A witty reworking of one of the most interesting questions of existentialism, this is a playful work of comic philosophy
Oliver VII
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"Szerb belongs with the master novelists of the 20th century" PAUL BAILEY Daily Telegraph "May Szerb"s re-entry into our literary pantheon be definitive" ALBERTO MANGUEL Financial Times
About the Author
Antal Szerb was born into a cultivated family of Jewish descent in 1901. He graduated in German, English and Hungarian, and rapidly established himself as a formidable scholar, publishing books on drama and poetry, studies of Blake and Ibsen, and Histories of English, Hungarian and World Literature. In 1933 he was elected president of the Hungarian Literary Academy. He was also known as an essayist, playwright and as the author of various novellas and a historical fiction, The Queen’s Necklace. He died in a labour camp in 1945.
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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars
A Royal Farce That Mark Twain Would Have Loved
Jun 10 2011
By Ethan Cooper
- Published on Amazon.com
Format:Paperback|Amazon Verified Purchase
Wikipedia defines a farce as a "comedy that aims to entertain the audience by means of unlikely, extravagant, and improbable situations, disguise and mistaken identity... and a fast-paced plot whose speed usually increases... and moves at a frantic pace toward a climax in which the initial problem is resolved. ...Generally, there is a happy ending." This definition certainly applies to OLIVER VII, where King Oliver of Alturia is unwilling to sign the unfavorable Coltor Treaty, is overthrown in a subsequent revolution, lives incognito in Vienna as the schlemiel Oscar, and then impersonates himself while participating in a plot to defraud the businessman Coltor of his vast fortune. In doing so, King Oliver... well, I'll say no more.
OLIVER VII is not great literature. Its characters are one-dimensional. There are no unique insights. Szerb evokes no special worlds or worldviews. Fate is playful and comical and not a profound confrontation with conscience or duty. Even so, this novel does share many features with Szerb's superb novel Journey by Moonlight (Pushkin Paper). As Len Rix observes in his terrific afterward, these include protagonists who start as misfits, flee from their responsibilities, and have strange adventures as they quest for their true selves. In JOURNEY, Szerb uses these preoccupations to create outstanding fiction. In OLIVER, the same material produces, well, entertainment.
Rix also observes that OLIVER reveals Szerb's "sly wit, benign good humor, and capacity to surprise us at every turn... and is unswervingly playful."
Recommended as a beach book, provided the amazing JOURNEY is read first. Rounded up to four stars.
OLIVER VII is not great literature. Its characters are one-dimensional. There are no unique insights. Szerb evokes no special worlds or worldviews. Fate is playful and comical and not a profound confrontation with conscience or duty. Even so, this novel does share many features with Szerb's superb novel Journey by Moonlight (Pushkin Paper). As Len Rix observes in his terrific afterward, these include protagonists who start as misfits, flee from their responsibilities, and have strange adventures as they quest for their true selves. In JOURNEY, Szerb uses these preoccupations to create outstanding fiction. In OLIVER, the same material produces, well, entertainment.
Rix also observes that OLIVER reveals Szerb's "sly wit, benign good humor, and capacity to surprise us at every turn... and is unswervingly playful."
Recommended as a beach book, provided the amazing JOURNEY is read first. Rounded up to four stars.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars
"Duty is not a bed of roses."
Sep 9 2010
By R. M. Peterson
- Published on Amazon.com
Format:Paperback|Amazon Verified Purchase
Oliver VII is the young king of Alturia, a backwater Central European nation that shortly after WWI is still a monarchy, clinging to the old traditions. Its chief exports are sardines (its flag features two of them) and a distinctive red wine. Oliver VII loathes having to wear the field marshal's greatcoat, which since Philip the One-Eared has been de rigueur apparel for Alturia's monarchs, and he is rather bored with being king. So he masterminds a coup against himself and, incognito, slips off to Venice "to get to know life". There, as Oscar, he falls in with a troupe of swindlers and conmen (and one memorable con-woman) and, as kismet would have it, ends up in an elaborate sting impersonating the deposed King Oliver VII of Alturia - i.e., impersonating himself.
Standard protocol dealing with "spoilers" weighs against further summary of the plot. Suffice it to say that the madcap farce never wanes. As the novel proceeds, new twists and deceptions arise every few pages, but all are resolved or finessed with ingenuity or good fortune. The novel is a frothy Bohemian operetta mixed with a Marx Brothers movie. Antal Szerb tells the story deftly and with abundant good cheer. OLIVER VII is a delicious piece of Central European entertainment.
There is, however, a serious aspect to the novel. It was the last novel that Szerb wrote before he was compelled to wear the yellow star, then consigned to the ghetto, and finally transported to the labor camp where he was beaten to death in January 1945. He had had plenty of opportunities to escape Hungary, one involving an academic post at Columbia University. But he declined them all, in large part out of loyalty to Hungary and those he loved. In a sense, he internalized the line of the greatest Alturian poet that serves as the motto for this novel: "Duty is not a bed of roses."
Standard protocol dealing with "spoilers" weighs against further summary of the plot. Suffice it to say that the madcap farce never wanes. As the novel proceeds, new twists and deceptions arise every few pages, but all are resolved or finessed with ingenuity or good fortune. The novel is a frothy Bohemian operetta mixed with a Marx Brothers movie. Antal Szerb tells the story deftly and with abundant good cheer. OLIVER VII is a delicious piece of Central European entertainment.
There is, however, a serious aspect to the novel. It was the last novel that Szerb wrote before he was compelled to wear the yellow star, then consigned to the ghetto, and finally transported to the labor camp where he was beaten to death in January 1945. He had had plenty of opportunities to escape Hungary, one involving an academic post at Columbia University. But he declined them all, in large part out of loyalty to Hungary and those he loved. In a sense, he internalized the line of the greatest Alturian poet that serves as the motto for this novel: "Duty is not a bed of roses."
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