Review: The Reconstruction by Rein Raud

This title was published in the original Estonian in 2011.   This English edition has been translated by Adam Cullen and is being published by Dalkey Archive in April 2017.

My Review:
Enn Padrick, the narrator of The Reconstruction begins writing in a journal in order to catalog his private investigation into his young, adult daughter’s bizarre death: “I didn’t know it when I began, but I do now: I don’t want to blame anyone or anything; or if I do, then only myself.  But I needed clarity.  I don’t want to find fault; I want to find out—if I only can.”  Enn’s daughter, Anni,  had been living in a quasi-religious commune with three other friends, all of whom died in a fire on their isolated, Estonian farmstead.  All four residents were found lying side by side in a second floor bedroom and each one of them had a small packed suitcase; a fifth suitcase was found in another room on the first floor, indicating that an additional resident had escaped this tragedy.  Enn has been diagnosed with a fatal form of cancer and decides that he wants to spend his last several months trying to unpack the mystery of his daughter’s strange death.

The Reconstruction is divided into two parts, the first of which, entitled “Fish Tracks in Water” is taken up with Enn’s description of his early days at Tarfu State University where he studied Ecology and met his wife, Maire.  I found the descriptions of Enn’s life in Estonia during the Russian occupation particularly fascinating.  Rein Raud captures the general mood of what I would call a resentful acceptance of Soviet occupation through Enn’s memories of his earlier life: “I was a Pioneer and a member of the Komsomol (the Leninist Young Communits League) and hated the Soviet regime just like everyone else—not especially believing that it would even end, but also not of the opinion that it could be served with integrity.”  Soviet rule lingers in the background of Enn’s life and has a great effect on his relationships, especially his marriage and his interactions with his in-laws.

Enn’s father-in-law had risen to an important rank in the Soviet hierarchy through the agricultural sector and enjoyed all of the privileges and perks to which he was entitled by the system.  They lived in a nice apartment in a coveted area and Enn and Maire live with them for the first part of their married life and when their daughter is young.  Enn has no ambitions to become a politician or work for the Soviet system like his father-in-law, so there seems to be some resentment on Maire’s part that her husband can’t provide luxuries for their family.  When Anni, their only child, is a little older they do manage to get their own apartment through Maire’s father’s connections.  Even though they are living on their own, in a different city, Enn’s obligation to his in-laws is still evident: “Life was hard during those final years of the Soviet Union, of course—shelves were empty, and if we hadn’t had Maire’s parents’ access to the privileged grocery stores, our diet would definitely have been much more meager than it was; but even that wasn’t so important.”  The last part of this clause is particularly striking because, although he is still dependent on his in-laws and the old Soviet system, Enn is beginning to experience personal freedom as he lives apart from his in-laws and political freedom as the Soviet hold over Estonia is coming to its end.

As Anni gets older and the remnants of Soviet occupation fall away, opportunities are opened up to her and other Estonian youth that would have been unheard of a decade earlier.  Anni graduates high school with honors and is number one on the university acceptance list for French studies.  Anni moves to Paris and studies sociology and politics in that city for a few years.  Part of Enn’s journey takes him to Paris where he discovers more about the nature of her studies and the types of people she interacted with while in Paris.  Enn and Maire are proud of their daughter, but while reflecting back on those years Enn realizes that even at that point in her life he did not know his daughter very well at all:  “What did I really know about my daughter at that point—about her as a person?  I can honestly say: almost nothing.”  Enn’s realization that his adult daughter was a stranger to him is one of the saddest and most poignant revelations in the entire book; it is only well after her tragic death that he begins to understand anything about her experiences and her life.

The theme of religion and how we each deal with our own mortality pervades Rein’s narrative.  Enn is facing the end of his life due to a chronic illness as he investigates his daughter’s death.  He doesn’t adhere to any particular religious beliefs but he feels that being a good person, the best that he is capable of, is important for him during his final days.  Gaining a deeper understanding of his daughter feels like, for him, the good and right thing to do. The second part of the book, entitled “Birchback” is mostly taken up with Enn’s interviews of Anni’s friends as he tries to piece together her final year of life on the religious commune.  Birchback was originally the home of an artist named Joel and his wife Veronika.  They decide to open up their estate, which is a former farm and homestead,  as a type of retreat where people can come and do workshops and practice self-reflection and self-improvement.  There is no specific brand of religion that any of the residents at Birchback practice, but there are many discussions about the benefits and dangers of religious beliefs, especially when devotees take their spiritual practices to an extreme.

It is not unusual for young adults who are trying to figure out their place in this world to have some type of an existential or religious crisis.  The scattered and confused characters at Birchback who do strange things in the name of religion, like shaving their heads and taking a vow of silence, become a symbol in the book for the crisis of faith and mortality that happens for Estonian youth after the Soviet occupation.  Estonians were forbidden for so long to practice any type of Christianity that when they are faced with a freedom of religion,  many young people like Anni and her friends  experiment with different and unusual types of spirituality.  After Enn comes to a better understanding of the strange and tragic path his daughter’s life had taken, he reflects on the role that religion can play in the life of a person who is having a vulnerable moment:

As far as I understand it, experts on religious psychopathy often say that the tendency to turn to religion is simply a human trait that some have and others don’t.  Something like musicality or mathematics skills.  That’s complete bullshit.  No one is protected from it.  Someone simply appears in your life at the exact moment you’ve hit a dead end, presses the right buttons (comforting some, questioning some, or simply being near others,) and then even the most rational mind, the most cheerful spirit is capable of withdrawing from his or her former principles.

One final theme that should be mentioned which pervades The Reconstruction as well as Raud’s previous book The Brother is that of familial relationships.  Both of Raud’s novels are very different in plot and writing style, however, each story thoroughly explores the different and pivotal roles that family members play in our lives.  Raud delves into relationships between siblings, spouses, in-laws, children and parents with careful attention to detail and imagery.  Through Enn’s investigation into his daughter’s life, we are reminded that relationships are never easy and we can never become complacent with or take for granted a person that is truly important to us.

About the Author:
Rein Raud is the author of four books of poetry, six novels, and several collections of short fiction. He’s also a scholar in Japanese studies and has translated several works of Japanese into Estonian. One of his short pieces appeared in Best European Fiction 2015.

 

 

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Filed under Literary Fiction, Literature in Translation

To Grieve by Will Daddario

In 2013, Will Daddario experienced the loss of his father, grandmother, friend, and cat all within a span of five months.  In early 2014, he and his wife were expecting their first child, a baby boy whom they were going to name Finlay, but their precious gift died during delivery.  Daddario writes this short, philosophical, moving chapbook to serve as a chronicle of his grieving process and as a tribute to those he loved and lost. He introduces his writing: “While grieving, I have turned to multiple sources to guidance.  What follows here is my own attempt to act as guide for others who encounter such loss, though, truthfully, the primary audience is myself.”

What struck me the most about Daddario’s handling of grief is that he was constantly moving forward in his attempt to deal with his mourning.  This was, for him and his wife, a very active handling of several devastating blows, one after the other.  Daddario and his wife kept their own notes on mourning and, following the example of Barthes, they wrote reflections on small pieces of paper every day for a year and placed them in a glass jar.  On their son’s 2-year birthday they read through their reflections, many of which are copied here for us into his book.  On August 7, 2014, for instance, Daddario’s wife wrote:

I continue to feel as though I’ve been shot through with a cannon ball, creating a huge hole in me, and that the cannonball is lodged in my body, weighing me down.

And on July 3, 2014 Daddario himself writes:

A new phase of mourning.  Like Barthes says, the “emotivity” starts to subside, but the suffering remains.  We are four weeks to the day after Finlay’s arrival/departure.  What will the next four bring?

Another activity that Daddario and his wife do on a daily basis is to light a candle in Finlay’s room each night as the sun goes down and dedicate that quiet time of their day to reflection.  And each morning they dedicated to “tear time” which allowed them to grieve for another day that would begin without their son.  Daddario also uses reading as an activity that becomes a great comfort for him.  He has a list of 13 pivotal books that include authors such as Roland Barthes, Anne Carson, Karen Green and the poet Rumi.

One final activity that Daddario actively engages in during his experience with grief is his focus on language and unpacking different words which now had a new meaning for him.  He discusses the words solve, resolve, unresolved and buoy and how they all gave him insight into his grieving process.  His analysis of the Ancient Greek word therapeuein, which Michel Foucault lectured on, was especially intriguing to me.  Foucault says of this word:

Therapeuein means in Greek three things.  Therapeuein means, of course, to perform a medical action whose purpose is to cure or to treat.  However, therapeuein is also the activity of the servant who obeys and serves his master.  Finally, therapeuein is to worship (render un culte).  Now, therapeuein heauton means at the same time to give medical care to oneself, to be one’s own servant, and to devote oneself to oneself.

It is this last definition of therapeuein that Daddario truly grasps and practices throughout his grief process.  His self-care is active—he writes, reads, cries, discusses, lights candles, and jogs—which all are the best methods for him of being his own servant.  The biggest and most important lesson for me in this piece of writing is that in the grieving process we must each find our own soothing activities that bring us the greatest devotion to self-care.

This is a link to a conversation between Will Daddario and Kate Jaeger about To Grieve: http://uglyducklingpresse.tumblr.com/post/157616166149/who-can-read-it-kate-jaeger-in-conversation-with

This title is published by Ugly Ducking Presse, which indie press I recently discovered through their collection of poems Written in the Dark which are translated from the Russian.  I am so excited to find these brave, small publishers that bring us such profound pieces of literature.  What are your favorite small press finds?

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Filed under Chapbook, Nonfiction

The Albertine Workout by Anne Carson

albertineAnne Carson writes in the appendix to this chapbook: “Habit, suffering, boredom, memory, tea drinking, tea biscuits and the inscrutable banality of existence are topics Beckett and Proust have in Common.  They anatomize them differently.  What is located in the head, the mouth or the mind for Proust moves lower down the body in Beckett.”  Carson uses this theory to help us better understand one of Proust’s most elusive characters.

Carson ironically and brilliant writes a small pamphlet on a woman named Albertine who is present or mentioned on 807 pages of Proust’s novel.  Albertine is oftentimes asleep and her main problems from the narrator’s perspective are lying, lesbianism and being imprisoned in the narrator’s house. Since Albertine is not a common name among females in France, many critics have speculated that she is a disguised version of Proust’s chauffeur, Alfred, with whom he had a secret affair.  Carson examines fascinating details about Proust’s book and his life in order to explore this transposition theory.

Carson also provides an illuminating commentary of sexuality in Proust via Albertine.  The narrator insists that Albertine is a lesbian, all of her friends are lesbians, but she vehemently denies this.  He doesn’t understand how two women can be in love with one another and he can’t figure out what they do together so he is repulsed by what he cannot grasp.  The narrator never actually uses the term “lesbian,” with Albertine, but instead he says “the kind of woman I object to.”

Finally, the appendix, which I quoted above, is just as intriguing as the main body of Carson’s text.  In addition to exploring the similarities and differences in Proust and Beckett she also writes about the use of adjectives in a language, capture myopathy, the second paradox of Zeno, and my favorite, the difference between metaphor and metonymy.

I found Carson’s thoughts and writing engrossing and I am looking forward to diving in to more of her works.

Which Carson books would you recommend?

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Filed under Chapbook, Nonfiction, Poetry, Proust

Stranded in New York City: My Literary Adventure

This week I had the opportunity to visit New York City and explore one of its biggest and best bookstores.  The Strand, on 12th Street and Broadway, which has been in business for 86 years,  boasts 18 miles of books on three floors.  Browsing the massive collection of books is a bibliophile’s dream come true.  One of the things that impressed me the most is the abundance of what blogger Times Flow recently called “alt-lit”—which to me means literature in translation from around the world, books from small presses, and reissued classics.  Not only do they have a plethora of such interesting literature, but these types of books are displayed prominently on easy-to-browse tables on the first floor of The Strand.

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I recently acquired a copy of Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho and became intrigued with her writing and translating so I was excited to find two Carson books (well, more like pamphlets) at The Strand.  Her poetry collection entitled Float comes in a clear plastic box and contains a series of chapbooks with poems, reflections, lists, and thoughtful observations.  They are meant to be read separately or as one continuous, connected work; I would like to set aside enough time to read them all at once.

 

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I also found another  chapbook from Anne Carson that she wrote for part of the New Directions poetry pamphlet series.  I read The Albertine Workout on the train ride home and found it interesting, clever, humorous and erudite.   It’s ironic and thrilling that she penned such a small, thoughtful pamphlet on Proust!

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I also came across a rather inexpensive copy of Samuel Beckett’s Echo’s Bones.  One aspect of The Strand that is also helpful is their abundance of new books on sale as well as inexpensive used book selection.

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I also couldn’t resist this new, pristine copy of Fagle’s translation of the Aeneid to replace my badly worn out copy.  The introduction by Bernard Knox is a fantastic piece of writing that makes this translation worth owning just for his essay alone.

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It was particularly exciting for me to walk into The Strand and immediately find books from many of my favorite small presses.  I browsed through books from Deep Vellum, New Vessel Press, Archipelago Books, Seagull Books and New Directions.  I found three books to add to my ever-growing collection from the New York Review of Books: The Selected Poems of Osip Mandelstam, The Other by Thomas Tryon and The Ten Thousand Things by Maria Dermout.

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I also found this copy of The Expedition to the Baobab Tree by Wilma Stockenstrom published by Archipelago Books.

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Finally, I had the thrill of a lifetime when, as I was browsing this fabulous selection of books, I opened a copy of Recitation by Bae Suah from Deep Vellum which I recently reviewed.  Inside the front cover was a blurb from my review of her previous book, A Greater Music, that I wrote for World Literature Today.

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I also highly recommend The Strand Kiosk which is located outside of Central Park on E. 60th St. and 5th Ave.  It is only opened seasonally and I had the opportunity to browse the Kiosk during my visit last June and also came home with an assortment of great books.  And a final thing worth mentioning about The Strand is the third floor of the main shop on Broadway which is full of rare and collectable first edition books.  Their selection of rare books is also listed for sale on their website.  I am hoping that someday my copy of Bottom’s Dream from Dalkey Archive will be worthy of sitting among the rare books in their collection.  Although I doubt that I would ever be able to part with my copy!

I always find New York exciting and exhilarating and The Strand is a unique destination in the city that adds to the thrill of visiting.  I could have spent at least a few more hours there, I didn’t even make it to the second floor of books!  I am contemplating a day trip next month just to go back and visit this magical, literary place.  What are your favorite bookshops from around the world?

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Filed under Classics, Literary Fiction, Literature in Translation, Literature/Fiction, New York Review of Books, New York Review of Books Poetry, Nonfiction, Osip Mandelstam, Poetry, Russian Literature

Review: Transit by Rachel Cusk

transitTransit, Cusk’s second book in what will be a trilogy of fictional autobiographies about the aftermath of her divorce, begins with an unsolicited email that Faye, the narrator, receives from a psychic.  The self-proclaimed astrologist says  that she is in possession of specific details about Faye’s life: “She wished me to know that a major transit was due to occur shortly in my sky.”  Just as in Outline, the narrator deliberately leaves details about herself out of the narrative; we only get passing glimpses of her life through her interactions with others.  A visit to the hairdresser, a trip to a literary festival, a date, and a party at a friend’s home all become the backdrop for intriguing conversations and interactions that partly reveal Faye’s own story.

At the beginning of this story, Faye has moved back to London with her boys after her divorce and has bought an apartment that is a disaster.  It requires a complete overhaul and the demolition of her apartment by the contractors becomes a metaphor for her own life.  She sends her boys away to spend a few weeks with their father while her surroundings are being dismantled.  She describes her house to a man with whom she agrees to go on a date:

I felt cold.  There were builders in my house, I added.  The doors and windows were constantly open and the heating had been turned off.  The house had become a tomb, a place of dust and chill.  It was impossible to eat or sleep or work—there wasn’t even anywhere to sit down.  Everywhere I looked I saw skeletons, the skeletons of walls and floors, so that the house felt unshielded, permeable, as though all the things those walls and floors ought normally to keep out were free to enter.

There is always the feeling in a Cusk novel that a simple description, like this one about her renovated home, has a much heavier and deeper meaning than what we encounter at first glance.  There are several passages that I found throughout the book that I underlined and were worthy of multiple reads.

One additional aspect of Transit that I found particularly intriguing were the descriptions of Faye’s children.  Similar to Outline they are never physically present with Faye in the book.  We only get descriptions of them when they call her from their father’s home.  When the boys call her they are lost, or locked out of the house, or feeling alone; they are still in need of her maternal love and I felt sad that they were separated from her, even if only for a little while.  At the end of the book Faye is at a party and the boys call her cell phone because they are fighting and cannot solve their conflict.  They ask her for help and admit that their father is nowhere to be found.  There are additional hints at the father’s anger, maltreatment of Faye and lack of involvement in the boys’ lives.  I am very interested to see if Cusk will further explore the post-divorce family dynamic in the final book of the trilogy.

Fate, identity, love, marriage and transitions are all themes that Cusk explores though the interesting conversations she writes for her characters.  Cusk’s writing is both compelling and philosophical, a combination which so few writers are successfully able to achieve.

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Filed under British Literature, Literary Fiction