Who knows exactly what their grandparents did? What about great-grandparents? Great-uncles? Maybe you have some old family stories or memories pasted down until they reached you but were void of many details or even incorrect on certain specifics. Maybe Esther: A Family Story by Katja Petrowskaja deals with these questions and more. The novel is considered a book in the genre of postmemory which, according to Marianne Hirsch who coined the phrase, is “the relationship that the ‘generation after’ bears to the personal, collective, and cultural trauma of those who came before-to experiences they ‘remember’ only by means of the stories, images, and behaviors among which they grew up.” Petrowskaja did not personally experience World War II or any other trauma from the past, but her family did. Through a combination of anecdotes her family told her and her own investigative traveling, Petrowskaja delves into her family’s history and attempts to remember and experience it herself.
Petrowskaja grew up in Kiev during the time of the Soviet Union, and her native language is Russian. However, Maybe Esther was originally written in German as Vielleicht Esther, then translated to Кажется Эстер in Russian and Maybe Esther in English. It’s harder to tell in the English version, but it is clear in the German version that German is not her native language. She claims German as a language and rejects Russian, that much is clear from how she decides not to teach her daughter Russian and lives in Berlin with her German husband. “We [Petrowskaja and her brother] were no longer defined by our living and dead relatives and where they resided, but by means of our languages.” Her brother learned Hebrew to “devote his life to Judaism” and in doing so reclaimed the religion their family had practiced decades before, while Petrowskaja seems to find a “second life” in her German and “threw [herself] into the study of German as though carrying on the battle against muteness.”
This entire novel is full of wonderful metaphors and flowery language like the quotes above. Perhaps it is partially due to her non-native German, but she always pushes to explain herself, as though her words are never enough; she must continue to make metaphors and explanations to fully explain the complicated feelings and ideas. The first page of the first chapter already includes a wonderful metaphor of a family tree being similar to a Christmas tree, “a tree with decorations from old boxes—some baubles break, fragile as they are, some angels are ugly and sturdy and remain intact through every move.” Petrowskaja keeps us captivated throughout the novel with her awe-inspiring descriptions and spot-on prose.
Although she grew up in Kiev, Petrowskaja’s family has not always lived in Kiev, she has ancestors from Poland and some who built schools all over Europe for the deaf-mute. In fact, most of her ancestors were not even called Petrovsky because her grandfather changed his name and joined the revolutionary underground.
“Since then, Semion [her grandfather] had been the only one of his siblings to go by the name Petrovsky—an earthly stone, petrus, among heavenly Sterns, stars—and he had not heard from his somewhat eccentric brother, whose name came out of a remote past to which there is no longer any access.”
p.124
His brother, Petrowskaja’s great-uncle referenced above, has a compelling story, but I’ll leave you to read about it on your own. Getting back to the quote, her grandfather shunned his past and in doing so, made it inaccessible to any future generations. That sense of loss is prevalent throughout the book, but she is still able to research her mother’s side of the family. The side of the family that is full of teachers for the deaf-mute, a profession that continued for generations until it stopped with Petrowskaja’s mother. So many stories are contained within this one family. Her family suffered severe losses for being Jewish during World War II, and the loss continues due to her family being forced to separate themselves from their Jewish roots in the Soviet Union.
I’ve been studying in Qazaqstan for the last 7 weeks, and I’ve learned that many Qazaqs know the names of 7 generations of their ancestors. I envy them. I know the names of my grandparents and a few other small details, but I certainly know nothing about my great-grandparents or great-great-grandparents. Perhaps there is a story or two that a relative vaguely remembers, and maybe we can explore that story together and learn more about the past and present from the investigation, just like the author in this story. Maybe Esther certainly has ignited a desire within me to explore my family’s past, and maybe it will do so for you as well.
