Tuesday, 26th November 2002, 11:19am
An opinion by:
Johanna
Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Berniéres
Ok, its been a while since I last posted a review, but since I am covering maternity leave for Nette, I have done some serious reading. I've just realised all the books I'm reading, Captain Corelli included, were not written by "wonderful women writers who have died screaming to bring us many of our favourites" as promised on the main page. Apologies for this, but I also realised that, in searching for a band of great inspirational writers, I happen to have found some excellent male writers who make pretty strong cases about the wonderfulness of women. Couldn't help it. Here's to maternity leave!
On the cover of this book it should say "ohmigod, for god's sake don't start reading this book if you have Nazi inclinations, because by the end of it you're going to be a raving hippie of the new world, handing out flowers and chanting in Latin to Cephallonian street urchins." Instead it says "Absolutely Brilliant" quoted by Britain's hard-nosed political tv interviewer, Jeremy Paxman. It's a ploy to make you think it's a simple book, a stiff read. And if Jeremy Paxman liked it, it must be full of political ramblings.
No ramblings, plenty of realism. Sure, I learned more European History and Geography from this book than I did going to school for 13 years, but the information came as a carefully balanced lovingly-created living history. Even the problems of prejudice faced with writing history are described by the wonderful character Dr Iannis.
"'The New History of Cephallonia' was providing to be a problem. He sat down and wrote: 'Cepahallonia is a factory that breeds babies for export÷ we are an island of children, spinsters and the very old. The only good thing about it is that only the beautiful women find husbands÷ we have the most beautiful women in the whole of Greece, and perhaps in the whole of the Mediterranean. The unhappy thing about his is that we have unhappy spirited women married to the most grotesque and inappropriate husbands, who are good for nothing and never could be and we have some sad and ugly women that nobody wants, who are born to be widows without ever having had a husband.'
The doctor refilled his pipe and read this through."
The novel begins sounding like a novel, then each chapter is revealed to be spoken by a different voice. There is an internal monologue of Mussolini himself, an anonymous propaganda pamphlet, and the voice of a sad Italian soldier. My favourite chapter came as a bit of a surprise. It was about snails. Other chapters tell the stories of characters from the same Greek village that the novel eventually rests with. By over half-way through all the threads are cleverly woven together.
This is no easy book to stomach. I had to give up reading it at one point and move on to something else because it got too poignant. But when I picked it up again, I felt ashamed for having doubted Berniéres. Sure, it gets sad, it's a book about war. But more importantly, it's a book about people, and the life inside people, enemies and heroes alike. It's a history written by real people, about love, home, soldiers, emotions, history and experiencing these things first hand, from every angle. Berniéres' language touches all the senses; sounds, tastes, sensation and images are vividly described.
The story does not end when the war does, but carries on regardless with the tale of generations; how the young become the old, and how history is a thing of the present when witnessed through the eyes of the living.
The hero, Captain Corelli, enters beautifully on schedule half-way through the book. With his music, incredibly described in words, the kind Italian Captain brings his own flavour to the occupied island of Cephallonia. The author, actually a Londoner, delights in continually pointing out the comical differences between different nationalities. Here's my favourite example. Enjoy :
"(Postcards from around the world):
Santa Fe: 'You would like it here. All the houses are made of mud.'
Edinburgh: 'The wind at the top of the castle knocks you off your feet.'
Vienna: 'There is a statue of a Russian soldier here, and everyone calls it "The Monument to the
Unknown Rapist."
Rio de Janeiro: 'Carnival time. Streets full of urine and heartbreakingly beautiful girls.'
London: 'Mad people, terrible fog.'
Paris: 'Found a shop that only sold trusses and hernia supports.'
Glasgow: 'Knee-deep in soot and fallen drunks.'
Moscow: 'Works of art in the Metro.'
Madrid: 'Too hot. Everyone asleep.'
Cape Town: 'Nice Fruit, rotten pasta.'
Calcutta: 'Buried in dust. Abysmal diarrhoea.'"