True Romance

It is very difficult to imagine a more mendacious and amoral book: the ruler's wife explains that there is an opposition in the country, and that she is the embodiment of it and not some poor devils in the Assembly and outside of it; that the ruling party supports the Left, but more so that which she and her party stand for; that she feels terribly sorry for the state which fell apart - mostly because of her husband; that she supports peace, even though she hasn't supported a single Serbian peace initiative; that she feels sorry for the refugees, even though no one has heard of any humanitarian act or contribution she has made; that she is an emancipated woman, even though she will have nothing to do with feminist movements... and so on. This example of incommunicability and being removed from everything, speaks of anything because it can afford to do so. The move is as insolent as Serbian politics are insolent: the lady scribbles (it is her task) with the support that only a totalitarian authority can give, to confuse all those exhausted observers from outside who wait to see some signs of improvement or change.

There is nothing spontaneous, sincere, and least of all naive about Mira Markovic's project, and any understanding of the author's spiritual state is unnecessary. In a sense, reading the book is a superfluous job, especially after all the promotions and the awards won by the book. However, it would be worthwhile to point out those parts where the project pierces through the thin verbal tapestry and where Mira Markovic turns into an ideological grotesque. The matter concerns the simple criteria of what is done and what is not and the borders of taste. These borders, no matter how trivial they may be, must be repeated, because meaning is so empty that it allows the appearance of this carefree and impertinent book.

Mira Markovic speaks of war as a horror and, outside of the context of her book, all those who care about peace would have to accept many of her stands. Unfortunately, apart from constantly accusing some Serb extremists, the author has never mentioned the possibility that the ruling party might be responsible for the war, that the greatest devastation was carried out by the Yugoslav People's Army/Yugoslav Army (JNA/VJ), and that the Yugoslav authorities did, perhaps, play a bigger role in Bosnia than just "sending humanitarian aid to Serb brethren". If the book succeeds in inducing a desired blindness in the reader, we can only stand in awe before a state which uses all means to promote peace and selflessly helps the largest concentration of its compatriots outside the motherland in the face of blows from an unjust world public, while a dubious handful of extremists outside and inside wage war in Croatia, a civil war in Bosnia, raze Vukovar and Foca (oh, I'm sorry, Srbinje), Zepa, Gorazde, Sarajevo, Mostar and elsewhere (at the same time). And there is no mention that Croats and Muslims are being persecuted in Serbia and that Kosovo is under police occupation. At the same time, the author gives herself the liberty of criticizing refugees from Bosnia who, can you imagine!, sell Serbian humanitarian packages in Belgrade, while some in this society of justice and self-denial are even into smuggling.

But the author has some less naive outbursts. Lamenting over the fate of two lovers killed on a bridge in Sarajevo, with the very tasteless publication of their picture (did the parents send it to her, or did the competent state information agency do so?), Mira Markovic writes without shame or measure: "Admira and Bosko, a young Muslim girl and a Serb youth, killed on May 18 by Muslim snipers, and buried on May 28 by Serb fighters, their comrades." (p. 71). Unlike the whole of Sarajevo, Mira Markovic knows who killed them ("Muslim snipers"), but she also knows that the Serb fighters are "their comrades". Perhaps because they, like the other two sides, accepted money from the young couple to let them out, and then cowardly let their bodies rot for ten days, those same comrades, who perhaps handed over the large sum of money which the couple had with them in order to survive, to their parents? No, Comrade Mira's task is to confuse and mislead the uninformed reader: this is the only reason why her book should be read and reviewed.

Mira Markovic did not need to change any of her earlier stands or convictions: "I suspected all the time that a part of the political activities in this country were financed from abroad. And, of course, I asked myself why these sponsors and their proteges were not identified. Not because of the sponsors, but because of the proteges." (p. 51). The author held the same stand during the Seventies and the Eighties, so that she can't be accused of being inconsistent. However, in a situation when the main activity of the state apparatus led by her husband lies in taking money out of the country and not in bringing any in, this is just a bit too much to stomach. Obviously aware of this, she suddenly starts to lament over impoverished citizens and ends with this incredible outburst: "As far as I am concerned, I wouldn't be able to do without work, without devoting myself to 'politics', even if I wished to (and I don't wish to). Not only for academic reasons, even though I consider them most important, but for pragmatic ones. My family cannot live off one salary. It couldn't do so earlier, and it can't do so now". In only 55 words, Mira Markovic has managed to give us the following: five fresh lies, two hypocritical stands of which one comes close to being a lie, one nonsensical utterance, three acts of self-praise and an immeasurable amount of bad taste.

Nothing similar can be found and, to Mira Markovic's advantage, when it comes to her indestructible self-confidence as a member of the ruling establishment: "But I do wonder why society doesn't have mechanisms with which to protect itself from misinformation concerning the abuse of official figures, thanks to which society and the persons concerned suffer." (p. 109). A Law on the Protection of Name and Work? "I won't say that I am not defending this Government. I am defending it. Not only this Government, I would protect all governments." (p. 99). And with this we have moments of refined introspection: "I have mentioned this because I am criticized of vanity, of which I have none, and which I abhor in others. I am not vain. But, I do respect myself. Just as I respect others. These are not incompatible characteristics. With people who respect themselves and others, they are very compatible" (p. 39).

I have no wish to bury this book on the cheap by quoting undigestible trivialities, pseudo-lyrical outbursts of a secondary school precis level, photographs of children and friends, and other horrors: all this imaginable for the majority and for perseverent souls who read the book to the end. One cannot expect more from a woman who is not well educated, who has no academic reputation, and who writes so badly that she gets lost in every complicated sentence, and for this reason resorts to a painful syncopated style. In a normal political situation, this book would be a scandal. It could even bring the government down, and it would certainly stimulate hilarious jokes. However, this book is a project sponsored by the authorities, and one of those with far-reaching consequences. At the lowest level, it serves to test the loyalty of cadres and to flush out enemies; at a higher level, to pass off an image abroad of a "left" opposition at court and the "correct" peace option; at the highest level, which, however, I can't find, to prepare another radical turnabout in any direction, but to the advantage of a family which cannot live off a Presidential salary. Let those who are now in favor shiver a little. All the others are shivering from the coming winter and of hunger. Unfortunately, I can't say anything in favor of Mira Markovic's "feminism", since she thinks of the sexes at the level of hormones. Nor can I say anything in defence of her personal memories, because she manipulates her WW1 ancestors, and sweeps her WW2 relatives under the carpet. Nor can I say anything of her civility, because her racism is weaved throughout the book and some phantom impoverished "primitive" others keep cropping up, be they Turks, Rumanians, Africans, Americans, etc. "Greek-Turkish-Arabic" music, on the other hand, wreaks "insane violence" over the Serbian people. If she were to know anything about Balkan and Serbian folk music, she would understand the results of mixing in this area: but this ignorance she shares with others. Her silence on Kosovo speaks for itself.

What to do with Mira Markovic's book? Pity is just as irresponsible as the praising of lyrical passages. "Night And Day" should leave that segment of Serbian culture which still uses its head in the same frozen state of surprise in which the Serbian peace-oriented population found itself when the bad penny turned into an angel of peace. If a clearly set out answer is not forthcoming, not only at the individual level, but also from institutions of what was once called the other Serbia, then we are left with the solution recommended by Mira Markovic: "...I avoid yellow hair clips in my hair, because when I had them once, my daughter Marija failed her Geography exam." (p. 19).