The press is quick to shout “phenomenon” and “masterpiece.” I, perhaps skeptical by nature, am more hesitant. I’m not a fierce critic of contemporary literature, but I’m not quick to swallow the marketing line that calls everything “unmissable” and “extraordinary” either. I’ve been burned before, and I take all reviews with a grain of salt, especially the ones with a thousand stars, endless thumbs-ups, and syrupy buzzwords.
So I started reading Biedermann’s Lázár without big expectations, drawn in by the cover (I’m not ashamed to admit it) and by meeting the young Swiss author at the Pordenone Legge literary festival. In his talk, which lasted almost an hour, he spoke about his family, the inspiration for the book, the memories of past generations, and a splendor lost between wars and invasions. Of everything he said, one detail stuck with me. The German press leveled one specific criticism at Lázár: there are too many emotions.
Leaving aside the fact that literature is emotions (what are we even talking about, dear Germans?), what I felt was missing while reading this novel was precisely the emotion. Especially in the first part, which promises a lot. There’s the promise of supernatural presences in a gloomy forest that takes life in and spits it back out. And there’s the promise of a family full of secrets. But which secrets? If there are any, Biedermann never reveals them. If anything, he often leaves things half-said, or unsaid altogether.
A touch of mystery always belongs in a good book, but how many threads can be left dangling before the reader gets fed up? You don’t need to say everything (never say everything, as the writing and literature professors would tell you), but you do have to say something. I’m thinking in particular of the fate of two characters, who are left hanging after a few pages and forgotten somewhere between the Second World War and the Soviet advance into Hungary.
The historical part, which coincides with the second half of the novel, was probably my favorite. It’s the moment when the Lázár family realizes that the splendor they’ve lived in for years (thanks in part to the Austro-Hungarian Empire) is about to end. From their villa on the edge of the dark forest, the war seems at first like just a story to tell, distant and foreign, but soon it becomes real and close. Here the mysterious, supernatural element fades and the historical one takes over, tying the Lázár family to the fate of Hungary, with some characters forced to flee, others becoming rebels, and still others turning into collaborators, out of cowardice and fear.
I can’t say I didn’t like this book, and I can’t say it’s a “phenomenon” either. What I can say is that, for the debut novel of a 21-year-old, Lázár is an interesting read, and since it’s only 300 pages, I think it’s worth picking up. If only to form your own opinion of a story that, for all its flaws, isn’t without its merits.
It’s not the masterpiece the press has announced, but Lázár has a solid second half, when the war stops being a distant story and walks right into the villa. If you love family sagas and aren’t bothered by a few loose threads, it’s worth its 300 pages. If you’re looking for a book that sweeps you off your feet, probably not.
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