Review copy kindly supplied by the publishers via NetGalley
Narrated in the 1960s in flashback by Paul Brickman (formerly Beckermann), a German artist living on the south coast of England, this novel charts the rise of the Third Reich from the early 1920s through the eyes of a group of Bauhaus students, and indeed through the fortunes of the Bauhaus itself.
The death of Walter Konig, one of the group, and an invitation to his funeral, prompts a journey of self-reflection, a confession, which Paul freely recognises will be only one of several possible versions of events.
Having said that, however, he then goes on to narrate events in what is on the surface a very factual manner - but it is only as the layers build up that we start to see what he has chosen to include and what he has left out, what he has glossed over, what he can only face up to as he strips away the layers of his own self-deception. His narrative hinges on his guilt about the death of one of the group, his erstwhile girlfriend Charlotte, in the Dachau camp. The tale opens with the group arriving as new students at the newly opened Bauhaus in Weimar in 1922 - there are Walter and Jeno, Kaspar and Irma, Paul and the androgynous Charlotte - Bauhaus babies. Charlotte is Czechoslovakian and Jeno is Hungarian. Paul is immediately attracted to Charlotte and they become close but the relationship remains platonic - Paul is inclined to favour a slow build.
Walter is in love with Jeno, Paul with Charlotte, and in the background, Irma with Paul although this has less bearing on the unfolding of events. While Paul waits for love to blossom between himself and Charlotte, and after Jeno makes advances to Walter in the Turkish baths, Charlotte and Jeno embark upon a relationship. And so the stage is set for a Greek tragedy driven by jealousy and doubt.
Over the years, the group fragments and reconfigures while in the wider world, the Bauhaus is condemned for harbouring undesirable foreigners, communists and Jews, and is raided, shut down, attacked, but manages to keep resurfacing in different locations, resisting. In contrast to the work coming out of this avant-garde setting is the jobbing work that Paul and Walter do for Ernst Steiner’s studio, churning out sentimental pastoral scenes by the yard on commission for wealthy Americans. Is this indicative of their moral relativism, which will have such an impact on Charlotte’s fate in later years? Relentlessly, in the background, revealed almost incidentally in Paul’s much more intimate narrative, is the rise of the Brown Shirts, the increasing food shortages, the spiralling inflation which renders their earnings valueless, the increasingly open hostility to Communists, Jews, foreigners on the streets.
Naomi Wood from the start evokes the atmosphere of Brideshead Revisited and Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, with her tight-knit group of students in their own little rarefied world where all rules are made to be broken. For my money though, she doesn’t quite pull it off. The narrative remains too intimate to properly reflect wider events, so the novel is never entirely sure whether it wants to be a slow reveal of the events that led to Charlotte’s death, or a reflection of the rise of the Third Reich, and it doesn’t achieve either in an entirely satisfactory manner. Paul is a narrator blinded by his obsessive love for Charlotte, his suspicion of Jeno’s motives, his immature selfishness. His blinkered vision gets in the way of our perception of the historical events happening - or is it a reflection of how easy it was for people to fail to notice what was happening around them?
This is definitely a novel worth reading, but for those who are expecting another Secret History, my advice would be to take it on its own terms.