The Lady in Gold by Anne-Marie O'Connor

The Lady in Gold

Anne-Marie O’Connor

Knopf, 2012

An account of how Klimt’s most famous painting, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, also known as Lady in Gold, came to be painted; what happened to Klimt and his circle, and what became of Adele, her family and friends – assimilated Austrian Jewish families in Viennese high society. The last part of the book tells the story of how in the 1990s Maria Gutmann, Adele’s niece, then living in America, successfully sued the Austrian Government for possession of the painting.

Anne-Marie O’Connor is a journalist by training and profession, as is evident from the style of her writing – a high proportion of one-clause sentences and one-sentence paragraphs. She has undertaken a vast amount of research into the lives of everyone even remotely connected to her main themes.

It’s a fascinating story, and one learns a lot about Austria and art; Austria and the Austrians before and during the Second World War; and, of course, the Bloch-Bauer family themselves. The story is told through events, following one after another, not as a narrative. Most of us found it quite hard to keep track of who was related to whom, especially as the author has a habit of referring to people by their first names only, so that even the (essential) index couldn’t help. However, we found it utterly fascinating, crammed with facts, packed with information and new lights on twentieth-century history – and art history ­–, and some simply couldn’t put it down.

It is intriguing to find that here, as in so many places, wealthy Jewish families are major patrons of culture. The answer has to be that, as Pieper famously explained, “Leisure is the basis of culture”.

One of the important lessons of the book is how, after the Second World War, Austrians denied they had invited German Nazis into their country at the Anschluss (the union between Nazi Germany and Austria in 1938) and instead claimed to be the “first victims” of the Nazis. Once again, the book shows how Nazis plumbed the depths of human cruelty. One reader was amused at the change it brought about in her attitudes: The Olive Grove made her hate Israeli Jews for what they did to the Palestinians; but now she hates Austrians for what they did to the Jews. It is not, of course, only the Austrians or only the Nazis: the tragedy of Viktor Gutmann’s death in the Croatia he was hoping to help rebuild, stays in the mind.

However, the Austrian establishment persisted in its refusal either to admit the truth of the Nazi era, or to return the stolen or appropriated art to its rightful owners. The fact is that in the immediate post-war period, a large proportion of those in management or positions of authority were former Nazis or sympathisers. This parallels the situation in ex-Communist countries after 1989.

The characters in the book provoke endless reflection. Adele, unable to have children, was a “modern” woman and became a socialist. Klimt, and his artist friends, raise the question of why they didn’t have any morals. Maria (nee Bloch-Bauer) and her husband Fritz Altmann, after a dodgy beginning, were obviously very much in love. After escaping to America, Maria “discovered that she liked work” !!!!!!!!!!!! Perhaps “the devil finds work for idle hands”. And the book explains that Randol (her lawyer) worked so hard because he had a wife and children to support. One of the original things that could be pulled out of the book is: HOW BORING IT IS WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE WORK TO DO.

Another question which remains unaddressed is: Where was the Catholic Church in all of this? Wasn’t Austria a Catholic country? Maybe there is scope for another book about this?

The Hare with Amber Eyes: A Hidden Inheritance by Edmund de Waal

The Hare with Amber Eyes: A Hidden Inheritance. Edmund de Waal, Vintage, London, 2011.

Readers’ reactions to the book differed widely according to their past experience, among other things.

The writing is good, although the beginning in particular seems slow-moving and quite hard to get through. The author tends to write in short, terse sentences, with plenty of historic-present-tense verbs. Quite easy to parody, but basically well crafted and sustains interest. An interesting note in the preface explores the author’s reasons or motivations for writing and especially what does not motivate him (p. 15).

It is a book about a journey, or rather journeying: both that of the netsuke collection, and EdW’s own. For the netsuke there is a process of attachment and detachment along the way, being acquired, owned, valued or not valued differently, and passed on to someone else. The author takes you with him on his journey. He does not know where the journey is going to lead him, and neither do you. A totally enjoyable process, even for those who generally like books with a plot. There isn’t one, but by the end of it the reader has acquired a fair amount of meaningful historical information and has been on a journey of discovery; the netsuke are the thread that holds the whole thing together.

The author’s journey takes him notably to Tokyo, Paris, Vienna, Kovecses (Hungary) and Odessa, in the process of journeying into the lives of his family’s past members. It is not a travel book, because of the tremendous sense of place.

It is a book that needs to be re-read to get the most out of it as there is so much to take in. Not only to read again but to study and discuss. It is a fantastic angle on the history, especially the social history, of Europe in the 19th and early 20th century, and Japan in and after World War 2.

Eileen, an artist herself, enjoyed the beautifully crafted writing, and the rich masses of information about different artistic styles and movements in the course of the book. You identify with EdW’s appreciation of this little work of art that is a netsuke, so fine and small, over which a craftsmen had spent ages: they are objets d’art and worth studying for themselves. The value of a thing is all the human effort that has gone into making them. He spends time on the tactile value of the netsuke, to others and to him as a craftsman himself. This was especially interesting to Eileen because of her mother’s belongings: she bought things carefully, individually, planning what she was going to buy and whom for – a Wedgewood dinner-service she wanted her son to have, etc.: “This is beautiful,” she would think, “and I want it for so-and-so…”

Readers can appreciate Edmund de Waal’s sensitivity; this appears to be a tendency inherited from his ancestors and family, and he wants his children to have the netsuke; at the end of the book he installs a vitrine for them at home. All of this is in stark contrast to our current pervasive throw-away culture. The book makes one realise how unpleasant and alienating this culture is; and to want things that can be valued. Carelessness breaks and spoils things; the approach of the artist helps everyone to re-learn a love of things that have value and meaning. Costly and beautiful and material things have a meaning. There are so many reasons for valuing an object: De Waal really explores what happens when people value an object; just as an artist he didn’t want the things he had made to be lost or thrown away.

The story of the netsuke takes us to World War 2 Europe, and how the Jews – in this case the Ephrussi family of Vienna – were forcibly detached from their prized possessions. It is an effective introduction to what used to be called “the Jewish question”: why the Jews were disliked by so many members of their host countries: the book does not explain it so much as exploring it. It was particularly helpful to readers who had already seen Simon Schama’s programmes “The Story of the Jews”, especially the one about the Enlightenment. EdW’s family were assimilated Jews – Charles Ephrussi in 19^th-century Paris; Viktor and Elizabeth in Vienna – they professed no religion, but what mattered was the clan, the family.

Other readers may find that there is no character in the book that they sympathise or can identify with in any way. The human angle is deliberately undeveloped, the relationships are dealt with from a historical angle. One may miss the fleshing-out that a historical-fiction approach would have brought; EdW restricts himself to appreciative history with a minimum of speculation.