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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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122589
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12258900.047
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1990-09-22
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BOOKS, Page 79Fall into ChaosBy Robert Hughes
THE SNOWS OF YESTERYEAR
by Gregor von Rezzori
Knopf; 290 pages; $19.95
Nostalgia is what we like today: warm, a bit muzzy, with lots
of generalizing dips back into a past full of evocative stage props
and period business. Memory is another matter. Remembering
truthfully is as difficult as inventing well -- indeed, more so;
hence the paucity of good memoirs. "You must never undertake the
search for time lost," warns the last sentence of Gregor von
Rezzori's The Snows of Yesteryear, "in the spirit of nostalgic
tourism." The rest of the book shows how carefully he has obeyed
this precept.
American readers know Rezzori mainly for two richly convoluted
memory novels of Europe before and after World War II, Memoirs of
an Anti-Semite (1981) and The Death of My Brother Abel (1985). The
Snows of Yesteryear looks back before their time frame, to the
childhood and, implicitly, the formation of a writer. It leads into
a world now irretrievably lost, its values blown away by World War
I and its fortunes wrecked by the inflationary '20s -- "For the
class to which my parents belonged . . . a fall into chaos, into
impotence and deprivation."
Rezzori was the son of a minor aristocratic family living on
the outer fringes of the Austro-Hungarian Empire near Czernowitz
in the Bukovina, which became part of Rumania in 1919 when Rezzori
was five, and was later swallowed by the Soviet Union. Rezzori's
tale is not a continuous narrative but a group of character studies
of five people who presided over his childhood and youth -- pillars
of the writer's adult imagination around whose base the boy's life
was lived.
An extraordinary set they were. His Carpathian peasant nurse,
Cassandra, part witch and part illiterate earth mother, was given
to romping naked with the pack of family dogs -- "a Lady Godiva
with a pitch-black mane," whose fierce nurturing exuberance was in
utmost contrast to the coddling anxieties of a beautiful, irascible
Viennese mother. Mama believed she had gone below her station in
the polyglot provinces of the Bukovina. Father was sexually
unfaithful to her and volcanic in temper; an anti-Semite who
despised Nazis as Untermenschen; a watercolorist, photographer and
architectural historian whose diversions included dragging a dead
wild boar through the hall and up the stairs in the course of a
soiree. Above all, Baron von Rezzori was an obsessive hunter, whose
profound and almost mystical relation with the woods and the
etiquette of the chase would mark his son for life. Finally there
were the beloved Other, his sister, dead at 21, and the Pomeranian
governess, "Bunchy," who presided over the boy's home education as
she had over his mother's.
Strong material, then; and Rezzori follows this family
labyrinth back with a fine disdain for sentiment, a transparency
of feeling, an acid sense of humor and a vigilant eye for nuances
of love and indifference, language, landscape and class behavior.
It is not a young man's (or a moralist's) book. But it is intensely
moving and contains, in its winding and ironic cadences, not a
slack sentence: a performance in a difficult key about the making
of a near extinct kind of European.