Culture
Book Review: ‘The Granddaughter,’ by Bernhard Schlink
THE GRANDDAUGHTER, by Bernhard Schlink. Translated by Charlotte Collins.
When it comes to women revealing what they really think about their families after they die, it’s hard to top Faulkner’s Addie Bundren, reflecting from beyond the grave on the grudges and loathing she lived with as the unwilling matriarch of a dysfunctional Mississippi brood. A century later in Germany, the dead woman at the center of Bernhard Schlink’s new novel, “The Granddaughter,” gives Addie a run for her money.
Birgit grows up in East Germany after the war and dies in her 70s in unified Berlin. Her husband, a bookseller named Kaspar, finds her body drowned in the bathtub of their well-appointed apartment and can’t tell if her overdose was accidental or intentional. Bereft, he receives a postmortem query from a publisher about the manuscript Birgit was writing, which she never showed him. He finds and reads what seems to be an autobiography of Birgit’s thoroughly embittered life, much of which she kept secret from him: from her young love affair with an older Communist Party officer that left her pregnant and alone, to her passionless marriage to Kaspar in Berlin, where she endured years of triumphalist condescension from West Germans. She writes regretfully and searingly about her hopes to someday meet the daughter she abandoned at birth. All that Kaspar knows for certain is that Birgit turned to alcohol and pills to numb her many pains. “I am not a monster,” Birgit reflects, defensively, regarding the freedom she felt in the moments after letting her newborn go.
Instead of disagreeing, Kaspar finds a new purpose in his dead wife’s failures and frustrations: He decides to find Birgit’s daughter. This premise will feel familiar to readers of Schlink’s previous novels — including his best-selling “The Reader” (1995), which was adapted into an Oscar-winning film — many of which use individual relationships as proxies for examining the ongoing legacies of World War II and the Cold War in his native country. Schlink is not as elusive or cerebral a writer about modern Germany as W.G. Sebald, nor as intense or unflinching a storyteller as Jenny Erpenbeck; but he writes instructive tales that adeptly raise difficult questions and propose appealing answers.
In “The Granddaughter,” translated into clear and accessible English by Charlotte Collins, these answers are found along Kaspar’s journey into the former East Germany, where he eventually tracks down Birgit’s daughter, Svenja, who was raised by her birth father and his wife and never knew about Birgit. In and out of reform school as a teenager, Svenja now leads a quiet rural life with her neo-Nazi husband and 14-year-old daughter, surrounded by fellow proponents of a purist Germany who reject national guilt over the “Holocaust lie” and commit themselves to defending “the glory of the Fatherland” from foreign influence. Meeting them, Kaspar exhibits a measured, even respectful curiosity about their enthusiasm for ideas and attitudes that produced the most destructive period of modern world history. His fair-mindedness throughout the novel is so exemplary it becomes wearisome.
What follows is a rather schematic plot turn in which Kaspar persuades Svenja and her husband to let their daughter, Sigrun — whose “heroes” include Irma Grese, an infamously brutal young guard in the women’s sections of Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen — visit him in Berlin every few months, in exchange for payments from Birgit’s estate. This they decide after Kaspar has met the couple only twice — a couple who are protective and generally distrusting and knew nothing about Birgit, let alone Kaspar, a week earlier. But the all-too-convenient arrangement allows Schlink do what he really wants to with this novel: stage an intergenerational encounter in contemporary Germany between a responsibly contrite, open-minded, aging postwar German and a rebellious, confidently nationalist post-unification teenager.
And so Sigrun spends more than a year traveling between her home and Kaspar’s, where she has her own bedroom and piano lessons, where the two cook and travel and go to the philharmonic and museums together, and where Kaspar patiently tries to convince her of the authenticity of Anne Frank’s diary. Unsurprisingly, this “Pygmalion”-style denazification project involves giving her books to inform and challenge her worldview, which inevitably leads to conflicts back home.
After disappearing from his life without warning, Sigrun shows up again on Kaspar’s doorstep two years later, needing him to hide her from the police. At 18 she has inherited her mother’s stubbornness, which ironically makes her rebel against Svenja’s “Völkisch” politics and Third Reich nostalgia. She’s eager to fight in the streets for her own vision for Germany — especially against her leftist peers — which Schlink shrewdly conveys as a kind of reactionary idealism to what she perceives as the political mushiness of her parents’ generation.
However disappointed and worried he becomes about Sigrun’s situation, Kaspar remains unconditionally supportive, losing his temper only once, on the perfectly calculated occasion of delivering an impassioned speech in defense of moderation — to a Sigrun who proves, also conveniently, more and more open to her step-grandfather’s perspective.
And so this novel, finally too pleasing and affirming for readers who are rightly worried about political violence and radicalized youth, ends with a dignified old man envisioning a stable, cosmopolitan future for a wayward young girl. Some will read Schlink’s latest as an inspiring fable of intergenerational unity and redemption. Others might find it more like fantasy fiction.
THE GRANDDAUGHTER | By Bernhard Schlink | Translated by Charlotte Collins | HarperVia | 326 pp. | $28.99
Culture
Test Your Knowledge of International Detective Fiction
A strong sense of place can deeply influence a story, and in some cases, the setting can even feel like a character itself. This week’s literary geography quiz highlights international detective characters cracking cases in their home cities. To play, just make your selection in the multiple-choice list and the correct answer will be revealed. Links to the books will be listed at the end of the quiz if you’d like to do further reading.
Culture
Jerod Mayo firing was as much about his command off the field as the Patriots’ play on it
FOXBORO, Mass. — As far back as July, when Jerod Mayo arrived at the practice fields out behind Gillette Stadium for his first training camp as coach of the New England Patriots, many prognosticators saw a team that was at the starting point of a big-time rebuild. That the Patriots finished the season with a dismal 4-13 record shouldn’t be looked at as a big surprise.
Why, then, is Mayo out as coach after just one season? We can cherry-pick this or that coaching decision or non-decision, but it wasn’t just what happened on the field that suggested a not-ready-for-prime-time unsteadiness about Mayo. It was also what happened on the record. Almost from the beginning, Mayo’s various media appearances, from news conferences to his weekly morning-drive interview on WEEI’s “The Greg Hill Show,” ranged from contradictory and uncomfortable to one unfortunate instance that had a whiff of old-fashioned buck-passing.
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No one utterance from Mayo led to Patriots fans clamoring for a coaching change. He is, after all, a former Patriots linebacker who in his eight seasons in Foxboro was teammates with the likes of Tom Brady, Wes Welker, Randy Moss. Vince Wilfork, Tedy Bruschi, Rob Ninkovich and Devin McCourty. He also played with Mike Vrabel, the man who could soon be wooed to be Mayo’s replacement.
It’s safe to say Pats fans were rooting for Mayo. But as the verbal missteps continued, it became ever more obvious Mayo lacked the proper amount of training to be a head coach in the NFL.
Statement from Patriots Chairman and CEO Robert Kraft: https://t.co/2YgHtzzBHK pic.twitter.com/GMXGgd768x
— New England Patriots (@Patriots) January 5, 2025
Mayo struck the right notes when he was introduced as the replacement for the legendary Bill Belichick, as when he said, “For me, I’m not trying to be Bill,” and, “The more I think about the lessons that I’ve taken from Bill, hard work works.” He did raise some eyebrows when on several occasions he referred to Patriots owner Robert Kraft as “Young Thundercat” and “Thunder.” Mayo later explained he came up with the nicknames because he felt Kraft, who turned 83 in June, has a “young soul.”
No harm, no foul on that one. But later on, as the losses piled up and Mayo’s public statements became more heavily scrutinized, “Young Thundercat” and “Thunder” were re-examined from critics who believed Mayo had landed the coaching gig because he’d become especially chummy with Kraft over the years. Kraft himself has said he was inspired to view Mayo as a future NFL head coach during the time they spent together on a trip to Israel in 2019.
But it was after the introductory news conference, and after Mayo moved into the redecorated coach’s office at Gillette Stadium, that the media missteps began to pile up.
A sampling:
‘Ready to burn some cash’
Appearing on WEEI on Jan 22, a little more than a week after being named coach, Mayo indicated the Patriots wouldn’t be limiting their roster building to the NFL Draft. “We’re bringing in talent, one thousand percent,” he said. “Have a lot of cap space and cash. Ready to burn some cash.”
The Patriots had somewhere north of $60 million in cap space, but the new coach was soon walking back that comment. “You know, I kind of misspoke when I said ‘burn some cash,’ but I was excited when you see those numbers,” Mayo told Karen Guregian of MassLive. “But when you reflect on those numbers … you don’t have to spend all of it in one year.”
One week into free agency, with most of the top names off the board, “the Patriots roster doesn’t look or feel a whole lot different from the one that went 4-13 last season,” The Athletic’s Chad Graff wrote. They did bring in journeyman quarterback Jacoby Brissett on a one-year deal for about $8 million.
The mixed messaging at quarterback
Almost from the moment the Patriots selected quarterback Drake Maye with the third pick in the draft, Mayo said there would be a “competition” for the job between the rookie (Maye) and the veteran (Brissett). Nothing unusual there, as this is a default quote from coaches after a shiny new draft pick has had his introductory hug with NFL commissioner Roger Goodell and been introduced to the media.
But things got complicated when Mayo made repeated references to Maye outperforming Brissett in the preseason, such as when the new coach went on WEEI and said, “This was, or is, a true competition. It wasn’t fluff or anything like that. It’s a true competition. And I would say at this current point, you know, Drake has outplayed Jacoby.”
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Which brings us to an Aug. 28 Mayo media availability that lasted just a few seconds north of a minute.
“We have decided — or I have decided — that Jacoby Brissett will be our starting quarterback this season,” Mayo said.
The competition was fluff after all.
Jerod Mayo is the latest coach to be given just one season in charge before being fired.https://t.co/LIr8PTbGY7 pic.twitter.com/VdDhmC0sa4
— The Athletic (@TheAthletic) January 5, 2025
‘We’re a soft football team across the board’
So said Mayo to the media following the Patriots’ 32-16 loss to the Jacksonville Jaguars on Oct. 20 in London. It was New England’s sixth straight loss following their season-opening 16-10 victory over Cincinnati.
Not only did Mayo say, “We’re a soft football team across the board,” he took the time to define what makes a team “tough.”
“What makes a tough football team?” Mayo asked. “Being able to run the ball and being able to stop the run and being able to cover kicks, and we did none of that today.”
This was followed by what was now being called Walkback Monday.
“We’re playing soft,” Mayo said during his weekly WEEI hit. “Look, let me just go ahead and correct that. We’re playing soft. Because if you go back to training camp, there was definitely some toughness all around the place. We still have the same players. We’ve just got to play that way.”
It worked for Belichick
There was much buzz over Mayo’s clock management late in the fourth quarter of the Patriots’ 25-24 loss to the Indianapolis Colts on Dec. 1 at Gillette Stadium. With the Colts moving the ball toward the end zone, Mayo did not burn any timeouts in order to keep alive his team’s last-ditch drive if needed.
The Colts, trailing 24-17, rallied for a 3-yard touchdown pass from Anthony Richardson to Alec Pierce, followed by Richardson’s run on the conversion try, giving Indy a 25-24 lead. Only 12 seconds remained in the game, which ended with Joey Slye’s failed 68-yard field goal attempt.
“Absolutely, there was a thought,” Mayo said afterward when asked if he considered using timeouts. “We have also won a Super Bowl here doing it the other way. Keeping our timeouts is what I thought was best for our team.”
Mayo was referring to the Patriots’ 28-24 victory over the Seattle Seahawks in Super Bowl XLIX, when Belichick allowed the clock to run down on Seattle’s last drive. It worked out for the Patriots, thanks to Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson’s head-scratching pass attempt to Ricardo Lockette on second-and-goal from the New England 1 that Malcolm Butler miraculously intercepted to secure New England’s victory.
The next morning on WEEI …
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Mayo said. “When I said it, I was frustrated, first of all, which I should have taken a deep breath. I should not have said that.”
Did anyone get the license number of that bus?
The Patriots’ 30-17 loss to the Arizona Cardinals on Dec. 15 was lowlighted by the team’s inability to gain a crucial first down on third-and-1 and fourth-and-1 from the Arizona 4-yard line. The Pats gave it a go on runs by Antonio Gibson and Rhamondre Stevenson, both of which went nowhere, leading to this obvious postgame question for Mayo: Why not have Maye, a big, mobile quarterback, go for a sneak?
“You said it, I didn’t,” Mayo replied, which was viewed far and wide as a criticism of offensive coordinator Alex Van Pelt. Mayo then followed up with, “It’s always my decision, I would say, look, the quarterback obviously has a good pair of legs and does a good job running the ball. We just chose not to do it there.”
The next morning, on Walkback Monday, Mayo tidied up the comment during a conference call with the media.
“I know there’s a lot of chatter about the question last night, ‘You said that,’” Mayo said. “I didn’t mean anything by that. It was more of a defensive response and, ultimately, I tried to clarify that with the follow-up question. Because ultimately all of those decisions are mine. So just wanted to get that out there.”
Mayo then pivoted to his weekly WEEI hit, during which he said he “shouldn’t have done that. Just like I tell the players, I’m still learning how these things work.”
The benching that wasn’t
On Dec. 28, less than an hour before the Patriots would host the Los Angeles Chargers, Mayo went on 98.5 The Sports Hub’s pregame show and responded to Stevenson’s recent fumble issues by telling Scott Zolak, “Gibby is going to start for us today,” referring to Gibson.
The game began, and on New England’s first possession, it was Stevenson toting the ball for a gain of 5 yards.
Why the sudden change of heart?
“Coach’s decision,” Mayo said after the Patriots’ 40-7 loss to the Chargers.
LIVE: Patriots Postgame Press Conferences: https://t.co/kY9REgnEZn
— New England Patriots (@Patriots) January 5, 2025
The Patriots closed out their season on Sunday with a 23-16 victory against the playoff-bound Buffalo Bills in what may be the most sparsely attended game in the 23-year history of Gillette Stadium.
Mayo was asked 15 questions during his postgame media availability.
The last question: How would you best summarize this year, and did you learn maybe that the team is a little bit further away than you were anticipating?
“I’m not going to get into that,” Mayo said. “Like I said, tomorrow we’ll have a lot of time to talk about those things, but tonight, it’s all about these guys going out there and winning a football game.”
That’s one Mayo won’t need to walk back.
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(Photo: Billie Weiss / Getty Images)
Culture
Anita Desai Has Put Down Roots, but Her Work Ranges Widely
Anita Desai has lived in Delhi and London and Boston, but when she settled, she chose the Hudson River Valley, in New York State. She first came 40 years ago, to visit the filmmakers Ismail Merchant and James Ivory, and was so impressed that she later made her home here, on one of the most dramatic stretches of the river.
“I discovered what a beautiful part of America this is,” recalled Desai, 87, sitting in her house in Cold Spring, her living room awash in sunlight and her walls lined with books.
The journey to this point has been long and winding for Desai. For years, she explored a variety of literary and artistic landscapes, from remote Indian ashrams to Mexican mining towns and suburban America, expanding in the process the horizons of generations of Indian writers, both at home and abroad. And now, though she has put down roots in one place, her imagination continues to roam widely.
Her new novella, “Rosarita,” is a slim, enigmatic mystery set in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, a ghostly meditation on truth and memory, violence and art. In it, a visiting Indian student stumbles upon traces of her mother’s hidden past as an artist in 1950s Mexico — or is it just a mirage, fed by the “fantasies and falsehoods” of a local stranger?
Salman Rushdie has been a deep admirer of Desai’s work since early books such as “Clear Light of Day” (1980), which he said reminded him of Jane Austen. “Both Anita and Austen present a deceptively quiet and gentle surface to the reader,” Rushdie wrote over email, “beneath which lurks a ferocious intelligence and a sharp, often cutting wit.”
“Rosarita” signals a “new departure for Anita,” he added; with its air of mystery and otherworldliness, it suggests Jorge Luis Borges more than Austen.
A sense of foreignness and dislocation has shadowed Desai from the start. The daughter of a Bengali father and German mother, Desai said she never quite fit in with Indian families when she was growing up in Delhi.
She was 10 when India became independent, and she identified powerfully with the mission of the young country. “We were very proud of belonging to this new, independent India. Being part of this country of Nehru gave one great pride and sense of comfort in those years,” she remembered. “But I outgrew that — well, India outgrew that, too.”
When she began writing in the 1960s, she was influenced by a generation of post-independence authors like R.K. Narayan, Raja Rao and Mulk Raj Anand. Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, who was her neighbor at the time, encouraged her literary pursuit. She soon found her material close by.
“That Old Delhi home and life was the one I knew best, the one I wrote about constantly,” Desai said. “After ‘Clear Light of Day,’ I became known as this woman writer who writes about a woman’s position in the family. I did it so often that I saw its limitations, and I wanted to open a door and step out of it.”
The book that opened that door was “In Custody” (1984), an elegy for the rarefied, male world of Urdu poetry that captured “the decline of a language, a literature and a culture,” Kalpana Raina, a Kashmiri-born writer and translator, said over email. It remains one of Desai’s most beloved works, and went on to become a successful Merchant-Ivory film in 1993.
Desai’s work expanded further in the years to come, with a string of novels — “Baumgartner’s Bombay” (1988), “Journey to Ithaca” (1995) and “Fasting, Feasting” (1999) — that featured an assortment of strangers in strange lands.
Desai herself had moved to the United States in the mid-1980s to teach writing at M.I.T. The harsh winters, among other things, were a shock to her system. As the snow piled up that first year, she booked an escape to Oaxaca, in Mexico, never expecting she’d return to the country often over the years.
“Getting to know Mexico opened up another world for me, another life,” she said. “It’s strange because it’s so like India, I feel utterly at home there. And yet there’s something about Mexico that’s surrealistic rather than realistic.”
“Rosarita” — like her 2004 novel “The Zigzag Way” — has been a way for Desai to reimagine Mexico in her fiction. When she came upon the story of the Punjabi artist Satish Gujral, who studied with Diego Rivera and other Mexican muralists, she began to envision a narrative that linked the “wounds, mutilations” of two violent historical events: Indian partition, which cleaved the subcontinent along religious lines in 1947, and the Mexican Revolution, a civil war that began in 1910.
Over time, she teased out the fragments of her tale, weaving in a mother-daughter story line as well — “the most familiar part,” she said. It was a mystery even to her, she admitted, where it would all lead. One thing she did know, though, was that it would be a novella, compressed and impressionistic. She had enjoyed writing her collection of novellas, “The Artist of Disappearance,” published in 2011, and the form suited her.
“It doesn’t take the immense energy and stamina that the novel requires,” she said. “You can finish it before it finishes you.”
While Desai claims this may be her last book, she is relishing the experience of watching her daughter Kiran continue the journey. Kiran’s debut, “Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard,” appeared in 1998, just after India’s 50th anniversary. Her follow-up, “The Inheritance of Loss” — a masterwork that spanned Harlem and the Himalayas and awed her mother — won the 2006 Booker Prize. Rushdie has called the mother-daughter pair “the first dynasty of modern Indian fiction.”
Kiran is part of an impressive group of Indian novelists who emerged in the globalized 1990s, a far cry from the closed and isolated world her mother knew as a young writer in English decades earlier. “There has, of course, been a huge blossoming since that time and a more seamless connection between India and its diaspora authors,” Kiran explained over email. “I do think it is important to remember that it was lonely writers like my mother who opened the door for subsequent generations.”
Kiran calls her mother’s long writing life a “gift,” and isn’t so sure it’s done yet.
“She was born in British India and lived through such enormous changes,” added Kiran, who often works alongside her mother at her scenic home by the Hudson. “Now she always tells me she isn’t writing, but every time I pass her room I see her at her desk. Her days, at 87, are still entirely made of reading books, reading about books, and writing. It’s as if her whole life has been lived inside the world of art, every experience processed through this lens.”
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