This is a short (180 pages), imaginative account of how a survivor of Buchenwald tries to come to terms with her trauma, and how her friends in France try to help her and are in turn affected by her. It is a stark narrative, combining the nigh-normality of those who have avoided deportation with the highly charged, fractured, frayed interior life of Klara Schwarz-Roth, the survivor. Klara’s friend, Angélika, is the first person narrator who, one could say, is trying not only to record what she is hearing from Klara as a witness statement, but also to clarify (or Klarify – is there a jeu de mots in Klara’s name?) for herself what it is her friend has been and is going through .
There are certain difficulties associated with who’s who among Angélika’s family and friends, although one could argue that because the narrative is first person, the narrator is not imagining that it will be read by anyone other than herself. Nevertheless, the reader has to work hard to establish how the small social circle of the novel works, or just ignore it. I don’t think it matters too much.
I found this novel difficult, and can’t say I got as far as liking it. It’s subject matter is serious, but although I took it seriously and was impressed not only by the authorial control of both the narrative, the diary/journal form and the psychological intensity of Klara’s reflections on her experience, but also by the vividness of two or three episodes of unexpected violence, I was not engaged by it as a whole. I think this was a result of two things.
The first was a certain intent earnestness in tone. I have noted in the past that some French novels have this effect on me: there’s a demanding intellectual focus that I’m not sympathetic to. I distinguish this from writing that makes intellectual demands on you. I think in the case of the former the writer is asserting that you should attend carefully to what they have to say because they require you to understand that it’s important. The latter – writing that makes demands – has a manner that invites you to give it attention without making you feel put upon.
The second difficulty I had was not unrelated. The second half of the novel in particular contains several long passages in which Klara is expressing her responses to her experience which I found quasi-philosophical and too hard to process, and that kind of writing is, again, not one I find my mind is tuned to.
So: my difficulties, I think, are mine, rather than ones connected with a lack of the author’s skill or intention.
One feature of the text that will remain with me, however, is the emphatic conclusion in which the damage inflicted on Klara by her suffering in Buchenwald is presented, I thought, as irremediable. It was a sobering moment.