Marginalia

You may have noticed (though probably not since I never pay attention to it) that my "What I'm Reading" has been changing at a break-neck pace this week. Amazing, I know! Big margins and less than 120 pages can do that.

The first one I tackled was "Les Combustibles" by Amelie Nothomb, a prominent modern French writer. This play fit well with what I know of French drama, at least from the past century. Just three characters in one room with very few props and no action beyond talking. The main thrust of the plot: In a city under siege, a professor, his assistant and a student are essentially trapped living together. It's winter and they have no more fuel. But they do have a huge, well-stocked bookcase. They turn the question "What book would you take on a desert island?" into "What one book would you save from the flames?" I was very hopeful that this might be another "Huis Clos" by Sartre ("No Exit" in English), but it didn't quite muster the same impact. It would still be interesting to see performed, though.

From that cheerful topic, I moved on to "Night" by Elie Wiesel. Frankly, a blog is not the proper place to discuss this book. It would seem too flippant. Suffice it to say, a very powerful book. I certainly wish I'd been chosen for this group in ninth grade rather than getting stuck with "The Old Man and the Sea" by Hemingway. The book was not surprising in its content, though, after my trip to Dachau. Each voice gives new pain and power to this tragedy, but nothing will compare to staring into the open maw of a crematory oven. This can't be forgotten. If you ever go to Germany, you really should visit a camp. And you should read this book.

On a different tangent ...

The public library in Bethune, France, was named La Mediatheque Elie Wiesel (no thumping dance music). I was always a mite confused by that, but apparently he wrote "Night" in French, feeling that the Yiddish words were corrupted by the Holocaust. That is something I love about the French, though; public institutions are named after important figures in art and literature. The high school I lived at was named after Andre Malraux, a poet. A school down the street was named for Salvador Allende -- okay, not arts, but how interesting to name something for a Chilean. And of course, there was everyone's favorite currency, the 50 franc note with St.-Exupery and the Little Prince on it.