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Perhaps that’s a surprise, considering that nowadays women outnumber men by the fraction that superior intelligence and unwavering work habits give them, but in those days it was so: lots of men, few women.
I decided that my game playing might well benefit from some deeper exploration into the details that surrounded the Prague Spring. So I sharpened up my search engine and embarked upon a quest for a non-fiction book that covered the topic. I was hoping to find something along the lines of Mark Bowden’s treatment of the Battle of Hue, although I probably knew going in that was too much to hope for. What I did find was that books were either of questionable quality or they were out of print and, as a result, outrageously expensive. Not surprisingly, with the search string “Prague Spring” active, I did turn up a work of fiction titled Prague Spring by Simon Mawer.
I had never heard of Simon Mawer until just that moment. He apparently has had a run of literary success in recent years and, due to that popularity, his novels are available from my Public Library. He writes historical fiction and his two most popular (and most acclaimed) works focus on Continental Europe and World War II. That superficial background info was good enough to get me to check (!) out Prague Spring and dive right in. I anticipated a rewarding reading experience, one way or another, from its quality and/or its subject matter. With the book saying “Prague Spring” right there on the cover, I figured I’d certainly learn a thing or two about the Prague Spring.
Prague Spring‘s focus, however, is on the personal – even while its story is driven by the historical. It is a book about young love and the taking of younger lovers. Every key element in the story (except, of course1 Brezhnev’s decision to send tanks) is driven by sexual desire.
I have a very strong suspicion that the relationships – the affairs – of the book are taken from the author’s own memories. He is of just the right age to BE (primary character) James in the story. Mawer’s career path through academics might also leave you wondering about the basis for the older man/younger female student sexual relationships that also grace this work. Whether he is writing about himself or about others, though, the representation of the dynamic of the “sexual revolution” are realistic, even if not reality. They would be his “lived experience” whether directly or indirectly so.
Likewise, I see the favorable treatment of socialism as coming from the sensibilities of the author, both as a student and of a citizen of a nation2 with a strong “liberal” tradition. In 1968, much of Europe saw the Czechoslovakian aspiration of “socialism with a human face” as the good and natural state of Democratic government. All of the characters (and, by implication, the government of England) agree with this understanding. Does Mawer agree? Even as I suggest he does, his writing transcends the politics of the time with a perspective subsequently earned over more than five decades. If the discerning reader goes no farther than the words on Mawer’s pages, it should be clear that the seeds of the Prague Spring’s downfall grew not just out of Moscow. There was a fundamental weakness to Czechoslovakian socialism – even the best version thereof.
To wit, a chapter has the above-referenced older man, a British diplomat, take his student-girlfriend to Munich. She accompanies him on a trip where he delivers documents to his “free world” embassy, using the privilege of his diplomatic immunity to cross a line forbidden to Czechoslovakian students. While in West Germany, the girl is shocked by the bounty of capitalism. She muses that Czechoslovakia “won” the war against Germany, by virtue of being on the winning side, yet it is the (West) Germans who bask in the luxury of the post-war economic boom. Despite being on the cusp of attaining the ideal form of human existence, Czechoslovakia is plagued by shortages, oppression, and corruption. Its greatness and its beauty, Mawer’s writing makes clear, is often courtesy of the Empires from which it was created in 1918. Socialism has contributed little to nothing.
So is Mawer exposing a bit of reality, despite himself? Or has his 75 years of experience on this planet altered his views on politics? Likewise, I wonder if Mawer, now too old for even a May-December romance with a college girl, is beginning to see the folly of free love.
I see something in his characters that, likely, has been common to many, many relationships since the dawn of his generation’s sexual revolution. Sexual intimacy has become cheap – a fact that makes commitment, trust, and fidelity all the more expensive. Versions of the discussion in which James and Ellie engage have permeated my own college environment and experiences. If sex can be meaningful or meaningless, memorable or literally forgotten the next morning, then to it can be attached no additional implications or depth. Sharing a physical moment (or all-nighter) with a woman gives you no claim on her future behavior – and surely we (men) can accept this assertion. And yet, how many youths use the (easier) path of physical intimacy as a foothold into emotional intimacy and the potential for a serious relationship? How many get burned when the other half of their coupling does not do the same?
When the likes of Simon Mawer were born into this world, most people would have assumed the exact opposite. Nobody believes that the hippy generation invented casual sex but, for most of us (before free love and to a large extent afterwards), the assumption was that sexual activity and, often, even mere physical expressions of desire would follow commitment, not precede it. The “revolution” of Mawer’s generation was to separate the physicality of sex from the deep emotions of love from the morality of commitment.
What they lost, though, is that the traditional binding of all three drives has created a far more powerful force than they each would separately. When the primal urge for sexuality drives home one’s commitment, and does so within the bounds of an accepted moral framework, isn’t the subsequent bond of marriage and family that much stronger?
Thus we see, through the eyes of Mawer’s young James, the conflict inherent in the “free love” of 1968. James is driven by a desire for the immediate. He “wants” Ellie even while acknowledging that said desire will likely be fleeting. His thoughts make much of his attraction even while acknowledging that she less than “attractive.” If we were to force James to declare his “intentions,” to make a commitment, would he still pursue Ellie? Would he do so genuinely, or would he follow his lust by deceiving himself and/or others?
Furthermore, and despite (we assume) his having no longer-term intentions3, he begins to feel the trappings of commitment and relationship. These manifest as jealousy and possessiveness, both (justifiably) recognized as negative factors in a relationship – especially a casual one. But can a man shun jealousy without also foregoing his urge towards making a romantic commitment? What is the result in the “dating environment” when a premium is placed on emphasizing only the shortest of short-term outlooks?
Prague Spring obviously got me thinking about these sexual issues. Put into its 1968 context, it begs the question as to whether we’ve embarked on a decades-long journey down a dead-end road. While, obviously, couples still are faithful, make commitments, and marry each other in 2023, it is done within a cultural environment that encourages almost none of these things. Furthermore, the strength of Prague Spring as a novel stems from its being set at a political and cultural fulcrum of the Cold War. It’s an important facet to its writing even as it makes use of that setting mostly by walking us through the events – noticing the details in passing – as opposed to dramatizing the historical context directly.
As to that excerpt quote that tops my piece, it’s a line from chapter one, taken from very near the beginning. I had to read it several times to figure out what it was trying to convey. It stands out from most of the book’s prose in both style (it’s the first, although not the last, time the author breaks the 4th wall) and substance. It makes me wonder, as I have before, if such is not the price for being able to write a book that takes place in the “bad old days” and involves, largely, sexuality from the male perspective. Or is this instead something that the author really felt was necessary to explain? He is old enough to remember segregated colleges and skewed ratios of the past. Maybe he is aware, due to a teacher’s sense of youthful perceptions, that the campuses of 1968 would be entirely foreign to the college students of today.
Then again, I am probably trying to read too much into this once sentence. Mawer may have simply been thinking of the slight numbers advantage that women had in the late-80s, early-90s. He may not even be considering the large and growing skew that some campuses see “nowadays.” Although there was good helping of gendered “affirmative action” involved with 80s campus diversity – it somehow felt more natural. He is also not wrong. Many of the women I knew DID apply themselves a little more seriously and rigorously to their studies then the average man. The point being, his quote might4 just elicit agreement from me if I felt it applied to the average male/female college ratio over the last half-a-century or so.
Mawer is also too old to write chapters in present tense. And yet he does – some of the time. Unlike some other books, I could not discern why some were present and some were past. I saw no pattern.
Seeking patterns, I noted the author breaks the “fourth wall” three times, engaging in direct discussion with his reader rather than telling the story. The second time is to relate the book’s 1968 events into the post 2018 division into separate nations, surely a welcomed bit of context for many readers. The third time is to tell “what happened” with one of the characters. That he uses this device so rarely underscores an apparent importance when he does so. So, was it that important to point out that women are inherently superior to men? Maybe so.
Was that one fictional, Czechoslovakian woman so important that we need to know how she survived and escaped communism? This makes me again muse about how much of this story might be autobiographical. Not to ruin it for you, but the gal in question ultimately meets with tragedy. Indeed, maybe herein is a theme of Prague Spring. All ends in tragedy – and yet some of us soldier on. Eventually freedom did prevail in Prague but it was a long-coming eventuality. The wait was truly eternal to those protesters who were killed in the fall of 1968.
Prague Spring has not garnered the critical attention of Mawer’s more popular works, so perhaps it is up to me to make its recommendation. Is it a good book? I enjoyed it well enough. Does it make it a great book? Maybe not. Is Mawer, as an author, worth reading? Maybe. It’s tough to grasp the bigger picture from only a follow-on work by an author that is respected for his prior novels.
- I’m no expert and I didn’t put in any research effort, but I feel like this one is a fairly safe assertion. ↩︎
- Mawer is a British author who lives in Rome. I’ll leave my reference to his political origins vague. ↩︎
- Within the story, Ellie is portrayed (by virtue of her class background) as James’ “better.” Thus, even Ellie’s father is willing to accept James as a “fling” who is, long term, beneath her. When it is time for her to marry, she’ll find someone of her own station. ↩︎
- My hesitancy springs from an article I recently read detailing the notably poorer outcomes for boys versus girls in our educational system. The article’s author focused on classroom environments far more suited to the natural temperament of girls as opposed and unsuitable to the physicality of many boys. She also noted that the relative overachievement by girls has been a feature of the (American) public school system, almost from its beginnings. That is to say, the long term discounting of boys as “bad students” is a flaw in our educational system that underserves half the population. ↩︎
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