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7 of 7 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
"Were we, he and I and our fellow [Basque] countrymen, the equivalent of the last Mohican?", March 15, 2009
By the time he is eight years old, David Imaz, like his father, is an "artist" at his craft--a fine accordionist--growing up in the Basque community of Obaba, near Guernica. Forty-two years later, in 1999, the accordion is put away, and David's Basque friend Joseba is visiting David's widow Mary Ann, not in Basque country, but in Three Rivers, California, where David has been raising thoroughbred horses for more than twenty-five years. Mary Ann has a mission for Joseba--to take one of the three copies of a book that David has written in Basque back to the library in Obaba. David's story includes his involvement in the history of his village, and it reveals important discoveries he made about other people, including some from his own family. Nine local people, thought to have been against the military dictatorship and sympathetic to the revolution, were executed at the outset of the Spanish Civil War (1936 - 1939), and David believes that his own father was involved in these executions. David prefers the country life to life in town, and it is through his travels back and forth between town and country, that he eventually learns the true history of the town in the years before he was born. By June, 1970, David, aged 22, has finished his fourth year of university, and the political situation in his Basque homeland has seriously deteriorated. The bombing of a recently erected marble monument, created to honor the fascists who fought with Franco during the Civil War, brings the military to Obaba, at the same time that reform-minded college students from outside Obaba also arrive, setting up a final confrontation and bringing the novel full circle. The Basque setting and the events of the Spanish Civil War, which drive the plot, are less important than the characters and the crises they face. As Atxaga recreates the culture, and the people who live within it, he also includes homey details, and the reader sees how much like the rest of us these people are, despite the obvious cultural differences. David and Joseba and their friends act like typical young boys, enjoying the same kinds of activities that children enjoy around the world, and when, as teenagers and youths in their early twenties, they become caught up in events, the results of which they cannot possibly foresee, the reader understands that they are naďve youths caught in a whirlwind that has taken their lives out of control. As the author sprinkles moments of dark humor throughout the novel to offer relief from the violence and the seriousness of the main issues, he adds to the atmosphere and the sense of "rightness" of Atxaga's story. Written in the Basque language, The Accordionist's Son is a novel of epic scope and broad social impact, a novel which grows for the reader because the author chooses to be honest about his characters, instead of molding them to the needs of his plot. n Mary Whipple Obabakoak
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5 of 5 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Complex coming of age stories in a dramatic setting, April 18, 2009
This novel joins two Basque eras of conflict-- the Spanish Civil War and the ETA struggle-- by a triple narrative. Translated from Basque into first Spanish and then English, the tone seems diffused and distant. It's both evocative and muted, qualities that may or may not have been in the original Euskara. Distance suffuses this story, told by Joseba about his childhood friend David. They both wind up in California, and David's premature death leads Joseba to translate David's self-published memoir into English for David's wife and children. Along the way, the novel includes its most gripping part, the centerpiece story "Obaba's First American," about Don Pedro, who hid Juan, David's uncle, from the Fascist forces who overran their Basque village. We learn later why David left the Basque country to come to his Central California ranch, and in the near present, why Joseba also left their native place of Obaba to stay with David's family. In turn, the story shifts from the mid-1930s to the 1960s, when the Basque nationalists began to dare to take on the Franco dictatorship. We learn such crucially telling details as the prohibition of the Basque language even on gravestones, of the illegality of a Basque-Spanish dictionary, and of the suppression by the Church as well as the State following the defeat of those who opposed the Spanish rule after the Thirties. We also see the rebirth of resistance from the end of the Sixties onward. However, the tales that David tells through Joseba ramble. Lots of characters and flirtations and relatives flit in and out, but few characters stand out. They blur together too much, amidst a surprisingly understated landscape. There's little of the memorable descriptions that would make the power of these events stick. It's all rather interesting, but sameness accumulates for long stretches. The tone's affable, but too much of David's growing up in a modernizing era lacks the freshness we'd expect. I did appreciate the momentary nod to how language changes our perceptions: the peasants never talked about paranoia or neuroticism; they'd be happy or unhappy; similarly, the force of hearing "privitization" or "imperialism" for the first time in the countercultural undercurrent diminishes in time into tired cant. The feel of the novel is one of intense surges fizzling out over time's humdrum routine. The best section, the "First American" part, proves the summit of Atxaga's skill. It moves with a vigor lacking in much of what surrounds it. Joseba very late seems to acknowledge the disparity between David's more stolid tellings and his own "improvements" in the framing device that holds down the central portions and links to the more fictional retellings (it gets a bit complex, no surprise given his previous novel of interlinked stories in a magic realist kaleidoscope, "Obabakoak"). I think that Joseba's coming-of-age story, so closely chronological with Atxaga's own date of birth, may have dragged the novel down into too many semi- autobiographical correspondences that may be more vivid in Euskada (or even Spanish) than in English. We get embedded transcriptions of the Basque within the story, as if explanations must interrupt the original, and these do push the reader away from the events a bit. Atxaga through both tellers does, still, leap away from the more mundane recital in his reversion near the end to three "confessions" of three ETA-type (the affiliation appears to be deliberately muddled) comrades arrested by the Spanish for terrorism. As in the "Deck of Cards" intermission, the dramatically and eloquently conveyed registers of Joseba's voice retell David's memories in a markedly more engrossing style. I understand what Atxaga in these moments breaks through three languages and three levels of discourse to show us, but it's a lot of effort for the reader to get to these moments of true literary power. Yet, this may be Atxaga's hard-won lesson for readers used to less effort to capture the truth on the page that witnesses to the emotion felt by those for whom the Basque homeland was more than a place erased from the Spanish (or French) map. He helps us realize the intensity for which a few of his countrymen and women have for so long kept alive an utterly unique way of expression in a Europe that the Basque people have occupied longer than anyone else on the continent. For this exposure, it's worth the languors of much of the story. As in hiking up a dull scree to a dazzling vista on top of the mountain, one must put in the discipline for a glimpse at a culture so rarely seen, the chance to eavesdrop on the only surviving pre-Indo-European language and to see its words in print. This sight brings its own reward.
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3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
"The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there...", February 2, 2012
Internationally acclaimed Basque author Bernardo Atxaga is a poet as well as a novelist. His 2004 novel, "The Accordionist's Son", is, at one level, the coming-of-age story of David Imaz, a talented accordionist player in the footsteps of his father. The context, however, is different from many other comparable novels. Set in the remote village of Obaba, in the Basque country in northern Spain, the reader is quickly drawn into a vibrant community, torn into political factions, with families and neighbours pulled apart by ongoing hostilities and long-held secrets. Written originally in his own Basque language (Euskedi), Atxaga creates a world that is both specific in its depiction of the day-to-day reality while at the same time reaching beyond the specifics into the general in its subtle and perceptive evocation of human relations and our connection to land and nature. It is also an ode to an ancient language and a people's traditional culture, a loving, sometimes nostalgic look at the "past as a foreign country", exemplified by the peace and "happiness" of rural life. And as Atxaga expressed in an interview about a decade ago: "Obaba is an interior landscape [...] the country of my past, a mixture of the real and the emotional." The "Accordionist's Son" is, then, a very personal and intimate recollection of life growing up caught between the old and the new. David is so taken by the "old" that the "new" can take him by surprise or, worse, lead him into dangerous traps. He is a slow, often hesitant learner when it comes to the political baggage that is still hanging over the village, reaching back into the dark days of the Spanish Civil War, WWII and their fallout. Obaba is not far from the town of Guernica, the memory of the thousands killed very much on people's minds. David prefers the woods, the lake and his simpler village friends like Lubis who looks after his uncle's horses. But he cannot always avoid making connections between present and past events: especially in relations with his father or some of his friends. First his uncle Juan shares a secret with him that, slowly, leads David to more discoveries and into deeper reflections. Even the decision whether or not to play the accordion at the fiesta can turn into a weighty decision. The opposing political sides confront each other increasingly forcefully and eventually, David has to take sides and act accordingly. However, the novel opens with its ending. David had been working on his memoir, describing his youth back in the village and how his life led him, eventually, to California. Instead of him, we meet his wife Mary Ann and his childhood friend, Joseba; David has succumbed to his illness. Now, according to David's wishes it is up to Joseba, to translate his draft memoir, written in the Basque language, so that David's family can read it. He is also to take it back to Obaba to be placed in the library as a historical record of the struggle for the Basque Homeland. Joseba, a writer himself, "wanted to write a book based on what David had written, to rewrite and expand his memoir. [...] Not like someone pulling down a house and building a new one in its place, but in the spirit of someone finding a tree, on which some long-vanished shepherd had left a carving, and deciding to redraw the lines so as to bring out and enhance the drawing and the figures." Joseba/David writes with great fluidity and we can only seldom separate the voices of the two friends. In real life, it would be an intriguing experiment and one can only assume that Bernardo Atxaga sees himself in both his characters, well characterized within their separate identities, and yet intimately connected to each other through the experiences of youth and young adulthood. For me discovering Bernardo Atxaga through this novel has been an enriching experience that will lead me to read other books by him. His evocation of the lush landscape, forests and hidden lakes, makes for a very convincing, often lyrical, background for his story that does not shy away from the political tensions and the personal conflicts of the time. His ability to bring a diversity of characters to life - and there are quite a few - is remarkable and some of them stay in your mind long after you finished the book. Some readers might find some of the early passages of young David's teenage preoccupations too long, but these would be minor flaws. Instead of an epigraph The Accordionist's Son opens with a poem: The death and life of words: This is how they die, the old words: like snowflakes which, after hesitating in the air, fall to the ground without as much as a sigh or should I say: without a word. [...] Sometimes they [new words] are born out of laughter and float like dandelion clocks in the air. Look how they rise into the sky, look how it is snowing up there. It beautifully reflects the spirit of the novel. [Friederike Knabe]
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