The Blood Countess
Andrei Codrescu
New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995; Pages: 347
Review © 2000 Branislav L. Slantchev
Most of us have heard the grisly story of Elizabeth Bathory, the Hungarian countess who allegedly committed innumerable atrocities and killed 650 young girls (virgins?) to satisfy her dark impulses. Codrescu novel is both a work of historical significance and literary fiction. There are two storylines, one of the Countess' life and the other --- of Drake Bathory-Kereshtur, her distant descendant, an immigrant who lives in the US and goes back to his native Hungary after the fall of communism. Although the stories are obviously intended to parallel each other through time, the author manages to couple them only loosely and mainly through the perversity of the two protagonists on their respective voyages of discovery.Perhaps the best feature of the novel, the experience of 16th century Hungary comes through with disturbingly vivid grace. The stony castles, the dirt, the amoral virginity, the excesses, civility, and cruelty of the Europeans that inhabited the continent swirl in kaleidoscope of events that sometimes baffle contemporary readers. At the beginning, it is hard to understand the contemptuous imperiousness with which Elizabeth tortures her victims, gratifying her desires, and murders them in an orgasmic climax. Although one can comprehend her lust of life and beauty as well as her rage at her womanhood, her distinct ferocity is not enough of an explanation for her complete disregard for the young girls. As the blood curdling tale unfolds, the most startling conclusion for the reader is to realize that her behavior, framed by the customs of her lands and time, begins to make sense, the sadistic mutilations recede into a cacophonous background, and the Countess emerges timeless and resurrected into a Hungary that has just awakened from a 40 year old slumber. Although she no longer commands castles, her travelling whorehouse is an apt update.
The question that just about everyone asks when one hears about Bathory is "why"? Why did she do it? Codrescu's explanation is nothing new --- every single reference to this story that I have seen "explains" the Countess with her quest for her vanishing beauty, and the discovery that her pleasure is derived from her rage and blurred frenzy accompanying the orgies. This, however, is insufficient for the author, and he smuggles in some veiled references to Elizabeth's revolt at the role of womanhood, especially the fate of being a wife. There isn't much to go on here, and the interesting line is dropped quickly. What the book never explains, and this is its greatest shortcoming, is the complex nature of the Countess. Obviously intelligent, resenting the Lutheran ethic, possessed of immutable will power, able to inflict gruesome torture and engage in cannibalism at the same time as discussing astronomy, philosophy, and her infinite sadness with her closest friend, the scribe, never revealing any of the demons that drove her own madness and rationality. Was it the childhood trauma of watching her two sisters raped and bludgeoned to death by rebellious peasants? Was it the fate of their leader, Dozsa, burned on an iron throne and his followers forced to eat his flesh before being quartered and thrown to the dogs themselves? Hardly so. Maybe it was her incessant curiosity demanding answers as well as the obedience of facts and subjects? Her wanton acts of random violence steadily become more elaborate and acquire an aim --- she has discovered the secret of pleasure and youth, and she intends to pursue it with the vigorousness of her cruel intellect. Or maybe it was something else, coming out of the river Retentio, the one that flows simultaneously forward and backward, formed by the debris of time, where everything that humans abandon continues until it is played out compelled by its structural logic? The author does not know, and neither do I.
As I mentioned, the novel pursues two strands simultaneously but never integrates them sufficiently to merit the inclusion of either one with the other. The mechanical breaks and sudden transposition through time (although not through space) can be quite distracting, especially as the reader gets immersed into either story. Having said that, however, I believe the book would be weaker without the 20th century account. The dishevelled nobility and perversion of Elizabeth's descendant is just as inexplicable and unexplained in the context as the Countess herself. The other two fascinating characters, Lilly Hangress and Teresa, the first trying to link with the past and the other plucked unwittingly from it, enter and leave like shadows, without rustle of remorse. The ludicrous political plot to restore the monarchy is peripheral and distracting.
All in all, an entertaining novel, with some indulgent descriptions of torture and assorted mayhem. Laced throughout with eroticism bordering on pornography, with frank descriptions of pain and sexual arousal similar to other European works. The author's command of English is adequate but is nevertheless missing the playfulness of a true master of a language. Some of the descriptions are too gothic, often crossing the border between sublime and nauseating. The myths and images that are frequently made part of the narrative bring a fairy-tale quality to the novel, which makes it even more pleasurable. A recommended read.
March 9, 2000. BLS
@BOOK{codrescu-95:blood,
TITLE = {The Blood Countess},
AUTHOR = {Andrei Codrescu},
YEAR = {1995},
PUBLISHER = {Simon & Schuster},
ADDRESS = {New York},
ISBN = {0-684-80244-9},
NOTE = {Pp. 347}
}