Ah, the many heavy sighs of a Polish poet... But then, one asks, what about the reader?
Shore’s Caviar and Ashes: A Warsaw Generation’s Life and Death In Marxism, 1918-1968 requires much from a reader. Perhaps too much. This is a book about Polish poets of a certain generation, but it’s not actually about them in any rigorous biographical sense. Their names come at you fast and furious. Most, I blush to admit, I’d never heard of before, or could recall if I had. Only Wat, Bruno Schulz, Deutscher, and Milosz crosses my attention span before and stuck, and the last three are fairly insignificant to the story as a whole, though Wat is a primary if not fundamental player. For a book that’s ostensibly about poets, there’s not a lot about poetry either. Can I fault Shore for a lack of literary examination or criticism as to her chosen subjects? Perhaps not. The reason: this book isn’t biography; this book isn’t an introduction to Polish poetry of from the 20s to the 60s; and this book also has nothing to do with any sonorous measure. This is basically a morality tale offered as history.
One might balk or scream foul at Shore’s “use” of history to tell a seemingly simple “just so” story of vaunting artistic pride fallen back onto earth, or under it. A group of poets infatuated with their own genius discover a yearning hubris to assist with the transformation of society into a socialist utopia. In the 20s this impulse was all the rage, even outside Poland, for obvious reasons. In the end though, all(with maybe one or two exceptions[Wanda Wasilewski likely being one]) either end up disillusioned or dead. I, however, am not inclined to do so. Historians have often packed their own personal predilections and agendas in historical writing since the days of Herodotus and called it serious history. I believe she is upfront with her narrow focus and intentions. Unfortunately, honesty can produce some very lackluster history. Perhaps choice of historical ideology carries its share of some of the blame. Shore appears to be a student of famous and controversial historian, Hayden White. But perhaps I should let her speak directly as to that influence:
“In writing this book I have-I hope-remained sensitive to White's observation that in necessarily narrativizing history, historians have been biased in favor of order and coherence, that we have "always already" tended to edit out the chaos and disorder that is the more natural condition of any moment in the past. In writing a story that already to some extent possesses a narrative trope-that of "The God That Failed": conversion, disillusionment, repentance-I have tried to elude the imposition of typologies or teleological narratives in favor of respecting, and revealing, the nuances and idiosyncrasies of the past.”
Caviar and Ashes is a peculiar work of history inasmuch as it forthrightly states its goals from the beginning and then sets out to achieve them, while espousing sensitivity as to perils of “narrativizing history”. The result, you ask? A chaotic jumble, you’d wager? Interestingly enough, I can’t say that. We never find out how much Mayakovsky belched during dinner. Shore selects material with care pertaining toward the telling of her tale of Polish generational poetic pride. What I can say is that Caviar and Ashes has the overall feel of a three hundred page book of gossip. The meat, or minutia, within this sandwich is pretty loose. Because most were unknown to me, most of these poets never really developed into solid figures, as Shore’s history jumps quickly from one personality to another across paragraphs. As a result, by the time I got to their final (inevitable?) moment of eternal re-education as worm feed or abject disillusionment and depression, I found it extremely difficult to trudge up either an empathic frown or a sadistic smile. Shore gives you little evidence as to her subjects’ talents and accomplishments other than random mention of this play, or that manifesto, or a poetic piece directed to the world of the “workbench”. The reader is treated to quite a bit of their home lives(typically disheveled, if not dissolute), their romances (sometimes even with other people), their jailings(of course), and their break ups(a frequent topic), but as to their actual worth as human beings... Well, I guess a gracious reader can take that as assumed. And they stand in need of charity, too, as Shore’s morality tale rather paints them more than a little ironically as little more than ethnic canon fodder for the Marxism dream. Perhaps they deserved better, perhaps not, but if they did then this isn’t the book that gives them their propers. Maybe I’m being hard on Shore: portions prompt the reader’s interest and are ably written. But Shore has shown this reader that between teleology and chaos in history there has to be more than just a harvesting of gossip to arrest interest. Maybe Broniewski and his generation would’ve been better off with a question mark for an epitaph after all.
Also, the Kindle edition of this book has no connection of text to footnotes. For a book of this sort this is inexcusable and brought down a three star book to two.