I Am the Brother of XX

Starred review from March 20, 2017
The stories in Jaeggy’s (Sweet Days of Discipline) collection are masterpieces of fury and restraint. Most are only a few pages, and the short, declarative sentences burrow into the deepest corners of the characters’ psyches, only to suddenly subvert expectations. In the title story, a brother feels his life is dominated by his sister’s influence: “When I talk my sister pays too much attention. She watches me. Maybe she is writing my story, as long as I am not dead yet like my parents. I’ve always wondered whether one of them might have died because of her.” In “Agnes,” a man reflects on his past relationship with a woman who has left him: “At that time I was still using words. Small gifts. Flowers. I courted her. She threw away the flowers. Laughed at the words. Had no use for the gifts.” The man offers the woman’s new husband “the wedding dress, the ring. And something I can’t say.” This trademark combination of directness and elusiveness is also apparent in “F.K.,” in which a woman searches for her friend who has deserted a psychiatric clinic. The woman meets her friend’s guardian, a “woman of the law” who “took care of her,” which dredges up the narrator’s guilt and fears about the worst outcome of the situation. These chilling, beguiling stories dig up reflections on solitude, regret, and sometimes even on love. It is thrilling to live in Jaeggy’s worlds, which are so intense they threaten to boil over, yet pull back just enough to keep their secrets.

May 15, 2017
Most of the 21 stories in this wide-ranging collection are only a few pages long, and they're jewels of intellect and compassion.As if taking stock of life through the lens of European history, Swiss writer Jaeggy (S.S. Proleterka, 2003, etc.) finds poetry in the thoughts of characters who steal or desecrate, fall into depression, kill without knowing why, each fate revealing a hint about the soul, something from the core of life. In the gloomy title story, a man describes his love-hate relationship with his entrancing older sister. At age 8 he tells his grandmother all he wants to do when he grows up is die and, later, recalls how his mother's coffin looked after someone placed flowers on it: "Little sweets, little strawberries, a flowery meadow on our mother's skull." There's a story about a visit to a hospital burn unit ("The Aseptic Room"), an artwork that mirrors life ("Portrait of an Unknown Woman"), and a "puritanically serene" family with a Nazi past ("The Aviary"). Two stories focus on famous writers, Joseph Brodsky ("Negde") and Ingeborg Bachmann ("The Salt Water House"). Jaeggy's prose is silken, especially when violence occurs. In "The Heir," an old woman collapses in a fire that may have been set by her servant, who notes in cold, heartbreaking detail how "her hands, like the claws of a crustacean, clutched a little mound of dust." The wealthy, death-obsessed family in "The Last of the Line" lives out a fable of decadence in decay, where lakes dream and haunting portraits portend murder. And it's a testament to Jaeggy's skill that her gothic fiction can stand alongside a story such as "Names," about a visit to Auschwitz, where, "the flowers before the Wall of Death are limp. During the night they freeze." In prismatic translation from the Italian, these tiny tales sparkle with wit and worldly wisdom.

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