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Review by Mark R. Probst Mykola Dementiuk’s Vienna Dolorosa was a very, very difficult book to read. It took me quite a while longer to get through it than it normally would have for a relatively small novel. I’ll get to the reasons why later in the review. Though first let me say that in its harrowing depiction of the beginning of Hitler’s invasion of Vienna, it is unflinching in its realism and probably in its historical accuracy. Believe me, I’m one who wants to see, hear and feel what the holocaust must have been like for the victims without as much as a drop of whitewash. On that count Vienna Dolorosa succeeds. While over in Salzburg the Von Trapp family was merrily singing and dancing their way to freedom over the Alps (revisionist history, to be sure), Vienna was being overrun by the Nazi occupation, specifically targeting Jews, homosexuals, transvestites, and prostitutes for eradication. The Hotel Redl (and its secret backrooms doubling as a brothel that specializes in homosexual clientele who prefer their boys to be made up as girls) was, of course, a primary target. The hotel staff as well as its clientele led far from mundane lives to begin with and the occupation turned what was already an unsavory existence into a truly unspeakable one. I will say right up front that I did not enjoy this novel at all. But of course the holocaust is not an experience you are supposed to enjoy. There are certainly other literary works about the holocaust that give you a sense of empathy for the victims and a sense of redemption for those who escaped the atrocities. That is where this novel fails. Every single character is so seedy and unsavory to begin with that there was no one in the story I could empathize with. While this may be an accurate depiction of the type of people that would be found in a Viennese brothel at the time, for me at least, empathy is essential to the success of a novel. In the absence of anyone to indentify with or care about, the story is reduced to mere history. The character I came the closest to feeling for (though not quite) was Frau Friska Bielinska, the transvestite “Madame” of the brothel who would have been a male-to-female transsexual if the surgery had existed at that time. While she is the closest thing to a Schindler in the story as she attempts to protect some victims, she exhibits other distasteful behaviors that killed what little empathy I had. I should not have felt like cheering when a Nazi soldier is brutally shot in the genitals and the head. But the truth is he was being brutally punished for abusing another abuser. The point I’m trying to make is that it is hard to feel sympathy for victims who had just been victimizing other people. The other thing that made it such a difficult read was that with so many characters each getting equal time to share point-of-view, the author found it necessary to tell each of their back stories – a lot. Unfortunately, for me, each of those back stories completely killed the momentum and I found myself slogging though, restless to get back to the present. There is one instance that I was surprised that he had jumped into the point-of-view of a character who’s not even in the story, he was just the brother of a young pregnant girl and in relaying her back story we are all of a sudden in HIS head! While I certainly admire that Dementiuk was bold in his detail of the atrocities, there was a point I seriously considered skipping to the next chapter. I didn’t though. Since the back cover states “Not for the faint of heart” and goes on to list “castration,” I feel I’m not spoiling anything in telling you that was the chapter I almost didn’t make it through. The surgical description was so vivid that it was too much for a squeamish person like myself. I felt there were quite a few of these “shock” moments whose purpose went beyond the reality of the holocaust and felt more like devices the author used just to make you squirm. I also questioned whether there would be so much sexual acting out in the midst of the atrocities. Finally I’d like to repeat that I do admire the skill of the writing. The vivid imagery that Dementiuk conjures up of a very real place and time can be downright brilliant. But sadly I feel that very few readers are going to drawn to it. Instead of helping me to experience the pain and weep for the victims, the whole thing just left me cold. |
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