Theatre of War : a review of An Untouched House

 An Untouched House by Willem Frederik Hermans 

(translated from the Dutch by David Colmer)

How best to convey, in writing, the indescribable horrors of war? Some authors place us in the midst of the battlefield, on the front line, in the trenches. Others take us to blitzed and occupied cities, with tales of ordinary lives in extraordinary circumstances. Others discern some light in the darkness of the carnage – acts of valour, of compassion, of kindness which provide a welcome contrast to the bloodshed. 

The novels of Dutch author Willem Frederik Hermans show us “the absurdity, cruelty and pointlessness of war”, as Cees Nooteboom explains in the afterword to this edition of “An Untouched House”. For Hermans, war is just another facet of what he considered a “sadistic Universe”. There is therefore a metaphysical, cosmic underpinning to the author’s work, and it is unremittingly bleak.

This novella, first published in 1951, is now available to English readers in a translation by David Colmer. This might be a book about war, but its setting is surprisingly distant from any ‘traditional’ battle, at least at first. The unnamed narrator, a Dutch member of the resistance, finds himself in a deserted spa town and discovers an abandoned, palatial house, seemingly untouched by the fighting. He deserts his fellow combatants and installs himself in it.

 
There is something surreal about the house. With its magical feel and its mysterious locked room, it seems to come out of a fairytale, not unlike the ‘lost chateau’ in Le Grand Meaulnes. It is hardly surprising then the narrator starts to believe that he will be safe from harm as long as he remains within it. But even this house will become a theatre of war. When the house is requisitioned by the German troops occupying the town, the narrator wildly holds on to his fantasy by pretending he is the owner. Eventually the Nazis are ousted by the Russian troops, aided by the Resistance. And so it is that the real world dispels the protagonist’s dreams, and what initially seemed a setting peripheral to the conflict is also touched by the “sadism of the Universe”.

Indeed, a defining element of this novel is its unrelenting violence, which reaches gut-wrenching levels in the final pages. Tinged with black humour and purposely over the top, the novel’s climax reads like a scene out of a Tarantino movie. No side is spared any punches: not the German soldiers, disseminating fear whilst acting as self-proclaimed defenders of “culture”; not the Russians or the partisans, at whose hands the town collapses into chaos. No wonder this novel made its author unpopular in some quarters. It is a veritable kick in the guts, a powerful indictment of war.

Published: 23rd October 2018 by Archipelago Books

There are several pieces of classical music which depict the futility of war.  I have chosen four works with a link to the Second World War.  Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem (1961-62) was commissioned and performed for the consecration of the new Coventry Cathedral, built on the bombed wreck of the original 14^th century building.  This is a full performance conducted by Marin Alsop, given at the Southbank Centre in November 2014.

The Requiem of Reconciliation was a collaborative work written to commemorate the 50^th anniversary of the end of the Second World War.  Each of its fourteen sections is written by a different composer from a country involved in the war.  This is the Confutatis Maledictis  movement, by Norwegian composer Arne Nordheim.

My final choice, however, is probably the piece which best reflects the senseless violence of the final pages of Hermans’s novel.  Ironically, Penderecki’s Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima was originally called 8'37" and was meant as an ‘abstract’ piece of experimental music.  The composer claims that he added the title upon hearing the music in performance and noting its “emotional impact”.   It is considered a masterpiece of 60s European avant-garde.  Here's a version with accompanying score.