‘It’s not a school, it’s a prison’

Tibor Fischer admires a Hungarian adventure that couldn’t be further from the world of jolly hockey sticks

LABIGAIL by Magda Szabó, tr Len Rix 448pp, MacLehose, £14.99, ebook £9.99

aughs are few in 20th-century Hungarian literature. A brief outbreak of cheer in the Thirties led by writers such as Antal Szerb and Jenö Rejtö was crushed by the Second World War, when both Szerb and Rejtö died in labour battalions.

Magda Szabó, who died in 2007, didn’t attempt humour. She has had a good career posthumously outside of Hungary. Her 1987 novel The Door has led the way for her, winning awards. But it is Abigail, first published in 1970, that is her most popular novel back home, and it’s very different to the subtle portraiture of The Door.

“Never in my life have I seen a school like this. It’s not a school, it’s a prison,” comments one of the characters, an army officer. Abigail is set in the Matula, a Calvinist boarding school for girls, in 1943, just as the war started to get very nasty for Hungary. And indeed, although there are a handful of girlie moments involving smuggled nightdresses and jewellery, the brutality of Abigail is much more like an account of a maximumsecurity prison than a tale of jolly hockey sticks. As with all of Szabó’s novels, there’s a lot going on offstage, or far away, barely perceptible in the distance. It’s easy even for a Hungarian reader to miss a detail or fail to fully digest a reference.

Abigail was published in 1970, when the regime of János Kádár was mellowing, but still a Communist dictatorship. Szabó was never an “official” writer. She never felt the need to big up miners or train drivers, but equally she never caused any trouble. This tightrope act is one of the most interesting things about her writing. Much of Abigail is made of elements that were distinctly unfashionable in Kádár’s Hungary.

The central character is Georgina Vitay, the spoiled, haute bourgeoise daughter (bad) of a Horthy general (very bad), but a general who is part of an anti-Nazi conspiracy (not bad). The general hides Georgina in the middle-ofignored. nowhere, provincial Matula, a religious institution (bad) to save her from the possible consequences of his conspiracy.

The school is in the fictional town of Árkod. One thing every Hungarian reader would instantly recognise is that it’s the very real city of Debrecen. It’s so obvious you wonder why Szabó bothered. Perhaps because she had taught for many years at a Calvinist school in Debrecen and hoped to avoid irate correspondence from her former employers and colleagues. The word Árkod could also be construed in Hungarian as “your trench”, as in bolt-hole.

Abigail is a statue in the school grounds that the pupils believe can help them with their problems.

You leave a note for Abigail, and if you’re lucky you’ll get a reply or help. Georgina, the pampered girl from Budapest, is of course contemptuous of this nonsense and the entire rustic establishment. Naturally, she is about to get an education.

This novel has a strong Hollywood feel. You know the snooty girl will be humbled. You know, after misunderstandings, she will eventually make friends with the poor orphan girl. You know the dashing army officer Georgina has a crush on will turn out to be a disappointment.

But it’s Hollywood directed by a hardcore Calvinist. There is astonishing darkness lurking everywhere, glimpses of suffering in every direction. An entire generation of Hungarians is perishing on the Eastern Front, the Holocaust is gearing up and the most admirable, brave character in the book announces at the end that she is “alone and unhappy”.

There’s an exotic element for the modern reader, too. Matula is a school from a time where there is not only discipline, but something tantamount to martial law, and where the pupils learn things.

Of all Szabó’s novels, Abigail

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Abigail is Hollywood directed by a hardcore Calvinist. There is darkness everywhere

deserves the widest readership. It’s an adventure story, brilliantly written. Georgina’s attempt to escape from the Matula reads like a real prison break. Then she has to dodge the Hungarian army and police force who want to hand her over to the Germans, when her father is arrested. Finally, there is the mystery of who is behind the all-seeing, benevolent Abigail.

Szabó is really the only “approved” novelist to emerge from the Kádár era intact and admired. Márai was in exile, unpublished. Kertész, the Nobel laureate, was published but