Naomi Jacob, who died in 1964, wrote seven books about the Gollantz family who were Jewish antique dealers in London and, at times elsewhere in Europe. I read them in my teens at my mother’s recommendation. The Founder of the House, the first book, was published in 1935 so I’m guessing that she discovered them her teens too. I remember borrowing them from the library and enjoying them a lot. Something reminded me of this the other day and I wondered how they’d strike me now. So I bought the Kindle edition of The Founder of the House and, to my faint surprise, was absorbed – all over again, 60 years after my first encounter.
The saga starts in Paris and then moves to Vienna in the first half of the nineteeth century where political turmoil and class distinction dominate everything. A fine arts man of great standing named Meldola has adopted his widowed niece whose late husband, Abraham Gollantz died nobly fighting for Austria or at least that’s the story which sustains her. Actually there was a seduction and a shot-gun marriage before he abandoned her for a chequered career in the military. Their son, the highly principled Herman Gollantz, eventually takes over grandfatherly Meldola’s business and develops it. Then he marries charming but sheltered Rachel, whose brother turns out to be bad news.
Herman’s son Emmanuel is the titular founder of the house. By the time we’re with him as an adult, the family has worked through numerous deaths, marriages and angst – and these are people you find yourself caring about. Once there is no longer anything to keep Emmanuel in Vienna, he sells up and goes to London to start again, which he does pretty successfully.
It’s quite romantic. Emmanuel is tall, strikingly good looking, elegantly dressed and impeccably well mannered. He has a presence which turns heads when he walks into a room. He can also be cutting and decisive when he needs to be. I wonder who Jacobs based him on? After years of bachelorhood when he eventually meets his future wife he takes one look at her and knows. It’s a bit implausible but it’s narratively satisfying because he’s been through a false start or too so you’re cheering for him.
Naomi Jacobs was gay although she doesn’t write about gay love. She had strings of lovers and you only have to look at photographs to recognise that she was the sort of lesbian who likes to dress as a man. Maybe today she’d be “trans” – who knows? What fascinates me is that despite the distance it is from her own personal life she is very good at presenting the attraction between men and women. Emmanuel is so attractive and charismatic that, as a “straight” female reader, it’s hard not to fall in love with him.
She’s a fine creator of character too although, in general, I think she’s better at men than women. Simon Cohen, who works for Emmanuel in Vienna is a real flesh and blood, kind man – the dependable, loyal sort we all need in our lives. There’s a wonderful very wise, elderly English teacher too.
Jacob, was obviously Jewish herself and for her nineteenth characters, anti-semitism is a given which they somehow have to rise above. There are people who disparagingly regard Emmanuel as just a “Jewish shop keeper” and, especially in Vienna, venues and events that he may not go to. She handles it skilfully.
I’m very glad I reread this because I think it has stood the test of time with its well informed background of Strauss waltzes, beautiful furniture, benign bank managers and overweight women who consume sweets incessantly. I have the second book in the series ready downloaded to escape into soon.
Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: The Phone Box at the Edge of the World by Laura Imai Messina
