The traveller’s melancholy

Having followed in their footsteps in the captivating "Anime baltiche" (2015), Bagliori a San Pietroburgo (2017) and L’anima delle città (2021), the Dutch author once again turns his attention to some of the great composers, painters, poets and storytellers, drawing on the literary form that seems particularly suited to him: one that lies halfway between reportage, the biographical portrait and the travelogue – a form that is, moreover, not without anecdotes or very well-judged dialogue. It is evident that in this book too—meticulously translated by Claudia Cozzi—Brokken relishes moving through both time and space: two dimensions in which he operates, driven by the aim of gathering tales of worlds in decline, sometimes forgotten, sometimes in need of protection. Thus unfolds a narrative centred on fourteen European artists perpetually on the move, unable to settle in any one place, deeply restless and inclined to choose exile: from Kafka to Machado, from Monteverdi to Bartók, from Caillebotte to Depero, from Goethe to Kadare and on to Matisse, it becomes clear how their writings, voices and lives continue to speak to us. It is also interesting to highlight how Brokken proves capable of skilfully weaving his own observations together with chance encounters. In this respect, he resembles Claudio Magris in some of his travel writings and, in particular, in Danubio – a work aptly cited on several occasions within these pages. Finally, the role played by music seems central to the overall structure of the narrative: it is not merely one of the book’s themes but serves as its organising principle. And it is perhaps no coincidence that, in the final chapter of The Melancholy of the Traveller, he quotes Ismail Kadare, who says he envies musicians for their ability to create an ever-new language. “We,” says the now elderly narrator of Albanian origin, drawing on a theme of paramount importance – for Hugo von Hofmannsthal, for example – “have at our disposal only words that everyone uses, words that are often overused, worn out, weighed down, laden with meanings because some ideology has taken hold of them. A violinist, on the other hand, can create music all of his own; he can make every note ring out as if it were new.” This musicality also characterises his prose – with its slow, steady rhythm – whose fluidity, simplicity and incisiveness prove capable of captivating the reader right up to the very last page, of constantly arousing their interest and curiosity, of transforming their mindset, of broadening their horizons, and of inviting them on a journey of reflection.

Jan Brokken
, "The Traveller’s
Melancholy", Iperborea, 415 pp., 20 euros