I began Olivia Manning’s Balkan Trilogy this year after re-reading Clive James’s Latest Readings, in which James praises her Balkan and Levant trilogies. (I also read Edward St. Aubyn’s Patrick series this year based on James’s comments about it). Critics like James have a symbiotic relation to my reading at times. Far from being anti-critic and trying to keep critic and poet apart lest the critic wilt the poet, I have since at least college had an appreciative place in my reading for critics, but only ones I trust. I have read deeply into Lionel Trilling’s corpus, for example, (though I might add that I tend to think criticism has gone downhill after Trilling and I avoid the anti-humanist groupings into Marxist literary theory, feminist, etc., as general betrayals of literary humanism’s aims as I understand them). I find T.S. Eliot’s take on this matter inexorably logical: “…we might remind ourselves that criticism is as inevitable as breathing, and that we should be none the worse for articulating what passes in our minds when we read a book and feel an emotion about it, for criticizing our own minds in their work of criticism.” But James’s own view of the critic is pretty anodyne: “The critics should write to say, not ‘look how much I’ve read,’ but ‘look at this, it’s wonderful.’” Which brings me back to my subject.
Having just finished the second book in the trilogy, I have enjoyed Olivia Manning’s vivacious wit expressed especially through the character of Harriet, and her keen portrayal of the English and their friends in Romania in a setting which starts with distant rumor of the Nazis advance, beginning in Volume 1, The Great Fortune, eventually whelming to their full occupation by end of this volume, and the consequent ending of the British legation and colony there. She brings to life in a masterly portrayal this period of time and so does a service to our memory as well as tapping the wells of perennial humanity, reminding us of ourselves in our contingency, making us wonder how we would respond under the encroaching threat.
The story unfolds through the personal relations in a way that brings the period to life. James says Manning’s work has been undervalued. I certainly have come to value her work with this exposure- but let actions tell.
The marriage of Harriet and Guy as well as the political and social reality of the Nazi take over are major hubs of the story as told through the eyes mainly of Harriet. There seems to be a building ominousness to the future of their marriage as well as their existence in Romania. Guy is well-liked for his idealism and courage as a teacher. He is a Communist and thinks wistfully of the possibility of Romania being taken over by Communist Russia. He is spooked by seeing his wife and a friend attend a Russian Orthodox service, even though it is just as a cultural curiosity to them. He does not seem to have sufficient special time for his wife, but is available at all hours to public. For anti-Communists like myself, it is good for probity and good sense, no doubt, to see the sympathetic portrayal of one as a likeable human after all, despite Harriet’s personal misgivings about their marriage.
James nicely encapsuled their relationship when he describes Guy Pringle as “the type so enslaved to his haversack full of books that he would always get the actual world wrong” and Harriet Pringle as embodying “the unused qualities of sensitivity and practicality that continually underlined just why she shouldn’t be married to Guy…he a case of useless intelligence, she a case of wasted love.”
For someone who suffered under both the Nazis and then the Soviets, see for instance the writings of the great Czech dissident Ivan Klima, who died this year while I was reading a collection of his essays, or Vaclav Havel for that matter. I was first introduced to Romania when young through reading some of the writings of the convert to Christianity from being a secular Romanian Jew, the great Lutheran pastor Richard Wurmbrand, who suffered torture and imprisonment for his bold witness to Christ under both the Nazi and Communist regimes. His most famous book was Tortured for Christ and he founded the organization called Voice of the Martyrs. He famously testified before the U.S. Congress by baring his back to show the scars from the depredations of the Communists, in a scene reminiscent of the Apostle Paul’s memory bearing scars, or their Lord’s scars. One of the stories he tells is how one of his torturers was converted to faith in Christ and refused to torture any more, and how he was beaten to death with peace in his heart as a consequence. Great lights like Wurmbrand should not be forgotten, even perhaps more so than the great literary and political dissidents.
When I read the following this morning from an article by one of the great intellects of our age, I thought it captured well some of the service Olivia Manning has done the world, or whoever will take up and read her books, namely in its mention of spirit and vitality, memory and loving gratitude, traits which animate Manning’s writings:
“It the spiritual crisis of our age is an increasingly spiritless world, then the ‘order’ one must seek is an order that treasures and cultivates the things of the spirit: memory, the ability to hold past, present, and future in unity and thus to have and inhabit a history; and gratitude, the profound recognition that we do not cause our own existence and that a history is therefore not an obstacle to be surpassed but a gift and an unrepayable debt. All of these things are the ingredients in the act of love and in the supreme act of love that is prayer.” -Michael Hanby, “Sage Against the Machine,” First Things, November 2025, pg. 51