An unusual and engrossing intergenerational saga, Nelio Biedermann’s debut novel, Lázár, follows the fate of an aristocratic family living on an estate in Southern Hungary, from the beginning of the twentieth century and the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, to the 1956 uprising. Biedermann was twenty two years old when he wrote it and is being heralded as a wunderkind author. Jamie Bulloch’s rhythmic, poetic translation makes for an eloquent read.
A Hidden Lineage
The story begins with the birth of Lajos Lázár, a blonde “translucent child with water-blue eyes”. He bears an uncanny resemblance to the young groom who dies a few weeks after the child’s birth. The boy’s six-year-old sister is unhappy about his arrival and says he is ugly. While his father, Baron Sándor von Lázár, doubtful of the infant’s paternity, ignores him. His mother deftly sidesteps her husband’s uncertainty by spinning a tale that the boy resembles an ancient forebear — one whose appearance is a mystery.
Subverting Loss and Decay
Their rural life has a veneer of elegant refinement which conceals unhappiness. The baron goes to town most weeks to see his mistress for whom he buys a small flat, so she no longer needs to work at the lace factory. His wife cuts herself. Their daughter has bizarre surreal dreams. Beneath the orderly family rituals of dining at a long table with polished silver watched over by family portraits, civilities are uttered as resentment ferments, gradually becoming corrosive. The estate itself seems to radiate tension: the forest on the estate had “swallowed [the baron’s] father, killed his mother and driven his brother mad.” Doors swell in their frames, mirrors cloud . . .
Lajos grows up in an atmosphere of doubt and displacement; he is both cherished and isolated. His mother cultivates him as one might embroider a story, while his father continues to avoid him with his habitual coldness, and his sister oscillates between cruelty and curiosity. Vulnerability is viewed as weakness.
Murder Most Foul
The children’s young tutor fascinates mother and daughter who “flutter around him like moths around a light.” When he is battered to death, his murder is blamed on the Roma who live on the outskirts of the local town despite there being no proof. After the baron’s wife walks into the lake and drowns, he turns to alcohol for solace.
The Illusion of Permanence
Beyond the estate, the old world begins to fracture heralding collapse. News arrives first as rumour, then as fact: unrest, mobilization, the slow disintegration of empire. The Lázárs attempt to insulate themselves, clinging to etiquette and lineage as if to outlast history and change. But as the war redraws borders it also alters the grammar of their lives. What had seemed permanent is in fragile and easily destroyed.
The existence of Lajos is questioned and ambiguous, mirroring the instability around him. As he comes of age, identity is inseparable from loss. There is joy when Lajos marries Lillie, his adored young neighbour. However, “he had learned early on that as a man you kept your emotions to yourself or dealt with them with alcohol.”
Secrets and Lies
“There were many things you kept tight-lipped about. Photographs of you with aristocratic friends from Germany who supported the fascists were torn from albums. Affairs hushed up. Knowledge of dirty dealings taken to the grave. Relatives who had fallen in love with prostitutes or other men erased from the family tree. Childhood traumas repressed.”
The Lázár family is riddled with secrets, affairs, emotionlessness, mental illness and obsession. Love is complicated rather than pure, and family unsupportive rather than comforting. Sex is generally linked to power, control or escapism. Lajos undergoes a Freudian analysis to cope with his inner turmoil. There’s a sense of inevitability and doom, while World Wars, pogroms, occupation, rape and revolution change the course of the characters’ lives.
Romantic, dreamlike moments contrasted with historical events highlight the gap between illusion and reality, as the characters escape from harrowing events into fantasy. Old romantic ideals clash with modern life, impacted by war and loss.
Although Biedermann draws on his own Central European aristocratic family history, Lázár is clearly fiction inspired by his historical hinterland. A beautifully written intimate, poetic exploration of aristocratic decline and personal memory across many decades, the narrative is imbued with psychological depth and lived experience, giving the reader an emotional roller-coaster ride. I loved it — buy it and experience it for yourself.
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