Feb 2014.[4.5] A powerful little book (under 200 pages), intelligent, emotional and contemplative all at once in a very Continental way, that would have been best read in a few long sittings rather than in countless snippets between watching Olympic events on TV or whilst half asleep.I've had this for about three years, vacillating: although I very much wanted to read another book about Finland, would an Italian author really give anywhere near so true a sense of the country as a local would? Like Lolita, New Finnish Grammar begins with a professional's "introduction" outlining the protagonist's fate, so none of the following is as spoilery as it may sound. A man is found unconscious and badly beaten in Trieste in 1943, wearing a Finnish naval jacket name-tagged Sampo Karjaleinen. He is taken aboard a German hospital ship, where he is found to have amnesia and to be speechless, and is attentively cared for by a doctor, himself originally a Finn and who begins to (re)teach the man their presumed shared language before sending him (back) to Finland. There he is taken under the wing of a military chaplain with shamanic sympathies, who teaches him Finnish and folklore. The man's real name was Massimiliano Brodar; perhaps this is a reference to Kafka's friend and literary executor Max Brod, except that the role is reversed. Brod didn't follow Kafka's instructions, and here - although the doctor has already, with the very best of intentions, messed with Karjaleinen / Brodar's words and realises his terrible mistake - Brodar's papers are re-written as the novel to make them coherent and expressive. You don't have to have read the Kalevala, have a certain amount of fascination with the linguistics of the stranger European languages and with Finland to read this... but it helps. (And in order to understand the opening scenes of rather a good film The Cuckoo set in Finland at the same time, I'd already read about the complicated Continuation War involving Finns, Russians and Germans.) In New Finnish Grammar there is quite a bit of conversation about the Finnish national epic, where the stories are well explained - an amnesiac is being told about it after all - but, not knowing it was there, I was really happy to have timed reading New Finnish Grammar less than a year after the poem. The ideas about its characters here were mostly a close match for those in the OUP introduction to the Kalevala and what I'd got from reading it; sometimes they were more beautifully expressed than in the translated epic. When I was a kid / teenager, I loved reading the Encyclopaedia Britannica articles about the history of languages. (Furthering this interest never really got off the ground because rather like visitors being the best incentive to expend limited energy and focus on tidying, I need the motivation of foreign travel for serious language learning post-school, and my health has been too poor... If a magic wand were waved and I was made perfectly healthy, travel, language learning, sports, restaurants and music lessons would crowd my spare hours to make up for lost time.) I was always most fascinated to read about non-Romance, non-Teutonic languages, and the languages of Northern and Eastern Europe, unusual ones like the Finno-Ugric family or obscure extinct ones like Tocharian. This blurred with an interest in the social and religious history of pre-Christian times in those bits of Europe which weren't in the well-known mythologies (Classical or Norse). And on reflection, I'm not sure I've seen anyone actually put that semi-mystical sense of ancient-ness and such fine detail about language in one place quite like this before - it felt perfectly natural to me as I'd sort of always seen it that way. This book could perhaps be less enjoyable if you don't joyfully geek out at the mention of types of noun case and verb forms which don't exist in English, wondering how different the world might be understood through Finnish. - The sounds of our language were around us, in nature, in the woods, in the pull of the sea, in the call of the wild, in the sound of the falling snow. All we did was to bend them to our needs. - If we have two distinct words for east in Finnish, it is so as to avoid having to use the same word both for dawn, and for the direction from which the Slav invasions come.- The Finn does not like the idea of a subject carrying out an action; no one in this world carries out anything; rather everything comes about of its own accord, because it must, and we are just one of the many things that might have come about. In the Finnish sentence the words are grouped around the verb like moons around a planet, and whichever one is nearest to the verb becomes the subject. In European languages the sentence is a straight line; in Finnish it is a circle, within which something happens.All presented as the idiosyncratic musings of one man, and wouldn't necessarily stand up to scientific dissection, but if you have sympathy with this sort of thing, it is lovely.What do Finnish people think of all this? That was what counted. Using a lazy search for diego marani suomi, I found a few articles to stick in Google Translate. (The most useful ones are here and here.) It sounds as though Marani has got the essence of the place right, though small details about how people regard historical figures (Mannerheim) could be questioned and there are some inaccuracies in actual Finnish phrases. The second piece says that the characters' voices are not sufficiently differentiated - this was the same in the English translation and was most noticeable in a set of directly quoted letters in the penultimate chapter. The doctor / "editor"'s own style could have made everything else sound similar - but not, plausibly, those. Perhaps obviously from the plot, New Finnish Grammar is also a meditation on memory (specifically factual / intellectual recall from before his injury - Karjaleinen does not suffer from two of the other most distressing aspects of memory problems: his basic civilised social conduct is unaffected, and he is able to lay down new memories without difficulty) - and on how essential nationality and language are to a person's sense of identity. (Because I read the book in such a fragmented way, and because memory is a frequent subject in literary fiction - though rarely written about in such a lovely way - I sometimes found it a tad repetitive in the middle.) These reflections were always beautifully expressed; earlier in the book I understood what was meant whilst wanting to quibble, then later the characters arrived at similar conclusions. New Finnish Grammar is a beautiful and romantic account of terrible things; whilst it's not fantasy you couldn't quite call it realistic. In the more specific sense of romantic love, the narrative's attitude seems very Italian (or French), like nothing Nordic I've ever read. Background knowledge did help, but given that I acquired most of that from reading easily accessible general encyclopaedias (old ones or Wiki), and that the novel explains things quite well, it's not really that obscure, or essential to enjoying the Marani's book.In the past week or two I've been looking bookwise mostly at recent European fiction, and suddenly there are quotes from Nick Lezard everywhere (on this book, plenty of those I've been browsing, and some others I've had for a while and haven't read). I've rarely read his column ... presumably this is the sort of stuff he specialises in.
Trieste, 1943: A man is found with his head bashed in, almost dead, severely brain damaged, and completely amnesiac - even his language is completely forgotten. The only clue to his identity is a Finnish navy uniform and a name sewn onto it. He's taken on board a German ambulance ship, where the doctor just happens to be a Finnish expat, who takes it upon himself to save his unfortunate countryman. He starts re-teaching him Finnish, that weird language of dozens of cases and almost no prepositions, and eventually manages to have him sent to Helsinki to recuperate and rediscover his identity in his supposed home town. There, our hero keeps a diary (helpfully transcribed and improved by his rescuer) of his painful, slow reintegration into Finnish society, Finnish history, Finnish language, all while the Continuation War rages at the Russian border.New Finnish Grammar is an odd little novel, often both beautiful and frighteningly subtle, that I can't help feel deserves better than the slightly hamfisted (though justified) ending. It's most definitely a story for Europe in the 21st century, the European as a character who's forgotten who he is, and who has to be taught why he's better than others, his origin stories, his archnemeses; who is too caught up in trying to figure out who he was in some mythical past to see who he is now. An Italian writing a story of Finland in WWII, with absolutely nobody acknowledging whose side they're on in the struggle against a common scary subhuman enemy. A story written by a Eurocrat, set outside but never in Trieste and Vyborg, two of the major multi-ethnic cities that completely changed their identity following the war. A story about how language and myth is used to create and prevent thought, possibilities, futures and pasts. All centered around a simple tale of a man without a past (yes, Kaurismäki could film this) trying to figure out who he is by using grammar and music (the Finnish word for "Bible" literally means "grammar", he notes - or rather, it's noted for him) to create a context, a continuity.I like it. I just wish I was better read up on the Kalevala.
Do You like book New Finnish Grammar (2011)?
An almost-beautiful book — a man who has lost his memory and language is recreated (with the best of intentions) as a Finn and sent back to Helsinki toward the end of World War II. He's sustained by a couple more interesting characters, a Lutheran pastor/shaman and a poetic nurse. The book is suffused with an abstract sense of sadness, darkness, cold and longing. Yet it's more of a tone poem than a novel. The writing is far too fine for a person just learning the language and the emotions too dissociated. Nothing is believable; the ominous sense of foreboding that haunts the tale from its opening pages eventually becomes oppressive and anticlimactic. As much as I wanted to enjoy a story so artfully constructed, only its novelty and occasionally lovely language kept me from being simply bored.
—Jim Coughenour
A friend of mine gave me this book, primarily because I have lived in Finland and am conversationally fluent. The reviewers quoted on the back of the book are besotted with it "entrancing, disturbing" "staggering study of loss" "I can't remember ... when I was last so strongly tempted to use the word 'genius' of its author".I am sorry to say that I found it very hard work. I like my books, whether they are the work of intellectual giants or simple pot-boilers, to take me with them on an irresistible roll. This book gave me exactly the feeling I used to get at school when I was forced to read an entirely unappealing classic. The author is a bureaucrat. He writes like a bureaucrat. The best bits were the translations of Kalevala stories, which of course he didn't write.
—Jim
~~~ Since language is our mother, try and find yourself a woman ~~~THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS, READ THE BOOK FIRST!It was on the flight during my first visit to Finland that I had first brush with Finnish, thanks to the announcements in Finn Air. Now what was that? The words that had just been spoken.. some were so long drawn out, some expressed in such a sing-song way, it was amusing to listen to them. Now, more than a year later, and having practiced some basic Finnish phrases, these lines in the novel 'New Finnish Grammar' strike a chord: "Foreigners listening to a Finn speaking have the sense that something is flying out of his mouth; the words fan out and lightly close in again; they hover in the air and then dissolve. It is pointless to try and capture them for their meaning is in their flight, it is this that you must catch using your eyes and ears. Hands are no help. This is one of the loveliest things about the Finnish language."The story is about a person who has lost his memory at a time when the world is in the throes of WWII. Doctor Friari, a neurologist of Finnish origin nurses the patient back to health. Seeing that the patient's tag identifies him as Sampo Karjalainen, an obviously Finnish name, the doctor teaches him Finnish. However, Sampo's past and his links with his family remain untraceable. Thinking that Sampo's best chance in finding his roots lie in staying in Helsinki, Dr Friari sends him to the city. At Helsinki, Dr Friari's note helps Sampo find lodgings and food, but learning the Finnish language (for, as Dr Friari tells him, that knowing the language is a prerequisite to his getting ahead in life) and uncovering his past remain a daunting task which he must accomplish.At Helsinki, Sampo meets Koskela, a priest, who undertakes to teach Sampo Finnish. Often during Sampo's lessons with Koskela, there are excursions to the land of Kalevala, the Finnish national epic. One story is about Kullervo, born to a mother who has been brutally held captive. Kullervo is bred on hatred, so that when he becomes physically strong, he uproots all that crosses his path, but it bring him no happiness. Indeed, his mother fears that his hatred will consume him and that is what happens. After wreaking havoc in the camp of his mother's captors, Kullervo return only to bring misery to his own family.I couldn't help comparing that with the story from the Hindu epic of Mahabharata... of Kansa, the son of a god who is born with divine strength but who is brought up by a poor low-caste family. Early in his childhood, Kansa faces discrimination because of his low-caste ancestry. Suffering humiliation at the hands of high-caste princes embitters Kansa so much that when a prince openly admire him for his talents, he pledges his support to that prince, though it later leads him down a false path. But here the home background is different. As a child, Kansa is cared lovingly by his foster parents, so that he in turn becomes a wellspring of kindness. The stories of Kullervo and Kansa seemed to me to complement each other in a superb way.There is no child in 'New Finnnish Grammar' but Marani skillfully weaves you in the web of the Kalevala so that the lessons that Koskela has for Sampo are your own lessons too. Not for nothing does Koskela say that "children who are cradled without gentleness, raised uncaringly, dragged up harshly, will not become intelligent, will never have the gift of wisdom, will never become men, even should they grow up strong and healthy and live for a hundred years."Sampo's hunt for tracking his family give us a peek into Helsinki as it was in the early 1940s -- war ravaged and grieving. Doctor Friari's recollections of his times in the city parallels Sampo's tale, and there we get a glimpse of the destruction that Civil War brought to Finland.The novel's translation in English by Judith Landry seems to be beautifully done. (I say that even though I have not read the original Italian work.)Of the three persons (the other two friends in Sampo's life are Doctor Friari and Koskela) with whom Sampo spends time to develop a friendship, the one with Ilma (a nurse in the hospital that Sampo lives) is the shortest: only one evening's meeting to really speak of. And yet, it is this meeting that should lead to something that keeps you going. Ilma has understood Sampo for what he is and wants to start a journey together. When Sampo says "let's sing all night" and Ilma joins, a spark is ignited. And when Ilma takes him to her tree of happy memories, you can't but get a feeling that the two are coursing down an evergreen road. It is in discussion with Ilma again (or rather in the course of Sampo's reading of her letters) that the importance of a past comes up. Sampo had earlier declared it his purpose of hoping to recover some fragments of his past; Ilma says she is content to live a life free of the "ballast of memory". Are these divergent views then? I would think Sampo's obsession about trying to find his past goes beyond just satisfying his curiosity of discovering it. The past is also his link to find out what were his talents and skills, for without them how can he pride himself to be a man? It is then a nod to his self-esteem that he goes about his identity search till the point that he finds it a futile exercise.And, again, it is Ilma's letters that make your heart heavy. That a soul could place so much trust and confidence in a new friend by just one evening's meeting speaks of Sampo's quiet charm and poise. You wish you could go back in time, and push Sampo to reply. Well, I don't know about you, but I would.
—Aditya Kelekar
