Budapest Noir

Following a vaguely literary youth, I no longer get through novels at anything like the rate I used to. Maybe 10 a year. Part of the reason for this is because the Internet gives me plenty of shorter material to read. Another is that most recent literary fiction seems like a load of self-conscious bollocks, and I find myself really only drawn to genre stuff - historical fiction, crime, espionage, sci-fi - where the inherent bollocks keep the extraneous bollocks more in check. A third is because I don't have access to a really wide range of English-language novels. Periodically I gird myself to conquer the great classics of late 19th and early 20th century Hungarian literature, but usually get bogged down in a morass of archaic terminology about horses and farm implements and suchlike that I simply don't have room for in the dwindling storage space in my skull. Only occasionally do I see anything in contemporary Hungarian writing that excites me, and Budapest Noir is one such work.

The first in our very own Hungarian noir crime series, to be released in English, by Harper Collins no less, early next year. Probably the first Hungarian novel in all of history to bear the exact same title in translation. Except for Molnar's Liliom. But that was a play, and they turned it into Carousel.

Anyway. The author, Vilmos Kondor, as a fan of Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade has invented for us Zsigmond Gordon who in 1936, recently returned to Budapest from a stint in Philadelphia, is working as a crime reporter for one of the major daily newspapers when a prostitute is found murdered in a down-at-heels street in central Pest, with a Jewish prayer book in her possession. Driven by an inner doggedness that won't be dissuaded by powers who show him they don't want the matter investigated, he pursues the matter to the top, uncovering a nest of corruption at the highest levels of society.

All of this against a backdrop of a meticulously drawn Budapest where, despite the cosmopolitan nightclubs and elegant cafes, evidence that all hell is about to break loose is everywhere - for the reader, that is. The main characters themselves seem vaguely liberal but outwardly largely apolitical in terms of the great events that are starting to engulf them. Spain and Abyssinia are still far away in 1936. I doubt this trend continues though as later books in the series deal with the war years themselves. In any case, there's clearly a parallel being drawn to the political state of today's Hungary.

The better part of the action takes place with 15 blocks of where I live. I can't think of very many books I've read that, like Budapest Noir, take place on streets and sidewalks that I walk through every day. Maybe Gore Vidal's Lincoln. Characters in other Washington novels are generally shuttled at high speeds between frantic meetings with other potentates. Zsigmond, however, is a dedicated walker and, when he can't spare the time, user of public transportation on some of the same tram lines I use today. Inner Budapest hasn't changed that drastically physically since then, aside from being bombed out and then mostly repaired. Street names are a different story of course. Here's a quiz for Budapesters: which squares were Berlini Square and Mussolini Square in 1936?

Zsigmond Gordon is a bit of a cipher, in a compelling way. In some respects he seems to have been Americanized - at least from the viewpoint of someone whose idea of America is colored by Philip Marlowe or Sam Spade - and his equally cosmopolitan and more outspoken Transylvanian lady friend more or less tells him that he's got a lot to re/un-learn if he wants to succeed in Byzantine 1930s Budapest. While there are in fact Hungarians named Gordon, both as a surname and a given name (for example, our last prime minister), I suspect that the anglophone connection has some deeper significant that will emerge in later volumes, especially since while Gordon's eccentric but level-headed grandfather is a major supporting character, we never learn what's up with his parents or much else about his earlier life, except for a few snippets from working for the Hungarian language press in Philly in the 1920s (yes, there were Hungarian-language newspapers in lots of US cities back then).

The grandfather, a retired doctor who now dedicates his days to crafting the perfect fruit preserve adds a bit of comedy and part of another Hungarian twist: a healthy fixation with food that was rare in most countries in the 1930s. Zsigmond and Krisztina's (the Transylvanian's) dinner of fresh game in a mountain hunting station are described in more loving detail than one usually finds in noir fiction.

I'll be interested in taking a look at the English translation when it comes out. Stylistically it will be a bit of a challenge for several reasons. First because while the text seems fresh enough in Hungarian, quintessentially American noir fiction, in English and in 2011, unless you are James Ellroy at the height of his power, tends to sound like what Snoopy bangs out of an old typewriter on top of his doghouse. It's like translating a haiku into Japanese. It will be interesting to see what solution the translator comes up with to deal with this. Another is that the characters, even Zsigmond and Krisztina talking with each other, use a style of speech ("could it be that yourself believes that...") that is only used today in highly formal circumstances or mock formal circumstances or when addressing unfamiliar elders. (Grandpa addresses Zsigmond in the familiar, but then Zsigmond "yourselves" him back.) Do you try to to capture this or do you just say heck with it? 

Kondor himself is not part of the Budapest literary scene. He studied here at one point, but apparently lives a quiet life as a science teacher in a town near the Austrian border. This works to his advantage, since his 1930s Budapest manages to be a living city in a way that today's Budapest writers might not be able to manage. And hopefully out there he'll find the time and quiet to write more of these. Two thumbs up. It won't be a runaway international hit, but if you like these kinds of noir novels, or have an interest in Central Europe in the 1930s and 1940s, you will probably find it an enjoyable read. I am going to pick up the second one, Bűnös Budapest, (which they seem to have translated into the inaccurate and awkward Budapest Sin, but they've painted themselves into a linguistic corner with the Budapest "X" title template) on my way to Don Giovanni tonight and start it during the intermission.