Daniel Kehlmann's sprawling tale follows the exploits of famed director G.W. Pabst, who eventually finds himself captive and coerced into creating movies for the appeasement of his Nazi overlords.
“It was one of those moments when everything seems to have been said, when it suddenly feels like the present has been used and nothing is left but a threatening future.”
Kehlmann's strongest accomplishment is allowing the narrative to veer into farce and satire without ever giving short shrift to the mild terror directly underneath. His story -- translated by Ross Benjamin -- allows for exploration of questions about the relationship between dictatorship and identity, the role of artistic license, and the value of autonomy.
“Suddenly there was silence. All conversation had stopped. The director stood in front of him, her mouth half open, looking at him. I was wrong, he thought. You actually can recognize the truly evil people at a single glance.”
"The Director" bounces around from Austria to Los Angeles to Czechoslovakia to France to Nazi Germany, lending a manic pace to elements of the narrative. The tale serves as a worthy exploration of the true meaning and merit of talent -- what is it worth and what is it worth sacrificing for?
“This was exactly what it had to be about–that music only seemed to speak of beauty, but in reality it spoke of how nothing was ever enough, how everything always fell short. How so much would never be ours.”
The appearance of famous people and stars from history lends weight to the novel. Kehlmann does a stellar job of capturing the fragile state of culture against the backdrop of horror, making "The Director" a memorable -- and vital -- read.
“‘Times are always strange. Art is always out of place. Always unnecessary when it’s made. And later, when you look back, it’s the only thing that mattered.’”
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