Wolf Moon by Julio Llamazares

 

Wolf Moon

by Julio Llamazares

Translated by Simon Deefholts and Kathryn Phillips-Miles 

The Wehrwolf by Alma Katsu

 

The Wehrwolf

by Alma Katsu

A Village in the Third Reich by Julia Boyd with Angelika Patel

A Village in the Third Reich

by Julia Boyd 

with Angelika Patel

The Bomber Mafia by Malcolm Gladwell

The Bomber Mafia: A Story Set in War

by Malcolm Gladwell

At Night All Blood is Black by David Diop

At Night All Blood is Black

by David Diop

(translated by Anna Moschovakis)

In Love and War: "Stella" by Takis Würger

Stella

by Takis Würger

(translated from the German 

by Liesl Schillinger)

An enigmatic swansong: "The Invisible Land" by Hubert Mingarelli

The Invisible Land

Hubert Mingarelli (translated by Sam Taylor)

A Review

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.  

Ghosts of Evils Past : Susan Fletcher's House of Glass

Ghosts of Evils Past 

House of Glass by Susan Fletcher - A review

A house is meant to be a place of safety and intimacy.  The haunted house is a powerful symbol of horror precisely because it shows us a haven of domesticity upturned by an intruder, and a supernatural one at that.  It is hardly surprising that from being just one of many Gothic tropes, the haunted house eventually became the basis of a rich supernatural sub-genre. 

House of Glass is a historical novel within this tradition.  It is set just before the outbreak of the First World War and features a sprawling mansion – Shadowbrook – marked by dark, old rumours about its previous owners, the evil and hated Pettigrew family.  The last Pettigrew to inhabit Shadowbrook was the sensual, decadent and possibly mad Veronique - her ghost still walks its corridors and the pages of this book.   So far, so familiar.  Indeed, this novel shares many elements with other books within the (sub-)genre.   It has been compared to Du Maurier’s Rebecca but I would say that its mixture of Gothic thrills, historical novel and social commentary is closer in spirit to Sarah Water’s The Little Stranger.  What makes House of Glass particularly original is its protagonist and narrator, Clara Waterfield.  Conceived out of wedlock in India, and born in England where her mother Charlotte is dispatched to avoid a scandal, Clara suffers from osteogenesis imperfecta or “brittle bones disease”, a condition which causes fractures at the least pressure or impact. As a result, Clara lives a secluded London childhood, fiercely protected by her parents.  The premature death of her mother thrusts Clara into adulthood. Notwithstanding her syndrome, her walking cane and ungainly gait, Clara ventures out into the world.  The gardens at Kew become her refuge and she finds herself turning into an amateur botanist – “amateur” in the best sense of the word, that of a lover of knowledge.  This earns her the respect, friendship and support of Forbes, the foreman of the glasshouses.  It also leads to an unexpected invitation.  One day, Clara is summoned to Gloucestershire by the new owner of Shadowbrook, to oversee the installation of exotic plants from Kew in a new greenhouse in the mansion’s gardens.     

It is here that the ghost story proper begins.  Clara finds herself surrounded by mystery and secrets, by things that go bump in the night and malevolent attacks by an unseen visitor.  The housekeeper and maids cower in fear of the ghost of Veronique Pettigrew, a woman seemingly so evil that a mere mention of her name is enough to unleash poltergeist activity.  Clara is sceptical but her rationalist approach is put under severe test.  That summer will mark her coming to age, as she questions long-held certainties and beliefs whilst going through a sexual awakening.

At one level, House of Glass is enjoyable as a good old piece of storytelling.  But there is so much more to it.  What struck me at first is the blend of realism and the supernatural.   Shadowbrook and its gardens are inspired by the real-life Hidcote Manor Garden (a National Trust property in Gloucestershire) and this setting is lovingly and minutely described.  At the same time, Fletcher uses small details (closed, dust-filled rooms; peeling paint; a blood-stained billiard table) to evoke an atmosphere of fear and dread.  The scene has already been set for the nocturnal visitations which considerably ratchet up the tension.    

The Old Garden at Hidcote (image taken from National Trust webpage)

The novel also manages to take an established form and inject it with a strong dose of feminism.  Clara’s condition becomes a symbol of  female rebellion and resistance, her physical imperfections as transgressive as her assertiveness and inquisitiveness.  There is a parallel between the “cripple” Clara and the uniquely beautiful Veronique, both of them strong women trying to hold their own in a patriarchal society.  Clara ruefully notes that despite the fact that the male Pettigrews were violent and criminal, it was Veronique and her ‘sex orgies’ which gripped the attention of the sleepy village where she lived and which marked her forever as an epitome of immorality.  This leads to another theme which is central to the novel, namely that of truth and falsehood, and how accounts can be manipulated to propagate the world-view favoured by their narrator.

My only reservation as I was reading the novel was that there were a number of narrative gear-changes late in the book.  Engrossing as it is, the plot moves forward at a leisurely pace until about three-quarters in, when a raft of unexpected revelations propel the tale forward and lead us closer to the “sensation novel”.  In the final chapters then, there is yet another shift, as the work ends with a meditation on war.  The more I think about it, however, the more I tend to feel that my initial doubts were unfounded – the different facets of House of Glass ultimately add up to a convincing whole, held together by Fletcher’s lyrical and elegiac writing style.  For this is also a story about the passing of an era, and what are ghosts if not remnants, in one way or another, of a half-remembered past?  

Hardcover, 368 pages

Published November 1st 2018 by Virago

***

The English musical scene at the start of the twentieth century was going through a veritable Renaissance.  I was therefore spoilt for choice when selecting some tracks to accompany my reading of House of Glass. 

Despite the novel being set entirely in England, India remains very much in the background, a place which Clara associates with her mother and her unkown, distant past.  In this respect, the novel reflects the concerns of Imperial Gothic, particularly that underlying sense of guilt associated with Empire which has tended to become more accentuated in a post-colonial era.  Yet, in the years of the British Raj, there were artists who had a genuine interest in Indian and more generally Eastern traditions, one which went beyond the mere lure of the Exotic.    For instance, Gustav Holst (1874-1934), best known as the composer of “The Planets”, retained a lifelong curiosity about Eastern philosophy, beliefs and musical traditions, engaging with them in several works including Choral Hymns from the Rig Veda.

Clara never gets to visit India (at least within the pages of the novel).  Ironically, however, even her childhood experiences of London are vicarious.  Her condition keeps her bedridden for long periods of time such that even the city where she lives appears to her like a distant land.  Of course, as L.P. Hartley reminds us, the past is itself a foreign country – Ralph Vaughan Williams’s second symphony – “London” – is inspired by the sights and sounds of the city.  First composed in 1912, it gives us a taste of the capital at the time of the novel’s events – this particular presentation is enhanced by photos from the era.

Shadowbrook – and its inspiration, Hidcote – are situated in Gloucestershire.  Gloucestershire Rhapsody (1919-1921) is an orchestral work by the poet and composer Ivor Gurney (1890-1937).  Gurney suffered from bipolar disorder, a condition exacerbated by his harrowing experiences in the First World War (he was a victim of a gas attack).  

Many other artists, writers and composers did not survive the war.  Amongst these was one of the most promising musicians of the early 20th century – George Butterworth (1885-1916), who was shot through the head by a sniper during the Battle of the Somme. Butterworth – hailed on his death as “a brilliant musician in times of peace, and an equally brilliant soldier in times of stress”  - is known for his settings of poetry from Housman’s “A Shropshire Lad”.  These poems  were in turn inspired by the Second Boer War - the song "The lads in their hundreds" tells of young men who leave their homeland to 'die in their glory and never be old' and, with the benefit of hindsight, seems uncannily prescient of Butterworth’s own destiny.  This performance seems to me to capture not only the thoughts of Housman and Butterworth, but also the nostalgic mood of the final chapter of House of Glass.

Iraqi Gothic... Ahmed Saadawi's "Frankenstein in Baghdad"

Iraqi Gothic... 

Ahmed Saadawi's "Frankenstein in Baghdad"