Reunion

By JESSE KORNBLUTH

Books don’t compete with other books for your attention. They compete with everything: texts, videos, news, Netflix, Instagram — and, on occasion, actual people. This is why I write short books — if I can grab and keep your attention and deliver a complete reading experience in a few hours, I’m a happy guy. In the recent focus group for my novel, “The Next Dalai Lama,” almost half the participants reported they read the book, start to finish, without stopping. I couldn’t have asked for more.

Claire Keegan’s exceptional novel, Small Things Like These, ends abruptly on page 128. Her other novel, Foster, says all it needs to in 96 pages. And now I come to praise “Reunion,” by Fred Uhlman, which had me holding my breath for most of its 112 pages. [To buy the paperback from Amazon, click here.]

The novella is set in 1932, in Wurttemberg, Germany. The narrator, Hans Schwarz, is 16 years old that year. He’s telling the story 30 years later. Is his memory good? It is exact. A new boy, Count Konradin von Hohenfels, enters the classroom. He is an aristocrat, and carries himself like one:

“He came into my life in February 1932 and never left it again. . . I can remember the day and the hour when I first set eyes on this boy who was to be the greatest source of my happiness and my greatest despair. . . Every movement he made interested me. . . I studied his proud, finely carved face, and indeed no lover could have watched Helen of Troy more intently or could have been more convinced of his own inferiority.”

The son of a Jewish doctor and grandson of a Rabbi is desperate to make the aristocrat his friend. To do that he must “stand out.” A coin collection — a shared hobby — does the trick. They become inseparable:

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“We walked up and down for hours, like two young lovers, still nervous, still afraid of each other, but somehow I knew that this was only a beginning and that from now on my life would no longer be dull and empty; but full of hope and richness for us both.”

Konradin is a frequent visitor to the Schwarz home. Hans is never invited past the gates of Konradin’s mansion. Hans asks why. And in they go. But where is Konradin’s mother? The next time, she’s also absent. Can you guess why? Of course you can. Finally Konradin comes out and says it:

“The reason, I swear by all the gods, has nothing to do with being ashamed – it is far simpler and more unpleasant. My mother comes from a distinguished – once royal – Polish family, and she hates Jews. And if you want the whole truth: I’ve had to fight for every hour I’ve spent with you; and the worst of all, I didn’t dare talk to you last night [at a concert] because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

A great novel takes you somewhere, to a time and a place. Because of the time and the place of this book, you can feel the darkness before it arrives. I won’t spoil the book for you. I’ll just say this: It’s remarkable how much drama Fred Uhlman can pack into a sentence.

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This post was previously published on headbutler.com.

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