Introducing Zadie Smith's On Beauty

I'm not very well informed when it comes to newer books. Sometimes I suffer under the impression that all the really well-written books were written at least fifty years ago, far enough back for them to show up on a syllabus in one of my literature classes. But I'm starting to overcome that bias, aided in part by the realization that professors aren't waiting that long to add books to their syllabi. I learned about Zadie Smith's book in the sidebar to an article in Time magazine (some might say that's hardly the place to learn about well-written books, but I'm still new to this, so bear with me) called "Who's the Voice of This Generation?" (by Lev Grossmen in the July 10, 2006 issue). The article begins with the question, "who is today's leading young novelist?" Most of the article bemoans the fact that while we have several great young writers, including Jonathan Safran Foer and Zadie Smith, we don't have one that has really captured the experience of this generation. But then Grossmen also points out that all the previous "voices" were white men, raising questions about their ability to speak for a generation of people who weren't all white or all male. I'm not sure I'm qualified to judge whether Smith is the voice of my generation (she's 30, only a year or two older than me), but perhaps that's a question worth keeping in mind as we read.

The article also points out that the novels written by the likes of Foer and Smith have a lot in common. They're getting shorter and they're "hybridizing high and low [fiction], grafting the brilliant verbal intelligence of high literature onto the sturdy narrative roots of genre fiction." Perhaps this is another set of issues to keep in mind. What makes fiction high or low? Is that mix present in On Beauty? And does it work?

Here's some biographical tidbits I gleaned from another Time article on Zadie Smith ("Of Roots and Family Trees" by Nadya Labi, in the May 8, 2000 issue):

According to Zadie Smith, her first novel, White Teeth, was written to "prove something." Labi speculates that Smith wanted to prove "that a young, half-Jamaican, half-white female could write a novel that transcends her personal demographics." Is she still out to prove something in this, her third novel?

Smith grew up in London in a working-class, irreligious home.

She got her first book deal when she was only 21.

A review of On Beauty (Time, Sept. 11, 2005) points out that the book is loosely based on E. M. Forster's book Howard's End. I'm gonna have to add that book to my "To Read" list.

Addendum

Since my last post wasn't as thoughtful as I would have liked, and because I think you raised some interesting issues in your post, I wanted to respond to some of your ideas.

I love what you have to say about the grandfather. In the movie, I thought he killed himself because he had survivor's remorse. The movie gave me the idea that he should have been killed by the Nazis because he was a Jew, but he miraculously survived. Anyway, I think part of what makes this such a great book is the fact that his death is still full of complexity and confusion even though it also gives us a better idea of what happened to Grandfather and why he might want to kill himself. Perhaps after returning to that area of the Ukraine he was overwhelmed with memories and guilt. After all, the wife that he sacrificed his friend for was no longer alive and his son was a big jerk. Yet his death also seems so senseless. Why should he die now after choosing to live for so many years following the tragedy? Going back to Kolki and Trachimbrod seems like an opportunity to face his old demons and overcome them. But instead they become too much for him. I also get the idea that the most difficult thing for Grandfather was the knowledge that now Alex also knew what he had done and that was harder to face. And how terrible that must be, to first live through such an excruciating decision and then have to admit it to your grandson. In hindsight that night must have seemed even more terrible.

Going back to my theme of comparisons: Now that I'm at the end, I feel like Foer has woven all these different threads together without tying any of them off, leaving them loose and unresolved. But the theme of suffering links them all together in such a way that perhaps Grandfather's suicide and the sense of conclusion that it provides (even if it does feel senseless) becomes representative for all the different stories of struggle. Earlier I wanted to decide who had suffered more and what was real pain, but I think Alex's relationship with his father and his own grandfather's suicide suggests that trying to rank suffering is ridiculous.

The End

So I finally finished the book, only a week or so late. I feel like I should say something eloquent about this book, but I just don't have anything intelligent to say. Here are some of my rambling thoughts nonetheless.

I liked the way the book ended with all the loose ends. I'm confused though about whether Jonathan's grandfather died when the Nazis came to Trachimbrod or if we escaped or if he left before. And it sounded like Zosha died, but I thought she was his grandmother. And then there're all the questions I have about Alex's grandfather. I felt like the movie left me with some sort of closure and like there were some conclusions that I could draw, and that felt good. I guess I liked the idea that I could place this tragedy in a nice little box with a beginning and an end. But now that I've read the book, the end of the movie seems almost trite. This book seems like the first I've read to really address the fact that there wasn't a nice, complete end to the tragedy of the war. The war not only destroyed the lives of everyone who died, but it also reached out and poisoned the lives of those who lived, like Alex's grandfather and his own dad. I can't help but think about my own grandpa who fought in WWII and came back from the war a different person, according to some of my great aunts who knew him before and after. The book also seemed to be true to Foer's own experience searching for his relatives if indeed he did and was unable to find any connection to them.

This book seems to have the potential for further digging and discovery, but I don't quite feel up to it. At any rate, I'm glad I read the book. Even if it was a bit rough at times for my taste, there were also many poetic moments, and it got me thinking about war and the holocaust in a new way. Perhaps if I get a chance, I'll try to write something more intelligent, but I wanted to let you know that I did finish the book and to record some of my thoughts on it.

Some Final Thoughts

I actually finished the book a week or so ago, but I didn't want to post. I wanted to let everything just sit for awhile. It was just so sad. So sad. Throughout the entire reading of this novel all of my comments have had a reoccuring theme: recreating history. I've just seen this repeated over and over and I hope you won't mind that mind if I touch briefly on this theme again.

When I saw the movie, I wanted to know more about the grandfather. I wanted to know why he killed himself then, there, and in that way. I think the book really answered my questions and also goes along with the idea of history and what we do with it. The images that were painted by the grandfather of the burning synagogue, the shootings, the pitting of friends and neighbors against each other were really painful for me to read. It was also painful to read about Trachimbrod and what happened during the bombings. There's a lot that could be said about the river too and all that it means, but this isn't a paper it's a post, so I'll get back to my original thought. Here is why I think the grandfather killed himself: because he was the last link to those horrible events and he felt that in order for Alex to truly move on with his life and embrace a better one that all the connections with that night had to be erased. Alex had told his father to leave and his father was present that terrible night. Only the grandfather was left. He was the only survivor in the house and I believe he killed himself to sever any connection with that night. In his final letter to Jonathan the grandfather writes, "They must begin again. They must cut all strings, yes? With you, with their father, with everything they have known"(275). There can be no one left to remember and know firsthand the horrible events that took place. Even Jonathan's grandfather is dead and there is only one survivor of Trachimbrod and she will soon die too.

This book showed the effects of war and how they can be felt for so long after the war is over. The memories never disappear and color the choices the individual makes forever after. I thought the comment about being a good person during a bad time was interesting and also very sad. The grandfather had to choose between his family and his friend. People should never be made to make those decisions. Augustine/Lista's father had to make a horrible decision too: deny your faith or your family dies. Again, a horrific decision to have to make.

I suppose the grandfather thought that Alex and Iggy could start anew, but that's never really possible. Alex knows some of his family history now. He has experienced things with Jonathan that he will not forget. However, he is a good person and he is living in a good time. That makes a difference. I just wonder how he will speak of this experience 50 years down the road. How will he recreate his grandfather's story and his own? The recreation has already begun in the last chapter when he translates his grandfather's letter to Jonathan and the letter has no end. The story has no formal conclusion. It goes on.

Brod and Augustine (who's real name is Lista)

p. 202, "Falling in Love, 1934-1941"

As I've been reading (trying to catch up with you, Katie), I started to notice poetic connections between the different stories that appear in the chapters about Trachimbrod. For example, when I came to the part about the Wisps of Ardisht (p. 136) while reading "The Dial, 1941-1804-1941" (119-141), I got confused. I'm still not really sure who the Wisps of Ardisht are except for what it says about them in this chapter. If they were mentioned before, and I'm assuming they were, I forgot about them long before I got to this bit about them. "Why on earth did Foer insert this little story here?" I wondered. But as I read about their plan to keep their cigarettes alight by making sure that someone always had a lit cigarette from which others could be lit, I thought of the Dial. In a way I think he's sort of like the lit cigarette. His features are continually being remade in the image of his worshippers, but that contributes to his power and popularity in the minds of his worshippers. For a time, he was like the fire that continued to burn in the hearts of his adorers and the tradition that connected all the marriages in Trachimbrod.

And going along with what you wrote last time, I think the Dial is also symbolic of the writing that Alex and Jonathan are doing. As they try to tell the story of others, they can't help but remake their stories in the image of their own perception and perspective. Foer, through Alex, seems to nod at this idea when Alex complains about his grandfather sharing truths with the woman they call Augustine: "Or perhaps he was lying. This is what I wanted, for him to present not-truths to her. She did not deserve the truth, not as I deserved the truth. Or we both deserved the truth, and the hero, too. All of us” (p.156). For Alex there seems to be one truth, even in this world where they have to follow Augustine/Lista to Trachimbrod when she refuses to ride in the car. By following her, they seem to acknowledge, however impatiently, that they are going to view Trachimbrod through her eyes. And really this is their only option since the town no longer exists. This could probably be better thought out, but hopefully it’s making sense.

Other such poetic images include the house that's actually two houses, because it's only connected at the attic (p. 161). To get to the kitchen from the bedrooms, one would need to walk up to the attic to cross over and then walk down to the kitchen (could one use the front door instead of the attic?). This seemed like a great metaphor for Jonathan's and Alex's two stories in one book. They're almost separate stories, but I believe they will connect in a way that might seem distant or inconvenient. If the movie was faithful to the story, then Alex's grandfather should be connected to the story of Jonathan's own grandfather, even if it is a somewhat loose connection. The house also reminds me of Jonathan's family in the sense that much of his family lived in the Ukraine and knew only the Ukraine, but now Jonathan and his mother really know only America. Only his grandparents connect the two different families. I suppose I could go on.

At any rate, all of this leads me to compare Brod and Augustine. [BTW: am I off for thinking that Augustine/Lista was the older sister she described?] Both feel immense sorrow, but I think I find A/L's more credible than Brod's. I think Brod had every reason to feel sorrow when her husband became a psychopath, but Foer describes her as having sorrow before she ever gets married. And according to Foer she seems to enjoy the Kolker's abuse. I don't think it's really as simple as saying that Brod is selfish in her sorrow and A/L isn't. But I do feel that way. Is it a fair comparison? And are these women somehow connected like the two-house? Perhaps I should consider similarities other than their sorrow.