The Painted Bird

It's always irritated me when people talk about the Nazis and the period of the Second World War in general as though they were some kind of abberation, an inhuman evil which is rarely witnessed. As Kosinski shows us, cruelty is intrinsic, and any moral or lesson drawn by historians pales when compared with the incomprehensible reality of an event. The Polish villagers misreat the protagonist viciously while a Nazi soldier actually takes pity on him; rather than finding relief on his return to society, he is disgusted and coddled by it. The only largely good characters in the novel, the Russians, constantly harp on the goodness of Stalin (and we know the truth). World War Two may be more complex than anyone can ever show, but Kosinski admits that complexity as not many people have attempted to. I was surprised, also, by the sympathy that Kosinski develops for the protagonist. The kid is _tough_, simply, and there's something very endearing about it; also, the way he constantly tries to figure out the world, throwing in his lot with God, and then with the Devil, and then with the communists, is extremely relatable; it's the sort of conflict any child goes through. Viewed from a certain angle, it's just an incredibly twisted coming-of-age story.

OK, I admit, I should have been older than 14 years old when I first read this novel... it is more graphic than your average WWII book or movie. This novel is an unusual perspective on the holocaust. There are no factories full of jewish labor slaves, no ghettoes, no concentration camps. Instead, there is a small child, seperated from his parents in time of war, lost in the countryside of rural central Europe. In the course of the novel, we discover how the social chaos brought about by WWII plays itself out among common peasants in the countryside as they are reduced to the lowest behaviors imaginable in the absence of peace, stability, clear governance, and a socially agreed-upon sense of right and wrong. And the victim (or victims) is the child who witnesses (and lives with) this state of violence. In response to the review title "More lies about Jerzy", I find it shallow and naive of the reviewer to call this book gratuitous violence invented for entertainment simply because the events depicted are not truly autobiographical. It is a novel. Last time I checked, novelists seem to make stories up on a regular basis. No need to discount the value of the narrative because of its condition as fictional. As for the suggestion that Jerzy did not write this book, I wouldn't be surprised if he had help smoothing his prose into readable English. Kozinski is not a native speaker of English. In fact, he learned the language as an adult. So he needed help with the language... who cares? The plot, characterization, and overall design of the book bear the creative mark that no proof reader or ghost writer could put on a narrative. I don't doubt that this is Jerzy Kozinski telling this story, and the spirit of the narrative, the pain the child feels (he is so traumatized by his experiences that he becomes mute and needs to undergo therapy as an adult to recover his ability to speak) is an expression of WWII as Kozinski experienced it. We don't need to know if Kozinski is the boy in the narrative. The knowledge that Kozinski could identify and describe this violence in a way that actually upsets you and makes you angry is enough for me. Kozinski has written an excellent novel about WWII and its aftermath, which, unlike Schindler's List, doesn't make you feel warm and cozy about how all the good people triumphed in the end... this novel will leave you with the lasting impression that there is no end-of-story resolution/redemption for those affected by war.

My byline refers not only to the fact that both Conrad and Kosinski were Polish authors writing in English. There are also similarities in Marlowe's journey into the darkness of the Congo and Kosinski's young narrators' voyage through the surreal landscape of wartime Eastern Europe. Both investigate the darker regions of the human psyche. Both are the antithesis of a "picaresque" novel. Both are told from the point-of-view of a relatively innocent narrator, whose original naivete is transformed by the scenes he witnesses into an understanding of the "horror" and a comprehension of man's capacity for evil. I read The Painted Bird over 30 years ago and many of its images still remain vivid in my imagination. I will never forget the couple caught copulating (you'll have to read Kosinski's description yourself - I'm not going to go there) and the boy-narrator's harrowing account of being thrown into a pit of excrement. I'm a bit surprised, having taught high school English myself, that this would be recommended to a young reader, even though I read it when I was about sixteen. It definitely wasn't on my school's list of recommended reading. I don't agree with some reviewers here that the book is pornographic. Far from it. The sex depicted is hardly meant to arouse. Kosinski's later work might have fallen into that category (he did a lot of short-story writing for Playboy and Penthouse), but this is far too brutal a work to be anywhere near titillating. If you would like to take a harrowing walk into the heart of darkness, and are equipped to handle visions of one of the most depraved landscapes you are likely to encounter in literature, then this book's for you.