Written in real time, as the Nazis consolidated their power over the winter of 1933, The Oppermanns captures the fall of Weimar Germany through the eyes of one bourgeois Jewish family, shocked and paralyzed by an ideology they cannot comprehend. In the foment of Weimar-era Berlin, the Oppermann brothers represent tradition and stability. One brother oversees the furniture chain founded by their grandfather, one is an eminent surgeon, one a respected critic. They are rich, cultured, liberal, and public spirited, proud inheritors of the German enlightenment. They don’t see Hitler as a threat. Then, to their horror, the Nazis come to power, and the Oppermanns and their children are faced with the terrible decision of whether to adapt—if they can—flee, or try to fight. Written in 1933, nearly in real time, The Oppermanns captures the day-to-day vertigo of watching a liberal democracy fall apart. As Joshua Cohen writes in his introduction to this new edition, it is “one of the last masterpieces of German-Jewish culture.” Prescient and chilling, it has lost none of its power today.
On August 4, 1940, an unassuming American journalist named Varian Fry made his way to Marseilles, France, carrying in his pockets the names of approximately two hundred artists and intellectuals – all enemies of the new Nazi regime. As a volunteer for the Emergency Rescue Committee, Fry's mission was to help these refugees flee to safety, then return home two weeks later. As more and more people came to him for assistance, however, he realized the situation was far worse than anyone in America had suspected – and his role far greater than he had imagined. He remained in France for over a year, refusing to leave until he was forcibly evicted. At a time when most Americans ignored the World War II atrocities in Europe, Varian Fry engaged in covert operations, putting himself in great danger, to save strangers in a foreign land. He was instrumental in the rescue of over two thousand refugees, including the novelist Heinrich Mann and the artist Marc Chagall.
From one of The New Yorker’s most revered writers comes “a brilliant collection” (The New York Times Book Review) about women in love affairs, friendships, marriages, and families—from Virginia Woolf and Flaubert’s mistress to Russian novelist Nina Berberova and English naturalist Miriam Rothschild. In these fourteen essays, Fraser focuses on women in love affairs, friendships, marriages, and families; in relation to one another and to the talented men who so often rendered them invisible. In Ornament and Silence we see Virginia Woolf, haunted and eventually destroyed by the sexual secrets of her childhood. We meet Flaubert's theatrically importunate mistress, Louise Colet, the one woman who could briefly slip past the master's misogyny. Fraser offers vibrant portraits of the Russian novelist Nina Berberova and the English naturalist Miriam Rothschild. And here is Fraser herself, learning her craft at The New Yorker, tending her English garden and—on every page—delighting us with the manifold felicities of her prose.
How hard is it to move 5 legless pianos 39 times? Beethoven owned five legless pianos and composed great works on the floor. His first apartment was in the center of Vienna's theater district... but he forgot to pay rent, so he had to move. (And it's very hard to move a piano. Even harder to move five). Beethoven's next apartment was in a dangerous part of town... so he moved, and the pianos followed on a series of pulleys. Then came an apartment with a view of the Danube (but he made too much noise and the neighbors complained), followed by an attic apartment (where he made even MORE of a rukus), and so Beethoven moved again and again. Each time, pianos were bought, left behind, transported on pulleys, slides, and by movers, all so that gifted Beethoven could compose great works of music for the world.
These two fragments of novels, Ingeborg Bachmann's only untranslated works of fiction, were intended to follow the widely acclaimed Malina in a cycle to be entitled Todesarten, or Ways of Dying. Although Bachmann died before completing them, The Book of Franza and Requiem for Fanny Goldmann stand on their own, continuing Bachmann's tradition of using language to confront the disease plaguing human relationships. Through the tales of two women in postwar Austria, Bachmann explores the ways of dying inflicted upon the living from outside and from within, through history, politics, religion, family, gender relations, and the self.Bachmann's allegiance to the twin muses of memory and history, as well as her perception of fascism as not being limited to the context of the war but also existing within the intimate relations of everyday life between husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, psychiatrists and patients' are supremely evident in The Book of Franza. Here, Bachmann follows a woman who escapes from a sanitorium and, after years of silence, sends her brother a cryptic telegram. Rightly suspecting that she has fled her sadistic husband -- a renowned Austrian psychiatrist whose intimate relations have merged with his studies of concentration camps -- her brother finds her in their childhood home. Together they travel to Egypt, where Franza slowly begins to regain her bearings. But Franza's desire to cleanse herself by journeying into the heart of the desert's void ends in tragedy, as she becomes the victim of a horrible act of violence.Unlike Franza, who attempts to flee her past but fails, the heroine of Requiem for Fanny Goldmann makes no attempt to escape her history. Thisnovel tells of the demise of a Viennese actress who is manipulated by a younger, ambitious playwright to advance his career. Deception follows disloyalty; the final treachery comes when the playwright portrays her in a novel, which secures his fame and, in Fanny's eyes, robs her of her future. Caught in a perpetual stasis, Fanny suffers in total obscurity, as her present is stolen from her as well.Whether analyzing the place where the self begins and the power of history ends or the ways in which women are forced to be complicit in their mistreatment at the hands of men, Bachmann's critical approach to the human psyche is unparalleled. Mesmerizing and profound, The Book of Franza and Requiem for Fanny Goldmann constitute the final evidence that Ingeborg Bachmann is the most important female German-language writer of the postwar period.
Antifascist literature repurposed Nazi stereotypes to express opposition. These stereotypes became adaptable ideological signifiers during the political struggles in interwar Germany and Austria, and they remain integral elements in today’s cultural imagination.
