love and darkness at the edge of world war ii

In 2003, Julie Olinger published her first book, How to breathe underwater, and critics fell in love.
Olinger quickly became a young literary celebrity, and her book of course found a home on several of the best booksof-the-year lists.
All nine short stories in the collection were executed perfectly-
Orringer\'s characters are sometimes sharp, sad, and sometimes fun, but they never stop searching even if they are not sure what they are looking.
Her readers have been waiting for seven years.
Her new novel, The Invisible Bridge, is almost everything that \"how to breathe underwater\" doesn\'t have.
Oringer\'s story mainly takes place in contemporary America, where the story is concentrated, subtle and micro. Her novel is both a large love story and an almost epic journey through the history of Europe before World War II.
It\'s a bold, ambitious move for an author who writes a sophomore, but it\'s not surprising that Orringer\'s fans know it pays off.
The Invisible Bridge is as different as its predecessor, but it is equally beautiful, amazing and vital.
The hero of The Invisible Bridge is the young Hungarian Jew Andras Levi, who came to Paris in 1937 to study architecture.
Andras is a scholarship student from a poor family who is unsure and shy about himself.
Despite some terrible backlash
Andras was threatened and violent by Jews and he was committed to school, learning French and working in the theater.
He eventually met Klara Morgenstern, an old Hungarian dance teacher living in Paris. Although Klara was skeptical and cautious about his past, the two quickly held their hearts.
As the Nazis began to take power, Andras and Clara returned to Hungary to try to find a safe port for their new family, even if the German army began to close.
Orringer\'s prose has not changed, and she has shown extraordinary skill in weaving the two main parts of the novel together --
The first part, the upcomingof-
The story of this era reminds us of the early part of W.
Mao\'s \"The Bondage of man\"
The second part, a tense description of a family threatened by war and hatred, looks back at the Heroes, romantic realism in Michael sharbang\'s amazing adventures in carvalier and clay.
Of course, the relationship between András and Klara is at the heart of the novel, and Orringer has a rare talent to be able to write love without being melodramatic or unrealistic.
Andras, in the early days of their love, reflected on falling in love: \"He knew the feeling, the powerful and terrible tidal pull: it was Klara, who attracted him, her inevitability in his life
\"The Invisible Bridge may not be the novel that Oringer\'s fans are looking forward to, but it is as powerful and memorable as her debut.
She\'s no longer just a writer to see.
She is a writer worthy of attention, and her talent, courage and compassion begin to become infinite.
That year, Claire Morgan Stein taught more than 90 in her studio on Sevigne Street.
Five girls are between the ages of eight and fourteen, and three of the oldest will soon travel to the Monte Carlo ballet for professional training.
She has been preparing hiver wonders for the children for two months;
The costumes are ready, and young dancers are educated in the winter with snowflakes, sugar plums and Swans --
The Garden View is ready.
Throughout the city that week, Andras\'s poster appeared: a snowflake child under the stars, with one leg extending into Arabic style, the word \"spectacle d\'hiver\" is like the tail of a comet, dragging the raised right hand.
Every time he sees it-
On the way to school, on the wall opposite the blue pigeon, at the bakery ---
He heard Mrs. Morgan Stein say you\'re coming, right?
On Wednesday, on the evening of the rehearsal, he felt he could not wait to see her.
He\'s at Sarah\'s.
In his usual time, Bernhardt put a big plum cake on the coffee table.
The backstage corridor was packed with girls in white and silver tulle;
Blizzardlike, when he sneaked into the backstage corner where he arranged the coffee table, they flocked around him.
He cut the plum cake into a small row with a knife.
A group of girls in snowflake costumes gathered at the edge of the curtains, waiting for their entry.
When they tipto up their toes, they cast an interest in the coffee table and cake.
Andras heard a stage manager calling the next group of dancers.
Mrs. Morgan Stern-
Mrs. Gerrard called her Klara. -
There is no place to see.
When the little girls danced the snowflake dance, he looked from the wings.
The father of one of the children was late;
After the dance, she ran back to her wings and she called Andras to show him that she had a new pair of glasses, this one with a soft wire arm curled up behind her ears.
She explained that they would not fall down while she was dancing.
As she kicked into a piranha in protest, he heard the laughter of Mrs. Morgan Stern behind him. \"Ah,\" she said.
\"New glasses.
Andras gave her a quick look.
She was wearing a practice suit, and her dark hair wrapped tightly around her head.
\"Don\'t worry,\" he said, trying to keep the sound stable.
\"They don\'t come down at all.
\"They will leave when I want them to leave,\" the girl said . \".
\"I took them off at night.
\"Of course,\" said Andras.
\"I didn\'t mean to suggest you wear it all the time.
\"The girl turned her eyes at Mrs. Morgan Stern and ran to the coffee table where the other snowflakes were devouring plum cakes.
\"It was a surprise,\" said Mrs. Morgan Stern.
\"I didn\'t expect to see you tomorrow.
\"I have a job here in case you forget,\" Andras said . \"
\"I am responsible for the comfort and happiness of the performer.
\"You made that cake, I think?
\"The girls don\'t seem to object. \"\"I object.
I don\'t allow candy in the background.
\"But she gave him an eye and went to the table to get a plum cake.
The cake is golden, with half of Mirabelle inlaid on it. \"Oh,\" she said. \"This is good.
You shouldn\'t.
At least get some for yourself.
\"I\'m afraid it\'s not professional . \"
Mrs. Morgan Stein smiled.
\"I\'m afraid you found me when you were busy.
I have to get the next group of girls on stage.
\"She brushed a snow crumbs from her hand and he found himself imagining the taste of plums on her fingers.
\"I\'m sorry I disturbed you,\" he said . \".
He was ready to say that I was leaving now, ready to let her go to rehearsal, but he thought of his empty room, the long time between that night and the next day, and the blank time that extends to the future after Thursday ---
When he had no excuse to see her
He raised his eyes at her.
\"Have a drink with me tonight,\" he said . \".
She was startled.
\"Oh, no,\" she whispered. \"I can\'t.
\"Please, Klara,\" he said.
\"I can\'t stand it if you say no.
\"She rubbed her arm as if she had caught a cold.
He mentioned a cafe called time.
Before she could say no, he turned and walked down the backstage corridor into the White Night of December.
* The Bedoin Cafe is a dark place with its leather trim cracked and the blue velvet curtains faded with age.
Behind the bar stood rows of dusty wounds.
Glass bottles, remains of early drinking.
Andras arrived there an hour before the time he mentioned and was impatient to get sick and not to believe what he did.
Did he really let her drink with him?
Call her by her name, very close
Hungarian?
Talking to her as if his feelings might be acceptable and might even come back?
What does he expect now?
If she comes, it can only be to confirm that his behavior is inappropriate, perhaps to tell him that she can no longer let him go to her house on Sunday afternoon.
At the same time, he was sure that she had known how he felt for a few weeks, and she must have known from the day they went to winsennibois to skate.
It\'s time for them to be honest with each other;
Maybe it\'s time for him to admit that he brought her mother\'s letter from Hungary.
He stared at the door as if to remove it from the hinge.
Every time a woman comes in, he jumps off the chair.
He shook his father\'s pocket watch to make sure there was no looseness and wound it again to make sure the time was kept.
Half an hour later. She was late.
He looked at his empty whisky glass and wondered how long he could sit in the bar without ordering a second drink.
The waiter came over and cast a attentive look in his direction.
He ordered another whisky and hun drank it with his glass.
He never felt so desperate and absurd.
Then, at the end, the door opened again, and she was in front of him wearing a red hat and her close-fitting clothes --
Dressed in a gray coat, panting as if she had run all the way from the theater.
He jumped off the chair.
\"I\'m afraid I miss you,\" she said, relieved.
She took off her hat and slid to the banquet opposite him.
She wore a comfortable Huada jacket, and the collar was closed with a harp-shaped neat silver needle.
\"You\'re late,\" said Andras, feeling like a swarm of bees with whiskey in his head.
\"The rehearsal was over ten minutes ago!
I haven\'t had time to tell you when I\'m coming, and you\'re running.
\"I\'m afraid you said you wouldn\'t see me at all.
\"You\'re right.
I shouldn\'t be here.
\"Then why are you here?
He reached across the table to get her hand.
Her fingers were cold but she wouldn\'t let him warm.
She slipped her hand and blushed into the collar of her jacket.
The waiter came to ask for their order, hoping that now his friend is coming, the young man will spend more money.
\"I have been drinking whiskey,\" he said . \"
\"Have a whisky with me.
This is a drink for American movie stars.
\"I\'m not in the mood,\" she said . \"
Instead, she ordered a Brunel and a glass of water.
\"I can\'t stay,\" she said, as soon as the waiter left.
\"Have a drink, then I will go.
\"I have something to tell you,\" Andras said . \"
That\'s why I want you to come. \"\"What is it? \" she said.
\"In Budapest, before I left, I met a woman named Elza Hasz.
Mrs. Morgenstern\'s face lost color. \"Yes? \" she said.
\"I went to her house in Ben zuerutca.
She saw that I traded Pengo for francs at the bank and wanted to send a box to her son in Paris.
There was another woman, an older woman, who asked me to bring something else.
Letter to a C.
Rue de Sevigne, Morgan Stein.
I can\'t ask anyone.
\"Mrs. Morgan Stern was pale and Andras thought she might faint.
After a while, when the waiter arrived with a drink, she picked up her Brunel and emptied half the Cup.
\"I think you are Klara Hasz,\" he said in a low voice . \". \"Or you were.
The woman I met was your mother.
Her mouth trembled and glanced at the door.
She looked at it for a while, as if to run away.
Then she returned to her seat, and her body was resting nervously.
\"Okay,\" she said.
\"Tell me what you know and what you want.
\"Her voice has become muffled.
Her voice is more afraid than anything.
\"I don\'t know anything,\" he said, reaching out again to get her hand.
\"I don\'t want anything.
I just wanted to tell you what happened.
It\'s a strange coincidence.
I want you to know that I met your mom.
I know you haven\'t seen her for years.
\"Did you bring a box for my nephew Jozsef? \" she said.
\"Have you talked to him about it? About me?
\"No, there is no word.
\"Thank God,\" she said . \"
\"You can\'t, understand? \"\"No,\" he said.
\"I don\'t understand.
I don\'t know what that means.
Your mom begged me not to talk to anyone about that letter, and I didn\'t. No one knows.
Or almost no one. -
When I came home from your mother\'s house, I did show it to my brother.
He thought it must be a love letter.
Klara laughed sadly. \"A love letter!
In a way, I think so.
\"I hope you can tell me what\'s going on.
\"It\'s a private thing.
I\'m sorry to involve you.
My family and I in Budapest can\'t get in touch directly and they can\'t send me anything directly.
Jozsef doesn\'t know I\'m here.
Are you sure you told him nothing?
\"There\'s nothing,\" Andras said . \"
Your mother mentioned this in particular.
\"I\'m sorry to have made it like this.
But it\'s important that you understand that.
When I was a girl, something terrible happened in Budapest.
I\'m safe right now, but no one knows I\'m here, and no one knows who I am, only before I come here.
Andras repeated his oath.
If his silence could protect her, he would remain silent.
If she asked him to sign his oath with blood on the gray marble of the coffee table, he would give him the knife and do it.
Instead, she finished drinking and did not speak, nor did she see his eyes.
He watched the silver harp tremble in her throat.
From \"invisible Orringer Copyright 2010 by Julie Jolie\'s bridge.
Extracted with the permission of Knopf, Knopf is a department of random home Company
All rights reserved.
No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reproduced without the publisher\'s written permission.