“the unforeseen adventures of the eyes…” #FranzHessel #1929Club #WalkinginBerlin #WalterBenjamin

For some reason, I don’t seem to be able to get 1929 out of my head! We had such a successful reading week with the #1929Club, but there were so many books I didn’t get to, including a couple which were on the immediate TBR. One of those was “Hill”, which I’ve since read and loved and wrote about here; and another was “Walking in Berlin” by Franz Hessel. I’d actually had the book on my radar for sometime, before stumbling across it serendipitously in the local Oxfam; needless to say, it had sat on my TBR ever since, and if I’d realised it was from 1929 I might well have grabbed it for the club. However, as it happened to fit for German Lit Month AND Non Fiction month, it seemed the ideal title to pick up just now; and an unexpected connection nudged me even more strongly to start reading, as I’ll explain!

My particular edition of “Walking in Berlin” is translated by Amanda DeMarco and published by Scribe Publications; however, when I was noodling about online, I discovered that the same translation had been issued in the US by MIT Press with an additional essay from a friend of Kessel – a certain Walter Benjamin… Although my copy doesn’t have the essay, I was fortunately able to source it online, and it did enhance my reading of the book!

Franz Hessel (1880-1941) was a German author and translator, responsible for bringing three volumes of Proust’s epic work into the German language alongside his friend Benjamin. As far as I can see, “Walking in Berlin” (described as a collection of essays exploring the concept of flanerie) is the only one of his works which has been translated into English. Hessel was of Jewish heritage, fleeing Germany for France in 1940. Unfortunately things were no safer for his family there, and Hessel died in 1941 after a session in a concentration camp.

“Walking in Berlin” records Hessel’s impressions of, and feelings about, his native city; and in a chatty, conversational style he guides the readers around the sight of Berlin, the historical monuments and parks, the outlying areas, the cabarets and night clubs and boulevards. He observes his fellow citizens, reflects on the architecture of the city, the changing landscape and the march of progress. This is a city (and a country) at a mid-point between the two world wars, and although Hessel didn’t know what was to come, there is oddly little reflection of the political landscape (a point picked up in the notes and foreword, and it does seem that Hessel had his head in the sand just a little…)

Although Hessel’s book title contains the word ‘walking’, he does not always go by foot; and in fact in one extended entertaining chapter entitled “A Tour” he is transported around the city with a group of tourists, experiencing Berlin as they would see it, although with sly little mentions of places and attractions he would know about as a resident. But however he goes, he is a flaneur and a wanderer with the randomness that those terms imply; and that drift through the city allows us some wonderful perspectives on the place.

Tauentzienestrasse and Kurfurstendamm have the important cultural task of teaching the Berliner to be a flaneur, unless this urban pastime should at some point become unfashionable. But maybe it’s not too late. The flaneur reads the street, and human faces, displays, window dressings, café terraces, trains, cars, and trees become letters that yield the words, sentences, and pages of a book that is always new. To correctly play the flaneur, you can’t have anything too particular in mind.

Lest you think that Hessel is only mingling with the rich and famous, I can assure you that’s not the case. We are, after all, in Weimar Berlin, and there are all manner of clubs, cabarets and seedy bars where he encounters a wide variety of residents. And although he often expresses a hankering after lost parts of the city and a perhaps more genteel past, he is quick to condemn what he feels is ugly statuary or architecture. He contrasts the rich and poor, noting the shabby conditions in some part of the city. And despite his obvious love of Berlin, I did feel that he was doing his best to look at it as an observer would.

All in all, “Walking…” was a wonderfully engrossing and distracting read; Hessel’s writing is excellent, often lyrical, always entertaining, with an informal and intimate tone which makes him an excellent companion whilst ambling round the city; I found myself thinking what fun it would have been to roam the streets of Berlin beside him. The book is beautifully translated by DeMarco, and comes with useful footnotes which, alas, were often ruefully pointing out the loss of some landmark. I can see why Benjamin rated this book so highly and I’m so glad it was finally translated; a marvellous writer, a life sadly cut short and I do wish there was more available in English by him.

On My Book Table… 12 – moving into May with some potential chunksters!

For my end of the month post, I thought I’d revive an idea I’ve used in the past, where I share some potential reads perching on my dedicated book table. Goodness knows there are plenty of them, and they’ve spread a little… 😆 More of that later, however; firstly, here’s a picture of the books I read during April:

Not picture – the Maigret, which was an e-book, and Margaret Atwood’s short story My Wicked Mother which was likewise!

As you can see it was a bumper month, much of which may be down to the fact that I had a fortnight off for the Easter break and was able to wallow in some wonderful (and longer!) books – I haven’t read so much, and so well, for a long time… There were a number for the #1954Club, including two volumes of “The Lord of the Rings”; but I’ve also ranged over poetry, non-fiction and essays too, as well as edging closer to the end of my Penguin Moderns box set. Some of these books are still to be reviewed – yes, I’m playing catch up again!

As for where I’ll go next with my reading, well that’s hard to know! I have a pile of review books, and also want to finish a book I’m halfway through for Stu’s Archipelago Reading fortnight. For now, let’s take a look at some of the books on the table:

First up we have some chunksters… And when I say chunksters I mean it as these are really big and heavy books!!! The Benjamin and the Penguin Modern Classics book were gifts at the end of last year, and I *have* been dipping – in particular into the PMC one, which is absolutely lovely but very, very bad for the wishlist… “Modernism” and the Barthes were purchases and again are both very dippable – I just wish I had more time sitting in my book chair to do that dipping!

Next up, here is a very interesting pile of review books from a variety of sources, and some of which are for Shiny New Books and others which will appear here. All of them look fascinating – it’s just a case of deciding which one should be the first to be read!

And here’s a few more review books, including a clutch from Michael Walmer Books; I really do want to get on to Rosalind Brackenbury soon as she sounds like a fascinating and very neglected author.

Truth be told, however, there are more books pending that would ever fit on the book table. In fact, as I hinted at the start of the post, they’re spreading madly; I’ve had to corral a batch of them on an old picnic table we have knocking around the house as you’ll see from this image:

British Library books, NYRB, Columbia University Press, Christmas gifts – so many potential joys waiting to be read. If there’s a zombie apocalypse I shall *definitely* be ok for books; but which one should I read next???

Arrivals and depatures – an update on the state of the book piles! :D

Those of you who follow me on social media may have noticed the odd image or two recently which might just have indicated the continuing arrival of books at the Ramblings. I cannot lie – they have been creeping in the door when Mr. Kaggsy’s guard is down (or in some cases getting delivered at work). And in the interests of full disclosure and more Gratuitous Book Pictures, it’s only fitting that I share them with you… ;D

Charity shops, of course, making things impossible for the book lover – I guess I should just stop going in them. However, even being as stringent and selective as I have been lately, these have made it past my barriers! The DeWitt is one I’ve wanted to read for ages, so a cheap copy in the Oxfam was irresistible. And Clive James’s essays cover all manner of topics of interest to me. The Finn book is another one riffing on “Three Men in a Boat” – well, I adore the original and so anything that takes that as a starting point is going to be interesting. And Mark Steel’s humourous take on the French Revolution sounds like it might have hidden depths – most intriguing.  As for “New Writings in SF” – well, thereby hangs a tale…

Lurid cover or what!!!!

In the Oxfam yesterday they’d obviously had a donation of a good number of vintage sci-fi titles including lots of “New Writings in SF”; so of course I had to check these out to see if there were any authors I was particularly interested in. If I’m honest, I was looking for uncollected M. John Harrison, as many of his early stories were in these volumes, and I wasn’t disappointed. One book had a story which reappeared in “The Machine in Shaft 10” so I left that behind, alas; but volume 14 had a story called “Green Five Renegade” and I was pretty sure it was new to me. Thank goodness for the ISFDB and a phone with data; a quick search revealed that the story has only been in anthologies so I snapped it up, particularly as it’s an early one. It cost a little more than I would usually pay which I guess reflects its rarity, but it *is* in really good nick. I would’ve liked to bring them all home – so many interesting authors! – but I had to draw the line somewhere…

There there is Verso and their rotten end of year 50% off sale. Quite impossible to resist and I settled on these two titles:

The Benjamin/Baudelaire combo is a no-brainer of course; and I borrowed the Adorno from the library and was intrigued, so was happy to get my own, Reasonably Priced, copy.

Has there been online buying? Yes, I’m afraid so, in the form of these:

A couple of books about Dostoevsky; Rousseau on walking; Proust short works; and a novel of the French Revolution. What’s not to love??

This also came from an online purchase:

I’m always happy to support indie publishers, and Salt are one of the best so I decided to splash out on another of their poetry titles. Why this one? No idea – I liked the sound of it and I liked the cover! I’ll report back on the contents….

And finally, I’ve been spoiled by some review books from a couple of lovely publishers:

Notting Hill Editions, who produce the loveliest essay collections and intriguing titles, sent me a volume I’d somehow missed of Virginia Woolf’s “Essays on the Self”; I can’t wait. “Mentored by a Madman” is a new title which draws on the influence of William S. Burroughs. I read *a lot* by the latter back in the day, so I’m very interested to see what this one is about.

And the three titles by or about Jozef Czapski are from NYRB; another author new to me but one whose work sounds absolutely fascinating. Thank you, lovely publishers.

That’s quite a number of books, isn’t it? Lest you imagine the Ramblings to be collapsing under the weight of printed paper, however, I should reassure you that I *am* being sensible and pruning books I’m never going to read or revisit; a process that’s surprisingly a bit easier than I expected. Here’s just a couple of boxes of books which will be winging their way to the Samaritans Book Cave soon. So hopefully the house won’t collapse any time soon! ;D

“History is an angel….” #WalterBenjamin @versobooks #germanlitmonth

The Storyteller: Tales out of Loneliness by Walter Benjamin
With Illustrations by Paul Klee
Translated and edited by Sam Dolbear, Esther Leslie and Sebastian Truskolaski

It seems that I’ve been aware of Walter Benjamin for longer than I might have realised; although the first thing I read by him was “Unpacking My Library“, that was fairly recently (and I have revisited it at least once). A renowned German Jewish author, he had an illustrious career but took his own life in 1940 while fleeing the Nazis. But he was in the back of my mind as an important thinker and critic, though possibly I was a little intimidated by his reputation. However, oddly enough, he had a considerable influence on me through his influence on one of my favourite artists, Laurie Anderson. I’ve adored her album “Strange Angels” since it came out in 1995, and a favourite track was “The Dream Before”. In the CD booklet this is dedicated “For Walter Benjamin”, although at that time I probably had little idea of the significance of the dedication. But more of that later…

I’ve amassed a number of Benjamin books since first reading “Unpacking…”, although really all they’ve done is sit on the shelves. “The Storyteller” is a good case in point; I obviously picked it up during one of Verso Books’ regular offers (do sign up for their newsletter – it’s really worth it!), but it had been languishing since along with some other volumes. However, I think it was the Baudelaire connection that spurred me on to this reading (as well as German Lit Month!); particularly when I sent Melissa an image of the contents page of Benjamin’s “Illuminations” collection, pointing out the Kafka content. There is also a Baudelaire essay, and a little bit of online research (always a dangerous thing!) led to the discovery that there is a considerable body of Benjamin writing about Baudelaire. Picking up “The Storyteller” as my next read was a no-brainer, and I’ve been dipping into it alongside a collection of Baudelaire’s selected poems in prose translation, and the two books together make a heady mix. I’m not qualified by a long chalk to ‘review’ Benjamin’s work – that would feel ridiculously presumptious – but I can share my reactions to this excellent book and perhaps encourage you to explore this marvellous writer’s works. I know I’ll be doing just that.

As I mentioned, I’ve always thought of Benjamin primarily in terms of philosophy and cultural writing, particularly in the field of critical theory (“a philosophical approach to culture, and especially to literature, that considers the social, historical, and ideological forces and structures which produce and constrain it.”) Therefore, to discover that he had wandered into fictions as well was intriguing, and this exemplary collection brings together for the first time all of Benjamin’s stories in one volume, along with marvellous illustrations by Swiss German artist Paul Klee and erudite commentary by the translators/editors. It’s a heady collection, which they’ve divided into three themed sections – “Dreamworlds”, “Travel” and “Play and Pedagogy”. I believe the majority of the works haven’t been translated into English before, which makes this book even more valuable; I imagine there must be shed-loads of Benjamin untranslated, and I’ve actually found myself in a bit of a book jungle trying to work out which of his books/collections I should pick up.

Of all those songs, the one I loved the most was a Christmas song that filled me, as only music can, with solace for a sorrow not yet experienced but only sensed now for the first time.

So what of the contents themselves? The translators/editors point out that the stories reflect many of the themes of Benjamin’s theoretical work. I’m not well-versed enough in the latter to really comment but what lingers most from reading these inventive, sparkling and often strange fables, stories and meditations is the sheer sense of playfulness (an element also highlighted in the introduction). Benjamin’s very fertile mind lets itself loose in fabulous ways, ranging far and wide over topics as diverse as children’s primers, dreams (both sleeping and waking), gambling, life in cities (which resonates with the Georg Simmel collection I read recently) and the moon. Many are short, fragmentary pieces but some extend over several pages, and each is beautifully written and memorable. I was reminded in some places of Bruno Schulz; in others of Borges. But each piece warranted the pleasure from slow and thoughtful reading, and I imagine I’ll return to this collection again and again over the years – it’s that good. The introduction reminds us of the importance of our imaginations – “Dreams shape history and are shaped by it” – and Benjamin’s is in full force here.

By Photo d’identité sans auteur, 1928 – Akademie der Künste, Berlin – Walter Benjamin Archiv, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17162035

Each of the 43 chapters has an image by Paul Klee at the start, and ends with the sources of the actual written material, individual translation credits, as well as details of the picture; all books should be this well presented and annotated. I don’t like to pick favourites, but one particular stand out for me was “The Hypochondriac in the Landscape” with its vivid, witty imagery :

At the peak of the landscape we find him again. A ruin stood there, overgrown by the green of nature. Storms and tempests roared more fiercely here than elsewhere. The place was created for the indulgence of every conceivable suffering…

And:

After dinner, physicians and patients organise germ hunts in the park. Oftentimes it happens that a patient is accidentally shot. In such cases a simple bed of moss and forest herbs is prepared as the patient sinks to the ground. Bandages lie ready in the tree hollows.

It’s clever and funny and dark, and sets the tone for much of the collection – I loved it! And a lovely piece entitled “Detective Novels, on tour” is a beautiful paean to the joy of reading a book while travelling by train.

As for Paul Klee and the Laurie Anderson connection, well that realisation was part of what send me down my recent Benjamin-Baudelaire wormhole. There is a Klee print called “Angelus Novus”, which was owned by Benjamin and is now in the collection of the Israel Museum in Jerusalem. It informs one of Benjamin’s last and most important works, as essay called “Theses on the Theory of History”, and that essay is in turn the source of Anderson’s lyrical imagery in her song “The Dream Before”. Bearing in mind that the essay was written while Benjamin was being pursued by the dark forces of history, the song and essay are even more poignant.The Klee painting seems to have been a real touchstone for Benjamin, and it even appears on the back of my copy of “Illuminations”.

Coll IMJ, photo (c) IMJ.
By Paul Klee – The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25188355

So I’m still down the Benjamin-Baudelaire wormhole; as you might have seen from recent posts I’ve been raiding the library for related books (in particular the volume which collects Benjamin’s essays on the poet). Although I’ve finished the Benjamin stories, I’m still savouring the Baudelaire poems and I’ll no doubt share some thoughts later. However, what I would say about them is that I’m finding the prose translations much more satisfying that those put into verse form which have me questioning the translator’s choices…

But I’ll leave you with the great Laurie Anderson, and her wonderful channelling of Benjamin; and I think that while we struggle on through one of our most difficult times, we need once again to be reminded of our past…

Loving my local library (redux) – plus the Oxfam lowers its prices! #bookfinds #library

Things really *do* never go as planned, do they??? Like so many bookish types, I try to control the flow of incoming books as we get closer to the C-word time of year as I know lovely friends and family will be gifting me with them. And I had intended to do a very small post (if at all!) this weekend featuring a modest pair of arrivals which had made their way into the Ramblings this week:

The Owen Hatherley book is one I was very excited to receive from the publishers. I’ll be covering it for Shiny New Books; I’ve read a number of his books and he’s an incisive, funny and fascinating commentator. The Friedrich Ani was a result of a giveaway on the lovely Lizzy Siddal’s blog – I have won two books there recently, which is quite unprecedented, as I *never* win things! It’s a beautiful Seagull Books crime novel and I’m *so* pleased. So that seemed quite modest for a week’s arrivals…

However, I’m still in that Baudelaire-Benjamin wormhole and I amused myself mid-week by having a look at the local library’s online catalogue to see if there was anything interesting lurking. I was having an itch to amass more of their works, one in particular, and I wondered whether anything would be available to borrow which would scratch that itch without buying more books. I had low expectations, and the local Big Town didn’t have anything in stock. However, a wider search revealed that Bury St. Edmunds, of all places, seems to be a hotbed of rebellious thought and critical theory, as they had the specific book I was after as well as a number of Other Interesting Titles. Who knew?? Anyway, I placed reserves on four books and expected to wait a while for the library service to get them over here. However, an email pinged into the inbox today informing me that all four had arrived and were ready for collection, which was speedy and surprising, and meant that I ended up lugging these four round town with me today…

Despite the weight, I’m pleased to be able to explore these four volumes. Obviously, Benjamin on Baudelaire is what was exercising my brain most, but “Baudelaire in Chains” is a biographical work which sounds intriguing… The Modernism book also sounded good, and Adorno is one of the authors mentioned in “The Grand Hotel Abyss” which I’ve started dipping into also, so this seemed a good way to have a look at his writing and see if I want to explore further.

However.

As usual on Saturdays, I fell into the Oxfam bookshop to see if anything new was on the shelves, as the stock has been moving a little faster than usual of late – and this might have happened…

Someone has obviously been donating a lot of Julian Barnes and since my love of his writing has been rekindled recently, I really couldn’t ignore these. Particularly as they were marked at 99p each. It seems that my grumpy comment about their increasing prices may have been a little premature, as across the board they didn’t seem too pricy today. As for the Robb… Well, I actually had a copy of this before, then donated it in a fit of madness and clearing out books, and then thoroughly regretted it, particularly after I enjoyed his “The Debatable Lands“. So again, a no brainer, and only £1.99. Four books of such interest at less then a fiver ain’t bad.

And coming across the Robb reminded me that a couple of weeks I hauled home a few books from the Oxfam and then shoved them on a shelf and forgot all about them. Here they are, with an Interesting Other Title on top which snuck in through the front door one day:

The Alexis de Tocqueville is one of two titles by that author I’ve picked up recently to add to the French Revolution pile. I was pleased to get this particular edition, because the translator is Stuart Gilbert, who rendered the version I own of my favourite Camus novel, “The Plague”, and I like his style. And as I said, the other three were from the Oxfam and Very Reasonably Priced. The Eric Newby is one of the few I don’t have by him – I love his travel books and his wonderful self-deprecating style. The Robb is mentioned above and I’m so pleased to have these two volumes. And “Walking in Berlin” is a book I heard about when it came out and *so* wanted to read, but didn’t get round to doing anything about. It was never going to stay on the Oxfam shelves…

So. I’m not doing too well at stemming the incoming flow of books. But do you blame me?????

The “lost book” authors

Reading a book about books is a dangerous exercise for any bibliophile, but “In Search of Lost Books” creates its own issues as it’s about books that don’t actually exist any more – or which may indeed have never existed. However, that book *did* send me off down the trail of wanting to dig out the volumes I own by the authors featured in it, and it turned out that I have a surprising amount of works by these particular writers – which may be why the book spoke to me so strongly. So, as someone who’s never averse to pictures of other people’s books, I thought I would share a few of mine here.

However, gathering all of these together *wasn’t* an easy exercise, as my ‘library’ seems to have become more randomly scattered around the house recently. I haven’t been able to locate everything I think I own, and I found that, as I suspected, any shelf-rummaging exercise throws up a huge number of queries, problems and exclamations – along the lines of:

Why is Joan Didion double-shelved behind Aldous Huxley?
Did I *really* buy all those books in the “Writers from the Other Europe” series and read hardly any of them?
Where *is* my copy of “A Moveable Feast”?
Oooooh, look – I have a book called “The Faber book of Utopias”!! I wonder if I ever read it…?
Why have I got two copies of “Under the Volcano”?
Where *is* my copy of “Ulysses”?
Isn’t it a shame that there isn’t anything else available by Bruno Schulz.
Hurrah! There’s my lovely Allan Ramsay book which I haven’t been able to find for ages.
Why have I got so many copies of “Anna Karenina”?
WHY HAVE I GOT SO MANY BOOKS????

And so on…

The serious difficulty in laying hands on a specific book shows how things have got out of hand with my ‘library’ and I can see I’ll need to take some serious action soon, maybe over the summer holidays, to just try and get things into a sensible order where I can locate titles with ease – and possibly even catalogue them sensibly. However, for now, here are some photographs of lovely, lovely books!

So – in no particular order – here is a selection of my books by and about Sylvia Plath. Yes, there are a lot…

I actually did a longer post a while back with more pictures. The pile has expanded since then, as I now have the enormously huge volume 1 of her letters too…

In contrast, we have Bruno Schulz. All that survives of his work is these shorter fictions, here all collected in one volume and I’ve reviewed and loved them.  As I grumbled above, it’s such a shame that nothing else of his written work survives.

Then we have Malcolm Lowry. I think my Lowry reading is all pre-blog, but I recall being entranced by “Under the Volcano”. His other work is good, though nothing lives up to his major novel.

Ah, Papa Hemingway. Source of much frustration in rummaging through the stacks, as I *know* I have a copy of “A Moveable Feast” because I’ve read and reviewed it and wouldn’t have got rid of it. It wasn’t with these two, wasn’t with my Gertrude Steins and wasn’t with my Fitzgeralds. Who knows where it is in the house – probably with the copy of “Fiesta” I suspect I still have (there were two in the house at one point….)

Let’s get serious now, with the Russians – or at least Gogol, who often *isn’t* serious! I have quite a pile of Gogols, surprising perhaps as there isn’t a lot available in English. This one is probably the prettiest.

I am ashamed that there is P/V translation in this pile, but it was 10p from the library discards and I think it has stories I couldn’t get anywhere else – well, non-Russian speaking beggars can’t be choosers. And yes – I’m afraid there are three copies of “Dead Souls”.

Last but not least Walter Benjamin. I’ve only read a little of his work (“Unpacking My Library” definitely) and I want to read more but never get round to it. I’d rather like his Arcades Project but I think I should read these before getting any more.

So there you have it – a little book p*rn to liven your day up. Although works by these authors have gone missing at least in most cases we have a reasonable amount of surviving work with which to console ourselves – and let’s face it, a good book can solve most ills… 😉

Manuscripts *do* burn…

In Search of Lost Books : The forgotten stories of eight mythical volumes by Giorgio van Straten
Translated by Simon Carnell and Erica Segre

There are some books you just *know* are going to be for you. It’s fairly obvious to anyone who’s passed by the Ramblings that I am obsessive about books – to quote Morrissey, “There’s more to life than books, you know, but not much more” – and so books about books are going to be a particular favourite. This little volume, however, has a different slant from many of them in that it deals with the missing – books lost, books destroyed, books that may never have existed…

Giorgio van Straten has an impressive pedigree, taking in such disciplines as novelist, librettist, playwright, editor, translator, critic and manager of arts organisations. His works have won numerous awards, though it seems that few of them have been translated into English; which is a great shame, based on the quality of this slim but important book.

Van Straten focuses his range quite tightly and the authors/books/works lost covered are:

“The Avenue” – Romano Bilenchi
“Memoirs” – Lord Byron
Various early works – Ernest Hemingway
“The Messiah” – Bruno Schulz
“Dead Souls” (later volumes) – Nikolai Gogol
“In Ballast to the White Sea” – Malcolm Lowry
A black suitcase full of who knows what – Walter Benjamin
“Double Exposure” – Sylvia Plath

…which is a pretty heavyweight list! Intriguingly, he opens the book with the one author new to me (Romano Bilenchi), with whom he has a personal connection; because Bilenchi’s missing book was one that van Straten had actually read before it was destroyed by the author’s widow. He goes on to guide us through stories which may be familiar – Gogol burning the second part of “Dead Souls”; Hemingway and Benjamin losing suitcases containing manuscripts; Sylvia Plath’s second novel which mysteriously and unaccountably disappeared – and yet brings a freshness and a new angle to the narrative. There are a variety of reasons for the works being lost; authorial decision, posthumous publisher/spouse decision to protect the still living, pure accident; but the loss of all of these works is a real tragedy.

Georgio van Straten writes elegantly and it’s quite clear he has a strong belief in the innate power of books and the written word. He acknowledges that part of the appeal of his investigation into the missing books is the thrill of the chase, the hope of discovering that one of these fragile works has survived. There is a recurring thread of fire running through the narrative, and van Straten is painfully aware of the vulnerability of books:

… those vessels freighted with words, which we launch onto the waters, in the hope that someone will notice them and receive them into their own harbour, can disappear into infinite space like spacecraft at the edge of the universe, receding from us at increasing velocity.

For a slim book, this one digs deep and is not afraid to tackle more serious moral issues; for example, the discussion of Byron’s scandalous memoirs is measured, weighing the need to publish and be damned against the need to protect those still living (and also Byron’s own reputation, as to admit to homosexuality in those days was unheard of). The book was burned but van Straten argues that it simply could have been locked away for posterity.

The right to protect individuals is sacrosanct, but so is the need to preserve works of literature: the imperatives can converge and be compatible, if you only want them to.

Again with Sylvia Plath, much of the chapter considers the destruction of her last journals and the mysterious disappearance of her second novel. The discussion of the ethics of picking over the detail of her life is particularly pithy:

It frequently happens that when someone commits suicide, their death becomes the point of departure for reading their entire life. But this entails the risk of superimposing over the fact of an actual person – the one who has lived, thought, written – a mask that squeezes the richness of their humanity and artistry into the form of an icon, into something two-dimensional.

Plath has, of course, attained such mythical stature that it’s almost impossible to see the real woman any more. This aspect resonated strongly with me, particularly as I was reading about the current plans to auction off Plath’s effects, which I can’t help thinking would be better off preserved in an archive somewhere.

I confess that I get a bit emotional about book burning and lost books, and at times found the stories of what happened to these works excruciating (especially when, as in some of the cases, the loss was avoidable and the simple expedient of a photocopy or a carbon copy could have saved things). But the stories of the authors themselves was also particularly moving; reading about Bruno Schulz and his life and fate is always an emotional experience; and likewise Walter Benjamin; both authors ultimately met their fate because of the Nazis.

Van Straten uses a quote from Proust to illustrate the tantalising effect the thought of these lost works have on us:

One can feel an attraction towards a particular person. But to release that fount of sorry, that sense of the irreparable, those agonies which prepare the way for love, there must be – and this is, perhaps, more than a person, the actual object which our passion seeks so anxious to embrace – the risk of an impossibility.

That reaching for the impossible is something which attracts us human; we are questing beings, never satisfied with accepting the status quo. With these missing books, there is always the hope that one or more of them may still be within our grasp, may turn up somewhere. Certainly, there have been cases of supposedly lost works turning up – Georges Perec’s first novel, recently published and translated as “Portrait of a Man”, is a good case in point, and it’s finds like these which keep us hoping. Van Straten’s wonderful book is a fascinating tale of human creativity, the agonies of the artistic temperament and the battle between literature and reputation – as well as a lovely little elegy for some titles that may or may not be lost forever.

(Review copy kindly provided by the publisher, for which many thanks!)