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TIME: Almanac 1990s
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<text id=89TT3393>
<title>
Dec. 25, 1989: Fall Into Chaos
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
Dec. 25, 1989 Cruise Control:Tom Cruise
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
BOOKS, Page 79
Fall into Chaos
</hdr><body>
<p>By Robert Hughes
</p>
<qt> <l>THE SNOWS OF YESTERYEAR</l>
<l>by Gregor von Rezzori</l>
<l>Knopf; 290 pages; $19.95</l>
</qt>
<p> Nostalgia is what we like today: warm, a bit muzzy, with
lots of generalizing dips back into a past full of evocative
stage props and period business. Memory is another matter.
Remembering truthfully is as difficult as inventing well --
indeed, more so; hence the paucity of good memoirs. "You must
never undertake the search for time lost," warns the last
sentence of Gregor von Rezzori's The Snows of Yesteryear, "in
the spirit of nostalgic tourism." The rest of the book shows how
carefully he has obeyed this precept.
</p>
<p> American readers know Rezzori mainly for two richly
convoluted memory novels of Europe before and after World War
II, Memoirs of an Anti-Semite (1981) and The Death of My Brother
Abel (1985). The Snows of Yesteryear looks back before their
time frame, to the childhood and, implicitly, the formation of
a writer. It leads into a world now irretrievably lost, its
values blown away by World War I and its fortunes wrecked by the
inflationary '20s -- "For the class to which my parents belonged
. . . a fall into chaos, into impotence and deprivation."
</p>
<p> Rezzori was the son of a minor aristocratic family living
on the outer fringes of the Austro-Hungarian Empire near
Czernowitz in the Bukovina, which became part of Rumania in 1919
when Rezzori was five, and was later swallowed by the Soviet
Union. Rezzori's tale is not a continuous narrative but a group
of character studies of five people who presided over his
childhood and youth -- pillars of the writer's adult imagination
around whose base the boy's life was lived.
</p>
<p> An extraordinary set they were. His Carpathian peasant
nurse, Cassandra, part witch and part illiterate earth mother,
was given to romping naked with the pack of family dogs -- "a
Lady Godiva with a pitch-black mane," whose fierce nurturing
exuberance was in utmost contrast to the coddling anxieties of
a beautiful, irascible Viennese mother. Mama believed she had
gone below her station in the polyglot provinces of the
Bukovina. Father was sexually unfaithful to her and volcanic in
temper; an anti-Semite who despised Nazis as Untermenschen; a
watercolorist, photographer and architectural historian whose
diversions included dragging a dead wild boar through the hall
and up the stairs in the course of a soiree. Above all, Baron
von Rezzori was an obsessive hunter, whose profound and almost
mystical relation with the woods and the etiquette of the chase
would mark his son for life. Finally there were the beloved
Other, his sister, dead at 21, and the Pomeranian governess,
"Bunchy," who presided over the boy's home education as she had
over his mother's.
</p>
<p> Strong material, then; and Rezzori follows this family
labyrinth back with a fine disdain for sentiment, a
transparency of feeling, an acid sense of humor and a vigilant
eye for nuances of love and indifference, language, landscape
and class behavior. It is not a young man's (or a moralist's)
book. But it is intensely moving and contains, in its winding
and ironic cadences, not a slack sentence: a performance in a
difficult key about the making of a near extinct kind of
European.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>