Sándor Márai (1900–1989)

Imagine spending 41 years of your life mostly alone, and left to ponder the events of one emotionally wrenching day. The book opens with Henrik, a 75-year-old retired general, awaiting the arrival of Konrad, a close friend from his youth whom he has not seen since that significant day. The first third of the book sets up their shared history which began as 10-year-old schoolboys who formed an unusually strong bond, because or in spite of their very different socioeconomic backgrounds. They show more spent their school days and their holidays together, and Konrad was accepted as a member of Henrik's family. On finishing school, they grew into adulthood together through military service, but their relationship ended abruptly.

With this foundation laid, the story picks up with Konrad arriving to have dinner with Henrik. The table is set exactly as it was the last time they were together. Past events unfold through Henrik's voice, as he seeks to learn more about Konrad's life and uncover the truth which has been the source of so much pain over the years. This pain has smoldered, like the embers of the title, consuming Henrik body and soul. As the meal and the night wear on, the nature of their conflict is revealed in tiny fragments leading to the inevitable conclusion.

Sandor Marai weaves a tale that is surprisingly compelling, since it is told through primarily through Henrik's one-sided conversation with Konrad. The narrative's emotional depth was surprising. All too often, male friendships are portrayed as superficial. It was the strength of their bond, and the searing pain felt by both Henrik and Konrad is precisely what makes Embers such a special work. show less

Read for Equinox #1 / Topic 2

This short novel was sad, haunting, and thought-provoking. The plot is simple: the General has suffered an incredible betrayal and waited his whole life for revenge. The writing is often very beautiful, and there are many thoughts to ponder, especially about the true nature of friendship. I understand why this novel is so acclaimed. Unfortunately for me the ending was so disappointing that I can't rate it any higher; although the fact that the reader is left so show more deeply frustrated and unsatisfied was probably intentional. After 41 years, putting his entire life on hold and withdrawing form the world, living only to confront his old friend, once Konrad finally comes - the General never lets Konrad speak. He never gets the answer to his most burning question: Did Crisztina know? He never lets Konrad attempt to explain or apologize. So then what was the purpose of having Konrad come at all? This was obviously a very deliberate choice by the author, so I am sure he was trying to say something - but I'm not sure what. show less

A puzzling book for the reader, because of the way Márai added to it at widely-spaced intervals and at quite different stages in his development as a writer, apparently without changing what he had previously written, but each time shifting the tone and mood considerably and undermining our confidence in what we have taken from the earlier parts of the book.

The book takes the form of three separate monologues in the voices of Ilonka the First Wife, Peter the Husband, and Judit the Other show more Woman. These are followed by an Epilogue, also a monologue, in the voice of Ede, the musician who was Judit's lover and the addressee of her monologue.

Ilonka and Peter seem to be a normal, troubled bourgeois couple of the sort that we might well find in a novel by Franz Werfel or Stefan Zweig. They give us their (contrasting, conflicting) views on the story of their failed marriage and the role played by Peter's damaging obsession with his mother's maidservant Judit. There is a lot in both their narratives about the details of their everyday life, but very little reference to other people outside the immediate family — with the notable exception of Peter's friend the writer Lázár, who is obviously a kind of alter ego for the author — and no explicit reference at all to social class or historical events. We don't have any obvious way to tell whether we are meant to be in the 1890s or the 1930s, it just doesn't seem to matter. This is a story about what love means, how it can be resolved with everyday life, and what happens when different people have different expectations about it.

But then Márai hits us with Judit's monologue, addressed to her boyfriend of the moment in a hotel room in Rome sometime in the late 1940s, and obviously written after he went into exile. Judit comes from the rural underclass, her family literally sleeping in a ditch in the winter months, and has pulled herself up by her own efforts, first to become a servant in the apartment of Peter's wealthy middle-class parents, then to turn herself into a lady who could live with Peter on something like equal terms. Her analysis of the way the wealthy live and the irrelevance of Peter and Ilonka and their feelings is just disturbing at first, but we are drawn into her way of seeing things when she shows us (painfully) how the experience of the last days of the war in Budapest changed all the rules. There's obviously a lot here that is taken from the author's direct experience, including Lázár's decision that he can't go on writing under fascism and the destruction of his library in the bombardment.

And then we get the epilogue, written some forty years later, which pulls the rug out from under us again, if not quite as spectacularly as Judit has done.

Quite something, and the English translation by George Szirtes blasts along with real energy. show less

Set in Hungary in 1940, seventy-five-year-old Henrik is awaiting the arrival of his friend, Konrad, whom he has not seen in forty-one years. Henrik is a general who lives in palatial estate. Konrad is of a lower social position. Henrik and Konrad met at military school in Vienna when they were children. As the story unfolds, it becomes evident that a significant event occurred in the past, which created a rift between these men. Henrik intends to discover the truth of what happened. show more

“Silently, wobbling a little like shadows on a wall, they walk in this ghostly glow from the dining room through one cold salon after another until they reach a room whose only furniture consists of a grand piano with its lid raised and three chairs around a great-bellied stove… The servant sets the coffee on a small table along with cigars and brandy, then places the silver candelabra with the fat church candles on the ledge of the stove. They each light a cigar and sit in silence warming themselves. The heat from the logs in the stove pours out in steady waves and the candlelight dances above their heads... They are alone.”

This book is written in close perspective focused on Henrik and his interactions with a small circle of intimates. The tone is somber. It is filled with psychological tension. It evokes an old-world nostalgia. What starts as a dialogue gradually becomes a monologue, as Henrik presents his deductions and suspicions about what happened on that fateful day long ago. It feels like the third chair is occupied by the reader, listening to this private conversation.

After finishing, I began contemplating the implications of what I had just read. The more I thought about it, the more I appreciated it. This book is a beautifully rendered examination of friendship, betrayal, and what matters in the end. It is a fine piece of writing. show less