Louis de Bernières

I endured emotional whiplash from the shift in mood between quirky, zany antics of a small Greek village and the horrors experienced on the Grecian World War II front, followed by those of a civil war. Perhaps this is to emphasize the void between the soldiers' experience and that of civilian life, or the costs of war, or to alleviate the mood, or ...? Whatever the reason, the rapid shifts between the two (all the chapters are short) makes for a very bumpy ride. It inspired a laugh in show more several places, weighted with an undercurrent of hesitancy as I'd recall scenes from the chapter just before. And then there is the slowly growing premonition that, before all is finished, these two things are destined to meet one another. I had little idea how much this novel was indebted to actual history until I discovered the Wikipedia entry for the island of Cephalonia.

The movie trailers from 2001 were all I had as first impression (I've never seen the movie) so I anticipated the romance bits, but they are mere window dressing. Nobody would mistake this for a romance novel. It's a brutal war novel, but one that happens to know a thing a two about love, as when the doctor is speaking to his daughter: "Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day ... No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being "in love", which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew toward each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two." It also knows a thing or two about how individuals and nations can find their feet again after a hard fall. show less

Tracing the fall of the Ottoman Empire and the birth of the modern republic of Turkey, this novel alternates the first and third person narratives of a range of characters from the fictional town of Eskibahçe (meaning Garden of Eden) in southwest Turkey with an account of the life of Mustafa Kemal, later Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the first leader of modern Turkey.

At the turn of the 20th century, the inhabitants of Eskibahçe comprise Muslim Turks, Christians of Greek origin and Armenians. show more They live together in relative harmony, forming friendships and inter-marrying. Both Christians and Muslims hedge their bets somewhat, with Muslims asking their Christian friends to offer prayers of intercession and Christians having a profound respect for the local imam. The lives of the inhabitants of Eskibahçe are torn apart by World War I and Turkey’s subsequent war with Greece, together with the Armenian genocide and the forced exile of Turkish Christians to Greece and of Muslim Greeks to Turkey.

In beautiful and accessible prose, de Bernières creates a strong sense of time and place. I found the chapters dealing with the Gallipoli campaign particularly powerful. The story of this WWI campaign is well-known to Australians and New Zealanders, who commemorate the landing at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915 as a national day to honour those who have served their country in time of war. It was extremely moving to read an account of the campaign – including an account of the fellowship and respect which grew between the Turkish and the Australian and New Zealand soldiers – from a Turkish point of view. The account of the forced exodus of Armenians in 1915 (and the subsequent Armenian genocide, which in terms of the novel occurs “off-stage”) and that of the expulsion of Greeks from Turkey and of Muslims from Greece after the signing of the “Convention Concerning the Exchange of Greek and Turkish Populations” in 1923 are also powerful and moving.

It took me a while to become completely engaged with the characters and the narrative. This is a long novel and de Bernières introduces his characters and builds tension slowly. While there is plenty of humour – a lot of it sardonic - the work is a serious indictment of extreme nationalism, of religious dogma and of war and its atrocities. However, it also explores human resilience and the type of love and friendship which can survive even the horror of war and ethnic and religious conflict . In a sense, Eskibahçe represents a Turkey in which different religious and ethnic communities could live in harmony before the choice to do so was taken away from them. And the tragic love story of the Muslim boy Ibrahim and the Christian girl Philotei which forms part of the narrative represents the tragedy which befell Greek Christians expelled from Turkey to a land which was not their own. In the process of describing the devastation on which this novel centres, de Bernières does not spare himself in criticising those he considers responsible for what occurred.

Before I started reading the novel, I was reasonably familiar with the political situation in Turkey since the 1980s. By reading it I learned a lot about the beginnings of modern Turkey and was able to put what I already knew into historical context. This is not an easy novel to read. However, it made me both laugh and cry and for a patient reader with an interest in 20th century international relations, the novel is a rewarding literary experience. Thanks to my GR friend Chrissie for recommending it to me. show less

A historical novel of the very best kind...full of actual history, human stories of love, sacrifice, joy and sorrow sweeping the reader along with all the emotions. I saw the movie based on this novel, and remember being relatively unmoved by it. That probably kept me from visiting the book for years, unfortunately.

In World War II, a Greek physician and his lovely young daughter on the Isle of Cephalonia live through the occupation of their paradise by both Italians and Germans; the show more privations and horrors associated with war in general; the treachery and brutality of an army on the verge of defeat; and the ultimate insult added to those injuries: the massive earthquake of 1953 that destroyed their homes. Through it all, the islanders manage feats of bravery and resistance; find some sympathy, friendship, and even love among the occupiers; question the ancient gods, philosophers and poets; endure. The lively irreverent Captain Antonio Corelli and his mandolin lighten the mood, and encourage hope for the future, but circumstances do not bode well for any sort of happy ending. Reviewers have aptly compared this novel to Tolstoy and Dickens, for it is tragic and comic in equal measure. Sometimes it's hard to know which mask you're seeing. 5 stars show less

I read this book in my late teens / early twenties, and adored it. So with war in Europe again, I went back to see if the suck fairy had visited...

And was pleasantly surprised! It remains lyrical, entrancing, heartbreaking and stirring, staying with your heart like the last chords of mandolin music echoing over the hills.

It is such an odd book. de Bernieres' ridiculously over the top prose isn't even trying to be literary, but somehow the florid and convoluted sentences are just right for show more drawing out the personalities of his characters and the world they live in. And it is the carefully drawn personalities that make this book. It is so easy to fall in love with Psipsina the pine marten, the gentle Doctor with his rambling history, and of course Pelagia and her handsome captain. Even the baddies are drawn sympathetically and complexly. Bits remind me of Ulysses, that very stream-of-conscious intimate insight into people's minds.

When I was younger I read it for the love triangle - betrothed to a man she can no longer love, Pelagia falls for an Italian captain, and must hide her love or be branded a collaborator. Now I am older, the themes of PTSD and being broken by tragedy are so much clearer - Mandras, broken by the horrors of war, Dr Iannis who never speaks again after the earthquake, Pelagia nursing her father's grave... The war in this book is horrific and traumatic, flesh sloughing off from frostbite, doomed marches with little reason or hope...

There are a few things that are more uncomfortable to me now though. At the time, the book was one of the first I had encountered with a sympathetic gay character. Now the story of 'gay man stays closetted his entire life and dies heroically saving the man he loves' is more uncomfortable than it was then,. And Corelli's homophobia, while realistic, is so sad: 'I wish you hadn't shown me these. I've just realised that I'm more old fashioned than I thought'. Also, for all Pelagia is painted as So Awesome and going to be a female doctor, she is surprisingly passive in much of the main storyline, and the lengths the book goes to to have her still pure and virginal and making sure we all know this is slightly uncomfortable. 'She is going to bring up a child! But definitely not Her Child!' 'She is going to get raped by her ex fiance! But definitely Not Enough to make her Damaged Goods!' The way she waits around for Corelli forever, but never actually does any kind of research on Italian mandarin players, would be amazingly annoying, if it wasn't contrasted with the supremely ridiculous 'I came all this way to see you but ran away because you were holding a baby' behaviour of Corelli.

Then again, maybe that's what I love about this book, the characters are full of human foibles and ridiculousness, and that's what makes them lovable even as we roll our eyes at them. show less