One does not escape from despair, hopelessness, suicide by demonstrating with great diligence and accuracy how nauseating, shallow, stale and fruitless all our actions are, but by trying to believe in life by virtue of the absurd

This extract, taken from an essay he wrote in 1965, is a good indication of the writing philosophy of Czech author Johannes Urzidil (1896-1970). In his introduction to this anthology of five short stories, translator David Burnett compares Urzidil's style with that of his friend Kafka, bringing out the contrast between Kafka's "quintessentially tortured soul" and Urzidil's writing, which "exudes a sense of certainty, the warmth of a well-ordered universe". Reading this comment, one might be forgiven for expecting this anthology to provide mere escapist fare. Nothing could be further from the truth. Each of the stories centres around outcasts - individuals whose decisions trigger disastrous consequences which they could never have predicted. And the personal woes of these characters are looked at squarely in the face and presented as a reflection of the wider human predicament - that messy thing called Life.

Take the narrator of "The Last Bell". She is a maid who has an unexpected windfall when her employers, a Jewish couple, flee the Nazi occupation, leaving her mistress of their apartment and all their worldly goods. Unsurprisingly, her joys are short-lived and her tragedy becomes symbolic of all the victims of Nazi barbarity. (Urzidil himself fled to England after the German occupation in 1939, eventually settling in the United States). In "The Duchess of Albanera", the protagonist is an introvert who, uncharacteristically acting upon an unexplained impulse, steals a portrait from a gallery, blissfully unaware (until too late) that this act of folly has torn the gallery guard's family asunder. What starts as a surreal romp ends with a philosophical meditation about a world peopled by the "guilty-innocent and the innocent-guilty".

So what is it that makes Urzidil's writing so life-affirming? For starters, there's the humour which always bubbles right beneath the surface. It is a humour which can also be dark and bleak, but is rarely cynical and never cruel. It is difficult to dislike Urzidil's mumbling, fumbling, bumbling protagonists - they might be figures of fun but their portrayal is always sympathetic. There's also a humanity to his characters - even the most heartless of them (for instance the Nazi officials of "The Last Bell") are never mere caricatures.

Two of the stories featured in this anthology - "Borderland" and "Where the Valley Ends" - and part of a third - "Siegelmann's Journeys" - are set in the forests of Bohemia at an unspecified period prior to the two World Wars. It is a timeless, fairytale backdrop which owes much to German/Austrian Romanticism. Indeed, Urzidil himself makes explicit reference to the works of [a:Adalbert Stifter|13018|Adalbert Stifter|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1360683479p2/13018.jpg] and I was reminded of the mysterious, magical atmosphere of [b:The Jews' Beech|6106708|The Jews' Beech|Annette von Droste-Hülshoff|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1328707364s/6106708.jpg|1084231]. "Where the Valley Ends" is a cautionary tale about the theft of a cheesecake which brings about discord between the two small communities on either bank of the river. Typically, what appears a rather banal premise becomes an excuse for conceptual ruminations about justice and peace: Nothing makes a just man more sad than complete triumph, since he knows how convoluted justice and injustice are at bottom, and that even the most righteous person has only half a case before God... In "Borderland" - a story praised by [a:Hermann Hesse|1113469|Hermann Hesse|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1499981916p2/1113469.jpg] on its publication - Urzidil skirts the supernatural with a portrayal of a "magnetic" girl who seems to be able to commune with Nature, until the awakening of her sexuality. It is a universal, mythical theme - redolent of Adam and Eve's expulsion from the Garden of Eden, or Enkidu's loss of innocence in the Epic of Gilgamesh. This story will haunt me for a long time.

A final thought - English is often hailed as a modern-day lingua franca, a language which acts as a bridge across the globe. Yet, there are deserving authors who seem to fall through the cracks. It is sobering to discover that Urzidil's stories have been translated from German into Czech, Spanish, French and Italian but this is the first-ever collection of his work to be published in English. So kudos to translator David Burnett and Pushkin Press for bringing these little gems to a wider public, and in such an attractive edition to boot.

4.5* ( )

One does not escape from despair, hopelessness, suicide by demonstrating with great diligence and accuracy how nauseating, shallow, stale and fruitless all our actions are, but by trying to believe in life by virtue of the absurd

This extract, taken from an essay he wrote in 1965, is a good indication of the writing philosophy of Czech author Johannes Urzidil (1896-1970). In his introduction to this anthology of five short stories, translator David Burnett compares Urzidil's style with that of his friend Kafka, bringing out the contrast between Kafka's "quintessentially tortured soul" and Urzidil's writing, which "exudes a sense of certainty, the warmth of a well-ordered universe". Reading this comment, one might be forgiven for expecting this anthology to provide mere escapist fare. Nothing could be further from the truth. Each of the stories centres around outcasts - individuals whose decisions trigger disastrous consequences which they could never have predicted. And the personal woes of these characters are looked at squarely in the face and presented as a reflection of the wider human predicament - that messy thing called Life.

Take the narrator of "The Last Bell". She is a maid who has an unexpected windfall when her employers, a Jewish couple, flee the Nazi occupation, leaving her mistress of their apartment and all their worldly goods. Unsurprisingly, her joys are short-lived and her tragedy becomes symbolic of all the victims of Nazi barbarity. (Urzidil himself fled to England after the German occupation in 1939, eventually settling in the United States). In "The Duchess of Albanera", the protagonist is an introvert who, uncharacteristically acting upon an unexplained impulse, steals a portrait from a gallery, blissfully unaware (until too late) that this act of folly has torn the gallery guard's family asunder. What starts as a surreal romp ends with a philosophical meditation about a world peopled by the "guilty-innocent and the innocent-guilty".

So what is it that makes Urzidil's writing so life-affirming? For starters, there's the humour which always bubbles right beneath the surface. It is a humour which can also be dark and bleak, but is rarely cynical and never cruel. It is difficult to dislike Urzidil's mumbling, fumbling, bumbling protagonists - they might be figures of fun but their portrayal is always sympathetic. There's also a humanity to his characters - even the most heartless of them (for instance the Nazi officials of "The Last Bell") are never mere caricatures.

Two of the stories featured in this anthology - "Borderland" and "Where the Valley Ends" - and part of a third - "Siegelmann's Journeys" - are set in the forests of Bohemia at an unspecified period prior to the two World Wars. It is a timeless, fairytale backdrop which owes much to German/Austrian Romanticism. Indeed, Urzidil himself makes explicit reference to the works of [a:Adalbert Stifter|13018|Adalbert Stifter|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1360683479p2/13018.jpg] and I was reminded of the mysterious, magical atmosphere of [b:The Jews' Beech|6106708|The Jews' Beech|Annette von Droste-Hülshoff|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1328707364s/6106708.jpg|1084231]. "Where the Valley Ends" is a cautionary tale about the theft of a cheesecake which brings about discord between the two small communities on either bank of the river. Typically, what appears a rather banal premise becomes an excuse for conceptual ruminations about justice and peace: Nothing makes a just man more sad than complete triumph, since he knows how convoluted justice and injustice are at bottom, and that even the most righteous person has only half a case before God... In "Borderland" - a story praised by [a:Hermann Hesse|1113469|Hermann Hesse|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1499981916p2/1113469.jpg] on its publication - Urzidil skirts the supernatural with a portrayal of a "magnetic" girl who seems to be able to commune with Nature, until the awakening of her sexuality. It is a universal, mythical theme - redolent of Adam and Eve's expulsion from the Garden of Eden, or Enkidu's loss of innocence in the Epic of Gilgamesh. This story will haunt me for a long time.

A final thought - English is often hailed as a modern-day lingua franca, a language which acts as a bridge across the globe. Yet, there are deserving authors who seem to fall through the cracks. It is sobering to discover that Urzidil's stories have been translated from German into Czech, Spanish, French and Italian but this is the first-ever collection of his work to be published in English. So kudos to translator David Burnett and Pushkin Press for bringing these little gems to a wider public, and in such an attractive edition to boot.

4.5* ( )

Once upon a time I read a book about the Czech Republic where someone (the author? the editor?) translated some of the Czech words but none of the German ones, which annoyed me because I took Russian in university, not German, and could often suss out the Slavic-based Czech on my own, whereas the German remained incomprehensible to me. Similarly (sort-of, maybe -- okay it's a bit of stretch), I keep putting the 'z' in Urzidil in odd places where I think it should be because I guess even the more Slavic parts of Czech culture ended up being just as incomprehensible to me as the German words in another book that is in no way related to this one, The Last Bell, that I'm supposed to be reviewing.

So the whole thing feels like a dream. I read the stories in bed, before sleeping, so maybe that's why. Maybe it's because there's a story about a talking painting and another about a girl who can touch nature. There's also a story about villagers on either side of a pond fighting about cheesecakes and venison. There are bank clerks and forest wardens and countries (Czechoslovakia) that no longer exist and none of it seems real because it isn't real anymore, after Nazis and Soviets and globalization destroyed it all. What was that Zweig book I read awhile ago: Messages from a Lost World? They gave the title to the wrong book, s'all I'm saying.

Maybe I should go to Prague, other parts of Bohemia. Maybe then this will all seem real. Well, not the talking stolen portrait part I hope.

The Last Bell by Johannes Urzidil went on sale April 25, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review. ( )

This book represents the best of Pushkin Press: a very enjoyable set of short stories from lesser-known author Johannes Urzidil, whose works had never been translated into English before. Urzidil has such a pleasurable style – direct and light, with elements of humor, but also containing darker observations about humanity and absurdity.

There are five stories here, and each is memorable. They include a maid given a fortune from her employers when they flee the Nazis (The Last Bell), a man stealing a painting of a lady from an art gallery on an impulse and having conversations with her (The Duchess of Albanera), a travel agent who knows everything about the cities and countries of the world but has never been anywhere himself (Siegelmann’s Journeys), a girl who has an almost godlike power to communicate with the natural things of the world (Borderland), and a river valley which is bitterly divided by petty arguments between those living on its left and right banks (Where the Valley Ends). The quality level throughout is high, with each being four stars on its own, and ‘Siegelmann’s Journeys’ perhaps a bit higher, and my favorite.

I would definitely read more of Urzidil should more of his works be translated, and think this would be a great book to read while traveling in the Czech Republic.

Quotes:
On finding meaning in life, this from the introduction, quoting his essay ‘Literature as Creative Responsibility’:
“One does not escape from despair, helplessness, suicide by demonstrating with greater diligence and accuracy how nauseating, shallow, stale and fruitless all our actions are, but by trying to believe in life by virtue of the absurd.”

On individuality, from ‘Borderland’:
“In what way does a person die? When his heart stops beating: that’s probably the most familiar way. Or by becoming like everyone else.”

On meeting someone, from ‘Siegelmann’s Journeys’:
“If a human being wants to live he has to forget himself. Profound encounters take place unexpectedly. And so it is only natural that one day Magda’s gaze would come to rest on Siegelmann and - in spite of her background, her upbringing, her suspiciousness - would linger there. There might be gazes we can control. But there are also ones that command us.”

On music, from ‘The Last Bell’:
“Music is only good if, first of all, it makes you weep, second, if it makes you die laughing, and third, if it gets your legs and arms, your bosom and rear end moving and whirls you through the room like a maniac.”

On nature, from ‘Where the Valley Ends’:
“Mother Nature, so the poet taught, ennobles human beings. She hints at what is essential, and all of her endeavors aim to eternalize the ephemeral.”

On war and man’s nature, from ‘Where the Valley Ends’:
“No war, it seemed to me, had ever really come to an end; at some level it always continued even after it was over. Because a war is quickly divorced from its immediate causes, acquires a life and momentum of its own. It might be possible to refute this philosophically, depending on whether you view peace or war as the primary state; in the history of human activity, peace has always been a desirable aim, but, alas, has never played a leading role.” ( )

Johannes Urzidil was one of the most celebrated Czech writers of the 20th century. Although he spent his last twenty years as an emigre in the United States, he never made the switch to writing in English. His works continued to be published in Europe in German (one of his two mother tongues) and his works were infused with the sensibility of his homeland. Despite his importance in European literature, his works have only rarely been translated into English. Puskin Press have rectified this omission with a collection of Urzidil’s short stories, none of which have formerly been published in English, and translated now by David Burnett. Lively, moving and gently absurd, these stories focus on outsiders, people whose encounters with ordinary life and emotions leave them thwarted and unmasked as precisely the strange creatures that they are.

Bravo to Pushkin Press for rescuing yet another sparkling Central European writer from Anglophone obscurity, and for introducing us to his succinct, sensitive stories. I hope there’ll be much more Urzidil to come.

For the full review, please see my blog:
https://theidlewoman.net/2017/02/25/the-last-bell-johannes-urzidil/ ( )