I had never read a Croatian novel, though I’ve
been to Croatia, until a few months ago. Here’s my review of that Croatian
novel in English translation. The review
was published in Wales Arts Review.
Our Man in Iraq
Robert Perisic, translated by Will Firth
202 pp., New York: Black Balloon
Publishing, 2013.
Reviewer: B.J. Epstein
I must confess: as far as I can recall, Our
Man in Iraq was the first book I’ve read that is set in Croatia. And what an
introduction to the country it is.
Robert Perisic’s Our Man in Iraq is about
Toni, a journalist who grew up in a rural village and now lives in Zagreb, the
capital city, with his girlfriend, an actress whose fame is steadily growing.
Besides dealing with his feelings of insecurity due both to being a country
mouse as well as to having a partner who is suddenly more successful than he
is, Toni makes the mistake of sneakily getting his boss to hire his
Arabic-speaking cousin to be their newspaper’s reporter in Iraq. Unfortunately,
Toni’s cousin Boris doesn’t seem terribly mentally stable, so Toni ends up
ghost-writing Boris’s articles for him. Understandably, this eventually leads
to Toni getting in trouble, especially when Boris stops communicating with his
family and they fear that he’s been lost and go to the media about it. Meanwhile, the war in Iraq rages and reminds
the former Yugoslavians of the terrible war that they lived through, and the current
war between the generations that they seem to be experiencing as well.
Apparently Perisic is known as an anti-war writer in Croatia, and that comes
through very clearly in this novel.
While this plot might sound like a strange
combination of seriousness and slapstick, it actually works quite well. The
subjects and styles shift, and you just have to give yourself over to the
story. Our Man in Iraq explores topics ranging from journalism to good versus
evil, from relationships to the effects of war. And in Firth’s translation,
Perisic’s prose is often lovely and thought-provoking.
When Toni and his friend have returned to
university after serving in the war, he finds that people’s attitudes towards
them have changed, and their own attitudes have changed as well. “During this
period the world fell apart. Nothing was permanent, authorities faded and
people flinched before us. We realized that we belonged to a generation that
had a moral advantage because it was defending all those old folks accustomed to
the molds and models of socialism. Lost as they were, they patted us on the
shoulder as if they were thanking us for something. We vocally despised
socialism and they agreed with us on that. We despised their life’s experiences
and they agreed with us on that too. We disdained all they’d done and stood
for, and again they agreed with us. To leave no doubt that the future belonged
to us, we rejected everything that until yesterday had been of any worth. They
agreed with us on all that.” (p. 27) As one might expect, Toni too is later
forced to confront the things he thought he stood for, and the choices he made,
or thought he had.
As he puts it, “I’d fled to Zagreb and
become a city boy; here I went to a thousand concerts, lived with an actress
who played avant-garde dramas, I acted cool, and did everything right. The fear
of someone thinking I was a redneck made me read totally unintelligible
postmodernist books, watch unbearable avant-garde films, and listen to
progressive music even when I wasn’t in the mood. I was terrified of everything
superficial and populist. If something became too popular, I rejected it. Even
in moments of major inebriation when I felt like singing a popular peasant song
I stopped myself. I maintained discipline. But in vain. All at once they were
breathing down my neck again. I thought I’d given them the slip, but now they’d
encircled me, having used Boris as bait, and were closing in for the kill.” (p.
104)
You’ll have to read Our Man in Iraq to see
if Toni breaks free or if he ends up trapped, or both.
I’m so pleased that more publishers are
publishing literary translations, and that more of these translations are from
languages other than French or German. It’s essential that we learn about other
people, other cultures, and other “life’s experiences”, and fiction is one of
the best ways to do this. Think of each translation as an Our Man in… book, so
Our Man in Iraq serves as an Our Man in Croatia, letting us know a little bit
about what is going on in Croatia. But of course we must remember that each
translated text is only one story. We need many more translations so that we
can get access to more stories. One can only hope that publishers such as Black
Balloon will continue this important work.
Our Man in Iraq is in a sense about trying
to control what is actually uncontrollable. “We try to make sure things don’t
get out of control. There’s always that danger here on the slippery edge of the
Balkans. Here we always squabble about what we’re allowed to enjoy and what
not.” (p. 115-6) Whether those in the Balkans are allowed to enjoy Our Man in
Iraq or not I can’t say, but those of us in English-speaking countries
certainly can, and should.