Peščanik by Danilo Kiš

First published: 1972 (also as translated as Hourglass, 1990)

Type of work: Psychological realism

Time of work: World War II

Locale: Northern Yugoslavia

Principal Characters:

• Eduard Sam, a retired railroad official
• The Narrator, his son

The Novel

In Peščanik (hourglass), Danilo Kiš returns to the loss of his father in World War II, a theme with which he began working in an earlier novel, Basta, pepeo (1965; Garden, Ashes, 1975). Although not considered to be strictly autobiography, the novel has enough autobiographical elements in it to justify connecting it with the author’s personal life. This interpretation, however, is not absolutely necessary for an understanding of the novel. Eduard Sam (called Eduard Scham in Garden, Ashes), a Jew and a retired railroad official, figured in Garden, Ashes as the youthful narrator’s often-absent but still-dominating father. The focus in Peščanik shifts to Sam himself, even though the narrator of Garden, Ashes is once more present. By shifting his focus, Kiš allows Sam to tell his own story, so that his last days are seen from a slightly different perspective from that of the earlier book. This dual vision is symbolized by a drawing in the novel of a white hourglass silhouetted against a black background, the sides of the hourglass clearly showing the contours of two faces confronting each other.

Peščanik begins with a detailed, realistic account of a man lost in a snowy wilderness, attempting to find his way (“Pictures from a Journey”). This passage is followed by the musings and ravings of an unidentified person—who turns out to be Eduard Sam (“Notes of a Madman”)—and by an examination of Sam carried out in a police station (“Investigation” and “Investigation of Witnesses”). These chapter headings recur several times. The novel ends with the last letter written by Sam, which supposedly gives the final version of the sequence of events that led to his death.

The story of the novel unfolds as these chapters alternate. First, the external circumstances of the wanderings and Sam’s escape attempts are given in minute, realistic detail as pictures from a journey. Although disconnected and seemingly unrelated, these tableaux all pertain to the movements of a hunted man. Chapters on the notes of a madman show the persecuted protagonist’s emotional reactions to the mental torture to which he is subjected, while in the chapters on the investigation, the most tangible details about Sam’s activities and “transgressions” are to be found. Even in these more concrete sections of the book, many details seem disconnected and unrelated because of the well-known habit of criminal investigators of circling around the main topic and returning to the same questions in a slightly different form. Sam seldom loses his composure, although he comes very close to it. He gives straightforward, believable answers, to the displeasure of the investigators, who seek an admission of guilt, justifiable or not. The outcome is a foregone conclusion, from which Sam, like the protagonist of a classical tragedy, cannot escape.

The last chapter, Sam’s letter to his sister, is a litany of the sorrows inflicted upon him and his family by unfeeling relatives. It is a picture of utter despair, though couched in civilized tones. The letter also demonstrates that a man can be hunted like an animal by his own kin as well as by his enemies. Sam ends his letter fatalistically by comforting himself, “It is better to be hunted than hunters.”

The Characters

Eduard Sam is the only character who deserves discussion. The book’s attention never strays from him, in contrast to Garden, Ashes, in which the narrator’s childhood experiences receive considerable attention. The other characters in Peščanik are minor, their only purpose being to sharpen the focus on Sam. Sam’s chief traits are the same as those highlighted in the previous novel. He is a dreamer, highly impractical and seemingly incapable of providing for his family, despite his best efforts. He is utterly naive in dealing with other people, most of whom, especially his relatives, take advantage of him whenever they can. During the investigation, it is revealed that he has had wide contacts with a large variety of people, many of whom are now suspected by the authorities. These contacts eventually bring about his demise, although clearly they are used only as a pretext; the primary reason for his persecution is that he is Jewish.

Sam’s reaction to persecution changes noticeably in this novel. In the previous novel, he was almost optimistic and buoyant; now he seems resigned to his fate, an attitude only glimpsed earlier. Sam is also more attentive to the needs of his family in this book. Earlier, he adopted a devil-may-care attitude toward his wife and children; now he is more concerned about their welfare. The results are the same, but his involvement is markedly different. Furthermore, while in Garden, Ashes he still hoped to publish his poetry and his railroad schedule as his life’s achievement, in Peščanik he seems to be resigned to failure; he seldom mentions his artistic endeavors in this book. Clearly, he has become the ultimate victim. Somehow the designation of a specific person—Eduard Sam—persecuted for a specific reason—being a Jew—has been muted; instead, he has become a symbol of humanity’s endless suffering.

The role of the narrator, presumably his son, has been reduced to that of an observer and not a totally objective one, although in the descriptive chapters, he is as detached as possible under the circumstances. As previously mentioned, the narrator is now satisfied to let Sam tell his own story, either directly or through the police investigations.

Critical Context

The virtues of Peščanik lie in both its themes and its artistic excellence; the universality of the main themes is accompanied by a style that is both bold and accomplished. Kiš employs a distinctive approach in which the subject is seen from three different angles. First, the scene is set by a realistic description in a style which resembles that of Rembrandt van Rijn: Every motion, sound, and sight is recorded as if on a canvas or a tape. This approach represents reality as it is seen at first glance, without any attempt to analyze or penetrate it. Kiš’s second technique consists of diary notes written by Sam, in which he records his reactions, both mental and emotional, to outward stimuli. This diary also gives him an opportunity to voice his opinion on various matters—the only chance he has amid general distrust and mutual disregard. The third approach is employed in the chapters on the investigation in the police station. In a highly dramatic technique of rapid questions and answers, the reality, only described in the first approach and mused upon in the second, is mercilessly pierced and torn asunder, revealing the unspeakable tension under which every moment of the protagonist’s life is spent. Kiš approaches his subject from these three angles because he believes that only in such a way can the truth be obtained. In addition, the book’s versatility and changes of pace make for lively reading, though they also make the novel somewhat more complex, demanding the active participation of the reader.

Approaching the form of the novel in such a complex and demanding manner, Kiš exhibits the qualities that make him one of the most sophisticated and prominent writers in late twentieth century Serbian and Yugoslav literature. It is no surprise, therefore, that he has been one of the most translated writers in Yugoslavia.

Bibliography

Czarny, Norbert. “Imaginary-Real Lives: On Danilo Kiš,” in Cross-Currents. III (1984), pp. 279-284.

Gavrilovic, Zoran. “Intelektualni lirizam Danila Kiša,” in Knjizevna kritika. IV (1973), pp. 89-94.

Georgijevski, Hristo. “Roman Peščanik,” in Delo. XIX (1973), pp. 692-697.

Matillon, Janine. “Entretien avec Danilo Kiš: Qu’est-ce qu’un ecrivain yougoslave a Paris?” in La Quinzaine litteraire. No. 317 (January, 1980), p. 17.

Vitanovic, Slobodan. “Thematic Unity in Danilo Kiš’s Literary Works,” in Relations. Nos. 9/10 (1979), pp. 66-69.

White, Edmund. “Danilo Kiš: The Obligations of Form,” in Southwest Review. LXXI (Summer, 1986), pp. 363-377.