Today I read the next fifty pages of Manuel Vázquez
Montalbán’s The Buenos Aires Quintet.
This is the section of the novel where I began to feel that Montalbán is overstaying
his welcome. The subplots continue to proliferate (here it is mostly a
storyline involving the boxer Boom Boom Peretti, who is being blackmailed by
Loaiza, a former friend of his. Peretti hires Carvalho to find out exactly what
Loiaza wants) and they mostly seem to serve as a way to bring together the main
players in the drama in ever closer proximity. The boxing match that Alma,
Carvalho, Muriel, and the Captain all attend reminded me irresistibly of the
boxing match in Hammett’s Red Harvest,
but it main purpose is to give Carvalho a clue that the Captain and Muriel may
be related to each other. In other words, Carvalho is inching ever closer to a
solution of what seems to have become the novel’s main mystery (what happened
to Alma and Raúl’s daughter, or more precisely, will they find out what
happened to their daughter?) but the progress is at a snail’s pace. This may be
Montalbán’s way of emphasizing that his detective can do very little in this
kind of environment other than wait for the pieces to fall into place and
recognize the resulting pattern when they do, but it does not make for an
exciting read.
I also read the first fifty
pages of Elizabeth R. Baer’s 2012 book The Golem Redux: From
Prague to Post-Holocaust Fiction. Building on previous surveys of the golem’s presence in
literature and culture, Baer aims to analyze why this figure remains so
prevalent in post-Holocaust and contemporary literature and culture. With
Adorno’s famous prohibition against the writing of poetry after Auschwitz in
mind, Baer argues that “the golem serves in several ways to provoke readers to
consider the viability of
imaginative
works about the Shoah” (emphasis in original). Contra Adorno, Baer argues that
the golem’s presence constitutes a defense of the continued relevance of the imagination
and imaginative literature in the post-Holocaust period. Baer’s other main
contribution in this book is her emphasis on the importance of intertextuality
(in the Kristevan sense) in understanding the character and importance of the golem
legend. “No wonder he has been adopted, adapted, appropriated, and riffed upon
in so many post-Holocaust fictions: intertextuality is an approach to writing
devoted to instability, multiplicity, and correction.” This first section of
the book, after providing this framework, establishes the (literary) origins of
the golem legend before going to examine its twentieth-century incarnations,
including Gustav Meyrink’s novel
Der
Golem (1915) Paul Wegener’s 1920 film
Der
Golem: Wie er in die Welt kam.
Inspired by Baer’s book, I
also watched Paul Wegener’s 1920 film Der Golem: Wie er in die
Welt kam (The Golem: How He Came Into the World) . Wegener was so
fascinated by the figure of the Golem that he made three films featuring him;
this is the only one to have survived. It tells the story of how Rabbi Loew
saves the Jewish community of 16th century Prague by bringing the
Golem to life and using him to change the Holy Roman Emperor’s mind about
expelling the Jews from the city. Baer discusses the issue of whether or not
the film is anti-semitic at length in her book. My own view is that it reflects
the default anti-semitism of its time but that this fact alone does not define
the film. In other words, the film is also an important example of the
sympathetic dramatization of Jewish mythology and a key example of the German
Expressionist school of filmmaking. The sets and cinematography are both
absolutely extraordinary and Wegener, who plays the Golem, is wonderfully
effective at showing the evolution of the Golem’s personality in the short time
that he is alive. David Bordwell hits the nail on the head when he says “But
putting aside Der Golem’s minor
weaknesses, it has marvelous moments that summon up what cinematic
Expressionism could be.” Bordwell’s essay can be found here and the film itself here.
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