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The story of the rediscovery of Embers is as fascinating as the novel itself. A celebrated Hungarian novelist of the 1930s, Márai survived the war but was persecuted by the Communists after they came to power. His books were suppressed, even destroyed, and he was forced to flee his country in 1948. He died in San Diego in 1989, one year before the neglected Embers was finally reprinted in his native land. This reprint was discovered by the Italian writer and publisher Roberto Calasso, and the subsequent editions have become international bestsellers. All of his novels are now slated for American publication. --Regina Marler

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Oh, for the good old days of Austro-Hungary

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It is always interesting when a book from the past - Embers was written in 1942 - gets rediscovered or translated for the first time. A similar thing happened recently with the excellent Suite Française. This is a very different kind of book, though, a nostalgic evocation of the colourful, pluralistic days (for some) of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The story is simple: an aging General sits in his castle in the Carpathian Mountains awaiting his inseparable boyhood friend who he had not seen for forty-one years. However, he had not seen him because his friend had fled after a devastating act of betrayal which had left their lives shattered. Everything is arranged to reproduce the exact conditions, even the meals, of their final meeting before the incident. A profound meditation on the nature of friendship and personal loyalty, much of the novel revolves around a moving monologue by the General to his almost silent friend recounting their lives together and the reality of their duty to each other. Of course, a woman is involved. The evening gets darker and the wine flows as freely as the words. Strongly elegiac in nature Embers is a beautifully written story, rather slow in pace but short enough to overcome that, and is of considerable historical interest. It does, though, contain rather anachronistic notions of pride and duty, and the quaint view that the strongest bond between two human beings is that between two men. Plato may have believed that but I don't. And whatever betrayal someone had committed against me I could never have afforded the luxury of sitting around in my castle and moping about it for forty years. Like most people, I would have to have got a job! Strongly recommended, though.

Great novel by Hungary's Sandor Marai

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This is the third book I have read from Hungarian author Sandor Marai, after Eszther's Inheritance and Divorce in Buda (neither of which is translated into English, as far as I know). Embers is better than Divorce but not as good as Eszther. By this point, one can find certain common elements in Marai's books: middle-aged or elderly individuals remembering bitterly their past, long flashbacks, encounters after a very long time, long winded speeches, a pessimistic view of life. Embers tells the tale of two friends, who met when they were teenagers at the military academy of the Austro-Hungarian empire. One, named Henrik, came from a rich family; the other, named Konrad, came from a poor one. For many years, they were inseparable. Now (the action takes place in 1940) they are 75 years old, and they haven't met in 41 years, after Konrad fled after a mysterious hunt with Henrik. He went on to live on the Orient for 40 years. What cause him to flee? And did Henrik's wife, the late Krisztina, has anything to do with his decision? After receiving Konrad in his country house in the Hungarian Carpathians, the hidden truth slowly starts to emerge. A great book, though perhaps not a masterpiece (Marai's writing style can be a bit too verbose and heavy going at times).

get to the point.

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What would you say to your old best friend if he had suddenly disappeared, and then had re-appeared forty-odd years later? Probably 'Where the hell did YOU go?' and then you'd let him answer. The premise to this book is great, it's got a nice moody cover, great reviews, - but the truth is this story just goes on and on, discussing just about everything except where the hell Konrad has been or why he vanished. In fact the poor guy barely gets a word in, and must be sitting there in the candlelight wishing he'd never returned. Even on the odd occasion that Konrad gets the chance, even an invitation to explain himself, the General butts in and waffles on for pages and pages about anything and everything all over again. And in the end you sense that Konrad has just given up and is looking at his watch. Certainly the story is well written, but no-one talks like this, nor would treat a guest so rudely. Hardly suprising that this old bore has lived alone all these years. He wouldn't have many friends, and certainly no repeat visitors. I finished the book out of grim determination and a strange curiosity as to whether poor Konrad would finally get a word in. But now it's over I don't feel I can even hand this book into a second hand store as it would be unkind to pass this tedious but well written yawn into someone else's life. I would suggest that anyone looking for the passion and emotional charge that this book pretends to offer would be far better off to consider 'Love in the Time of Cholera' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I know you'll read all those other reviews again and ignore mine, but you will only have yourself to blame. I'm sure Konrad had a great story to tell, but we'll never know, he slipped out quietly while the General was pontificating into the air.

Facts are not the whole truth

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This short novel tackles fundamental problems like truth, the real nature of man or the importance of human relations. For Sándor Márai, `facts are only part of the truth.' `Sometimes facts are no more than pitiful consequences because guilt does not reside in our acts but in the intentions that give rise to our acts.' However, motives are mostly hidden in the human night, `filled with the crouching forms of dreams, desires, vanities, self-interest, mad love, envy and the thirst for revenge.' Therefore, we have to accept betrayal and disloyalty. `Why should we expect better of the world, when it teems with unconscious desires and their all-too-deliberate consequences ... young men are bayoneting the hands of young men of other nations and all laws and conventions have been voided?' Or, there are the debilitating pressures of parents on their children; `never a journey, never a summer outing, because I must be made into the masterpiece that they failed to achieve.' For Sándor Márai, however, there is one passion one should not lose: self-respect, `the implacable foundation of humanity'. Losing self-respect equals opening the flood of inhuman evil and unstoppable self-destruction. The long confession of one of the protagonists of this book turns into an in depth reflection on mankind and the world we live in. Not to be missed.

why did Konrad return?

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Beautifully written, atmospheric, especially at the beginning but disappointing ultimately. I've read quite a few reviews and agree with criticisms, such as, why was his relationship with Nini not developed further? I found her a fascinating character and expected to hear more about her? Why were Konrad's and Krisztina's characters not developed more fully? The general is a pompous old bore who browbeats everyone into doing what he wants, including somehow getting his long estranged friend to come to dinner and listen to his conclusions on why he had left all those years ago and his philosophizing about an event which really should pale in comparison with other events in his life (he survived wars! without killing anyone also he admits which is unbelievable and can only be attributed to his rank I suppose). His wife is now over thirty years dead and he has had every opportunity to move on but instead chooses to dwell in bitterness and obsess over the past. This I suppose is a result of the strict code by which life was lived under the culture of the Austro-Hungarian empire where propriety and 'honour' mattered more than the well being of the individual. But Konrad's motivation for returning is weak. Is it some kind of honour thing? He wants to look his former friend in the eye before he dies? allow him to slap his face? literally? metaphorically? this is unclear but perhaps within the framework of the culture at the time is taken for granted as understood by the reader. does the wrong that Konrad and Krisztina committed against him allow him the moral authority to monopolize their interaction? is he permitted to 'try' his former friend in this way? what happened to the statute of limitations on these things. I just found it so unlikely that Konrad would permit this. I can only attribute it to the honour code among soldiers or his own feelings of guilt at the betrayal of his friend. or maybe it was all just a fantasy of the Generals. But I suspect I am judging it outside the cultural/political framework in which it was written. Still, for beauty, atmosphere, detail and the raising of universal themes about life such as dualities between nature/civlization, instinct/reason, male/female, life/death it is definitely worth reading.