Prague, by Arthur Phillips. Random House. 380 pages. $24.95.
The Wall has come down in Berlin; all across Eastern Europe, the Iron Curtain has melted away. A new era is dawning. Yet, a sense of belatedness and inauthenticity hovers over the lives of five young North American expatriates in Budapest in 1990.
To begin with, they're convinced that the "in" place to be at this point in history isn't Budapest, but Prague. And as one of them -- neophyte journalist John Price -- feels, there is something unsettling about the contrast between the Easterners who longed so desperately for freedom (and in some cases fought and suffered for it) and young Westerners like himself who take it for granted.
In this ambitious first novel, Minneapolis-born, Harvard-educated Arthur Phillips, who lived in Budapest in 1990-1992, memorably evokes the atmosphere of the ancient European city as filtered through the sensibilities of some very postmodern young North Americans. "[T]hough one sees in many of the Hungarians a natural envy for our wealth, our ease, our pardon from History, still there is, even in the eyes of the defeated, a certain pride that is justifiable," muses Price in his newspaper column. Compared with these people, he feels untested, uncertain about himself.
Quite another attitude is held by poised, polished Charles Gabor, an aspiring financier, the American-born son of Hungarians who fled their country after the Soviets crushed the 1956 revolution. Charles' decision to invest in a venerable Hungarian publishing firm brings him into contact with Imre Horvath, a man of some heroism who has endured more hardships and dangers than someone like Charles can imagine. Yet despite -- or perhaps because of -- his parents' undying devotion to their heritage, Charles is singularly unreceptive to tales of suffering and heroism, preferring to keep his eye on the bottom line.
Overweight, hypersensitive Mark Payton is a scholar studying the phenomenon of nostalgia, and his erudite ruminations on that subject lend considerable resonance to this novel. Mark's deepest desire, however, is to find a way of living free of irony, inhabiting the present without hankering for times past.
Wholesome Midwesterner Emily Oliver works at the American embassy.
Although she doesn't know it, she is the girl of John Price's dreams. John also longs to reach a rapprochement with his brother Scott, who came to the Old World to get away from his family, including John.
With so many characters and storylines, Phillips may have bitten off a little more than he manages to chew. He never does get down to revealing the source of the Price brothers' feud, which, along with the character of Scott Price, seems somewhat extraneous to the novel's central themes. But when it comes to the exposition of those themes, Phillips displays considerable virtuosity.
His grasp of history, his sense of place, his suave yet nervy prose style, and his ability to convey the ambivalent feelings of his characters are most impressive. He has succeeded in writing a sophisticated yet surprisingly moving novel that will speak to readers who, like John Price and Phillips himself, are blessed (or cursed) with a keen sense of irony.
Merle Rubin writes for the Christian Science Monitor, the Wall Street Journal and the Los Angeles Times, among others. She has a doctorate in English from the University of Virginia and studied English as an undergraduate at Smith College and Yale University.