Chingiz A?tmatov: Jamilia

[Damian Kelleher]

It is an unfortunate truth of writing that a story of love must be told at a remove from the emotion itself. A protagonist in love can say merely, ?I love you?, or he can leave a little note, or she can stroke his arm while he sleeps. Granted, there are ways to show love, and great authors have done so, but by and large the duty of describing love falls to a third party, an observer who happens to see both the difficult times and the pleasant and, without fail, is there when love is shown to conquer all. Chingiz A?tmatov's novella, Jamilia, is one such story. A?tmatov succeeds at the goals he sets himself, which is admirable enough, I suppose, but the novella never really carries enough weight, though it tries.

Jamilia is a beautiful young girl in a Soviet village where most of the men have gone to fight at the front. Those that remain are the old and the weak, or the young. Jamilia is a flower among nothing at all, which allows her to be beautiful in the way a single rose in a vase of water is beautiful ? neatly so, but somewhat coldly, and lacking in the true vitality of passion. Far better, surely, is the vibrant rose bush studded with thorns and flowers, surrounded by the efflorescence of nature. But never mind. Jamilia is beautiful and knows it, and the men around her (disabled by war, too young or too old, or family), know it because there isn't any else around with whom to compare.

Seit is the narrator, and is an established painter looking back at a childhood long vanished. He may be a good painter, but A?tmatov makes him an occasionally awkward writer; by the third paragraph, we've read the line, ?It all happened when I was still a young lad?, which is never a good sign. But again, never mind. Seit observes and observes, because he is the narrator and because his is not part of the lovers-to-come. Jamilia is, we know, because she is the only female described with any real passion, and because Seit, of course, loves her with the intensity, confusion, and aimlessness of an early teenage crush. Seit's role is to explain the world around him enough that we understand the beauty of Jamilia and her attraction to her lover, and to evoke the sensation of love, of loss, of heartache, sadness and joy.

Lastly we have Daniyar, the wounded soldier returned from the front. He works, along with everyone else, very hard, shifting sacks of goods about to best serve the troops still fighting. He is a loner, though not by choice, and he becomes the butt of Jamilia and Seit's cruels jokes. He is man about whom the following can be written:

Daniyar's thin lips with their hard lines at the corners were always shut tight, his eyes were sad and wistful, and only his lively, mobile eyebrows gave life to his drawn, world-weary face.

If this review sounds overly cynical then it should be admitted that it is with intention. The problem with Jamilia is that we are told and told things, but never, ever, do we see them. Jamilia and Daniyar declare their love around four fifths of the way through the novel (though of course they love wistfully before that), and this love is shown progressing in two major scenes. The first is when Daniyar sings while they work, and the second is during a storm when Seit realises he wants to be a painter, and wants to paint the two of them in love. Both of these scenes utilise sensations which we, the reader, are not privy, and which we, the reader, must rely on Seit's, and thus A?tmatov's, capacity for expression. A song cannot be heard in text, of course, and so we must read this:

I was astounded at the passion and fire of the melody itself. I could not describe it then, nor can I now. Was it just his voice or something more tangible emerging from his very soul that could arouse such emotion in another person, and bring one's innermost thoughts to life?

If only I could recreate his song. It contained few words, yet even without words it revealed a great human soul. I have never heard such singing before or since...

Very well, but that helps the reader little. It's all telling, without any showing. Jamiliar shudders with sensual delight, and Seit is suitably bewildered by the whole experience, but ? so what? The reader cannot engage, and thus the love story, which is clearly experiencing a crescendo within the novel, becomes removed from us. We know it's true, but we don't ever read it as true.

If we forget the love story a moment (and in a ninety-six page novel, this is rather difficult, I'll admit), it must be said that A?tmatov's subtle descriptions of Soviet village life is fascinating. A?tmatov takes care to use specific Kyrgyz terminology, defines it within the text, and then consistently applies it amongst his characters. By tradition Seit must call Jamilia jenei, and she calls him kichine bala, which means little boy. We learn that elders are called aksakals, and that respected craftsmen are referred to as ustaka. Beyond simply words, Seit is sensitive enough to the rhythm and flow of masculine and feminine ? he knows where gender roles have broken down because of the war, and notices when males take on jobs normally reserved for females, and vice versa. Generational issues, too, flavour the text, the problem of not enough strong men and women of a certain age forcing the old and the young to perform duties to which they are not accustomed, providing the spicy seasoning to the main love story's bland stew. A lot can be gleaned, intentionally or not, of poor village life during war time, and this is to A?tmatov's credit.

It should be noted by now, and hasn't been, that Jamilia is married to Seit's older brother, Sadyk. This should be a massive focal point of the novella, but it only really comes up at the start and near the end, and both times without any undue concern from Seit (and by extension, us). The push that sends Jamilia rolling away from the family are Sadyk's letters home. Seit comments that,

he would greet the rest of us in strict sequence, starting with my mother, then his mother. After that would follow questions about the health and well-being of the village aksakals, the honoured elders of our clan and close relatives, and only right at the end, as if in afterthought, he would add, 'and give my regards to my wife Jamilia'.

Jamilia feels like an afterthought (and of course she is, both socially and culturally; this is expected behaviour, though it hurts her), and wants to be someone's all. But that's it. At the very end of the novella, after love has won the day, Sadyk returns and everyone in the family except for Seit roundly accuses the absent Jamilia of whorish behaviour and worse, and then Seit reflects on his happy painter's life. It very much seems as though Jamilia was married purely so that she had a narrative-based reason to leave the village by the end of the book, and not because the author actually wished to pursue the inherent friction of such a situation.

Jamilia is, in the end, a pleasant enough novel, but it's not the great love story it wishes to be. Too much is told, and not enough is shown. We don't really understand Jamilia's affection for Daniyar or vice versa, which means we are left cold during most of the high-flown sequences. It sounds strange, perhaps, but A?tmatov would have better served both his primary characters and the novella itself if he had relaxed his pen, stepped back a little, and devoted significant space to the exhalations of the little village with its back broken by the war. Now there is a story worth telling.

[saliotthomas]

The thing with your review is that Jamilia is not what you think a love story should be, (with your tone like correcting the copy of a lazy but gifted studden)It sort of should be more heavy handed on the explanations, about the husband and such, well why, subtility does as well.
And not enought is of their is shown, whatever that mean. This is not Jane Austen England, it's the fucking steppes, these are hard people, their love is more like taming a wild beast, more clumsy, hidden but all along we can feel it transparing.
You wanted more village description, but it's there, the tente and mother at the start, and if you need more, read Tolstoi. It's exactly the clue about their relation, you missed, maybe if you traveled a bit, you might understand different ways of life, and more quickly.

But the most incredible the way you avoided all the beautifull and poetic part, the unique atmosphere. It's like if it was an exercies you put yourself to in your need to be an original and intelligent critic.

We have not read the same novel, mine was of a strange and wild love among the tartares, unlike most of what has been written before, with this classic scenes when coming back with the cart, he sings and the world change.

If Louis Aragon, who translated it pushed a bit in saying "The most beautiful love story in the world." i say he is not far of and i can see why his poetic sensitivity have been move by it.

[Damian Kelleher]

Naturally, if I did not believe the love story, then I do not believe in the book. That goes without saying.

But where is the poetic language? I can't see it. The sections I quoted are typical; I don't feel I unfairly extracted snippets to make my claim at the expense of truly great writing. Here's another:

I don't know what came over Daniyar that night, there was such a tender, penetrating, yearning loneliness in his singing that it brought tears of compassion and sympathy to my eyes. Jamilia was walking alongside his cart, her head to one side, holding on tightly the edge of the cart. And as his voice began to soar again, she tossed her head, sprang into the cart and sat down beside him. She sat there as if turned to stone, her hands folded across her chest. I was walking alongside, hurrying forward to have a better look at them. He continued singing, seeming not to notice her beside him. I saw her arms drop weakly to her sides and her head lightly rest upon his shoulder as she leaned toward him. Just for a moment, like a horse changing step under the whip, his voice wavered, then rang out with even greater power. He was singing of love.

This comprises part of a major section within the novel. It is when they start to openly and properly declare their love. This is good writing, certainly, but it's not enough to hang the entire novella upon. The most beautiful love story in the world? No.

I don't see their love as strange and wild. Or different. Or like taming a wild beast. I saw set pieces moved carefully about. There was the scene where two characters play a trick on the other. There was the scene where the loner shows himself as having true grit. There was the scene where the loner shows himself as sensitive. There was the scene where the girl is shown as desirable. There was the scene where they admitted their love, there was...

All of this is present in most every book about love. Difficult loves have difficult starts, sure, but I don't really see the uniqueness of Jamilia and Daniyar's love. "It's the fucking steppes" is not enough of a rebuttal to what I wrote, is it? If you are going to sway my opinion, great! But you need more than that.

I liked the novella, but I don't feel there was enough there. The love story wasn't sufficiently explained or described, and the social and familial aspects of the novella, while very interesting, were not detailed enough. The village and the families provide the frame upon which the story is built - and neither the frame nor the story were sufficiently developed. You can't all but ignore Jamilia's husband and her feelings for and about him for most of the novella, then expect that his return (after she has gone!) will have an impact on this 'great love story'. It doesn't work that way.

Thanks for responding. I'm happy to disagree, certainly. No need for the attacks though, is there?

[saliotthomas]

I don't say the writing is specialy poetic but the atmopheres it create are.
As for insufficent description, it's a novela, not Anna Karenina thousand or so pages.
Your description flatten everything, make it borringly pratical.

I'm sorry if it sound like an attack but as i say before, some books are like good friends to me,Jamilia is one and i get piss off when instead of putting a bit of reserves in a critical review, say by leaving room for something lacking in your own judgement, one is throwing about affirmation about what the author should or should not have done.
Sentence like

It doesn't work that way

make me cringe because where you affirme there is fault, i see none.
You can't expect A short novela to be exhaustive about situations and social setting, your imagination should be working to compencate.

I love the concision of this novela, it's unique (again) atmosphere. Very few book about the steppes and specialy not love stories, have been written(well not that i know of) and i could see most of the scene perfecty.
I have a good few friend who share this irrational love for this novel with me, there is something special that obviously didn't touch you and i'm sure you are not alone.
And i agree to desagree, always.

[Omo]

I'm totally with Thomas on this one, it's a wonderful atmospheric book and the language it's written in suits it perfectly - it's the language of simple, hard-working people where there's no room for big words or witty talk, but nevertheless the feelings are of the same extent and they are expressed in actions.
It was one of my early encounters with literature, so I'm ready to admit that there is some sentimentality weighting my jugdement, but I have a hard time thinking about a better love story.

Edit: Why isn't this in the Asian sub-forum?

[Damian Kelleher]

I can understand the feelings invoked when a good friend is criticised. So, no harm done.

To be honest, the reason I made my description of the novella and its language practical is because (for me), that's how I saw the novel. Most of the time I felt the author had over-reached, and when he hadn't, then it was simply average. But I mentioned all that. The point I want to make is that the technique was deliberate, and used to convey the feelings I took from the work.

I should also admit that saying, "It doesn't work that way" is deliberately provocative, and perhaps is not fair. But I chose to write sentences like those because I came to the novel with very high hopes, and I felt they weren't met - which meant, for me, it didn't work that way. But I can see how that could seem unfair to those people who loved the work.

What do I think is a better love story? Well, I don't care much for them, so perhaps that is part of the problem. I find they become too bogged down with sentimentality, and that the feelings expressed are too difficult to convey adequately through text. Again, personal preference.

All that said, I would certainly read more of his work. I definitely wasn't turned off A?tmatov as an author.

[Svidrigailov]

The story Jamila is one of my favorites. In this novel is magic - the magic of that from plain text makes great literature. Aitmatov is an absolute genius.