Miklós Györffy

A Short-Sighted Seer
(György Spiró)

György Spiró: Fogság (Captivity). Budapest, Magvető, 2005, 770 pp.

György Spiró has been publishing plays, novels, short stories and essays since 1974. Despite frequent political hiccups before 1989, he has won himself a recognised position in contemporary Hungarian literature, and yet, though his plays are very successful and in regular production, he has not found his real place in the current literary canon. For the past twenty years, this canon has been dominated by post-modern text literature, and Spiró has not been a follower of the post-modern. Nor has he belonged to any of the literary camps here. Canon-setting literary criticism will, how-ever, find it hard to ignore Fogság (Captivity), a monumental historical adventure story, his fifth historical novel.
Captivity presents a challenge to the critic in that it contains none of the ingredients that suit the post-modern palate. Indeed, for quite some time the historical novel had seemed to have run its course - until recently that is, when quite a few post-modernist authors, such as László Márton, László Darvasi, János Háy, Zsolt Láng, have produced what appeared to be historical novels. These works, however, all happen to subscribe to the idea that history has come to an end; that all historical narratives which project a trend, or set a direction, or postulate that something of substance may have existed amid the current of events, are abstract castles-in-theair. In fact, you cannot even say this with any certainty, since there is no reliable evidence that any event can be deemed as historical. The towering originality of Captivity arises less from its plausibility than from the bold ambitiousness of its fictitious elements. The superimposition of present and past, personal and historical experience, has proven itself a fertile notion and has yielded a monumental novel unparallelled in its scope, technical novelty and view of history as ongoing drama, in which even the thinking individual is but a helpless plaything. Captivity, however, is set in an easily definable historical period - at least according to current authoritative chronology. The setting is the Roman Empire in its first century, from about 35 AD to the 70s of that century. The locales - Rome, Jerusalem, Alexandria and others - can also be clearly identified. Not only are they named, there is also the clear intention to reconstruct them as they were (to the extent the available sources will allow). Captivity is also a straight narrative with a central figure. From this angle, Spiró's novel is less an historical novel than a story of adventure or an Entwicklungsroman. His protagonist is Uri, a sickly, clumsy, shortsighted, ugly Jewish boy in Rome. Of not much use to his merchant father and unable to find his niche, he is more or less allowed to follow his own instincts. He reads whatever he can lay his hands on and acquires an imposing knowledge of literature and philosophy. In addition to Latin, he also learns Greek and Aramaic. He explores Rome thoroughly, becoming familiar with every quarter of the city. One day he is unexpectedly chosen to be a member of a seven-man mission that will take the annual tax paid by the Jews of Rome to Jerusalem. Uri fails to understand why he, a nobody, has been chosen for this great honour and serious duty. The fact, unknown to him, that his father had lent two hundred thousand sesterces, a substantial sum way beyond his means, to one of the most influential of the Jews in Rome, Agrippa, grandson of Herod the Great, may have something to do with it.

This lengthy (770 pages) novel is divided into four parts of largely equal length. The first, "From Rome to Jerusalem", describes the journey on foot through Italy to Syracuse in Sicily, where they take ship. From Caesarea in Judea, they set off on foot again to Jerusalem, where they join the many Jews flocking to the city to celebrate the Passover. Toughened by the journey, Uri has learned from experience to accommodate himself to his companions, despite their mistrust of him. Then, quite unexpectedly, at the gates of Jerusalem, he is knocked down by the Jewish guards and thrown into prison.
At this point readers accustomed to historical adventures set in antiquity will expect that, with this lengthy and detailed exposition behind them, they have now reached the turning point (an expectation reinforced by the novel's title). Uri has been taken captive, so this is what the story will be about - possibly how he escapes, how he is pursued, and perhaps how he becomes the centre of an intrigue. Though Captivity may not be a post-modern novel, it does not follow the patterns of classical or conventional historical novels either. It is this irregularity which, among other things, makes it extraordinary. Yet, the novel displays an outlook on history that brings it close to the post-modern. In point of fact, Uri finds himself set free as unexpectedly (and apparently without explanation) as he had been seized. Not only are we left in the dark about why he had been cast into prison in the first place, there now follow further unexpected, or seemingly unexpected, twists and turns. He is received by Pontius Pilate, Procurator of Judea, in the company of Matthew (leader of the delegation and possibly responsible for Uri's two or three weeks in captivity) and that of Herod Antipas, King of Galilee. This is the time of Christ's crucifixion, to which we find another reference in the novel - this one even more direct than that to Pontius Pilate, though readers may not grasp it immediately. Into the cell that Uri is cast with two other prisoners, comes a third, for a single night. An older, balding, fat man with an unkempt beard, notorious for chasing out cheating merchants from the temple. If not at once, then towards the end of the novel, it becomes clear that, despite an appearance totally different from the traditional iconography, he is none other than Jesus of Nazareth.
The brief appearance of Jesus (for three pages) in Uri's story is a bold, almost presumptuous idea, but it is in accord with traditional narrative. It provides an exposition of something later to be elaborated in greater detail - namely, the birth of Christianity. There are other motifs in Captivity that are handled and expounded in keeping with similar structural principles. In contrast, several turns in Uri's story (including his reception by Pontius Pilate) are more or less arbitrary narratives. Some events and turning points are also introduced without apparent motivation and remain unexplained later in the novel. They are shown as happenstance, the random working of fate. One example is how, when Uri thinks he is free at last, the authorities put an end to his first stay of two or so weeks in Jerusalem by banishing him to a small village in Judea for an unspecified period of time. We never learn why he was sent there under armed escort, unless it is for the same reason that prompted his arrest: he is believed to be an agent (or a spy?) of Agrippa's.
There are more unclear changes in Uri's life. Shortly after all the fatigue and excitement of the journey, and the shock of his arrest and abrupt release, Uri suddenly behaves as an experienced and witty man of the world when he is received by Pilate; he converses with ease, and his smalltalk is studded with quotes from the classic authors. Somewhat later, in the village he has been exiled to, he puts up with misery and physical tribulations with composure and serenity. As unexpectedly as he found himself banished, he is summoned back to Jerusalem and sent on to Alexandria. There is something in all this and in further events that compelled one critic to comment that the reader is expected to volunteer a greater amount of co-operation with the narrator's intentions than is usual. In other words, whatever takes place and how it takes place has to be accepted. This is the only way the novel works, but thus it also becomes truly accessible, intriguing and highly enjoyable. There are two easily graspable reasons whichg made Spiró shape his plot in this way. One is his view of history, to which I shall come back later. For now, suffice it to point out that Captivity demonstrates the senselessness of individual lives and the defencelessness of individuals caught up in historical events. It does turn out that there is some motivation behind the twists and turns of fate Uri is subjected to - such as his alleged connection with Agrippa. Yet, since this does not exist (and if it did, it could hardly justify what happens to him), the story of his life is an experience of the absurd. How Uri finds himself dispatched here and there by this or that set of authority is almost Kafkaesque.
Another, less structural reason seems to be Spiró's intention to make us see certain scenes and milieus through Uri's eyes - what is more, with the utmost historical accuracy. It is as if Spiró has delved into a vast amount of source material that he feels reluctant to waste. This is a consideration in the Judean "detour" that lasts around one hundred pages. Similar digressions occur later, though not independently of Uri's merely being a helpless individual in the upheavals of history, a donné we have to take at the author's word. The wealth of ethnographical, religious and cultural material, in whose epic current Spiró's protagonist is immersed, is indeed stunning. In the Judean digression, this method is justified, since it shows how the hero's character and thinking develop. The idle Roman Jewish "intellectual" is confronted with the miserable, ancient peasant life of the Jews and is immersed in it for a time. In the Jerusalem and Alexandria passages, Uri's eyes work like a film camera recording the townscapes. These highly evocative descriptions eventually bring readers close to Uri. 
With him, they feel more at home and move with greater confidence through the ancient streets and public buildings.

 

Miklós Györffy
reviews new fiction for this journal.