Reviews for Europa! Europa?: The Avant-Garde, Modernism and the Fate of a Continent

The average rating for Europa! Europa?: The Avant-Garde, Modernism and the Fate of a Continent based on 2 reviews is 3 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2010-06-27 00:00:00 Sam Dillard I remember studying with Constance Jordan back at Columbia College in the mid-eighties. Unlike most of the male professors in Hamilton Hall, she actually managed to smile every now and then. That made her seem quite different from the male professors. They were all mean, hard-drinking old timers with bloodshot eyes and hangover snarls. Guys who just didn't give a rat's ass. I remember one time I came to office hours when we were reading the Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser. I had a beat up old copy of the book my father used when he was a college student decades earlier. I wanted to use it, but Connie Jordan said no. She was nice about it, but she said no. I don't hold that against her, but what's interesting is that she didn't aske my *why* I wanted to use it. You see, my father was an English professor, and I idolized him. He was also a hopeless alcoholic who was in the final stages of the disease. He'd already attempted suicide twice and been hospitalized just the year before. I was an absolute nervous wreck. I adored my father and was desperate to hold on to him in any way I could. I was so terrified of losing him -- and just as frightened of having other people find out how sick he was. I was afraid they might look at me differently, or tell me straight out I "wasn't the Columbia type." Well, none of that happened. Connie Jordan just smiled politely and said "no" when I held up my dad's tattered old copy of the Faerie Queene. She didn't ask me how I was feeling. She didn't ask me if there was trouble at home. She didn't ask me *why* my dad's book meant so much to me or *why* I was studying English at Columbia College. Would I have confided in her? Was it my fault that I didn't? I don't know. I just remember her polite smile and the gracious way she said "no." I wish I had broken down that day. I wish I had made some kind of scene, really sobbed my heart out in Connie Jordan's office. But who has that kind of courage at twenty years old? It's my fault I didn't tell the truth about how awful I felt at Columbia. My father was dying. He was my whole world. I needed help! But how can you those things to a genial, courteous, smiling woman who politely says "no" and doesn't even bother to ask "why?" Connie Jordan is a very old woman now. I hope she reads this review and feels really rotten for about thirty seconds. Then I hope she drops dead.

Review # 2 was written on 2010-12-27 00:00:00 Waechter Madeleine A clear, precise, and necessary description of Hamsun and his place in Norway, in Literature, and in the mindset that demands to know whether you can separate an artist from their art. Zagar's first six chapters methodically go through Hamsun and his relation ship to various minority groups. His writing, both fiction and non-fiction, is examined, and compared to the common thought process of the time, the environment he was soaked in, to see if he was truly a "thought leader" of kinds or whether he was someone with a brilliant ability to capture the general ideas of the time. These first six chapters take this structure: 1. describes the minority (American Indians, women, African Americans, Sami, etc) and their place in the world, and the place in history they hold while Hamsun came into contact with them 2. How western culture, (specifically the US, Norway, western Europe, as applicable) was generally biased against these groups at the time 3. How Hamsun's writings (including private letters) showed he shared and even promoted these biases 4. How Hamsun's writings (including private letters) showed he did not share these biases, or at least not strenuously. The complexities of Hamsun the man and Hamsun the artist are given an exceptional amount of consideration. The final two chapters cover the period of occupation, and what Hamsun did, and the court trials after the war. (Oddly, it is not until the Epilogue that the author explicitly states the concluding statement that he was a Nazi.) And yes, it's plainly stated and shown that he is a complex man, but for the most part, was severely biased. He was not alone in his ideas, and far from it. But he was certainly a beacon, certainly seen as someone who knows best and would sway opinion, certainly felt (for the most part) he was obliged to promote these. As the author points out, Hamsun's final works, regarding his trial, are what give much sway to critics. A master of the persuasive argument, his words ring out even when plainly false compared to what he has written elsewhere. And we are left to show that as he continues to be handled gently with his Nazi ideals, while others are ignored and cast away. Arguments that the author has a bias or that this is some attempt to make a political play in art is more than foolish; it's stoogist and refuses to look at reality. The facts are laid bare. Would Hamsun have written differently were he born twenty years earlier or twenty years later? It's impossible to say. He was a product of his environment, but as an intellectual leader, as a brilliant artist, he also contributed more to that environment more than nearly all others. The final works of his giving apologists critical excuses to look hard into his ideology as a person of his time are a reminder that history is not written by the winners. History is written by the survivors.