Tranquility

Hello Gentle Reader

Hell has once been proclaimed as being other people. Then family must be eternal suffering. Family as suffering is a unique form of hell; one in which victim and perpetrator cycle through each other, complete with their own shifts, calendars and seasons, along with an array of new techniques in which to fan the flames. In the dynamics of the game of power and subordination of the family, someone must suffer, their turn equally. A dish must be broken; a door must slam; a threat of divorce must be on the horizon; someone’s home cooked meal must be left untouched and unconsumed on the table, while the others growl in protest on their beds. Some must be scorned, and someone must unleash it. Of course it’s not always the physical actions which are present that makes it help; there is of course the interrogative incantations filled with interloping probes: “where are you going?” or “who are you talking to?” or “what are you eating?” or “when are you leaving?” or “how are you going to get back?” – In preparation for this one has already concocted their own enchantments to dissuade and counteract the onslaught which will descend them: “nowhere,” “no one,” “nothing,” “don’t know,” “no idea.” Each of us in our own way survives the hell of family; as we are continually drawn back to it. We overlook our missteps or mishaps and our mistakes. We forgive (even if it’s not outright) and accept the shortcomings of those we know the best, not by choice, but by obligation. And some of us are foolish enough to transpire and transgress, while following in the shadows and experiences of their parents, by producing their own families, fit with their own stage to begin once again a family theatre of cruelty and absurdity.

Attlia Bartis is an ethnic Hungarian born in Romania. Bartis’s father was a journalist, and before the family immigrated to Hungary in nineteen-eighty four, they were continuously harassed by the State (communism did not apparently over look ethnic differences or oddities in its utopian sense of equalitarianism; at least not under Ceaușescu's view and interpretation of communism; or perhaps it had to do with his father being a journalist.). When the family immigrated to Hungary, they settled in Budapest; and here in the nation’s capital Attlia Bartis would study photography, a profession still practiced alongside his literary endeavors; Bartis’s photographs are noted for being shown in numerous exhibitions. “Tranquility,” is Bartis’s debut novel in English, and was quickly praised by critics and readers alike. The novel would go on and receive “The Best Translated Book Award,” seven years ago (2009). Since then there has been no word of Bartis’s and any future translations. Research though shows that Attlia Bartis is not a prolific writer (as it’s a secondary endeavor to his main interest of photography), where he has a short story collection published, a novella, as well as a theatrical adaption of “Tranquility.” 

           

The co-dependent hell of Andor Weér in “Tranquility,” far exceeds the normal dysfunctional dynamics of a typical family unit, and its inferno punishment. In Attlia Bartis’s novel, the relationship between the son (Andor) and his monster of a mother (Rebeka Weér) is the focal point of the novel. The complex (and oedipal) relationship between mother and son, becomes a battle ground of the obscene, visceral, grotesque, with the faintest slivers of sincerity salt and peppered throughout. In this novel, Attlia Bartis’s observes the power clash and subjection of one individual beneath the domination of another; the roles of the subdued and the dominator often change in the chaotic turbulence of the small apartment in which they freely choose to coincide in. The occupation of Hungary by the Soviets during this period is not the main focus of the novel; but rather a landscape or scene designed to depict the historical backdrop of the period, which is only glimpsed out of the window; and only occasional makes its unwelcome self, known within the house.

The novel opens with the bureaucratic process of death being artfully observed, in which Andor attempts to prolong his mother’s corpse ‘preservation,’ in a freezer for a while longer, so his lover Eszter too can witness the funeral of his mother. The funeral clerk, informs him that cannot be a possibility, and despite the offer of a bribe, she quotes a health regulation and declines. The funeral procession then continues without Eszter present. As the novel progresses forward, we soon begin to have an understanding of Andor Weér and the three complicated women in his life: first his mother Rebeka; second his sister Judit; and third his lover Eszter. Andor Weér is a writer himself; he published a short story collection, and finds himself committed to readings and tours, as well as interviews; where his own neurosis and general misanthropy are advertised towards his fellow human beings. This can all be understood, considering the environment Andor was subjected to. His mommy dearest (Rebeka) was a famous actress, most well known for her rendition of Shakespeare’s Cleopatra in “Antony and Cleopatra.” However, typical of an individual whose used to adoration and praise of critics and theatre viewers, Rebeka was a narcissistic creature who had little to no time left for her family or children; for the ambition of the stage would call first and foremost for her. However, times do change, and dearest mother had fallen out of fashion – at least in the ideological sense; and her acting career was no longer existent. Once the stage was no longer accessible and the lights extinguished, Rebeka had no reason to leave her apartment and resigned herself to her reclusive state. However, her theatrics were anywhere but left behind. As Andor points out the furniture in the crypt like apartment, was stolen from sets and theatres:

“The armchair had once belonged to Lady Macbeth, the bed to Laura Lenbach, and the chest of drawers to Anna Karenina.”

Now a recluse with no contact with the outside world, Rebeka turns her festering resentment and hatred towards Andor. Her probing questions – such as: “wherehaveyoubeenson?” is more an opening argument by the inquisition, then it is a dotting affectionate annoyance of maternal love or care. Yet it is Judit’s fault that Rebeka finds herself alienated and banned from the stage; and withering away in her own theatrical tomb. Judit the talented and prodigious violinist had a strained relationship with her mother; often in passive aggressive remarks, criticizing her mother’s lack of nurture and self-absorption; it is Andor in their childhood who is more forgiving towards his mother. Judit’s talents however take her abroad, and she defects from communist Hungary and her more oppressive mother. Soon Rebeka is placed in a position. The state is well aware of how talented Judit is, and would appreciate those talented fingers, to return to Hungry; and who better to persuade dear Judit to promptly return, but dearest mother. With Rebeka’s attempts falling on deaf ears, she declares Judit dead to her, and in a macabre pseudo-funeral, symbolically buries her daughter. This publicity stunt of mitigation however is not favoured by the authorities and soon Rebeka succumbs to the solitude of her existence. Soon the insanity that engrosses and connects Rebeka and Andor begin to take shape. His accommodations of his mother are frighteningly charged with resentment and deeply rooted affection; which borders on the most obscene thoughts a child could have towards their parent. Then Enters Eszter and the family dynamics and power struggle becomes even more vitriolic with a good seasoning of savagery, in which each one perpetrates on to the next.

“Tranquility,” is both bleak and humorous in it depicting the misanthropy, vitriol, and neurosis of its characters. It is with a great shame though, that I could not get engrossed by the novel because of studying and work often superseded my freedom and allotted time to read the book. “Tranquility,” would not be described as a novel for the impressionable or those of a delicate nature; but as much as one finds the characters deplorable, disgusting, debauched and completely deprived of any human trait; it is humorous and often lightens an otherwise disturbing novel. Though it certainly can be said that hell, no matter what shape or form; ignited or frozen – it most certainly would be best defined that hell resides in the nature that human beings are social creatures, but are capable of consciously inflicting misery and cruelty onto others around them; but also crave the social desires of being around others (even if it’s only for a short time). Hell then resides in the family unit; it resides in the work place; and personal opinion: one of the greatest hells one can suffer and endure is living with other people. Yet it were to seem the root of all hell (this coming naturally from an introvert) resides in the essence and nature of humans being social creatures; and we do require a personalized amount of it. “Tranquility,” is a unique observation of a skewered family dynamics of an extremely dysfunctional family, often seen in the view of an extremely dysfunctional relationship between mother and son. It’s a relationship built on grounds of inherited adoration and narcissistic desire, along with heavy dosages of guilt and grief; all tied together with a codependent need for each other. “Tranquility,” moves between obscenity and sincerity; what the difference is by the end, I couldn’t say.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader

Take Care

And As Always

Stay Well Read

M. Mary