Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Gadfly

 Title of a Soviet movie popularized by D. Shostakovitch' music.

I remember it from the roots.

Year 1955. In Poland, the ices of Cold War began to crackle a little, the thaw was approaching. It was on this wave that the book by the English author E. Voynicz - Gadfly - entered the market. The reviews mentioned that the book was controversial in the West. And here it is - the Polish reader can check for himself what is nurturing the "free West".

The author's name sounded a bit Russian, but my mother caught the hook.

We lived in a one-room flat without heating, so on winter evenings we were warmed by discussions about books, and my mother experienced it very intensely.

The story in a nutshell runs like this: Italy, 1848, the independence uprising against Austria. The protagonist is a young revolutionary who takes the pseudonym Gadfly. Carelessly, during confession, he reveals data about his organization. Arrests follow. The case goes to an Italian cardinal who supports harsh sentences for the conspirators. Severe, means the death penalty for leaders including Gadfly.

On the eve of Corpus Christi, the sentence is carried out, and at the same time the cardinal learns that Gadfly was his biological son.

The procession of Corpus Christi, the cardinal carries the monstrance and is being traversed by comparisons to God the Father - they both condemned their sons to death, but the cardinal cannot accept the fact that God the Father treated this tragedy so lightly. The dilemmas are so intense that the cardinal throws the monstrance to the ground.

My very religious mother was shocked.

(God) Father condemned his son to death !? I realized that she could not accept it, she would not have sent her child to death, rather she would have condemned herself. The atmosphere in our tiny room has become very dense.

Few months later the movie with D. Shostakovitch music was screened.
We found it saturated with anti religious propaganda and that somehow lessened impact of the book.

Only recently I got idea to check credentials of the author - where from this Russian-sounding name?

Easy to check - Ethel Voynich was born Boole - yes THIS Boole - creator of zero-one algebra, foundation of computer technology.
Professional career of her father is amazing - LOOK!

Daughter followed him...

Ethel Lilian Boole (born 1864) was orphaned by her father at the age of 5 months and had a difficult childhood. At the age of 18, however, she gained the right to access the inheritance left by her father, she abandoned her family, and went to Berlin to study music.

In Germany, she came into contact with the Russian circles, which fascinated her enough to learn the language and look for a job as a governess in St. Petersburg. There she made contacts with Russian anarchists and revolutionists. After two years, she returned to England, where she was a co-founder of the Society of Friends of Russian Freedom.

In 1890 she met there the Polish revolutionist Michael Habdank Wojnicz and they lived together. Ethel took the surname Voynich, and in 1902 they got married.
Full biography HERE.

I save you the life story of Michael, I think Ethel is more than enough.

In 1895, she met in London British spy, Sidney Reilly, and hepersuaded her to travel together to Italy. This trip, plus possibly the facts from S. Reilly's life, inspired the book.

The book, published in 1897, gained considerable publicity in England. So much, that Ethel asked her friend George Bernard Shaw to turn it into a play and thus prevent attempts of fakes and plagiarism. G.B. Shaw complied with this request.

As the years passed, the book was forgotten, but not in the Soviet Union.

Already in 1928, a film based on this novel was produced in Georgia. However, the real renaissance came in 1955.

The book became a literary hit, 2.5 million copies were sold. Similar popularity has gained in China, over 2 million copies.

Even more people watched the movie.

Soviet publishers and filmmakers believed in 1955, that the author of the book published almost 60 years earlier had long been dead.

Nothing could be more wrong. Ethel Voynich was alive (in the US) and doing well. In 1955, a Soviet diplomat visited her and expressed his appreciation. An American diplomat also visited her and paid $ 15,000 for missed royalties.

Each country has its way of honouring artists.

She died in 1960 at the age of 96.

P.S. I apologize for so many links in this post, but I can't help but add one more - Sidney Reilly, associate of Scotland Yard.

Born as Rosenblum, maybe in Odessa, maybe in the vicinity of Grodno (Belarus). The rest of his life is much more tangled. Apparently he was a model for the character of James Bond. Impossible to take full advantage of, as his career as a special agent was much more complicated.

I will only mention that he died in 1925 in the Soviet Union, tricked by the OGPU under the pretext of assassination of W.I. Lenin. Details HERE.

Friday, July 26, 2019

When I am... Meeting the Snow Queen

I woke up in the bed after the afternoon nap.
First Sunday of March.  I looked at a wall at a blue diploma with a silhouette of the brave King Gustav.
Yes, Vasaloppet is held today. 
It reminded me THIS day, 23 years ago...

My host knocked to the door at 3 am. I jumped up, did not sleep anyway. Quickly devoured hot porridge and soon my host drove me to the town limits. 
Streets were closed to the traffic. I walked to the town centre on well-frozen, squeaky snow. From many streets dark shadows were coming out and hurried in the same direction. Goretex coats rustled like medieval armours. Sometimes one could hear clicking of skis or stocks. Great army of skiers came to the embarkation point.
In the town square long row of buses waited for us. Organizers gathered us in groups of fifty and packed into buses. And soon the bus started for a 2 hours journey, and the next one, and the next… 
I fell asleep. I was awaken by some noises. There were police lights blinking outside, sharp whistles. Get out!
With a black crowd I hurried towards the start area. Looked like a battlefield. Thousands of skis and stocks laid evenly on the snow. At the back, powerful blowers pumped hot air into some shapeless balloon. I found my section and placed skis on the snow. 
On a small wooden tower an aerobic instructor led some simple exercises. Loud music of ABBA. Thousands of skiers jumped and waved arms together with the instructor. Suddenly the music changed to Let’s the sun shine from Hair.
- Greet the rising Sun! - shouted the instructor.

I turned my head back and gasped in awe. Behind us towered 20 metres high great Red Horse, a symbol of Dalarna province. 
And behind him, there was a pinkish light in the black sky. 10 minutes to start – announced loudspeakers. Quickly I put my outer layer of clothes into a plastic bag marked with my starting number and threw it on the side of the course. Army and volunteers feverishly collected bags and loaded them into tracks. Will I see my clothes again? Around me clicking of ski bindings and shuffling of skis in the tracks.
START! 
Loud cry from 15 thousands lungs. I looked back. Great Horse wavered in the wind, leaned forward like it was to go with us, like a great war machine.
Faster! – shouted somebody behind me and stepped on my ski. 
Oooops, I was too slow, there was a gap of few meters ahead of me, I pushed strongly with my poles. 
Vasaloppet started. Long, easy climb. Bark on the birch trees had a pink hue. After one hour I got to the high plains. The sun was already well above the horizon. Fog in the valleys was still pink but the snow under my feet was getting gold. 
What a joyful day! I got a feeling that I waited for this day for a long time. And now it came. I was doing, what I always wanted to do. I felt so happy. 
The racecourse was made of 6 parallel pairs of tracks. Unending row of skiers in each track. 
When we climbed up I got impression we were in ancient Egypt pulling stone blocks for pyramids. And from the hill the serpent of skiers looked like Chinese Great Wall. 
























Every dozen kilometres we came to a food station. Few cups of blueberry soup. For next half kilometre the snow was blue. And later again, whiteness, rustle of the snow, clicking of ski poles.How many hours I‘ve been in the race?
Noon passed. Shadows grew longer and deeper. The course narrowed, line of skiers stretched thinner. That’s good. I was already tired with this crowd. 
Suddenly I heard a tone of violin.  Was I hallucinating? I slowed down, tried to move quieter. No, it was not a hallucination, violin for sure. I passed a turn of the track; there was no skier around me. 
At the side of the course stood small, maybe 9 years old girl and played some Swedish folk song on the violin and her even younger brother was sitting on the stool and kept on his knees a towel and some candies on it.
I slowed down and stopped. I wanted to ask who they were, if they will find their way home. Then I met the eyes of the girl. She looked into my eyes intensely, like only children can look. 
- Skier from the faraway country. Why did you stop? You came long way for this royal race. And I am playing for you. Because this is your truth. Be faithful to it. 
And she brought violin to her chin and ordered: 
GO! 
Obediently I straightened skis in the tracks, took a deep breath and pushed with ski poles as strong as I could, until I felt pain in my ribs, like now. But I still managed to shout: 
- Little girl! And what is your truth? 
-To play for you – answered the pure voice - .. to play for you – repeated echo in the woods. 
I did not notice when I passed the finish line. Young girl ran next to me pulling my arm to stop me. Another girl embraced me while another one was taking off my skis. I came back to reality, collected a ticket for skis and another one for a hot soup.
- What a great service - I remarked.
- Oh, we have to stop you older guys - answered the girl - otherwise you would ski forever. She waved a hand towards a dark wall of trees.

I found my clothes, ate the soup and asked for a taxi. If you haven’t booked earlier you’ll have to wait more than one hour.  
There was 6 kilometres to my home. I better go, maybe will catch some lift.
I reached quickly the town limits and stepped on the road. I did not walk too far when I heard something stopping behind me and an order issued in strong female voice: 
- Get in! 
I turned back. There was a sleigh of a Snow Queen.
I looked into her eyes, were dark blue and deep as an ocean. One short spasm of shivers and suddenly I did not feel any cold nor tiredness. The sleigh moved on and took off in the sky. 
- Where are you taking me? - I asked.
- Where would you like to go? - asked the Snow Queen.
- Maybe, to Hokberg, to check if this girl and her brother returned safely home.
The sleigh turned back towards the ski trails. There was night around us and I could see only the racetrack marked with thousands of torches placed in the snow. 
We approached settlement of Hokberg. The sleigh lowered and stopped in front of a little house. I got of from the sleigh. I could hear the tone of violin coming from the house. Same violin I heard during the race, this time however it was simple minuet by J.S. Bach. I sat on the snow and listened. The music ended. Out of sudden I felt terribly tired and sleepy. 
- Get up, we go home. – I heard the voice of the Snow Queen
- Home? – I awoke like from the sleep
- Yes, your home. 
- So this is the end? - I asked feeling somehow helpless and lost.
- You may still come here.
-  Here? To listen to the music? 
- To listen the music and to ski the race. 
- And laughing girls will stop me again at the finish line? 
- No, this time nobody will stop you; this race never ends.

I stretched in the bed, turned around and I heard a noise of a book falling on the floor - Julian Barnes - The Lemon Table.
Story of Mats Israelson... about Anders Boden, the man who waited 23 years before he invited Ms Lindvall for a long excursion.
23 years, like today.

I got out from the bed and walked in the street.
After few steps I recognized a familiar melody of J.S. Bach's Menuet.
Of course, it was a daughter of our neighbours at the corner.
I passed the music and walked up the street.
At the corner I noticed a girl waving to.
Snow Queen? - a thought struck me.
Not this time - it was a girl from corner house, who usually does some gardening around.
She waved again - come closer, I have something to tell you.
I made a step forward.
- You ate garlic - frowned she. I stepped backwards.
- Come, I have something important to tell you.
- I stepped forward, but not too far, I already knew her story.
- Did you notice, there are many cars driving up and down the strret, without any purpose, very strange.
- Very strange, I confirmed.
The girl stopped talking and I moved forward.
Soon a dark wall of trees was ahead of me..

Wall of trees?
Wattle Park, just narrow line of trees and then an oval, playground.
Definitely not a place for the Snow Queen.

Where is she?
Maybe she was in those cars driving up and down the street?
Maybe the garlic repulsed her?
What a joke!

Monday, July 8, 2019

The Zone of Interest

The Zone of InterestThe Zone of Interest by Martin Amis
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

After reading some 60 pages I got impression, that it is a story written by some lunatic and I was ready to give it back to the library.
I waited few days to get some distance from the story and started again.
Some background info... I am an old man, born and grown up in Poland. Few of my close relatives were killed during the war, few survived German concentration camps. I met quite a number of survivors of concentration camps and read few book about them and about Holocaust.
This might explain that The Zone of Interest shocked and repulsed me.

Now is the time for my second opinion.
First point - most of reviews mentioned, that love is one of the subjects of this book.
Well, in my opinion it is lust not love.
Second point - I was shocked with many cases of factual nonsense.
Few examples -
One of main characters, the commander of Auschwitz Concentration Camp, lives in a street in Warsaw's Old City, very close to the Old City Square.
Well, it is 315 km from place of his work in Auschwitz.
Next one - Kommandant's Doll family lives in Dzilka St.
Again, there is Dzika St in Warsaw (Dzika means Wild), quite close to former Umschlagplatz where inhabitants of Warsaw Ghetto were loaded into trains destined for extermination camps. There is also Dzielna St nearby (Dzielna means Brave) crossing Ghetto area.
But Dzilka?
Anyway, any of these streets was not suitable for a living place for highly ranked German official.
Then misspelling of names of few Polish names and places. Just these were quite easy to spell and pronounce.
On my second reading attempt I came to conclusion, that these inaccuracies were not mistakes, but deliberate deformations made on purpose.
But on what purpose?
I thought that the key lies in Kommandant Doll thoughts and words. I have to say that I enjoyed the mixture of English and German text and unexpected placing of numerals in his texts.
Another interesting point were numerous quotations from some German propaganda about character and destiny of glorious Aryan race.
I appreciated effort and skill of the author in constructing these texts, but the question returned: for what purpose?
Somewhere near page 190 I came conclusion, that I will not get answer and gave up.





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Monday, July 1, 2019

The lemon table

The Lemon TableThe Lemon Table by Julian Barnes
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Like with all J. Barnes books I got very mixed feelings.
For me the main topic of the book is ageing. In majority of cases it does not look good, in some cases - disgusting.
For me the question was - do people change to worse when they grow old or it is just that in this age their weak points are more obvious?
Here is my disappointment with the author - it looks that these people exist and function quite well in their own, familiar environment. It is just the author with his spying glass, who makes them repulsive. Not nice approach Mr Barnes.
P.S. Of all stories I liked most these two which took place in Scandinavia - Mats Israelson story - Sweden, and Silence - Finland (I know that it is not exactly Scandinavia ;). First one - there was nothing wrong with the person getting old. Second one - the story moves along full life of the main character and shows him as a difficult one all the time, not just when old.

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