Occasionally there will come along an author who will literally sweep you off your feet. You've never read their work before, but upon doing so you quickly realize that you're in the presence of a writer who's not just good but really exceptional. All of a sudden that blurry line that divides fiction from literature becomes clear, and you know which side your author stands on. That's pretty much how I'm feeling right now about Stefan Zweig.
I'd heard of him before. I came across a used copy of Beware of Pity some time ago. An Austrian author published in a lovely NYRB Classics edition, on the cover a detail of a painting by Egon Schiele (Vienna's one of my very favorite places in the world by way of brief explanation). He was already ahead of the game before I even turned the book over to read the blurb and by then I was well and truly hooked. Not long ago I finally picked up Beware of Pity to read when The Slaves chose The Post-Office Girl as their next book. So a third of the way into Beware of Pity, I had to set it aside to read another of his books. In a way they couldn't be more different, but what's the same is the psychological acuity with which he writes.
The post-office girl is Christine Hoflehner, essentially a clerk in the provincial Austrian village of Klein-Reifling several hours from Vienna. Before WWI her family lived a nice, middle class existence, but as with so many people they now survive in straitened circumstances. Although it's a low-ranking position, a job in a post-office at least brings with it a sense of security, if not enough money on which to survive. During the day she sorts mail, sends telegrams and connects phone calls. At night she takes care of her invalid mother. It's a dreary life to say the least, but one she's satisfied with. Of course, she knows of no other. Only twenty-six now, she's spent the better part of her youth living through a War which caused utter devastation.
The arrival of a telegram, especially one addressed to Christine, is cause for celebration. Her mother's sister, Klara, has invited Christine to come visit. Years ago Klara pulled herself up and out of the mire marrying an up and coming Dutch exporter, and now lives the lavish life in America. She managed to avoid the deprivations of War and guiltily feels some reparations must be made. As Frau Hoflehner's too ill to travel, the invitation falls to Christine. It takes some prompting, but Frau Hoflehner persuades Christine to meet her aunt and uncle in Switzerland at a resort, where she is to 'have a little fun'.
For Christine the trip is something to be endured not to be enjoyed. Living her life, what does she know about enjoyment? However, the journey will be transformative. She arrives at the posh Palace Hotel looking like a peasant, embarrassed to be seen in simple clothes carrying a straw suitcase amongst so many obviously wealthy and aristocratic people. After the ministrations of her aunt--a good haircut, some lovely clothes, Christine will emerge a new and more confident woman.
"Everything has lost its strangeness from yesterday; she regards the massive forms of the hotel with a kind of pride now that she knows there's none finer (and is beginning to realize how much it costs to stay there). The slim-legged, perfumed women no longer seem so unearthly, no longer seem to belong to some higher caste as they drive by in their cars, now that she's ridden in such a luxurious one herself. She no longer feels out of place among them and unconsciously imitates the easy, bold, carefree walk of the athletic young women."
Christine has become a hit, so to speak. Completely drawn out of her shell, she turns the heads of men and women. The question she will now ask herself again and again throughout the novel, "So you like me--who are you? And who am I?". She's no longer the post-office girl, Christine Hoflehner, but Fraulein Christiane von Boolen, the heiress. It's not what she says, but what she doesn't say--erroneous assumptions the hotel guests make that aren't corrected, which will cause Christine's downfall and return to Kleine-Reifling in a state of humiliation she doesn't understand.
I'm not going to say much about the second part of the book as I don't like to give away spoilers (a word of warning--the NYRB edition gives away most of the plot in their description on the back of the book--if you buy it you might want to avoid reading it unless you want to know what happens). The inevitable comparison of this story will be to Cinderella, and Christine's story is as fairy tale-like as they come, but it's a fairy tale gone awry. The wealth and extravagance she experienced in Switzerland will leave a bitter taste in her mouth when confronted with the harsh reality of her life as a post-office girl.
Zweig wrote The Post-Office girl in the 1930s and he brilliantly sets off the opulent lives of the aristocracy, in their waning days, against the grim reality of a country beleaguered by unemployment and hyper-inflation and a society depressed and alienated. It's not hard to see where Austria and its neighbors were headed politically. This is an exceptional book by an exceptional author. My only quibble is the lack of introduction or afterword, which would have made it an even richer read. I'll be looking for more of Zweig's work, but first it's time to get back to Beware of Pity.