Bringing Up Girls in Bohemia

Rating:
Summary: An obsessively narcissistic exercise
Review: Michal Viewegh has some talent, and that's the best thing you could say about this book. Unfortunately, he is so impressed with his own cleverness that he cannot write a line that isn't somehow about himself (which must be a nuisance; he seems to believe, however, that an honestly confessed narcissism will provide simultaneous absolution). His gleeful use of the meta-narrative is tiresome; the book seems written by an adolescent student in a creative writing program (although one much smarter than Beata, the book's two-dimensional joke of a heroine) who had just read a Kundera book for the first time in his life, and was impressed out of his wits, but hated to admit it at the same time. Of little value as a social document (because most characters are roughly-sketched caricatures of caricatures), this is a mostly forgettable little book.

Rating:
Summary: As a teacher and Czechophile I found this an amusing read.
Review: One may wonder why a reviewer would take the time to write an insightful negative review nearly as long as the book itself. Some people just want an amusing read.

From Chapter X: "Beata was of the opinion that present-day Prague was Paris of the Twenties for the Americans. I would see, she said, that something really great would emerge out of that explosion of creativity (it struck me that it wasn't so much an explosion of creativity as an explosion of private joy at the rate of the crown to the dollar, but I held my tongue)..."

Rating:
Summary: Bohemian postmodernism?
Review: When the wife of the nameless narrator in BUG nudges him not to forget about his plan to "write a postmodern novel," the reader wonders if Viewegh isn't playing with us outright and letting us know that he plans to do precisely that. He plays with us in just this fashion throughout the entire book, probably snickering to himself, wishing he could see our reaction as we come across an abrupt authorial aside like "Gee, I really like writing on a computer" or "Hey--I really like this new screen saver!" Just the novel's catchy title and pink art-deco cover alone clue us to what lays inside. An opening quote from Czech writer Vera Linhartova claims that a story "can begin anywhere" since past events "...lie all around us in a continuous, formless mass without beginning or end." After this motto, BUG begins conventionally enough with our narrator receiving an unusual job offer to tutor creative writing to a troubled teenage girl which he reluctantly accepts. Starting with page one, we come across Viewegh's first postmodern gimmick in the narrative: seemingly random italicized phrases like "lucrative job" or "certain precautions." And just like in his first novel, Sightseers (very entertaining despite--or because of--its political incorrectness), the author includes meta-fiction elements within the story. Then again, perhaps postmodernism is the best tool to write about post-communist Prague. How else can a native Praguer view the onslaught of contemporary Western "luxury causes" like animal rights or the feminist movement? If BUG isn't exactly realism, perhaps we could also dub it satire, for Viewegh can be devastating when describing the Western onslaught into his native city. He does this mostly through the tutored pupil, Beata, who never really comes alive as a believable character in the story, unrealistically and flightily jumping from one social cause to the next, accompanied by her American boyfriend who works for the Prague Post (do we detect some unspoken scorn for the Post here?). Beata is not the only female character in BUG that comes across as flat and one-dimensional; the narrator's wife plays the part of the suspicious, harried hag and his female teaching peers are plain empty-headed. Just as the plot is improbable, Beata's father (who hires our narrator as her tutor) as a Mafioso figure is just as improbable; ditto her leap from catatonia to hysteria and finally, suicide. The mention of the latter is not a giveaway to the story's ending for Beata's suicide is divulged in the book's jacket copy as well as in the start of the story. Between beginning and end lies not only the account of his tutoring endeavours with Beata but general ongoing commentary about his life and culture in the "new" Czech Republic. We get ample info on the absurdities of the old Socialist school system and even a loyal declaration to Czech President Vaclav Havel. His "I would go through fire and water for our President..." speaks volumes about the author's feelings for his new President. Topical bits and pieces on Prague city life are ongoing with mention of actual places included throughout the story. Towards the end of the story when aspiring-writer Beata confesses "I'm only interested in destroying the traditional narrative form," we are not surprised. Viewegh does just this throughout BUG with all kinds of asides and gimmicks. He shows a delightful inconsistency toward Czech novelist Daniela Hodrova with an early veiled barb: "One day I hope to be able to understand the novels of Daniela Hodrova" but later on in the text incorporates a straightforward quote from Hodrova pertaining to writing in general. BUG is both cute and vacuous. Some critics have mentioned that it is funnier when read in the original Czech.