The Tomb in Seville

For his last book, written in his mid-eighties, Norman Lewis recounts experiences from a trip he took sixty years earlier with his brother-in-law to Spain, ostensibly to search for information on his in-laws' family history in Seville. As things happened, the trip occurred in late 1934, in the midst of civil unrest that was one of the precursors of the Spanish Civil War that broke out in full force less than two years later. Lewis was present during the five-day "Battle of Madrid" and was forced to crawl across streets while gunfire whistled overhead. To me, the more interesting incidents are not those relating to political turmoil but rather to everyday life in the Iberian peninsula (his trip also took him through Portugal) -- such things as a daily promenade in a public garden of wet nurses clutching their infant charges to their bosoms, women queuing up at a slaughterhouse to drink fresh blood from the severed veins of animals for a boost of vitality, and the communal burning of a young woman thought to be possessed by an evil spirit. And there are numerous vivid verbal snapshots, such as the one of the Portuguese village of Villa Real de Santo Antonio: "Despite the grandiose name it appeared more as an untidy village with dogs disputing the rubbish in its streets, and most of the inhabitants looked like criminal suspects temporarily free while awaiting imprisonment in chains or deportation." But in the end THE TOMB IN SEVILLE is on the thin side, both too short and too impressionistic (not so surprising after sixty years). It does not measure up to "Voices of the Old Sea", the only other book by Norman Lewis I have read. While THE TOMB IN SEVILLE is worth reading, no one need regret not getting around to it.

There's no agenda in this book, but the observations are so keen and the prose is so clear that you will find yourself connecting the episodes with themes of your own. The author's character is non-existant and you can substitute yourself easily enough. Never boring, I easily could have read a hundred pages more.

A good way to be exposed to the work of the now deceased Norman Lewis. While I question if the vivid quotes and descriptions could have been so readily and clearly called to mind by the author, even if aided by contemporaneous notes, over sixty years after the events, it is wonderful writing. "...we had come to the end of Portugal. Its colour, its mystery and its splendid wilderness were no more. Forests had become managed woodlands, rivers were bridged, villages were encircled by cabbage patches and advertisements for coffee were stenciled on walls."

With several trips through Spain and Portugal in the 1990's behind me, I found this 150-page book just the right piece for turning the clock back seventy years. The previous reviewer has done a great job of summarizing the book. The two young men certainly encountered risks and took their chances in Spain as the sporadic actions of the terrible Civil War were beginning. I am most grateful to Norman Lewis for sharing his experiences with readers.

Exquisite descriptions and a youthful disregard for danger mark Lewis' last book before his death at 95 in 2003. This final volume in a long and lauded career of travel writing and fiction looks back at the journey that got him started in 1934. It's actually a retelling of his first book, a mostly forgotten Wodehouse-inspired piece called "Spanish Adventure." The journey begins at the behest - and expense - of Lewis' father-in-law Ernesto Corvaja, a Sicilian of Spanish ancestry. In hopes of finding his family fondly remembered in Seville, he sends his son Eugene Corvaja and Lewis to Spain to pay their respects to the Corvaja tomb. However, Spain is on the brink of its bloody civil war between the fascists and communists. The young men cross the border from France, with some delays and difficulties, to bask in the tranquil flow of life in San Sebastian. In contrast to France, "No one was in a hurry, or carried a parcel, and there were no clocks." Despite a few minor inconveniences - disrupted phone service, a sightseeing drive cut short by armed guards, a sinister police visit to their hotel - the two are chiefly discomfited by the closing of the local cabaret and equally reassured by its abrupt reopening. The next day an official "State of Alarm" is declared, the trains stop running and both experienced "a sensation that the personality of this town had undergone a remarkable change. The people of San Sebastian, as we had agreed, seemed to set great store by matters of personal deportment." But, "at this moment San Sebastian seemed full of running figures and queues had formed at the doors of food shops with desperate would-be customers struggling to get in. Such was the confusion that even the paseos were abandoned." The paseo being a delightful, healthful evening stroll at which the citizenry, particularly the young, could see and be seen. The upheaval continues, on again, off again. Plans are derailed but not their goal. They will reach Seville, zigzagging across Spain, taking a side jog through Portugal, moving by bus, train, truck, car and foot. Through it all, Lewis is alive to fresh enjoyments. Mounting a decrepit bus (even the driver at first refuses to board), they cross a spectacular mountain range. "Our exhaust thundered and rumbled as we hustled through narrow, rocky valleys, dislodging flocks of jackdaws and doves from the trees like alternating avalanches of soot and snow." But first, Lewis and Corvaja must wend their way to Madrid, in hopes of a train to Seville. Various kindly Spaniards provide rides in defiance of the official "State of Alarm," but 100 miles from the nearest train to Madrid, all private vehicles grind to a halt. So the young men walk. The country is rural and poor and many people live in caves they have dug out of the ground. "These could have been villagers in cottages which through an earthquake of exceptional violence had toppled into holes in the earth from which roofs, chimneys, and even a window some