This is the first of many Szerb novels that I will be reading. Oliver VII is the wonderfully comic of a young prince who, bored of the royal life and the responsibility that comes with it, stages a coup against himself in order to live a normal life. The farce continues when Oliver, contrary to his stated desire to sit under a tree and read Dante, takes the 'normal life' to mean joining a group of conmen, culminating in a con in which he must impersonate his royal self. The novel, however, is not simply comic. It is a 20th-century fable about responsibility and what it means to be a capable ruler. When placed in the context of the Second World War (Oliver VII was first published in 1942), this takes on further meaning. Yet, whilst the story itself is very enjoyable, it is Szerb's writing which makes this book truly stand apart, translated with care by the capable Rix. Ostensibly light and humorous, underneath the surface one can perceive a darkness to his writing. The idyllic images of a peaceful Europe are qualified by small reminders that, of course, this story takes place before the war, and that, of course, the Venice described no longer exists; neither does the fictional, poetic Alturia from which Oliver hails. Indeed, Alturia represents an innocence and playful foolishness - a bankrupt state filled with poets and dreamers which survives off sales of wine and sardines - that cannot exist in the post-war period. It is these hints which betray Oliver VII as a darker work, influenced by the horrific Nazi rule to which he - a Hungarian of Jewish descent - found himself the subject of and victim to.

The second Szerb book I've read this month; this is another of the gorgeously presented translations from Pushkin Press. This is the final novel written by the author and was published under supremely difficult circumstances, despite this it seems to be dismissed as a rather frivolous piece. I think that people would prefer that Szerb stuck to writing dark gloomy works along the lines of maybe Alone in Berlin or maybe Mendelssohn is On the Roof, to reflect his own circumstances as he wrote this. Personally I think it reflects one of the great triumphs of the man as an artist that he was able to write such a charming, light and genuinely comic story while under such strain. The story reads like one of Anthony Hope's Ruritanian novels given a gentle comic spin by someone like Oscar Wilde.I can easily imagine the film that could have been made from this novel, it would have starred Alec Guinness as King Oliver and would have been somewhere between 'Kind Hearts and Coronets' and 'The Prince and the Showgirl.' I almost feel the invention of the time machine would be worth the effort just to get the film made correctly! Although the story is largely set in the crumbling palazzos Venice, a city that was evidently very close to Szerb's heart, it focuses on the King and subjects of Alturia. A central European monarchy that owes it's fortunes to it's trade in Sardines and Wine. Under the threat of bankruptcy and pressure from big business from the neighbouring Norlandia, King Oliver can see no way to come to an acceptable solution for his country and so decides to orchestrate a revolution, just so he can avoid making an unfavourable decision. He disappears leaving his senile uncle as King of Alturia, and nothing but a trail of rumours in his wake. As the situation in Alturia worsens one of the erstwhile revolutionaries is dispatched to track him down in Venice. Oliver is living incognito in the city as Oscar, and is learning what it is to be an ordinary person. Trouble only brews when the group of con artists he has fallen in with decide that he is ideal to help with a long con.... all that is necessary is for them to convince the world that Oscar is in fact the exiled king of Alturia Oliver VII...... As Oliver manouvers his way out of trouble he finally learns the responsibilities that come with noble rank, and discovers that there are benefits that come along with the power of his birth. It is a light and farcial story that is an absolute delight to read, I hope that Pushkin can have the same effect of Antal Szerb as they have had on Stfan Zweig because the world needs to read these lovely books.