“Having burnt their lips and their peace of mind on a soup of Brussels sprouts, the four – General Nicolae Golescu, minister of the interior and of foreign affairs under Bibescu Voda, member of the 1848 revolutionary committee, the provisional government, and the first Princely Lieutenancy; Lascar Catargiu, with his wolflike senses, honed until then only in appointments as prefect and en famille; Colonel Nicolae Haralamb, landowner, son of a court victualler from Craiova; and Ion Ghika, bizarre Turkophile revolutionary of 1848, longtime Bey of Samos – were now so prudent that they would have blown even on a bowl of yoghurt before tasting it.”

Book Review:

Review by Vesna McMaster  AUG 16, 2011)

It’s 1886, and the dentist Joseph Strauss follows Karl Ludwig of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen from Prussia to Bucharest, where the latter is crowned King Carol I of Romania. Carol’s relationship with Joseph strays beyond the dental boundaries and they develop a certain camaraderie, particularly when Joseph arranges for the services of a blind prostitute to be made available (in strictest secret) to the politically beleaguered king. It is precisely the intimate nature of the knowledge Joseph carries which eventually leads to the king’s deliberate distancing of himself from the dentist. However, when the three-year-old Princess Maria dies of scarlet fever, and no further heirs seem forthcoming, Joseph wonders whether the King ought to be informed that the blind whore now has a son with a suspiciously aristocratic nose.

Filip Florian is a highly regarded Romanian author, and his first novel, Little Fingers  won numerous awards.

Now, how can I put this. I have an off-hand familiarity with the Continental predilection for convoluted language in both fiction and non-fiction. The ability to twist thirteen sentences into one contortionist-like knot and still somehow come out grammatically on top is often regarded as a sign of intellectual and linguistic brilliance. It’s little wonder in that case that Florian’s work has won high regard.

Sentences in this novel are frequently one and a half pages long (well, on Kindle at least). Subject is violently sundered from object, blown apart by sub-structures and interjections to make the reader’s mind dark with confusion. Why use one adjective when you could use twenty three, interspersed with thirteen sub-clauses and twelve asides? There is certainly nothing wrong with the translator’s (and I suspect Florian’s) grammar or vocabulary. After parsing the first two sentences out, though, I found it far too wearisome to follow the exact meaning of the text, and had to rely on intuition and guessing to struggle on, or risk going mad.

One advantage to these verbal acrobatics was, admittedly, the revival of several infrequently-used adjectives. It was refreshing to see some of the recesses of the rich English language being taken out and dusted off: I hadn’t used “nacreous” in quite a while and as for “canicular,” never. (“Having the quality of mother-of-pearl” and, in this application, “referring to the dog-days” respectively, in case you were wondering.)

The off-putting garb of tortured sentence structure which Florian of necessity wears is, however, doubly unfortunate because there is a highly talented writer lurking under there. Somewhere. It’s noticeable when the narrative narrows down to a point of excitement, or when rapid action takes place. He can’t help allowing sentences out in short breaths, and suddenly the scene springs to life. The characters start gasping for breath, their gags and restraints momentarily loosened. Unfortunately the action inevitably comes to an end. Then it’s time for either narrative, or asides, or observations and descriptions – all of which would be interesting and vivid were they cut up and served decently rather than being thrown at one’s face like a giant custard tart. Techniques of delivering backstory through dialogue or implication are obviously frowned on in Romania.

Much as I’d like to, I can’t say I would recommend this book to anyone who doesn’t know the sort of things Continental writing can get up to in its spare time. I am left wondering whether Florian will consider aiming his writing more at an English-speaking audience, but I’d guess that’s (sadly) unlikely. It’s a bit much to ask a nation to change its accepted linguistic style so that we can enjoy a few more decent translations. In the meantime poor Mr Florian might be doomed to languish in the obscure corners of the English translation pond.

AMAZON READER RATING:	from 1 readers
PUBLISHER:	Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; 1 edition (August 16, 2011)
REVIEWER:	Vesna McMaster
AVAILABLE AS A KINDLE BOOK?	YES! Start Reading Now!
AUTHOR WEBSITE:	Filip Florian
EXTRAS:	Excerpt
MORE ON MOSTLYFICTION:	Read our review of: Train to Trieste by Domnica Radulescu

Bibliography:

• The Baiut Alley Lads (2006)
• Little Fingers (2009)
• The Days of the King (August 2011)

“Then slowly she reaches out, gathering up the hen, and delivers a soft kiss. She tosses the bird up after the others. Craning her neck, envious of their flight. They disappear from sight. All life evaporated, a blank sky.”

Book Review:

Review by Roger Brunyate (AUG 14, 2011)

This is Éva Farkas, a Hungarian Jew, releasing a homing pigeon in the bleak courtyard at Auschwitz sometime in the early 1990s. Smuggled out of Hungary at the age of five, she has survived by living under an assumed name (Anca) in Romania, survived years of Communist oppression, years of “peeping between her fingers,” always in fear of denunciation, paying for accomodation with access to her body. Now, with the fall of the Berlin Wall, she has come home again to reclaim her old identity and embark on a life too long postponed.

I can see that this will be a great success with people who read fiction as proxy fact or with book clubs. There is the intrinsic interest of the background history, though you may need to look to other sources to check the conditions in Eastern European countries under the Axis and the various phases of Communist rule in Romania. I can see people approaching Éva/Anca as a real person and entering into a kind of horrified sympathy at the things she needs to do in order to survive. At one point, for example, she concedes sexual favors to an editor who gives her work as a technical translator; by this time, she speaks four languages. But he will not assign her a more literary text. Perhaps he is just being mean, but she also admits a ring of truth: “The crux of it was that she did not really possess a native tongue.” An Amazon reviewer who described the book as “a woman’s search for identity” had it right.

It is a difficult premise, however, to write a novel on the basis of the protagonist’s loss of identity. To really feel this woman’s search for identity, you need a strong sense of something in there demanding to be set free. Éva/Anca is never unbelievable, but she is seldom more than a reflector of the conditions around her. Shea’s writing is never bad, but it is often perfunctory. We move through four decades in two hundred pages; one thing happens, then another; we are shocked by this, momentarily inspired by that, but by then we have moved on to something else. Any empathy with Éva/Anca comes from the feelings that WE fill her with; we are seldom swept away by emotions welling up from inside her. The story seems to occupy the past tense, rather than recreating history in the immediate PRESENT. Compared to Herta Müller’s The Land of Green Plums, Shea’s Romanian nightmare has no immediacy at all. Or if comparison to a Nobelist seems unfair, look at Julie Orringer’s The Invisible Bridge (the Holocaust and after in Hungary) or the first half of Rana Dasgupta’s Solo (Communist Bulgaria), both of which, despite their flaws, convey the reality of political oppression in ways that Christina Shea can barely touch.

Yet, I have to say that the last ninety pages of the book make up for a lot of the missed opportunities earlier. Time moves much more slowly, and we have time to see Éva settle in a new place, make new friends, take up new causes. She becomes interested in an albino boy, Levente, in the same apartment block who is savagely beaten by his mother. She becomes friends with an American neighbor who keeps homing pigeons:

“If you let her go, she will come back?” Levente asked.
“Yes.”
“Why will she come back?”
“She wants to.”

Éva’s mother did not come back from that train journey, but the pigeon does, bleeding, exhausted, but still alive. Perhaps that is all we should demand.

AMAZON READER RATING:	from 11 readers
PUBLISHER:	Grove Press, Black Cat; Original edition (July 5, 2011)
REVIEWER:	Roger Brunyate
AVAILABLE AS A KINDLE BOOK?	YES! Start Reading Now!
AUTHOR WEBSITE:	Interview with Christina Shea
EXTRAS:	Reading Guide and Excerpt
MORE ON MOSTLYFICTION:	Read our review of: The Invisible Bridgeby Julie Orringer Solo by Rana Dasgupta Lovely Green Eyes by Arnold Lustig

Bibliography:

• Moira’s Crossing (2001)
• Smuggled (2011)

“But for one beautiful summer, it’s linden trees and vodka made from fermented plums and stars and mountains and raspberries . . . Drink in the gorgeous scenery, the Carpathians, Bucharest, the dark forests. Suspend all cynicism and believe in the possibility of this love story.”

Book Review:

Review by Jana L. Perskie (NOV 16, 2009)

Domnica Radulescu’ semi-autobiographical debut novel, Train to Trieste, is a fascinating page turner, full of contrasts. She describes, with nostalgia and much love, her homeland, Romania, with its physical beauty, it’s mountains, plains, rivers, forests, and extraordinary seaside resorts and homes on the Black Sea. She writes of “one beautiful summer,” with its “linden trees and vodka made from fermented plums and stars and mountains and raspberries….” The scenery is “gorgeous,” the Carpathian Mountains are dark and mysterious – a perfect place for our protagonist, seventeen year-old Mona Manoliu, to fall in love. It is the summer of 1977.

His name is Mihai, “a green eyed, charismatic, mountain boy” grieving for the loss of his first love who died in a tragic accident. Mona meets him when summering with her family in the foothills of the Carpathians. She is immediately drawn to him and her compassion and love comforts Mihai. Soon the young couple are inseparable. Their sensuality and passion are palpable. They become lovers. At summers end Mona returns to the family home in Bucharest and makes plans to see Mihai the following summer.

Contrasting with this beauty and romance, is the brutal government of Nicolae Andruta Ceausescu, President of Romania from 1974 to 1979. Against the exquisite backdrop of his country, Ceausescu, with his narcissistic cult of personality, actually carries a sceptre in public. Opposition is ruthlessly suppressed by the hated secret police, the Securitate. Intellectuals and artists are cautioned not to overstep the mark of “permissible” free expression. But freedom of speech is severely limited and the media is controlled. It is even illegal to own a typewriter without an official license. Mona lives in fear that her intellectual father’s typewriter will be discovered. He is a poetry professor, a dissident, and is watched by the Securitate, as is she.

At the beginning of the 1980s Ceausescu introduced an austerity program in order to pay off Romania’s foreign debt, causing hunger, deprivation, long food lines where, when one reaches the end, there is nothing more to buy. The standard of living plunges and while most Romanians are starving, cold and living without electricity, Ceau?escu and his family continue to be surrounded by comfort and privilege. It is estimated that at least 15,000 Romanians died per year as a result of the austerity program and tens of thousands of lives were ruined during Ceausescu’s reign. There is much paranoia amongst the people. After all, one’s best friend could turn out to be a spy.

After an old woman whispers ugly rumors in Mona’s ear, she fears that her love, Mihai, might be a spy, especially when she sees him in a black leather jacket. The secret police wear black leather jackets. Friends and relatives disappear and/or die under suspicious circumstances.

When her father is directly threatened and her own life is in danger, Mona’s parents encourage her to flee the country, and leave Mihai, her family and homeland behind. Alone and terrified, Mona chooses the “Train to Trieste,” one of the well known escape routes. The train, on its way to Rome, stops briefly in Trieste, where Mona reflects on her past and her unknown future. She finally reaches the US and goes to Chicago, where she begins a new life. But she cannot forget her passion for Romania and Mihai, and her love for her parents. Her story spins out over the years, and ends with a surprising conclusion.

Author Domnica Radulescu, like the heroine of her novel, escaped from Romania in the early 1980s, studied literature at the University of Chicago, and is an extremely talented writer. She vividly expresses the horrors of life under the Ceausescus, and contrasts the repressive regime against the backdrop of the landscape’s physical beauty, and the happy times that Mona, her family, and her lover spend together. She writes of Mona’s fear, her intensely sensual feelings of love, as well as her conflicting emotions about Mihai. Should she love him, fear him, or both? Pleasure is contrasted with melancholy and pain.

I enjoyed Train to Trieste. It is not often that one gets to read a book set in Ceausescus’s Romania. Refreshingly, there is not a word written about Transylvania and Dracula! However, Ceausescus’ is an apt substitute.

Unfortunately, there are portions of the narrative which are slow and almost boring. The author is unable to sustain the tension and excitement of the storyline about the misery of the Romanian people and an intense but brief love affair. Instances of Mona’s life in Chicago are interesting and, at times, quite humorous. But there are repetitive passages which affect the novel’s pace. Otherwise, I would have rated it with 5 stars. I do recommend Train to Trieste, however. Although it may not be a novel for everyone, overall it is makes for a well written and unusual read.

AMAZON READER RATING:	from 20 readers
PUBLISHER:	Vintage; 1 edition (August 11, 2009)
REVIEWER:	Jana L. Perskie
AVAILABLE AS A KINDLE BOOK?	YES! Start Reading Now!
AUTHOR WEBSITE:	Wikipedia page on Domnica Radulescu
EXTRAS:	Reading Guide and Excerpt
MORE ON MOSTLYFICTION:	More love stories …Censoring an Iranian Love Story by Shahriar Mandanipour The History of Love by Nicole Krauss Rooftops of Tehran by Mahbod Seraji

Bibliography:

• Train to Trieste (August 2008)

Nonfiction:

• Andre Malraux: The “Farfelu” As Expression of the Feminine and the Erotic (1994)
• Sisters of Medea: The Tragic Heroine Across Cultures (2002)