A review by jola_g
Amsterdam Stories by Nescio

4.0

Let’s start our walk with crocuses, shall we?
’I think back to last year’s crocuses in the parks in Groningen, in the gardens of the villas on the way to Haren, and farther. Spring was late last year. The crocuses were in full bloom in mid-April. Yellow, purple, and white, the vanguard of spring.’

And how about weeping willows?
'She saw the weeping willow turn yellow, its branches hung down and they reached for the water, they hung in deathly silent yellow adoration over the pond and they saw their own yellow light in the water..'

You are probably surprised that I am starting my review of 'Amsterdam Stories' by Nescio (1882-1962) with flowers and trees. The nature and the city? Believe me, I was also startled by such a vivid presence of plants.


Amsterdam, Leidsestraat, 1910.

I’ve never been to Amsterdam, we haven’t met in person yet. I’ve always imagined the capital of Holland as a picturesque combination of buildings and canals. Similar to Venice but slightly more solid and palpable, as if Venice has been painted with watercolours and Amsterdam with oil colours. Nescio’s sublime descriptions of flowers and trees make the city even more irresistible, though he worries about the inadequacy of words compared to the breathtaking beauty of nature: 'The birch trunks were silvery white, but prettier than silver. Language is poor, fatally poor.'

Who was Nescio? His real name was Jan Hendrik Frederik Grönloh. I have never heard before about this Dutch writer who published only three books in his lifetime. 'Amsterdam Stories' (New York Review of Books, 2012) is a collection of his novellas and short stories, written between 1909 and 1942.

We will see in the future if I can recall many details of Nescio's plots but I will surely remember the melancholy and nostalgia which enveloped me all over like a soft, misty cloak. The author calls it 'the longing, without knowing what for'. This cloak has a silver lining though: it’s Nescio’s inimitable sense of humour which helps him to be at peace with the constantly changing world. Nescio’s philosophy reminded me of the Stoics. Like Marcus Aurelius or Epictetus, Nescio encourages us to feel satisfied with who we are and what we have and to observe the world carefully. Nescio's characters are similar to flâneurs but instead of walking they sit and contemplate. Watching the nature turns out to be especially reassuring and helpful.


Amsterdam, 1900-1930.

Nescio’s sadness wasn’t a guest from nowhere. It had probably fermented in him for years. He was a typical idealist, a promising young writer, who buried his dreams to become a businessman. He kept writing anyway but used a Latin pen name – Nescio means 'I don’t know' - as he preferred not to risk his career.

The form of Nescio’s works, especially the last ones, is open, even fluid. If you like to feel the spine of the story under your fingertips, you might feel disappointed. These stories have been woven with loosely connected fragments, glimpses, observations. The directions, which his characters’ thoughts follow, often intersect and some images or phrases are repeated like a chorus, for example 'Insula Dei' or 'It’s thawing'. The narrator goes round in circles around some topics, at times comes back to those he’s already abandoned. The capricious and delicate structure of these short stories and novellas reminded me of a cobweb seen against the light.


Amsterdam, May 11, 1940.

Get ready to meet a wide range of characters in Nescio's stories: from a teenage wannabe writer to the God of the Netherlands. The Amsterdammish freeloaders seem to be an especially intriguing species and you will meet quite a few: 'The freeloader you found lying in your bed with his dirty shoes on when you came home late; the freeloader who smoked your cigars and filled his pipe with your tobacco and burned your coal and peered into your cupboards and borrowed your money and wore out your shoes and took your coat when he had to go home in the rain.' The type might sound familiar!

Even episodic characters, who appear just for a few seconds, are remarkable, like the old man, wearing a pince-nez and a bowler hat, who says: There are only five things worth bothering about, and I list them here in order of importance: Amsterdam, early spring, the last ten or fourteen days of August, women, and the incomprehensibility of God. From most to least important.' Number one on this list, Amsterdam, is not just a mere setting of Nescio's novellas and stories. It seems to be like a protagonist itself: reflects characters' moods and provokes musings.

In the preface to 'Above the Valley' the author says: 'it would please me greatly to think that you too can’t get enough of Amsterdam.' Now I want more of Amsterdam, Mr Nescio. I want more.


Amsterdam, 1900-1930.