Read in Dutch, ‘Het hart van onze Nicky’. Ultimately unsatisfying because I’d expected a novella, but it turned out to be three short pieces. What’s more, after reading it and writing my review in English, I idly perused some of the English reviews and realised they were reviewing a different book! Whereas the English version contains far more essays and poetry too, the Dutch version seems like an exercise in translation that was inexplicably published (because it received a grant?). It only contains one story and two essays.
The first was a short story about the impact of the decision of whether or not to donate the heart of a young man who had died in a motorbike accident (Nicky) on his parents and his older brother, a vet who was consulted as the clever one and on the two other brothers who were not involved in the decision. The story ends rather abruptly, especially if you’re expecting the rest of the book to carry on.
The second section are some reflections on fishing, nature and, as a young author, meeting a famous and respected older poet, Ted Hughes, as a fellow fisherman rather than as a writer. This part was least interesting to me.
The third part was a slightly long winded but interesting account of how Graham Swift, on a business trip to Prague, was asked by his agent to try to find something about a dissident author who had written about his incarceration and persecution under the Communist regime. Arriving as Czechoslovakia was in the throes of revolution during the Prague Spring, Swift did his utmost to find him. After a multitude of false starts, he begins to doubt if he wants to be found, if he is not putting him in danger by asking about him and wonders if his writing is even worth the effort of rediscovering. Are the campaigners in the West misinterpreting the situation and supporting inferior writing that fits their own narrative while ignoring those who are more worthy but have managed to escape oppression by either cooperating with the regime, emigrating or simply keeping a low profile? This part made the book worthwhile for me, especially as my son had just returned from Prague and had talked about the famous bridge and castle. I also discovered that the road leading to the castle is named after the poet Jan Neruda (Nerudova Street); the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda adopted his name to honour him.