In America
Novel by Susan Sontag
Reviewed by Emily Banner
Susan Sontag does not give herself an easy time of it. Consider this: she
tells ripping good stories, draws complex and engaging characters, can depict a
range of historical periods - not to mention diverse countries and cultures - with
richly convincing detail, and yet this is clearly not enough for her. In fact,
she seems almost impatient with these talents, as if they are simply the
necessary trappings for what really interests her: a more philosophical inquiry
into the themes raised by her subject matter. That she can do plot, character,
and detail extremely well, that she can move through seemingly impossible points
of view without stumbling, that she can craft accessible and entertaining
novels – well, that's very nice, of course, but one gets the sense that she
considers it beside the point.
In her new novel, In America, as in 1992's The Volcano Lover, Sontag
offers a melting pot of history and fiction, realism and romance. In her earlier
work, Sontag used a series of new perspectives to tell the story of Lord Horatio
Nelson and Lady Emma Hamilton, actual historical figures. In this case, she uses
a fictional cast of characters but announces at the outset that they were
inspired by a real group of people - and known historical personages do make
appearances. The story concerns Maryna Zalezowska, great diva of the Polish
stage, who in 1876 gives up the theatre and emigrates with her entourage to
California, where she dreams of living out her days on a Utopian commune. This
premise gives Sontag ample opportunities to riff on the meaning of America, as
well as the profession of acting, and in both of these subjects she's mining
fertile ground.
The book opens in Krakow, picking up Maryna's story at the point where she's
weighing the decision of whether or not to strike out for America. Although we
are quickly immersed in late-19th century Poland, Sontag uses herself, or someone
based on herself, as a narrator, and makes it clear that we are seeing this time
and place through a late twentieth century lens. We are conscious of the
Holocaust, the current conflicts in the Balkans, and the tragic history that
suffuses the issues of nationhood and nationalism in eastern Europe.
She assembles a colorful group of characters. Like any worthy diva,
Maryna has an appropriate supporting cast: the adoring husband, the jealous young
lover, the worshipful protégé, the lovesick confidante, the illegitimate son, and
assorted other admirers and hangers-on. Each character, sympathetic and precisely
drawn, is familiar, and in some cases, recognizably Chekhovian - Maryna is more
than a little reminiscent of the domineering actress in The Seagull, and her dear
friend Henryk, the wise but alcoholic doctor, could have been lifted whole out of
Uncle Vanya. But it would be underestimating Sontag to suppose that she did not
intend this familiarity. Psychological realism is well and good, but why limit
the scope of a novel to just one group of people, however exciting their passions
and exploits may be, when the action could be given more universal resonance by
making each character a literary archetype as well?
Maryna's desire for the simple life - which she can offer countless reasons
for, but can't entirely explain - carries her and her friends halfway around the
world, but as so many immigrants find, the reality of America does not match up
to its promise. When their commune breaks apart under the weight of debts,
drudgery, and disillusionment, Maryna returns to acting. She has to change her
name, so she won't sound so foreign, and she works for months to subdue her
Polish accent, but soon enough she conquers the American stage as well,
surpassing even her success in Poland. By book's end, she is touring with Edwin
Booth, the greatest American actor of his day.
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