The Translator, by Ward Just

This 1991 work is not the novel I expected from this author. It is not about the Mid-West. And not about Washington, DC. Nor is it about the newspaper business. It is about being German, being a German after World War II. And it is excellent. It is a true literary work, as if Just sought not only to work outside his comfort zone but also to explore his subject matter to an even greater depth than previous, and also subsequent, work. As if there is a German heritage in the Just background.

This is the story of Sydney Van Damm. He is the translator. After a quick memory of growing up in northern Germany during the war and enduring the horror of Allied bombing raids, we learn he has rejected his homeland, even though his mother has warned that he would never escape his nationality. But he has fled to Paris, where he joins its expatriate world and soon meets and marries an American girl, Angie Dilion. He makes his living in Paris as a translator, working between English and German or French and German. He earns an excellent reputation, but he does struggle to earn the comfortable life that Angie is used to. He thus becomes open to renewing a friendship with Junko Poole, a former intelligence officer with an elusive reputation and no scruples, who is also living in Paris.

What makes this novel a literary work is that it is not driven by its plot, such as each new development in Sydney’s life. But it does engage the reader, by exploring the richness of each new experience. After Sydney marries Angie, their happiness is interrupted by tragedy, for they have a son, Max, who is brain-damaged, and they must adapt their lives to his. They live in an old Paris apartment house, where they also meet its various tenants, especially one German stewardess, Milda, and two others. These stewardesses enliven the setting through their adventures with Arab sheiks. He also meets for the first time a famous German author, Josef Kaus, whose work he has been translating. Indeed, to better understand the hero of Kaus’ current book, Sydney projects himself into the mind of Herr Hoerli, the German hero of that novel.

It is in Sydney’s memories of his mother, in his probing the mind of Herr Hoerli, and in heart-to-heart talks with both Milda and the novelist Kaus, that this expatriate translator engages in conversations that open up the exploration of the German character. How the war changed them, how they survived postwar poverty and then adapted to in the powerful economy that now flourishes around them in the late 1980s, whereupon how this has changed them, as well as how they have reacted to the freedom that now contrasts to the world of their German youth. Here is where Just truly explores the German character, the German psyche, each person seeing this new world differently but each one also revealing, despite the changes, how much they have in common.

Tying the novel together is the Van Damm family need for economic security, and the proposal of Junko Poole for a risky adventure that will resolve those economic needs. For me, it is the one artificial element of this novel, an element introduced by the author rather than by Junko himself. This is because the scheme is so nebulous. We know that material, or items, are to be shipped, without authorization, from one location to another, beginning in East Germany. But we do not know why they are being shipped, who has agreed to their being shipped, or even where it is being shipped from and where it is being shipped to. And this nebulousness is going to lead, for me, to a conclusion that is far from satisfying.

Despite this one caveat, I agree with the overall conclusion reached in the Detroit News and Free Press, that this novel “is a capricious and serious work—part love story, part political allegory….As the title indicates, it is a rumination on the nature of language, as well as that of national identity.”

Indeed, it is. It is an exploration of postwar Europe on one level and of the Parisian expatriate life on another. But it is also an exploration of the uses of language and of the different ways language is used by different cultures. And it is always focused on people, on their nationality, rather than on their politics, and on their struggle to survive more than on the economy they live in. And, of course, it is focused especially on individual Germans. On Sydney’s German mother who despises the Americanization of West Germany and flees to the comfort of her hometown in East Germany. As well as on the shady characters who arrive from the East. But it also compares, on the opposite shore, Angie’s father, who had inherited great wealth at home in Maine, but who has carelessly, incompetently, lost it, and who now wallows in self-pity.

And yet in the background is politics as well as people. Why does Sydney flee to Paris after the war, and turn to translation? Because he wants to escape the history of modern Germany. And he compares translation with his own move to a different culture; that is, “the moving of things from one condition to another; it was the same thing but changed utterly.” For that is what he wants, to escape from the German nationality, German politics, and especially his own history. And yet, inevitably, one cannot escape one’s past, one’s memories, nor, the author suggests, the tragedy that waits in the wings.

George Stade offers another summary of this novel in The New York Times. He says that Sydney and Angela “are also, after all, stand-ins for whatever in us is private, for that part of us that believes the matters of consequence in human life are family and work, for all in us that is threatened by the political waste that kills.” He also calls for an expression of hope, “though not because modern history warrants it.”

Yes, one wants to find more of Just’s work, more of these novels that immerse you in an interesting life in an interesting world. With the value of the work being in the interpretation of that life and that world, rather than in the events that these characters encounter, events that then sweep the reader along from one development to the next. (February, 2019)

The Crossing, by Michael Connelly

This 2015 novel is the work of a professional. The story has pace. The characters are interesting. There is a sequence of events that at first do not seem connected, but their development builds suspense as the events become more and more linked. One caveat: while the conclusion is dramatic and convincing, it does not reveal new emotional ground or a surprising character revelation.

The author brings together here the two heroes of his series of crime novels, Harry Bosch and Mickey Heller, who are half brothers. Bosch has been forced to retire from the police force for a trumped up minor offense, and is the major character of the novel. Heller is still the Lincoln lawyer, and has been hired by Bosch to prove the charges were unfair and to return his reputation. But as this novel begins, Heller has come to Bosch to seek his help in proving a client, a former gang member, is not guilty of a brutal murder.

Bosch is initially reluctant to help his brother, because it means going against police tradition. A cop does not help the defense when a crime is committed. But Heller teases Bosch into looking at the evidence, and this convinces the retired policeman that Heller’s client is truly innocent. And since Bosch believes a cop’s overall duty is to seek justice, that duty overrides the tradition of not helping the other side, the defense side. Especially since it’s being run by his half brother.

The Crossing of the title refers to decisions that people make that can change their lives. Thus, it can mean decisions that victims make that lead to their murder. But in this case it refers more to Bosch crossing to the other side, the darks side Bosch calls it, and helping Heller refute the convictions of his fellow policemen.

In this case, although semen from Heller’s client has been found on the murder victim, Bosch becomes convinced that the surrounding events do not add up. And the remainder of the novel consists of him pursuing the truth of what really happened. Meanwhile, the author also introduces the actions of two corrupt policemen who are behind the murder, and interweaves their actions with those of Bosch. It is a familiar technique geared to build suspense. And while it does do so, it does not make the corrupt cops so effective that the reader feels that they are a major threat to Bosch.

Bosch is intrigued by an expensive watch that the victim owned and which was sent out for repair. He becomes convinced that it is a key to finding the true killer of the woman, and he spends much shoe leather tracking down its various owners. Whereupon, additional murders follow, and he realizes his is on the right track.

The conclusion brings a dramatic confrontation between Bosch and the killers, and then is followed by a hearing before a judge that brings Heller back into the scene. Thus, we see both Bosch and Heller performing at their best, as cop and as lawyer, to reach the satisfying conclusion.

This is not a deep novel that probes the psyche of either the detective or the killer. But, as I said, it is a professional work that draws the reader into a tale of violence, police corruption, a provocative DNA, and mysterious clues. It also suggests a personal life for Bosch, who has an interesting relationship with both a daughter and a girl friend. But the emphasis is on solving the crime, and how the pursuit of a damaged watch can lead to hidden levels of Hollywood society and to unforeseen conclusions. (February, 2019)