Clara Mondschein's Melancholia is one of those books that you wish would never end! What a great new addition to the contemporary literary scene!
The book alternates between the voices of Mrs. Mondschein, a holocaust survivor from a modest Jewish family in Vienna, now living on Manhattan's west side, and her granddaughter, Deborah, an adolescent growing up in Tenafly, NJ, a New York City suburb. I could go on indefinitely listening to the 85-year-old Mrs. Mondschein telling her life story to Tommy as he lies dying of AIDS, and I could imagine forging ahead with Deborah as she charts her own future life course. As grandmother and granddaughter narrate, they thoughtfully weave together not only the compelling dramas of their own lives, but numerous issues that have pervaded the human condition probably since human life began. In her writing, Ms. Raeff is particularly adept at creating vivid moods, and describing the subtleties of contextual ambience, enabling the reader to really feel almost physically present in the book's varied settings -- from a dingy apartment in 1930's Vienna, to a lively neighborhood bar in 1990's Madrid, to a subway station in New York City (to name just a few settings).
With Mrs. Mondschein, we ponder the horrors of the holocaust from the distance of 50 years of subsequent living to see how some of its victims and survivors suffered, but also emerged with new strength and hope for a better world. Ms. Raeff's presentation of Mrs. Mondschein's time in a concentration camp creatively departs from the usual descriptions, as Mrs. Mondschein enters into an enigmatic relationship with the camp's commandant. Mrs. Mondschein's story also leads the reader to reflect upon the nature of love, intimacy, and companionship as she spends most of her adult life happily married to a gay man.
Deborah's story will probably remind many adult readers of their own adolescent angst, or perhaps of their own, seemingly all-knowing, sarcastic adolescent children. But Deborah's tough talk masks her insecurities as an adolescent dealing with forming her own identity, separate from her parents, whose influences she cannot, and ultimately does not want to fully deny. Deborah, an accomplished cellist, sensitively, and with humor, describes how she is caught between two worlds. On the one hand she goes through the motions of adolescent life in an affluent American suburb at the end of the 20th century, but on the other hand she must deal with the world of her intellectual parents who are rather removed from the realities of late 20th century life. A major portion of Deborah's narrative revolves around the summer she and her family spent in Spain, where she befriends a middle-aged Irish alcoholic, and where she also begins to come to terms with her lesbian sexual identity.
And so, what of Clara Mondschein, the title character? Clara is Mrs. Mondschein's daughter, and Deborah's mother, and their attempts to deal with Clara's debilitating depressive episodes pervade both of their narratives. But through the author's ingenious literary move of not giving Clara a narrative voice, Clara's subjective perspective remains a mystery, as she silently retreats to her bed, allowing her depression to take hold not only of herself, but of her husband, daughter, and parents. One is left to wonder why Clara succumbs to depression. Is her depression inherited from her maternal grandfather who suffered from "melancholia" at the end of his life? Or does its ultimate source lie in her experience of having been born in a concentration camp? Most likely, it is both. But more importantly, one is left to wonder why she does not seek treatment for her depression. In turn, this leads the reader to think about how some people find strength in adversity, and others are paralyzed by it. Although I felt sympathy for Clara, in the end, I found myself feeling more sympathy for Deborah and Mrs. Mondschein, whom Clara sometimes blames for her depression, because they suffer unnecessarily from Clara's refusal to even try to overcome her depression. And then, there is also Simon, Clara's husband and Deborah's father. Simon is a kindly, unassuming academic who lives in the minutiae of obscure historical documents, and is passively indulgent of Clara's melancholia. For Deborah's sake, one wants to shake Simon out of his co-dependence. But, at the same time, he is a complex and sympathetic character, leading the reader to think about why he, and people in general, do not always try to actively take control of some aspects of their lives.
Actually, my review here simply does not do this book justice because it is much more complex, rich, and evocative. It is filled with many other interesting characters; it is a lesson in history and art; it provides intelligent commentary on varied social issues from prejudice to the role of religion in society. It's both enjoyable and thought-provoking, and I highly recommend it. I can't wait to see more from this author!
