By Brenda Wineapple
A Legacy is the story of 2 very diverse households, the Merzes and the Feldens. The Jewish Merzes are longstanding participants of Berlin’s haute bourgeoisie who count number a chum of Goethe between their unique ancestors. now not that this proud legacy ability a lot of something to them anymore. safe of their large city apartment, they dedicate themselves to little greater than having fun with their comforts and making sure their wealth. The Feldens are landed aristocracy, well to do yet no longer wealthy, from Germany’s Catholic south. After Julius von Felden marries Melanie Merz the fortunes of the 2 households may be surprisingly, certainly fatally, entwined.
Set in the course of the run-up to international warfare I, a time of weirdly mingled complacency and angst, A Legacy is fascinating, magnificently humorous, and profound, an unforgettable photo of a doomed means of life.
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Additional info for A Legacy (New York Review Books Classics)
Why don’t you pick them? ” She pulled the curtains. “It’s no longer a nasty little Spa . . . They’ve taken an entire flooring . . . they may to boot start to get used to you. ” 6 the next day, and the next day to come, and the following day . . . existence, within the neat unhappy dry little French word that bundles all of it into its position, lifestyles isn't as undesirable nor pretty much as good as one thinks. l. a. vie, voyez-vous Çà n’est jamais si bon ni si mauvais qu’on croit. by no means as undesirable, by no means pretty much as good . . . while? on the speedy of calamity, on the fringe of worry? whilst the undesirable information is introduced, and the capture felt sprung, or the loss moves domestic? At low ebb, in tedium, in accidie? within the moments of renewal? the transfiguration of affection, the flush of labor, the grace of a brand new imaginative and prescient, the long-held now? Or later, while the doorways close, one after one other, and remorse strikes within the center like a metal coil? by no means nearly as good, by no means as undesirable, yet a colorless, bearable half-sleep banked by way of a bit shop of this and that, subsiding after visitations and alarms, a slumbering, frequently no longer uneasy, down the years, an even-paced irreversible passage—life, the run of lives, the sum of existence? Is it consoling? is it the complete fact? Is it inevitable? The years that the demise of her husband’s sisters can't were chuffed ones for Sarah—Edu’s playing, Edu’s waxing money owed, Edu’s unchanging nature: the complete repeated cycle that had pressed her right into a graceless self-reliance; she used to be getting old; time was once passing; every thing that occurred, or now not occurred, might be noticeable as including to the ultimate form; and as we all know her she should have been residing on her personal shut phrases with disillusionment. Her young ones have been starting to be up. Into stiff, matter-of-fact, secretive women, not like the ladies of her personal early life, interestingly out of sympathy with their mom and dad and their time. once they were small she had appeared ahead to the longer term after they will be sufficiently old for her to like them; in the meantime, she had noticeable that they got every little thing she believed they should have, had certainly watched over them with nearly compassionate drawback, prospecting their evolving seems to be as one scans an organization file. She had a very good fellow-feeling for girls and was once resolved that her daughters must have every thing from immediately backs and the teeth to pursuits, to organize them for his or her lot; now it used to be came across they can no longer love her. What she had performed to Edu, she had mostly performed for them; probably they judged her, took their father’s aspect; she couldn't inform. What did they are saying approximately it to one another? did they speak? did they get on? there has been approximately those younger creatures a hardness and sufficiency that questioned and intimidated Sarah who didn't understand that it was once acknowledged to come back from her. She admitted to herself one other disappointment—their minds had now not grown fascinating. but what grieved her such a lot used to be that she observed in either one of them indicators of the assets of her personal frustration. Of none of this she spoke. Few humans have been comfortable together with her; not anyone laughed along with her at her jokes. For the 2 or 3 eminent males who got here to her condo, and for the painters who dined together with her and whose studios she visited, she was once too wealthy, too idle, her manners remained too uncompromising, to consider her as whatever yet a hostess or a client.