“But it was not easy being a coward. Being a hero was much easier than being a coward…to be a coward was to embark on a career that lasted a lifetime. You couldn’t ever relax….Being a coward required pertinacity, persistence, refusal to change–which made it, in a way, a kind of courage…The pleasures of irony had not yet deserted him.” (p.171)
On the one hand (and this is a very large hand), I’m completely unable to relate to Dmitri Shostakovich, having never lived under the thumb of a repressive regime. Each time I would question his decisions or motives, I’d quickly remind myself that I haven’t the slightest clue of how I would have reacted were I in his position. The only thing I know for sure is that I bear him no envy.
Yet, thanks to Julian Barnes’s vivid and human portrayal, I ultimately felt deeply connected to the composer. The tension between pursuing one’s career and ambitions and devoting yourself to others; the neuroses; the fear of failure, of failing out of favor with the powers that be; the feeling that you’re doomed to cowardice. Man, I can relate, though again: Shostakovich was under far more pressure and stress than I will ever know. All the more reason for profound admiration.
These anxieties are still so prevalent, and Barnes knows it. This is why–along with the craft of his pen–The Noise of Time is such a moving text. So, push forward, embrace the irony and absurdity of it all, and remember that, in doing just this, you’re being courageous.