Before the man lost his sight, he read this story in a magazine: a group of explorers came upon a community of parrots speaking the langua
New Review:
Before the man lost his sight, he read this story in a magazine: a group of explorers came upon a community of parrots speaking the language of a society that had been wiped out in a recent catastrophe. Astonished by their discovery, they put the parrots in cages and sent them home so that linguists could record what remained of the lost language. But the parrots, already traumatized by the devastation they had recently witnessed, died on the way.
The man feels a great fraternity with those birds. He feels he carries, like them, a shredded inheritance, and he is too concussed to pass anything on.
How does a broken man pass on his broken, fragile legacy? What adverse times has he witnessed, that torment him so? As he strives to unravel the century of life he has seen, how does he relate that massive history in tune with his own tale? Or is the tale not solely his own?
Rana Dasgupta said in an interview:"I have lived in the US and India for a long time and they are such big countries and so obsessed with themselves and think they are the whole world. I found it interesting to write about a small country."
“It’s had fascism, it’s had communism, it’s had empire – and I wanted to look at the effect it has on an individual’s life when their country is ripped apart and they must to put themselves back together for a new regime.”
Woven through the narrative is the turbulent history of Bulgaria and its imminent impact on its people – the Crimean wars, the internal struggles between the Communist government and capitalist factions, the antagonism with Germany when ‘the Fatherland’ started murdering the Jews at the height of the World Wars. It is the story of Bulgaria as it is forced to suddenly discard the old and come to terms with a new world order; a world where overnight loyalties changed, and with it did the fortunes of many. A world where now even language become paralyzed, unable to keep its meanings stable in that implosion of culture; where the patriot suddenly became a traitor, and a musician a vagrant. The country and the people become entwined with each other’s fates, and thus begins the journey of Ulrich in a turbulent period of Bulgarian history.
A history that not only brought economic ruin for Ulrich, but also drew a chasm between the older and the newer generation, exemplified by Ulrich and his father, the former wishing to usher in a new time, untouched by brutality, giving his life to old-world music, the latter clutching at the old world to hold it together by discarding the old and embracing the new world-order. It is a story of idealism and disillusionment, of a solo movement in music and in life, of an existence far removed from the rest of humanity by its willing and unwilling breaks with Time and Circumstances; of the unseen disturbances that goes on beneath the soothing, calm surfaces.
We follow Ulrich as he discards his first love, Music at his father’s disapproval, replacing it with a love for Chemistry, that “struck him that the two have this thing in common: that an infinite range of expressions can be generated from a finite number of elements”, his return to a civil-war torn Sofia when his family is too broke to fund his studies in Berlin, the execution of his closest revolutionary friend Boris and his wife’s desertion of him.
We witness the disintegration of a whole civilization, a whole nation, an entire city known for its cultural fecundity, a whole family, an entire life; their destinies interwoven with the threads of music, chemistry and bloodshed. A hundred years’ history.
But then, Ulrich begins day-dreaming in the second movement of the novel, whose first movement was yet only Chemistry, the external world of Ulrich, and of Bulgaria. But Ulrich is no longer bound by the past. He is free to imagine the world that might have been, if he had a new century to live in. A life that might have been, but which never happened. Reality and day-dreams, one merging into the other, so you cannot know the difference.
In a sense, it is as much an anti-Communist novel as Animal Farm – the pictures of the physical and moral destruction of everything Sofia represented is still vivid, as the novel overflows with corruption, violence and persecution for as little as a lone voice of dissent or possessing a piece of non-Bulgarian, and therefore, bourgeoisie music. But then, it is subtly critical of Capitalism as well.
Music and Science, considered some of the hallmarks of human advancement, are viewed through this spectacle of socio-political chaos; or rather, the disintegration of civilization is silently observed by what it does to music and science.
Dasgupta said:“I was very attracted to Bulgaria through its music. The country has an amazing musical tradition. There is a vibrant folk music, but, having been part of the Ottoman Empire, there has also been Turkish, Arabic and Gypsy music. And the story of how the Communist state banned all this other music, banned jazz, and created an enormous silence around music – all this is a very Bulgarian story, and it’s a big part of the story I wanted to tell.”
Similarly, for science as a creative field pursued for the betterment of life, Dasgupta said,“People followed Einstein’s theories and the newspapers explained those theories, and there was this connection between public culture and science. Then [when the Nazis began to persecute Jewish scientists], this scene was completely destroyed. I mean it was an amazing handover of Europe to America.”
The disillusionment with science is complete, for Ulrich in the wake of Hiroshima after the burning light of progress has shown its dangerous side: “What happened to those beautiful scientists when they got to America?”, he wonders.
The second movement captures life in the 21st century Georgia – what would it be like for Boris the musician, and Ulrich to have had their youth in a world so different from the one they had lived? Ulrich’s daydreams takes us to the post-Twin Towers-collapse Georgia where Khatuna rises abruptly in her career as a business-woman when she catches the attention of Kakha, a millionaire, while her brother Irakli writes poetry and fiercely abhors the gangster’s company his sister enjoys. Where Boris signs contracts with Universal Studios and gives concerts in New York. Where Ulrich no longer falls from aristocracy to poverty. Is life any better? Have we really made our lives better, with all the money and smart businesses? With illegal crime replacing the atrocities of an approved monarchy, has the world moved on to become a better place?
It is a dreamy, tragic, melancholic and strange story wound around music and chemistry, spanning the whole twentieth century and a little of twenty-first century. A tragedy so subtle, it leaves no traces of its wounds. There are no scars to show; the wounds are concealed beneath. And there's nothing so overwhelming as an underscored tragedy.
Where has humanity failed itself? From evolving into a harmonic orchestra, has it been reduced to every artist playing a solo, lonely and consumed by the self?
Told from the sightless eyes of the hundred year old Ulrich, it is a haunting story of the ultimate failure of humanity in saving itself. Not from an alien attack, but from its own implosion. For every genius it brings forth, it thwarts back a few more. For every melody it sings, it deafens a life with its cries. For every new invention it prides itself on, it marks its own body with destruction. For every publicized glittering success, it withholds a million failures that paid the price.
It is not Ulrich we see in the two movements, but the possibilities that could have been. And the impossibility of true peace. Wherever Ulrich might have been, he would be denied harmony. He is destined to play solo. And so are we.
That was when the ones who smiled, Were the dead, glad to be at rest.
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