of it as a temporary aberration and foray into pure evil. I know that this is the way that I have generally thought of the holocaust, it's simplistic and kind of makes one (me, maybe you) feel kind of good inside (good? well not about what happened, but about the general state, or nature, of humanity.). Thinking about this position though leads one (me) to realize that for this to be the case there has to be something called 'evil' that can possess a whole nation. That something then seems to become the devil or something like that, and then things get all weird and religious.

Like many great pieces of literature about World War 2, this book puts the question of Antisemitism into a more difficult light than reductionism to 'evil'. The narrator of this novel isn't German, he's kind of Romanian, but his family believes itself to be Austrian. The whole dissolution of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire has left the narrators family with a kind of homelessness, not literally-they still have a nice big home, but without a homeland.

The action in four of the five stories that make up this novel take place in the childhood through late teenage years of the narrator, the Anti-Semite of the title. For a person who by the title doesn't like Jews, he has a lot of dealings with them. They are his friends and his lovers, he works with them, he spends his free time in their culture, he knows Yiddish and the storytelling of the Jews better than most of his Jewish friends do, but yet he still can't bring himself believe that these people are really like himself.

That's the crux of the Antisemitism of this book, and maybe even for quite a bit of the German people(?). The Jews are the Other. In the world of the narrator of this book, his family was descendants from a tradition that defended the empire, served as Knights and warriors, but otherwise just lived in big houses and spent their free time engaged in non-productive pursuits. The only active pursuit besides warfare that was fit for a man of this class was hunting. The times have changed though, the empire no longer stands, and being the unproductive landed gentleman class just isn't really cutting it so much anymore, but those attitudes about work and stuff die hard. In this world the Jew represents all that is awful about the changing world, they are part of the new rising class of people who are benefiting from the breakdown of 'traditional' society. They do awful things like 'work' and try to improve themselves, and after working for awhile they might even expect to be allowed to do some of the same things that the entitled lazy class do, like (gasp) hunting.

So here the Jewish people are sort of the problem with the coming world, not that they themselves are the problem, but that the whole changing world scares people who liked things the way they were. The narrator at a few times in the book says in so many words, that he likes Jews when they are Jews. He finds it awful when they try to assimilate. Why is this? Because as Jews, living in their shitty part of the town and dressing in their traditional manner look the part of the outsider, they can be appreciated for their 'otherness', sort of like an oddity that can be visited when someone from the upper class feels like slumming. Assimilated though the Jewishness in certain ways disappears, and the Other who had been safely living in their own part of the world, or city or town, now might be able to live undetected in the narrators own world. This wouldn't be so bad, except that this upward social and economic mobility is destroying the world that the entitled class had been enjoying for so long.

Of course the Jews aren't the only uppity ones in this story. There are also those uncouth lower class Christian people, who aren't appreciated much either for their vulgar ways and they are encroaching on the world of the entitled to, but maybe they aren't so bad, because at least their background is more similar to ours (here I'm speaking from the point of view of being the landed class of the former Austrian Hungarian Empire) and when things start to get bad economically and socially these more similar groups can unite in finding a scapegoat and blame the Other who had been assimilating and possibly even living undetected among us. The horror!!

There is much more to this novel than just the more complex roots of what happened in Germany and the role of the Other in society, but this is what got me thinking most about the novel, and I have a feeling that I didn't do what I wanted to say any justice. Especially because I just pooped out during the previous paragraph on my line of thought, or maybe my line of thought didn't dry up, but I got kind of lazy writing.

So why is this novel only three stars? I don't know. I liked it, and normally something that gets me thinking earns more stars, but I'm not feeling so generous now. While I enjoyed reading it, nothing really stood out for me in the actual book, it was more the lines of thought that the book inspired in me that interested me more (which granted is probably what the author wanted). Maybe if I had read the fancy new New York Review of Books edition of the book with the introductory essay by Deborah Eisenberg she would have illuminated something more for me in the book and I would have enjoyed it more. I didn't though, and she has generally left me cold in the past with her writing so maybe it wouldn't have helped at all.

[Jorge · Rating 5 out of 5]

Así como las fronteras de los antiguos Reinos e Imperios en donde nació y vivió Gregor Von Rezzori han ido desapareciendo por diversos motivos, así parece ir diluyéndose el recuerdo y la obra de este autor de habla alemana nacido en la actual Rumanía. Lo que yo podría decir es que a pesar de ser el primer libro que leo de él, con eso me basta para instalarlo en el mausoleo inmortal de los mis grandes y venerados escritores; aunque deseo con fuerza poder leer algunas obras más de él. No cabe duda que uno va de sorpresa en sorpresa descubriendo escritores que subyacen bajo la grandeza y la fama de los autores que la posteridad ha consagrado como los más talentosos y populares. Estoy seguro que hay muchos más por descubrir que por alguna causa han caído en el olvido gradual o abruptamente o simplemente su obra nunca trascendió por alguna causa, pero el talento lo tuvieron. Personalmente pienso que Gregor Von Rezzori es un gran autor.

La prosa de Rezzori es exquisita, elegante, fluida y llena de poesía y prestancia. A través de esta obra, el autor nos revela un mundo ya desaparecido, un mundo nostálgico en el que él vivió: la Europa del Este del siglo XX, principalmente Viena, Bucarest y la llamada región de la Bucovina. Esta obra se constituye como un evocador documento personal, pero también abierto a lo universal, acerca de una forma de vida extinta donde describe el mundo inmaculado de antaño. Un mundo caracterizado por el orgullo de pertenencia a un pueblo, a una nación, a un imperio, un mundo creado por el respeto, el orgullo, el amor, la tradición y que estaba envuelto en un aura de nostalgia, siempre sazonada con sus prejuicios y formación anti judía que lo llevaron a desarrollar unas relaciones contradictorias y complejas con este pueblo.

El libro contiene 5 relatos, a cual más de encantador y ameno, que van describiendo algunas épocas de su vida.

Dentro del primer relato desataca la participación del irónico, cáustico y filosófico personaje llamado Stiassny, quien acuña grandes frases fruto de su pensamiento, entre ellas se destaca por su sencillez y contundencia una que dice: “… la personalidad casi siempre consiste en salir de sí mismo”.

En los demás relatos, que van progresando cronológicamente, Rezzori describe el mundo en que vivió con gran profundidad y diría que tocado por un aire de poesía, y nos relata sus relaciones con personajes judíos e incluso sus relaciones íntimas con mujeres judías a pesar de ser él un recalcitrante anti semita.

En cada relato crea a sus personajes con maestría, ingenio y un toque irónico, todos ellos surgidos en aquel mundo que abarca del final del Imperio Austro-Húngaro, pasando por el periodo de entreguerras, la Segunda Guerra Mundial, la Guerra Fría, el Existencialismo y el asombroso “Mundo Moderno” de los años 70, en el cual ya no queda ningún resabio de lo que fue aquel mundo ya ido.

Una última reflexión que siempre me he hecho y en la que coincido plenamente con este autor: ¿qué tiene que ver el niño cándido e inocente que en la alborada de su existencia empieza a vivir con los ojos abiertos de par en par con el viejo de 60 años después? Son personas diferentes, seres diferentes; en este viejo de más de 60 años, ya no queda nada del aquel niño que algún día pudo contemplar cómo delante de él se vislumbraba una existencia dulce y optimista abrazado por el amor y la protección de sus padres.

[E. G. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Introduction, by Deborah Eisenberg

--Memoirs of an Anti-Semite

[Lila Dimaki · Rating 5 out of 5]

Όσα καταφέρει να διασώσει ένας άνθρωπος από τις ήττες του,ειναι αυτά που τελικά συγκροτουν την Αλήθεια και το Εγώ του.

[Vassiliki Dass · Rating 5 out of 5]

Υπέροχη λογοτεχνία!
Λατρεύω τις αυτοβιογραφίες και αν και το συγκεκριμένο σπονδυλωτό μυθιστόρημα υποτίθεται ότι δεν είναι αυτοβιογραφία αλλά αντλεί στοιχεία από την πραγματική ζωή του συγγραφέα, εμπλουτίζοντας τα με στοιχεία άλλων παράλληλων ζωών και δημιουργώντας τελικά έναν ήρωα συμπύκνωση εμπειριών, εντυπώσεων, αποφάσεων, επιλογών ζωής, παρόλα αυτά λοιπόν το απόλαυσα. Η γλώσσα είναι εξαιρετική, οι περιγραφές της περιρρέουσας ατμόσφαιρας, οι ήρωες που παρελαύνουν στα 4 πρώτα μέρη του και η ψυχολογική τους εμβάθυνση, όλα δείχνουν έναν πραγματικό συγγραφέα και διόλου έναν ερασιτέχνη. Δεν μου έφτασε η πρώτη ανάγνωση και σίγουρα θα χρειαστώ και δεύτερη για να εκτιμήσω περισσότερο το βάθος των όσων περιγράφονται και αναλύονται με τόσο γλαφυρό τρόπο. Το τελευταίο πέμπτο μέρος προσφέρει και το θεωρητικό υπόβαθρο όσων προηγήθηκαν και ένα βαθύ στοχασμό πάνω στην ταυτότητα, στις αναμνήσεις και στην προσπάθεια στοιχειοθέτησης του εαυτού. Μπράβο στις εκδόσεις για την επιλογή αυτή και για την εξαιρετική μετάφραση και επιμέλεια!

[Eric Byrd · Rating 4 out of 5]

There’s a striking passage in “Pravda,” the fifth in Rezzori’s “novel in five stories,” where the narrator confesses his connection to Hitler’s genocidal war. For most of this very indirect novel, the narrator appears naïve, politically speechless, and oblivious to the implications of the prejudices he’s inherited; but once the catastrophe of Hitler becomes impossible to ignore – once the narrator is hiding for his life, in Berlin’s bomb shelters, and wondering how he got there – he spits up chunks of the worldview that has lurked in the narration of his youth:

…in Berlin in 1943: that look of cynicism is but the fruit of suffering, he is sick with hatred, hatred not only for the Nazis but for everyone and everything, for the Germans as a whole and in particular the remnants of their old high society, apathetically attending their Götterdämmerung: equally, however, he hates the British for their hypocrisy and short-sightedness, the French for their reverie of lost glory, the Italians for their greed and vanity, and most of all the Americans for their devious self-righteousness – did all these imbeciles not see that their glorious war was not for or against a man called Hitler, or a nation, or an ideology, or a political system, but against themselves? Couldn’t they admit that this was a class war they were bound to lose, that would destroy the very things they pretended to fight for: ideals, holy traditions, values handed down from generation to generation; couldn’t they understand that every bomb that gutted a house – here, there, on this side or that side of a front line (a front line that in reality ran through the social structure of each of their countries) – that every one of those bombs simply opened the cellars and set the rats free, the profiteers, the greedy, the uncivilized, the illiterates, the oppressed and offended who wanted their share of the cake no matter how…

Rezzori’s narrator is a remnant of Hapsburg nobility cut off in the new nation of Romania. He’s heir to certain stag-hunting attitudes, and feels nostalgia for a feudal style, while living a very mixed and modern youth in 1930s Bucharest and Vienna. He has Jewish neighbors, Jewish friends, and Jewish lovers. What is convincing, and very frightening, about Rezzori’s narrator is his apparent urbanity. From an “educated” family, his need to feel social or spiritual distance from Jews never takes the form of overt hostility or self-segregation. In the back of his mind he clings to a vague pride. Nonetheless, the prejudices and assumptions he is never able to articulate or examine determine his acquiescence to an evil movement. He thinks, or thinks he thinks, that Jews have a fixed racial nature and a social level above which it is unnatural, and morally disruptive (though often personally exciting), for them to climb. He half-consciously accepts that the Reds are the great threat; that Jews, in their emancipated insolence and grasping mobility, are susceptible to Reds; that the Nazis, though they are proletarian thugs, scare the Reds, and especially scare the Jews, and so deserve from their “educated” betters, under whose banners they seem to brawl, tolerance, perhaps indulgence. He assumes – as many tail-coated statesmen then making policy assumed – that Hitlerism, while distasteful, forms a bulwark against revolution, against the dissolution of whatever old ways remain. The narrator struggles to understand his investment in the mirage of the old ways, but it’s there, subtly kinking his relationships, and when he finally confesses it – “every one of those bombs simply opened the cellars and set the rats free” – he has resort to the vermin imagery of the Nazi film The Eternal Jew.

Sebald, who caught the irony of Germans hiding in cellars, writes in On the Natural History of Destruction:

Apart from the distraught behavior of the people themselves, the most striking change in the natural order of the cities during the weeks after a devastating raid was undoubtedly the sudden and alarming increase in the parasitical creatures thriving on the unburied bodies. The conspicuous sparsity of observations and comments on this phenomenon can be explained as the tacit imposition of a taboo, very understandable if one remembers that the Germans, who had proposed to cleanse and sanitize all Europe, now had to contend with a rising fear that they themselves were the rat people.

[AC · Rating 4 out of 5]

A fine book by a very interesting man

http://www.nytimes.com/1998/04/30/art...

The book is a compilation of 5 thinly-masked autobiographical remembrances, focusing in the main on his youth and late adolescence in the eastern reaches of the Austro-Hungarian Empire around the Bukovina, Moldava, and Bucharest. He views the Jews of this area (e.g., Kishinev) as an outsider; but, despite the title, that is only one thread of the author's concern. He presents a vivid picture, in fact, of the Bucharest of Emil Cioran's youth.

The book is narred somewhat by the felt presence of translationese (though one of the stories was actually first published in English), and by the fact that reality shows through the rather thin tissue of the fiction somewhat too easily. But these flaws are relatively minor and should not dissuade the interested reader.

[John Anthony · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5*?

I liked the way this was structured – a novel in 5 stories, although the last “story” was devoid of dialogue and meant I had to concentrate extra hard on this concluding part of the novel. Here, however, was some of the finest writing in the novel:

“She (a Russian nonagenarian) presented him with the colourful plunder of her memories, with which he could then garnish his own memories more vividly, like someone adding an imaginative touch to his home with objects purchased at the flea market”.

The novel spans the narrator's life – it is his loosely written autobiography. Born in 1919 and set principally in the lands of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire, typically Austria, Roumania, latterly Italy and some to-ing and fro-ing Third Reich-wards.

As the title suggests the Jewish question is the predominant theme throughout. The anti-semitism is matter of fact and deeply ingrained and seems, quite natural here. Hitler merely had to rant at the already converted. This, I feel, makes it an historically important novel (first published 1969 I think) though I can't say I exactly enjoyed it. The narrator Gregor/Arnulf (6 or more given forenames so he could be as schizoid as he wished!) is very hard to like, for me at any rate..

Recommended to anyone interested in this period of European History and in particular as background reading to the Jewish Question and the “Final Solution”. Very interesting in that regard and an important commentary.

[Έλσα · Rating 4 out of 5]

«Αναμνήσεις ενός αντισημίτη»

Το φοβόμουν αυτό το βιβλίο! Ίσως επειδή είχε διαφημιστεί πολύ ; Ίσως επειδή δε γνώριζα τον συγγραφέα κ τη γραφή του; Ήταν όμως, μια ευχάριστη αναγνωστική έκπληξη!

Πέντε κεφάλαια, πέντε αφηγήσεις του κεντρικού προσώπου- πρωταγωνιστή. Μια ζωή γεμάτη γνωριμίες, σταδιοδρομίες, επιλογές.

Αφήγηση με πολιτικοκοινωνικές προδιαγραφές.

Τα απόλαυσα όλα τα κεφάλαια. Λίγο λιγότερο μου άρεσε το τελευταίο.

[Anthi · Rating 3 out of 5]

Σίγουρα ο Ρετσόρι συνεισφέρει κι αυτός με τη σειρά του στο πάζλ δημιουργίας και κατανόησης του κλίματος που υπήρχε στην Ευρώπη πριν τον πόλεμο, αλλά δεν ενθουσιάστηκα. Μου άρεσε που έγραψε για μια περιοχή της Ρουμανίας (Βουκοβίνα ) που λίγα γνωρίζω, καθώς και η οπτική του αφηγητή που παρουσιάζει τους Εβραίους ως τους σκεφτόμενους ανθρώπους που προσαρμόζονται πλήρως στη νέα τάξη πραγμάτων, σε αντίθεση με τον κόσμο του αφηγητή που αδυνατεί να απαγκιστρωθεί από τα προνόμια που του εξασφάλισε μια παράδοση, όπου η οικογένειά του υπηρέτησε και πολέμησε για την Αυστροουγγρική Αυτοκρατορία.

Βρήκα τις ιστορίες του πολύ φλύαρες! Τις διάβασα μέσες-άκρες και βιαστικά. Παρ’ όλα αυτά ένιωσα ότι το νήμα της αφήγησης δεν κοβότανε. Σίγουρα όμως δεν ήταν το βιβλίο που περίμενα.
Στη δε τελευταία ιστορία, που στην ουσία συλλογάται πάνω στον εαυτό του και προσπαθεί να φωτίσει τις ιστορίες που προηγήθηκαν, η σάτιρα και το κωμικό στοιχείο είναι τόσο έντονα που υποσκάπτεται οποιαδήποτε προσπάθεια αναστοχασμού.

[Stela · Rating 4 out of 5]

Scrisă și publicată mai întîi în limba germană în 1979, ca parte a unei trilogii despre societatea europeană interbelică (cel puțin după spusele Wikipediei ) de către scriitorul austro-român de limbă germană Gregor von Rezzori, opera Memoriile unui antisemit îi pune cititorului deocamdată inocent două întrebări încă din titlu, una de conținut și alta de formă: cît de antisemit este eroul și cît de memorialistice sînt memoriile – această a doua întrebare ducînd firesc la o a treia: dacă nu-s memorii, ce e opera – un roman în patru capitole sau patru nuvele cu oarecare legătură între ele?

Iar frumusețea răspunsurilor este că oricare ar fi ele, nu-s nici definitive, nici greșite. Da, eroul a fost crescut în spirit antisemit, căruia uneori îi cade pradă iar alteori i se împotrivește cu arme raționale sau emoționale. Da, autorul însuși a crescut în dulcea Bucovină și a petrecut cîțiva ani în București, dar în cîte dintre întîmplările povestite a fost cu adevărat protagonist, cîte le-a împrumutat de la alții și cîte le-a cosmetizat sau inventat pur și simplu? (Răspunsul putînd ajuta sau nu la stabilirea genului pentru cititorul mai pedant).

Această superbă ambiguitate ne este de altfel sugerată încă din primele pagini, în care naratorul, după ce descrie în amănunt o fotografie din copilărie, recunoaște candid că de fapt aceasta nu există cu adevărat „fiindcă rămăsesem atât de singur, încât nu se afla nimeni în preajmă care să mi-o facă; până și colegii despre care vorbeam erau departe.”

De altfel ultimul capitol (sau ultima nuvelă sau ultima amintire), cu titlul sugestiv Pravda, dezvoltă pentru ultima oară una dintre temele majore ale operei: adevărul ficțiunii. Naratorul, atît de bătrîn încît se distanțează de sine însuși vorbind în stil indirect liber, își amintește de certurile violente pe care le avea cu a doua lui nevastă din cauza obiceiului lui de a-și însuși amintiri care nu-i aparțineau, și de năduful acesteia ori de cîte ori se lăsa fermecată de argumentul său că nu erau minciuni, ci transfigurări artistice ale sentimentelor lui și ale altora:

Și ar repeta, probabil surâzând, ceea ce mi-a șuierat atunci printre dinți: „întotdeauna ai dreptate când vorbești. Dar cum ai ieșit din cameră, nu mai e nimic adevărat!” Întocmai: ca atunci când lași o carte din mână. Ca atunci când cade cortina la teatru.

Magistrală este reconstituirea perioadei interbelice, cu antisemitismul ei transformat în profesiune de credință în mai toată Europa. Creștinii îi urăsc pe evrei din principiu și le transmit cu sfințenie această ură, cu toate stereotipiile ei, copiilor și nepoților. Naratorul se confruntă inevitabil cu două tendințe contrare – disprețul pentru evrei în general, inoculat din fragedă pruncie ca să zic așa și admirația, prietenia, dragostea pentru diferite persoane din viața sa care se întîmplă să fie evrei. Frămîntările sale interioare sînt adesea naive (chiar dacă recunoaște, spre deosebire de Nae Ionescu, de pildă că „și evreii erau oameni”) și reacțiile uneori răutăcioase („Dacă evreii se temeau, nu aveau decât ceea ce meritau, iar pe viitor vor înceta să mai fie spioni ruși sau propagandiști ai comunismului și se vor purta mai bine la festivalul de la Salzburg,”), dar niciodată activ rele – antisemitismul pe care-l pretinde este destul de superficial și fără urmări grave – în orice caz, greșelile și eșecurile din relațiile sale cu evreii nu sînt din motive antisemite ci consecințe ale etern umanelor slăbiciuni și defecte de caracter – invidie, snobism, nepăsare, gelozie...

Gelozia pentru orele pe care prietenul său Wolf Goldmann le petrece exersînd la pian cu mătușa lui, combinată cu o dorință nemărturisită nici sieși de răzbunare pentru că i-a dezvăluit niște secrete rușinoase despre rudele sale, îl fac pe naratorul de 13 ani să dea la maximum aparatul de șocuri electrice la care Wolf se conectase ca să-i arate cum funcționează, vătămîndu-i temporar mîinile. Un incident copilăresc, pe care adulții evident că-l vor exacerba, găsindu-i conotații rasiale și provocîndu-și singuri rău.

Snobismul de clasă care-l face să se jeneze de gusturile și gesturile iubitei sale duce la încheierea primei povești de dragoste a naratorului de 19 ani abia sosit în București, și nu faptul că este evreică:

...iubirea mea pentru frumoasa evreică pe al cărei chip vedeam toată patima scăldată în soare a Andaluziei (unde, drept mulțumire pentru contribuția spiritului iudaic la civilizația apuseană, prin grandioasa sinteză de Occident și Orient pe care o realiza, fuseseră aprinse rugurile), iubirea mea pentru chipul auriu, radios de fericire al frumoasei suferinde, luminat de un zâmbet saturat parcă de seninătatea misterioasă a morții la fel ca cel al „Frumoasei necunoscute din Sena”, a fost distrusă, erodată, sfărâmată de felul în care se îmbrăca, de cum ținea degetul în sus când mânca înghețată, de respectabilitatea pretențios pompoasă cu care se comporta cu clienții, sau își încorseta splendoarea sânilor și a șoldurilor într-o carapace de cauciuc, lucru care îi făcea să arate ca niște ghiulele compacte de tun, pentru a părea „o doamnă”, sau își coafa frumosul păr negru, transformându-l într-un glorios produs de cofetărie când ieșea cu mine în oraș...

Machismul, dorința de a-și lăuda atracția masculină îl fac să mintă, cîțiva ani mai tîrziu, cu privire la relațiile sale cu o tînără pe care o admira cu adevărat în fața unui prieten, care mai apoi o violează, că nu era decît „o ovreicuță”.

Ajuns la Viena, la bunica lui, chiar înainte de alipirea acesteia la Germania nazistă, frecventează un grup de intelectuali evrei spre indignarea familiei, recunoscînd însă mai tîrziu că nu a realizat cu adevărat atunci gravitatea situației, mai mult, i se părea că prietenii lui exagerează și că în general își cam merită soarta. Enormitatea acestor afirmații țîfnoase și cinice este mereu subminată de o ironie subtilă care le pune la îndoială credibilitatea. De exemplu, după ce se proclamă român, „supus al Majestății Sale Regele Carol al II-lea”, delimitîndu-se atît de evrei cît și de austriecii din Viena, caracterizează în treacăt oamenii politici („o adunătură de lepre și escroci, care mulgeau statul ca pe o vacă grasă”) oprindu-se apoi la „chestiunea evreiască” românească, pe care o prezintă cu falsă admirație:

Mai existau, firește, și evrei, care erau comuniști și deci tratați pe bună dreptate ca atare, adică drept spioni ruși și agenți provocatori. Noroc, însă, cu câțiva tineri români și cu conducătorul lor, un anume domn Cuza – un nume nobil și bun, însușit fără drept de acest domn – care, din când în când, îi luau la bătaie pe evrei pentru a-i împiedica să depășească niște limite și pentru a stăvili propaganda și provocările comuniste. Din punctul meu de vedere lumea era deci în ordine, iar ceea ce se întâmpla aici, sau în așa-zisul Reich, nu mă interesa câtuși de puțin.

Desigur, impulsul de a urma curentul general nu l-a ocolit nici pe el, într-o epocă în care toată lumea era chemată să-și revizuiască valorile și să-și afirme loialitățile, iar regretele sale sînt regretele tuturor celor care au rămas pasivi, preferînd să închidă ochii decît să se implice:

Uneori îmi dădea târcoale ispita de a face ceva monstruos, de a-i denunța pe evreii care se întâlneau în taină acum în casa Minkăi, de a-i distruge pe toți.
Dar poate că a fost mai monstruos că nu am făcut-o, că nu am făcut absolut nimic, nici împotriva lor, nici pentru ei; că am acceptat ceea ce se întâmpla ca pe o fatalitate.

Fundalul acestor memorii nu este mai puțin extraordinar și trebuie să mărturisesc că mi-a încălzit sufletul evocarea acelei Românii interbelice pe care mi-o imaginam ca pe un El Dorado în anii naivei mele tinereți, de la molcomul sat bucovinean, numărînd trei prăvălii, o brutărie servind și de cîrciumă și o farmacie și în care, în zilele de sărbătoare „(c)ântecul polifonic al călugărilor alterna cu psalmodierea monotonă a Talmudului de către elevii de la școala evreiască”, la capitala noastră veșnic grăbită spre nicăieri, cu adunările ei boeme, cu străzile ei pestrițe, cu mirosurile ei puternice și zgomotele stridente, într-un cuvînt cu balcanismul ei fudul:

Eram încântat. Vedeam, simțeam, miroseam Orientul Apropiat. O dimensiune a lumii care până atunci ținea de basm devenise realitate palpabilă – filtrată, e adevărat, printr-un gunoi al modernității în care tot ce era îndoielnic în civilizația noastră tehnocratică ieșea la iveală, se degrada, se strica și totuși clocotea de viață, de culoare, de aventuri.

Tînărul narator descoperă Bucureștiul pas cu pas și, odată cu el, propria apartenență la românitate:

Am început să înțeleg orașul la fel ca pe o limbă străină. Vechile lui construcții modeste îmi vorbeau și îmi povesteau despre boieri, fanarioți, pașale, călugări și haiduci cu plete lungi, coborâți din munți. Fusesem crescut în Austria. Cu toate că aparțineam mai degrabă acestui spațiu românesc decât unui altuia, multe îmi rămăseseră străine. Acum mi se oferea cheia arabescului românesc pe care îl regăseam și în propria mea structură.

Ultimul narator, sau ultima voce a naratorului povestește despre impulsul care l-a făcut să vrea să mai vadă o dată orașul tinereții sale, care făcea acum parte din România comunistă. Deși nimic nu mai semăna cu ceea ce-și amintea despre el, de la soldații cu aer sovietic din aeroport la clădirea uriașă în stil stalinist care înlocuise hipodromul de pe șoseaua Kiseleff, el are revelația că nimic nu se schimbă cu adevărat și că singurul lucru care salvează înfiorătoarea banalitate a acestui adevăr este magia povestirii lustruită de amintirile adevărate sau inventate:

Acesta era adevărul de dincolo de visurile mele de patruzeci de ani”, voia să-i spună bătrânei mătuși de nouăzeci și patru de ani: „Vous comprenez, ma chère, era totul de o banalitate copleșitoare. Sigur, ceea ce era plin de culoare odinioară dispăruse: știi de ce se industrializează forțat o țară pastorală, o țară agrară bogată? Nu pentru a produce bunuri de consum, ci pentru a crea un proletariat. România, bogata mea țară din trecut, a devenit o țară de proletari cu conștiință de clasă; imaginea și-a modificat prin urmare niște nuanțe. Dar e neschimbată țara în care m-am născut, în care am trăit, pe care am iubit-o, la care am visat timp de patruzeci de ani – neschimbată în esență vreau să spun și, de aceea, pentru mine, de o banalitate covârșitoare. Oh, mulțumește-i lui Dumnezeu că nu ai revăzut St. Petersburgul...

[Sofia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Στον πυρήνα κάθε ρατσιστικής συμπεριφοράς κρύβεται ενα βαθύ αίσθημα ανεπάρκειας που έχει ο ίδιος ο ρατσιστής. Γι'αυτο το λόγο, όπως κι ο ήρωας του βιβλίου, καταλήγουν να είναι τόσο αξιοθρήνητοι.
Το μυθιστόρημα αν και άρτιο τεχνικά, δεν κατάφερε να με κερδίσει όσο ήλπιζα.

[Dan · Rating 5 out of 5]

there's something i almost never trust about "redemptive" narratives of race and identity. they almost always congratulate the superficial benevolence of a narrowly defined "target audience" instead of exploring the discomfort and uncertainty that the topic deserves. for me, stories about people developing prejudices are much more interesting than the ones where they un-learn them.

memoirs of an anti-semite offers no real redemption for its central character, but it's not overly bleak in its lack of salvation. despite its unfamiliar (to me) location (bukovina - essentially northern romania - during the years between the two world wars), its handling of bigotry feels intimately familiar. instead of brown-shirt hooligans or tormented sadists, its anti-semite is a defensive ball of contradictions. he may "hate the jews" (and women, for that matter) at times, but he also harbors a lifelong fascination with them.

memoirs of an anti-semite takes a nuanced look at the precarious, competing nation-states of eastern europe in the early 20th century as well as the desires that encouraged people to rally behind them. through five stories, we learn about our anti-semite's peculiar and confusing ethnic allegiances (italian, austrian, romanian-thanks-to-the-dissolution-of-austria-hungary)... which lead to peculiar and confusing ideological allegiances (to the pre-byzantine roman empire, to charlemagne, briefly-kinda-sorta to nazi germany)... which lead to a series of implausible justifications as he befriends, attempts to seduce, and occasionally rejects his jewish neighbors. got all that? furthermore, it's never entirely clear that these bloodlines, family histories and ancient claims to power are grounded in anything other than territorial folklore and trash-talking.

the book is constructed as a satire, but it finds a remarkable balance between the weight of its historical moment and the playful tone of its prose. though i'm often invited to laugh at its character, i'm also forced to understand him. he can be lucid, candid and apolojectic about his preconceptions at times, and he can resort to vicious pettiness at others. "antisemitism," in the hands of rezzori, isn't the broad label one might expect from the title. this is a book about a pompous ass who's desperately out of sync with his own desires, too belligerent to overcome his petty prejudices and too decent to do anything particularly diabolical. he's not far off from most of the people i would label racists in my own life. and at certain moments, his thought patterns can mirror my own when i'm at my most shallow. rezzori's insights require real introspection. the racism he characterizes rarely carries pistols and swastikas. it's the kind that's always prefaced with an apology or an explanation. the kind that can slip into a conversation without starting an argument. its the kind i most often see in the world around me, and the kind i work to eradicate within myself. and that's the kind i want to read about.

[Anastasia Ts. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ο Γκρέγκορ Φον Ρετσόρι έγραψε τρία βιβλία που αποτελούν την τριλογία της Μπουκοβίνα. Οι Αναμνήσεις ενός αντισημίτη είναι το ένα βιβλίο αυτής της τριλογίας. Όταν το έλαβα στα χέρια μου πίστευα ότι είναι ένα μυθιστόρημα, στην πραγματικότητα πρόκειται για πέντε διηγήματα με τους τίτλους Σκούτσνο, Νιότη, Πανσιόν Λέβινγκερ, οι όρκοι και η Πράβντα. Σ' αυτά τα διηγήματα ο αφηγητής είναι κοινός και ονομάζεται όπως και ο συγγραφέας Γκρέγκορ. Είναι ένας νεαρός αντισημίτης, σε μια περίοδο που ο αντισημιτισμός είχε εξαπλωθεί σ' ολόκληρη την Κεντρική Ευρώπη. Είναι όμως και ο νεαρός αυτός που ασπάζεται την ιδεολογία του αντισημιτισμού αλλά την φέρνει και στα μέτρα του για να μπορεί να ικανοποιεί και τις επιθυμίες του. Δημιουργεί ερωτικές σχέσεις με Εβραίες λόγου χάρη γιατί έχει στο μυαλό του την άποψη ότι οι Εβραίες δεν είναι Εβραίοι. Διαβάζοντας το ένα διήγημα μετά το άλλο ακολουθούμε τον ήρωα στις περιπέτειές του μέχρι να φτάσουμε στο τελευταίο διήγημα το Πράβντα που θα ξετυλιχτεί μπροστά μας η προσωπικότητα του Γκρέγκορ. Το βιβλίο αυτό είναι γραμμένο σε πρωτοπρόσωπη αφήγηση, με αρκετά αυτοβιογραφικά στοιχεία του συγγραφέα. Μ' άρεσε πολύ αυτό το βιβλίο γιατί μου παρουσίασε την σκληρότητα και την βιαιότητα του αντισημιτισμού, αλλά έκανε κάτι ουσιαστικότερο...μου φανέρωσε πόσο βαθιά ριζωμένος ήταν και πόσο μόλυνε τις ψυχές των ανθρώπων.

[Το γράμμα Ι The letter.i · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ακούγοντας the road από τον Νικ Κέιβ και τον φίλο του Warren Ellis, δε μπορώ να περιγράψω πόσο βαθιά πέρασε μέσα μου αυτό το βιβλίο..

Η βαθιά και αυθεντική απόδοση ενός πηγαίου αντισημιτισμού, ενός μίσους που υπερβαίνει την συμπάθεια και την αγάπη,την ενσυναίσθηση και τη συναίσθηση, αλλά στο τέλος επέρχεται η λύτρωση. Η αναγνώριση, η συμφιλίωση και επιτελους η υπέρβαση.

Βαθιά ιστορικό, βαθιά προφητικό, το αγάπησα γιατί δεν παύει να είναι δυσάρεστο μέχρι το τέλος του και ούτε κατάφερα να συμπονεσω τον πρωταγωνιστή σε αυτή τη βιογραφία παύλα μύθιστορημα. Αλλά.... Μίλησε ειλικρινά στη ψυχή μου, χωρίς ωραιοποίησεις και με μια ματιά που δεν είχα συνηθίσει.

[Liberis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Πρώτο βιβλίο της χρονιάς, πρώτο 5άρι. Και όχι μόνο επειδή είμαι λάτρης της λογοτεχνίας της Κεντρικής Ευρώπης, ή για να είμαι σαφέστερος, της Μεσευρώπης, αυτής που μεταφέρει τη θλίψη και την παρακμή της αυτοκρατορίας των Αψβούργων, αλλά επειδή το βιβλίο, για να μιλήσω απλά, τα σπάει!Συγγραφέας εντελώς άγνωστος στην Ελλάδα, ίσως κάποιοι που ασχολήθηκαν στη ζωή τους με Γερμανική Φιλολογία, να τον γνώριζαν, έκρυβε ένα θησαυρό, στο opus magnum του. Κι είναι ακριβώς εδώ που αρχίζουν όλα όσα με συνεπήραν ώστε να διαβάζω αργά και βασανιστικά επί μέρες, προσπαθώντας να χωρέσω το βιβλίο σε μια πιεσμένη καθημερινότητα. Ο προβοκατόρικος τίτλος: Αναμνήσεις ενός αντισημίτη. Ο αντισημίτης ήρωας μεγάλωσε σε μια κοινωνία , φεουδαλική την ονομάζει, όπου το να είσαι επιφυλακτικός απέναντι στον Εβραίο ήταν τόσο φυσικό όσο το να πίνεις νερό ή να ανασαίνεις. Και όμως αυτούς τους Εβραίους τους βρίσκεις παντού. Είναι ο κολλητός σου φίλος, πρότυπο και πηγή ζήλιας στα πρώιμα εφηβικά σου χρόνια, είναι η μεγαλύτερη ερωμένη που σε έμαθε τα μυστικά του έρωτα και σου έδωσε τρυφερότητα, ήταν η σύζυγός σου, ήταν ο έρωτας που δεν ευοδώθηκε, ήταν η ζωή σου εντέλει, καθώς οι συνεχείς απορρίψεις του εβραϊκού στοιχείου όχι μόνο στοιχειώνουν τον ήρωα αλλά σε καθεμιά από τις πέντε ιστορίες, πέντε διαφορετικές περιόδους αναμνήσεων, οι Εβραίοι βρίσκονται αξεδιάλυτα μέσα στη ζωή του. Μισεί αυτό που πολλές φορές αγάπησε σαν ένα πεισματάρικο παιδί, αδύναμο μπροστά στους φίλους του να παραδεχτεί ότι του αρέσει το μπρόκολο, η φακή, το ρεβύθι. Γι' αυτό και βρήκα το έργο βαθιά ειρωνικό. Κυρίως όμως, όταν η ζωή του ήρωα φτάνει στην επικίνδυνη δεκαετία του 1930 και στην ακόμα επικινδυνότερη του 1940, αναθεωρεί πολλά πράγματα στη ζωή του, χωρίς να μετανιώνει ολοκληρωτικά. Άλλωστε προς τα τέλη της ζωής του είναι αργά για να αλλάξει τρόπο σκέψης. Ο Αντισημίτης μας είναι ένας βαθιά τρυφερός και ανασφαλής άνθρωπος, αποτυχημένος σε όλα, σχεδόν παρακμιακός. Εζησε ορισμένες από τις χειρότερες στιγμές του 20ου αιώνα, άλλαξε πολλές φορές την ταυτότητά του, ήραν Ρουμάνος, Αυστριακός, Βιεννέζος, άριος, το μόνο που έμεινε σταθερό ήταν ο αντισημιτισμός. Ήταν αυτό που τον προσδιόριζε αλλά και αυτό που εσωτερικά τον έτρωγε. Γνώριζε τα γίντις σα να ήταν Εβραίος, χωρίς να θέλει να είναι, γιατί πολλοί σημαντικοί άλλοι στη ζωή του τα μιλούσαν φαρσί. Και, βασικό, δεν κατέδωσε, δεν έστειλε κανέναν στα ανατολικά. Πέρα από τον χαρακτήρα του ήρωα, έχει ως αρετές τις υπέροχες, συναισθηματικές και τρυφερές περιγραφές τοπίων και πόλεων, δυναμικές σχέσεις, και, αυτό που το κάνει κόσμημα, μια εκπληκτική ρέουσα μετάφραση, της Μαργαρίτας Ζαχαριάδου, και μια πολύ προσεγμένη έκδοση από το Δώμα. Η ανάγνωσή του ήταν μια πολύ όμορφη εμπειρία!

[Domenico Fina · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Nessuno di noi morirà mai, stia tranquillo. E come potrebbe? Infatti noi non esistiamo affatto, egregio amico". Rezzori, scrittore grandissimo, sapido, elegante, aspro, necessita di un segnavia. Io non ce la faccio in poche righe (nemmeno in molte). Vi allego un prezioso documento word di Claudio Magris, digitate su google: santamaddalena.org/pages/LmCM.doc‎.

Rifugge le classificazioni. La sua patria sarebbe da definire. È apolide, multilingue. Dice di essere uno straniero di professione. Straniero lo è anche nella narrazione dove l'io è sempre alla ricerca di identità. Si sforza di ripetere che non ha scritto libri autobiografici, semmai invenzioni dal vero, ma lo fa con la disinvoltura dell'uomo di mondo che scambiano per frivolezza. Magris dice che era un'anima alla Paul Celan, il poeta col quale condivide la nascita in Bucovina, ma si è salvato - diversamente da Celan che morirà annegato nella Senna - perché il suo disincanto lo spinge alla fregola di vita. Ama le donne, l'arte, i lampi estivi. "Memorie di un antisemita" NON E' autobiografico. Lo specifica in una nota:

"L'impegno morale, per uno scrittore, non è altro che l'onestà, esprimere se stessi, testimoniare e non predicare, mostrare le cose piuttosto che suggerire o imporre una presa di posizione. Per uno scrittore, il giudizio deve scaturire dalla rappresentazione e non dev'essere appiccicato dall'esterno".

Quante volte abbiamo sentito queste parole e abbiamo pensato con fastidio che fossero ovvie? Il 99.99% degli scrittori vi direbbero la stessa cosa. Rezzori lo fa e con talento straordinario. Leggere le splendide Memorie di un antisemita (1979) per provare. L'io narrante delle Memorie (libro in 5 racconti) è un uomo che ha conosciuto molti ebrei, il suo migliore amico (nel primo racconto) è ebreo, molte donne che ha frequentato. Sua moglie (nel quinto racconto) è ebrea. Eppure non si capiscono; più in fondo è l'io del protagonista che non capisce se stesso mentre muta. Il titolo è rezzoriano anch'esso, sposta l'attenzione su una polemica che faranno gli altri, lui no. Non cambia il titolo perché è convinto che la sua arte sia superiore alle polemiche. Tutta la sua vita è così.

«Quando avevo tredici anni ed ero quindi in quella che nel linguaggio degli educatori dell'epoca era "l'età ingrata", i miei genitori si trovarono a non sapere più che fare di me».

[Valerie Thornhill · Rating 3 out of 5]

I met Gregor von Rezzori many years ago when I was teaching his sons at St. George's English School and also giving them private English lessons. I wasn't much older than them, and that created an interesting situation! The father never seemed to want to pay for the lessons, so I went to his house and asked for payment as no other messages were ever answered. Well, he was having a shower. I was summoned to the bathroom, told where to find the cheque book, and a hand reached out from behing the shower curtain to sign the amount I was asked to fill in. So I jumped when his name was mentioned by the friends we stayed with in Bucharest last October.
'We've read his books!' they said,'he grew up in Romania.'
I've just finished the first section of this uncompromisingly titled book. It's in the old, rich plum-cake style of 19th more than 20th-century literature, but the observations are penetrating, the cast of characters memorable and the picture of the dying influence of the the former Hapsburg empire unforgettable.Of old customs, societies, sports, habits and manners, all gone.These are said to be novels, but told in the first person, the first one feels like a memoir of childhood.