The Review of Contemporary Fiction

The Museum of Unconditional Surrender by Dubravka Ugresic
Irving Malin

Dubravka Ugrei&Mac173;. The Museum of Unconditional Surrender. Trans. Celia Hawkesworth. New Directions, 1999. 238 pp. $24.95.

This astonishing novel deserves more than one reading. It is a daring effort to explore the meanings of exile, loss, and identity. It is, if you will, a “museum”—a structure of odd objects, unexpected wonders, mysterious artifacts—which mirrors the psychological efforts of the narrator to construct an artwork, a personal album which offers peace—the necessary condition for appreciating everyday life.

At the beginning of the novel the narrator mentions the “things found in the stomach of Roland the walrus, who died on 21 August 1961. Or to be precise, a pink cigarette lighter, four icelolly sticks (wooden), a metal brooch in the form of a poodle. . . .” The list of objects is almost endless; it suggests that the narrator must put things together, must create order out of apparently random objects. And the novel reflects the condition of the narrator (and Roland). It consists of diary entries, parables, explications of albums, poetic visions—unexpected events (and descriptions of these events). There is a collage-effect, an assemblage of unusual meditations, where almost every page stresses the attempt to connect impressions. The connection is crucial; it helps the narrator or, on occasion, the third person, to forget exile—to live as an “ordinary” citizen.

In the last section, entitled “Wo bin Ich,” the narrator is in Berlin; the city is described as “an archeological find. Layers of time pile on over the other, the scars heal with difficulty, the seams are visible. It’s as though some invisible, confused archaeologist had been leaving the wrong labels everywhere; it is hard to say what came first, and what came later.” Berlin is linked metaphorically to the museum of consciousness, to the surrealistic list of objects found in Roland the walrus.

The narrator accepts the fact that she is a “museum exhibit,” but she understands the secret harmony, the round logic of symbols. She thus places herself, and by doing so, she is able to create and offer to us this fictional treasure of startling beauty. [Irving Malin]


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The Review of Contemporary Fiction The Museum of Unconditional Surrender by Dubravka Ugresic Irving Malin Dubravka Ugrei&Mac173;. The Museum of Unconditional Surrender. Trans. Celia Hawkesworth. New Directions, 1999. 238 pp. $24.95. This astonishing novel deserves more than one reading. It is a daring effort to explore the meanings of exile, loss, and identity. It is, if you will, a “museum”—a structure of odd objects, unexpected wonders, mysterious artifacts—which mirrors the psychological efforts of the narrator to construct an artwork, a personal album which offers peace—the necessary condition for appreciating everyday life. At the beginning of the novel the narrator mentions the “things found in the stomach of Roland the walrus, who died on 21 August 1961. Or to be precise, a pink cigarette lighter, four icelolly sticks (wooden), a metal brooch in the form of a poodle. . . .” The list of objects is almost endless; it suggests that the narrator must put things together, must create order out of apparently random objects. And the novel reflects the condition of the narrator (and Roland). It consists of diary entries, parables, explications of albums, poetic visions—unexpected events (and descriptions of these events). There is a collage-effect, an assemblage of unusual meditations, where almost every page stresses the attempt to connect impressions. The connection is crucial; it helps the narrator or, on occasion, the third person, to forget exile—to live as an “ordinary” citizen. In the last section, entitled “Wo bin Ich,” the narrator is in Berlin; the city is described as “an archeological find. Layers of time pile on over the other, the scars heal with difficulty, the seams are visible. It’s as though some invisible, confused archaeologist had been leaving the wrong labels everywhere; it is hard to say what came first, and what came later.” Berlin is linked metaphorically to the museum of consciousness, to the surrealistic list of objects found in Roland the walrus. The narrator accepts the fact that she is a “museum exhibit,” but she understands the secret harmony, the round logic of symbols. She thus places herself, and by doing so, she is able to create and offer to us this fictional treasure of startling beauty. [Irving Malin]

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