Brigid Grauman is the author of the new book Uncle Otto's Puppet Theatre: A Jewish Family Saga. She spent many years as a Brussels-based journalist, where she was editor-in-chief of the English language weekly The Bulletin.
Q: Why did you decide to
write this book about your family, and what impact did writing it have on you?
A: There were several
reasons. The first was that I had always felt rootless, as had my parents
themselves.
My father was born in Vienna
but left with his parents when the Nazis marched in, and so lived the life of
an exile. His mother-tongue was German, his passport was American, he settled
in France after my parents’ marriage broke up, and married a French woman, and
then another.
My mother was Irish, and left
London as a very young woman because she felt stifled there. She and my father
settled in Geneva, as two young people without family nearby.
As for the Jewish side of
things, my father who was Jewish didn’t feel Jewish because he hadn’t been
brought up in that tradition. My highly romantic mother wasn’t Jewish, but she
espoused causes and ideals, and took us to live in Israel. As a result, my
sister and I were neither French, nor English, nor Jewish, nor Catholic, nor anything
really.
We never knew three of our
grandparents, and the fourth, our paternal grandmother, lived far away in
Vineland, New Jersey.
Writing the book didn’t help
me discover an identity, but it allowed me to put into words - and that’s the
business I am in - a story I had always felt belonged to others and had now
made my own. As any journalist knows, you only know a story when you’ve written
it.
The other reason I wrote the
book is that I had the rare privilege of owning seven family memoirs. It turned
out that my family was highly literate, wrote poems, performed plays, and loved
to write.
My father gave me the first
set of these memoirs, saying without conviction, “You may be interested in this.”
Then the others came into my hands in various ways.
Over the years I realised
that they contained rare insights into a whole historical period, from life in
the Jewish quarter of a town in Moravia, in what is now the Czech Republic, to
life in Vienna at the turn of the 20th century, on to the Anschluss and after.
I felt that I had a duty
towards these forebears, and that I wanted to take up the challenge of
conveying what it meant to be this particular Jewish family. I feel very
appeased at having met the challenge.
Q: You begin the book by
writing, "My ancestors were all migrants." Why did you choose to
start with that description?
A: What struck me as I was
writing Uncle Otto is how much the stories of my ancestors still resonate
today.
When my Viennese grandfather
arrived in New York, a man in his 50s with a very small pension from his former
job as an international lawyer, he was a nobody. His professional
qualifications meant nothing, and he got work packing crates in a bookshop.
The plight of Syrian doctors in
Sweden who are refugees but must wait for years before they are allowed to work
reminds me of him.
Those who leave Afghanistan,
Syria, or Africa are taking a huge step into the unknown to find a safer or a
better life for themselves and their children. Some flee war and others
terrible poverty, but all have to adapt to an unfamiliar society where they are
not always welcome.
Look at the inhuman
conditions under which the refugees on the Greek island of Lesbos are expected
to live. My father used to say that being born in the right place at the right
time was a matter of luck. How right he was.
Most of us are the children
of migrants, somewhere back in the past. Of the people in my family who got out
of Austria and Czechoslovakia in time, those who were no longer young saw their
lives broken in half. The younger generation, like my father’s, may have
experienced their new lives as an adventure, but they were not left
psychologically unscathed.
Q: How did you research the
book, and did you learn anything that especially surprised you?
A: I read a lot around the
book because I wanted to contextualise my family’s stories, both within their
historical and the cultural environments. I read history and the Austrian
novelists, Schnitzler, Zweig, Musil, Altenberg and many others.
I discovered the eccentric
Altenberg when I was researching the phenomenon of “human zoos,” those villages
of exotic people who travelled around Europe like circuses. One of these
visited Vienna, which is why my great-grandfather joked that my dark-skinned
and frizzy-haired grandmother had been mistakenly swapped at birth for an
Ashanti.
Altenberg, who had a rather
suspect fondness for young girls, was also fascinated by the Ashantis, and
wrote short stories about them.
The most surprising thing I
discovered through my research was the story of one of my father’s aunts. He
had mentioned her as a crazy aunt who had spent time in Vienna’s big
psychiatric hospital, and who had been killed by the Nazis.
I later discovered that her
son had written a short memoir of her life. Suddenly this woman became a real
person in my eyes, a woman of culture and sensitivity who had hoped desperately
to be able to join her son in London, but ended up on a train from Italy to
Auschwitz where she died.
When trying to recreate a
person, you realise how very approximate that attempt will be, no matter how
great your empathy. I hope I have done these people justice, even if I will
never know how close I actually got to who they really were.
Comparing memoirs, when two
people write of the same private event, shows how memory plays tricks. Some
events will be remembered wrongly, others will be deliberately distorted.
One of my older relatives
actually drew himself into the puppet theatre because he so wanted to be part
of that story. In fact, neither he nor his parents were there.
Q: How was the book's title
chosen, and what does it signify for you?
A: My great-uncle Otto was an
artist in Vienna, and in the summer of 1932 made a toy puppet theatre for the
entertainment of family and friends.
The story it told was an
absurd wild-goose-chase involving my grandfather’s car. It was a musical play,
with many songs, as Otto’s girlfriend was a professional pianist and composer
of light music, and he himself was a passable violinist. The characters in the
play included most of my memoir writers.
After the German annexation
of Austria, the toy theatre travelled from Vienna to London, the script went to
New York but was confiscated at customs and lost forever. For many years the
painted figurines and sets were kept in a cupboard in Wales, but now I have it
or what is left of it.
It evokes the resilience of
things, when so many people are gone, so many killed by the Nazis, and yet this
flimsy toy built for a few afternoons’ entertainment had survived. This seemed
almost magical.
Q: What are you working on
now?
A: On something completely
different; a book about the Belgian Congo, the years from 1908 when King
Leopold II gave his private domain to his country, Belgium, until independence
in 1960.
Having spent most of my life
in Belgium, I was always aware of how the Belgian colony touched the lives of
so many people I knew. They all had a relative who had lived there, a
grandfather, an uncle, a brother, and I found that fascinating.
There are many stories to tell
of a colonial power that isn’t well known in the Anglo-Saxon world, except for
the terrible tales of violence under King Leopold.
I certainly don’t plan to
defend colonial times, but I’d like to dispel some persistent myths to show
that Belgium was in some ways, and despite the common assumption, one of the
more enlightened colonial powers.
Q: Anything else we should
know?
A: I decided to take the
self-publishing route for Uncle Otto because the publishing industry has become
very cautious. I felt like doing it myself, and so far I’ve been happy to have
made this choice.
I commissioned the cover from
a London illustrator, Lewis Heriz, who is first rate.
Now I am trying to find
creative ways of reaching a readership. So far, reactions have been enthusiastic.
The only problem is that to buy it you have to go online to Amazon. You won’t
find it in bookshops.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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