Merely a Player?

Mátyás Sárközi: Színház az egész világ. Molnár Ferenc regényes élete. (All the World's a Stage: The Fantastic Life of Ferenc Molnár). Osiris-Századvég, 1995, 158 pp.

Cliché it may be, but it is widely accepted that the offspring of celebrities are cursed, compelled to go through life in the shadow of a parent or forebear. The constant aspiration to catch up with or to prove worthy of the family's genius often reaches obsessive proportions and prevents adequate self assertion or independence.

For Mátyás Sárközi, on both sides of his family, for three generations, almost every member has been a famous literary figure: György Sárközi, a brilliant poet/critic (father), Márta Molnár, editor/publisher/patron of the literati (mother), Ferenc Molnár, a world renowned playwright (grandfather), Margit Vészi, painter/journalist/poet (grandmother), and so forth. In fact, Sárközi appears unintimidated by, and admirably nonchalant about, his portentous lineage. He has been a successful writer/journalist/broadcaster/publisher since his escape, in 1956, to Germany and England. Hungarian readers have only been able to discover him in the last few years. The biography under discussion here is his seventh book, the second to be published in Hungary. (Torkig Bizánccal [Fed Up With Byzantium] a collection of short stories, came out in 1993).

In this unpretentions biography of his maternal grandfather, Sárközi does not so much inform as entertain us and Molnár proves to be a most fascinating subject.

[...]

What does emerge is a delightful biographical Kaffeeklatsch, interspersed with Sárközi's hindsights, charming pseudo-aesthetic asides, and a clever selection of familiar anecdotes and Molnárisms. The text does generate genuine interest when it presents the author's own experiences of growing up as a Molnár grandchild, and when unknown, revealing and genuinely relevant letters are published for the first time. It is a pity that Sárközi often fails to reveal his sources and provide helpful references; when he does, they sometimes prove inadequate.

Sárközi's style on one level seems reminiscent of his grandfather's: abundant use of a rather simple vernacular, "anachronistic" phraseology, somewhat non-idiomatic vocabulary, sentimental and ironic chit-chat, alternating with stunning sophistication.

The story of Ferenc Molnár, an enigmatic, extravagantly colourful, excessively dramatic, unique raconteur persona is inexhaustible. Sárközi, the blessed rather than cursed descendant of his "genius" family, is to be congratulated for having provided an affectionate, sensitive biography, several rare photographs and, ultimately, hope for Hungarian writers living abroad. Nowadays even their works can become bestsellers in the Motherland. ß