He started: because he would not share the truth with Ana, he could at least spare her the metaphors. To pluck up the courage not to surround at least what he did want to share, with a thicket of words. He got up and joined her at the window, through which the strengthened but not yet piercing spring sunlight was shining on her. For some moments, he looked at her without speaking and she returned his look as if she was looking at him with her whole body, as if her breasts, stomach and thighs also had eyes. He touched her, perhaps to ameliorate the exchange that frightened him just a little (why?); he slid the back of his hand along her bare, hot, almost boiling forearms and — the contact hurt him, not on his skin, but in his stomach: she seemed bigger and wider than him, gigantic, but nevertheless much lighter, intangible, as if beneath the merciful light she had burst into flames, as if she was radiating in a hallucination that would now engulf and swallow him.
The Masterpiece has been translated from Slovenian by David Simon from Ana Schnabl's 2020 debut novel Mojstrovina, and translated by Istros Books.
The novel opens on 18 September 1985 (each chapter is dated) and the story spans the following 8 months, with a coda set a decade later.
Slovenia is still under communist rule, and part of the wider Yugoslavia, and while both nationalist sentiment and pro-democracy forces are stirring, and there is increasing freedom of expression, the security services maintain their shadowy watch.
In the opening chapter, Adam Bevk, a middle-age writer, is meeting with Ana, a 30-year-old editor at the state publishing company, the youngest ever to achieve that position. Ana agrees to take on his novel, called “Masterpiece”, the second, his first written almost 20 years earlier when he was a student, although she explains it will need detailed editing.
But the spark between Adam and Ana is not purely on a literary level, and, although both married, they embark on an affair. The situation is complicated by the fact that (as Adam soon guesses) Ana owes her rapid career advancement to a Faustian pact with the secret services; she informs on those whose books she reads and publishes. Meanwhile Adam himself has some links with dissident movements, so is of interest to the authorities, and both Adam and Ana try to hide their affair from their partners, albeit this seems not the first time either have strayed.
The main protagonist of the novel-within-the-novel Masterpiece is a writer, whose first youthful and utopian novel was withdrawn due to political pressure, ultimately leading to him resorting to drink, the loss of his university job, and the collapse of his marriage, his wife leaving him for a political functionary. But he is ultimately redeemed through his second book “a kind of panegyric to freedom, justice, beauty” (as Ana describes is to her handlers). There seem, to the reader, to be some autofictional elements here from Adam’s own career, except rather idealised: in practice Adam’s first novel was met more with indifference, he remains married, his wife entirely faithful to him, and in his job at the university, rather resigned to his literary fate.
The set-up of and political background to the novel are fascinating, but the story went in a rather different direction to that which I had hoped. Much of the attention is on Adam and Ana’s relationship, and in writing style this is a psycho-analytical text, feelings explored in depth, and at great length, with rich prose.
This is Adam’s wife Vera’s thoughts on Adam’s writing and its role in their relationship:
He had once described literature, Vera remembered, as a domineering and unpredictable mistress. Perhaps, she reasoned, the pressure he was exerting on her was exactly what he was feeling himself. The liability of the creative person, nothing fatal. His demands and needs were the same as they had been, she concluded, but the stakes, with the promise of a real, second book, had been dangerously raised. He was testing her. He still needed her unlimited encouragement and support, in which he was willing to recognise universal justice, the zeal from which he rushed to ascribe excellent meanings, she thought. She loved an uncertain man. She had long ago recognised and accepted that their love was woven from selfish fibres. That Adam was attached to his own shining image, which day after day she kept returning to him, which day after day, without objection, she carefully nurtured; that she herself was attached to the extensive influence she had over him. The influence which, whenever she plucked up the courage, could be called power. Each of us gets most deeply involved with those people who, with all their resources, prevent us from slipping into the deepest crevasse, or with those who have to be protected from evaporation. Few can bear exposure. No one can endure the indifference of the world bursting upon them. Their balance, based on premises that they had both recognised without ever articulating, had been solid for more than a decade.
This from the 25 April 1986 entry, while Ana is waiting for what expects may be a decisive encounter with her secret police handlers:
She stopped in front of the narrow entrance and pulled a slender cigarette from her pocket. The sign outside the bar that she had not visited since the end of her studies, which was once again flashing brokenly, was leaving nervous traces of poisonous green and black on her hair, face and hands. The streetlights at the corner of the short street were spraying a copper orange colour on her dress and from the windows of the bar a faint yellow was pouring evenly onto her outline. Although she had her head down and was blowing smoke at her shoes, she felt passers-by looking at her: illuminated like this, she realised, she also must look tainted. Sick. Grotesque. Like an unwanted, unplanned shadow in a shadow puppet performance, a phenomenon that hinders the flow of the story, destroys the balance among the figures, making a happy end impossible. An apparition that does not want to be clear, and so all the others are suddenly forced to deal with it. Illuminated like this, she thought further, she was illuminated in the right way, but her realisation did not bring the usual unease. She took a deep drag, dropped the cigarette end and trod on it decisively. It won't be much longer, she thought. The spring, which had caught her days before, had not let go, quite the opposite — she sensed even more strongly that her appearance in the performance was running out and, even more, that with the performance that mysterious, alien genre was also expiring. She was convinced that she was about to face the first meeting in a long line of last encounters. She placed herself in the hands of time and hoped that it would perform its major salvational and problem-solving role, as only those who love deeply, unfearfully and foolishly dare to do. She moved her hair from her face and smiled at the suspicious students who were staring at her and the mature couple waiting on the other side of the street, who were watching her surreptitiously. She crossed the narrow steps to the door and pressed the handle.
It is all very well done, but wasn’t to my taste, and I felt the focus on the more interesting (to me) aspects of the set-up suffered a little as a result. That said, the coda set 10 years later, in December 1996, does give the novel a very neat, meta-fictional end.
A book I would recommend to others but not a prose style I enjoy, hence the 2.5 star rating.