The House of Belgrade Book

The protagonist builds or buys houses in Belgrade and personalizes each of them, even giving them names. He does this out loud, too. Which annoys the other Yugoslavs.

"And as for your habit of talking about houses as if they were human beings, and usually women at that," he added with mocking concern, "with that in mind, I advise you sincerely, as a cousin, to have your head examined."

And so on this, the last day of his life (we are told at book's opening page), he reminisces about Agatha, Christina and Juliana and many others. The reader knows, of course, these houses with female names stand for other things, the usual suspects like fascism and communism. Some readers would care more than others.

You'd think I'd have cared more, since I name my books after women. Yes, it's true. Barbara was a book about China, for example. Babe was a baseball book. Karen made me laugh out loud with playful erudition. Janet was a Victorian novel that was anything but old-fashioned. It's possible I read Alissa for the "good parts," if you know what I mean. I underlined Susan and regretted it afterwards. And I have Stephanie in a box somewhere. I lent Carol to a friend and she came back all wet and wrinkled, but I was too much the gentleman to ask her what happened.

This book I named Ally Gorey. She was alluring. She dressed smartly and had an air of confidence about her. When she spoke, I heard an accent, Eastern European I thought. To put it delicately, I made certain assumptions about our future together. But then she went on a peroration, only snippets of which I can remember: to set out before you the economic life of Belgrade, I shall take in the economic factors of the whole country and indeed of the whole continent . . . The very last moment has arrived for us to speak without ambiguity or prevarication . . . Better the grave than be a slave . . . the complete absence of regulatory plans and any kind of urbanist ideas. . .

Sadly some relationships that seem to have promise do not work out. And so it was with Ally and me. When she finally lit a cigarette I picked her up and slid her between two others on a shelf I have for nyrb-classics.

And then I rubbed my finger along Alissa's spine.