Nemirovsky

As I mentioned yesterday, amongst the hmphing, the trip to London gave me the opportunity to read Irene Nemirovsky’s David Golder (1930), her second novel and the one which propelled her to fame in France. More importantly, given that I had about two hours of travel in which to read it, it’s fairly short. Which is always a plus here at Stuck-in-a-Book. I read Suite Francaise (along with most of the country, it seems) about 18 months ago for my book group, and wrote about it here. About the only things that David Golder has in common with that novel are a) the influence of Nemirovsky’s Jewish heritage, and b) her great writing.

As Patrick Marnham points out in his introduction, David Golder is actually vulnerable to accusations of anti-Semitism – at least it would be if it were published now, in its use of something of a stereotypical central figure. David Golder is ‘an enormous man in his late sixties’, obsessed with accruing money. His ruthless lust for money – which drives a former business partner to suicide in the opening pages of the novel – make uncomfortable reading when one bears in mind the sort of anti-Semitic propaganda was shortly to be used. Since Nemirovsky was herself Jewish, it is less awkward – although (again, as the introduction points out), she was keenly pro-assimilation and considered herself French at least as much as she considered herself Jewish.

But Nemirovsky is cleverer than any initial conclusions about David Golder suggest, of course. We soon learn that Golder is in fact the least mercenary of his family once his wife Gloria and grown-up daughter Joyce are introduced. In one of Nemirovsky’s brilliant little passages, Golder ‘pictured his own wife quickly hiding her chequebook whenever he came into the room, as if it were a packet of love letters.’ Both Gloria and Joyce are forever asking Golder for money, buying expensive jewellery, and all the while declaring that he does nothing for them. And, it appears, even believing it. Gloria happily spends 800,000 francs on a necklace, but begrudges the money he gives his daughter; who, in turn, throws a tantrum when he won’t buy her a car.

David Golder sees the protagonist facing several crises. His businesses aren’t doing well; he realises the disrespect and lack of love his wife and daughter show him; he has a heart attack. All of these are devastating to him, and come to a head when he discovers that he has not much time to live – the novel then follows his final months (as he sees them). Will he forgive his family and try and build a life with them? Will he exact revenge upon them and leave them penniless? Will other avenues open up, other priorities?

Nemirovsky’s portrait is – belying the opening feeling I had – subtle and even wise. She has no heavy-handed point to make, but rather a fascinating individual to delineate. Golder and his family feel real, and his actions feel like real actions, motivated by his realisations and emotions rather than plot direction or authorial intervention. In short, David Golder is a very good piece of writing, and encouragement to me to read more widely in Nemirovsky’s work. Perhaps Suite Francaise did so well because of the true story attached to it – Nemirvosky’s death in Auschwitz and the subsequent discovery of the manuscript over fifty years later. But as Nemirovsky’s daughter Denise, and translator Sandra Smith, stressed at the talk I (almost) attended – we can decide to view Irene Nemirovsky either as a victim or a writer. They – quite rightly, and strongly – believe she should be seen as a writer.

Sorry not to write anything yesterday – I was tearing through the book for tonight’s book group (metaphorically, you understand), having similarly dashed through one for Tuesday night’s book group. They’re not often on consecutive nights, so it was rather a challenge this time. Luckily both books were great – a re-read of Angela Young’s Speaking of Love (see 50 Books You Must Read….) and the book I’m going to chat about today – Irene Nemirovsky’s Suite Francaise. Both her name and the title are calculated to defeat Blogger’s attempts to locate accents and cidillas (sp?) etc, so I’m afraid I’m going to leave the lot out. Sorry…

Suite Francaise has had a lot of publicity, in Europe anyway, so I shan’t say that much about the plot of the book – a lot of others have done so better than I could, anyway. I should, actually, say books – these are the first two of a planned trilogy (potentially even more) which Nemirovsky was tragically unable to complete, because she was killed in Auschwitz in 1942. The two books are Storm in June, which documents the invasion of Paris and the fleeing of many from it; and Dolce, about a village under Nazi occupation. Some characters overlap, especially in peripheral mentions.

I’ll launch right into my praise – Nemirovsky is an incredibly gifted novelist. Had these been further edited; had the trilogy been complete, this could have been one of twentieth century’s most important works, I think. The people at Book Group agreed that her greatest talent was the delineation of character, and making people unique and fully formed. A comparison of Dolce with the film Went The Day Well? is illuminating and quite amusing. Though I love that film, it could hardly be considered to offer sympathy to the German troops – it is a bitter irony that Nemirovsky could see these soldiers are people, with all their virtues and vices, and yet would die under the Nazi regime. Had these novels been written now, the French might be innocent victims and the German soldiers all baddies – Nemirovsky, especially in Dolce, is able to see them as humans, first and foremost. Perhaps Storm in June has one too many unpleasant rich men, but perhaps Paris had too many of them at the time. A pervasive theme is that money could help one escape most things. She laments the way those with no control over the situation are those to bear the brunt of the anguish:

‘But why are we always the ones who have to suffer?’ she cried out in indignation. ‘Us and people like us? Ordinary people, the lower middle classes. If war is delcared or the franc devalues, if there’s unemployment or a revolution, or any sort of crisis, the others manage to get through all right. We’re always the ones who get trampled! Why? What did we do? We’re paying for everyone else’s mistakes.’

Neither novel has a straight-forward, linear plot, and often novels which avoid these are difficult to keep reading. They don’t grab you. But in Suite Francaise, despite the episodic and patchwork-like writing, I always wanted to read on. There are sharp points of drama amongst less shocking narratives; it is an experience rather than a plot. I did prefer Dolce, as I didn’t lose track of characters as I did in Storm in June, and the central story between Frenchwoman Lucile and German soldier Bruno is touching and sophisticatedly complex – but both novels are evidence that Nemirovsky was a writer who should have had a very glowing future. Authentic, beautiful, understanding.