RexLegendi reviewed De avonden by Gerard Kornelis van het Reve
Naoorlogse dagen
4 stars
Toen hij iemand door de gangdeur hoorde binnenkomen, herkende hij, na even luisteren, zijn vader aan de voetstappen en de ademhaling bij het ophalen van zijn overjas. ‘Hij heeft mij verwekt,’ dacht hij. ‘Laat ik hem welwillend beschouwen.’
The Evenings must have caused quite a shock upon its publication. In this 1947 novel – a classic of Dutch literature – Gerard Reve (1923-2006) pushes the boundaries of good taste and social norms in a society steeped in traditional values. He recounts the last ten days of 1946 through the eyes of Frits van Egters, a 23-year-old man living with his parents. Frits’ thoughts are characterised by a longing for something to happen, for an event that would make his existence – or at least his day – feel worthwhile. In reality, his days – especially the evenings – seem to pass by without any real significance. Frits works, remains more …
Toen hij iemand door de gangdeur hoorde binnenkomen, herkende hij, na even luisteren, zijn vader aan de voetstappen en de ademhaling bij het ophalen van zijn overjas. ‘Hij heeft mij verwekt,’ dacht hij. ‘Laat ik hem welwillend beschouwen.’
The Evenings must have caused quite a shock upon its publication. In this 1947 novel – a classic of Dutch literature – Gerard Reve (1923-2006) pushes the boundaries of good taste and social norms in a society steeped in traditional values. He recounts the last ten days of 1946 through the eyes of Frits van Egters, a 23-year-old man living with his parents. Frits’ thoughts are characterised by a longing for something to happen, for an event that would make his existence – or at least his day – feel worthwhile. In reality, his days – especially the evenings – seem to pass by without any real significance. Frits works, remains more or less civil to his parents, and visits his friends on a whim, as was apparently customary at the time, yet a lack of purpose is evident.
I can understand why some readers might not be immediately impressed by the novel. However, once you grasp its essence – a snapshot of youth in the years directly following the Second World War – the story becomes all the more remarkable. With a rather dry style, Reve makes the zeitgeist tangible, in a time when television had yet to kill the radio star, and people ate potatoes with brown beans, gravy, and semolina dessert. While the war was over, youth cultures like the nozems did not yet emerge. It is striking that the author does not mention the war at all. Instead, he focuses on Frits’ inner life: his boredom, dreams, and frequent attempts to provoke others.
‘Kijk,’ zei zijn moeder. Ze stond voor het gasstel en wees achter zich op het aanrecht. ‘Bedoel je die fles?’ vroeg hij. Er stond een fles met een donkerrode vloeistof. Op de hals zat een oranje capsule. Hij trad naderbij. ‘Wat is dat?’ vroeg hij. ‘Ik heb een fles wijn gekocht voor vanavond,’ antwoordde ze, een aantal oliebollen uit de braadpan wippend. ‘Dat is prachtig,’ zei Frits. Hij nam de fles bij de hals op. Er zat een blauw etiket op met een gele rand. ‘Bessen-appel,’ las hij zacht. ‘Bessen-appel,’ zei hij bij zichzelf, ‘bessen-appel. Help ons, eeuwige, onze God. Zie onze nood. Uit de diepten roepen wij tot u. Verschrikkelijk.’
Reve’s use of language is a delight to read. It reminded me of J.J. Voskuil (Het Bureau), who wrote his diaries and novels decades later. No matter how stuffy his narrative may seem at times, Reve is far more subversive than his protagonist. I regret that his novels are not available online, making it more difficult for e-book enthusiasts abroad to access them.
‘Het is gezien,’ mompelde hij, ‘het is niet onopgemerkt gebleven.’