When Jonathan Littell published his masterpiece, The Kindly Ones ([New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2009] original French edition Les Bienveillantes [Paris: Gallimard, 2006]), a reference to Aeschylus’ ancient tragedy The Eumenides could be easily recognized. The phrase “the kindly ones,” translated from Aeschylus’ text, refers to Aeschylus’ already propitiated Erinyes (the Furies), who are the Greek deities of vengeance. The title of the Littell’s novel connects the text with the Greek tragedy cycle Oresteia, which The Eumenides makes up the final part of. While Aeschylus’ tragedy is about the constitution of justice in the Greek polis (city state), Littell’s novel can be read as the adverse of Aeschylus’ text: the disclosure of a perverted justice.
The Eumenides
“The kindly ones” serve as a kind of narrative bookend in Littell’s novel. There is no mention of them save for the very beginning (the title) and the very end (the last sentence) of the book. The novel’s entire story takes place within the space of the Erinyes/Eumenides. Here, we meet Aue, the main character of Littell’s book, committing matricide, and find Orestes, of Aeschylus’ tragedy, hunted by the Erinyes for the same crime. Split into two strands, the story of the novel can be read as both a public and private history. Aue as a regular Nazi, the one as anybody, you or me, represents a public history to which his private history is conditioned and bound. In his private, totally unusual history, Aue is certainly not “as anybody,” yet he often tries to convince the reader he is.
As attentive readers, we should not only recognize the obvious link between Aue and Orestes at the level of private histories (i.e., their relation to their parents, matricide), but understand that the overarching narrative of “the kindly ones” establishes a link between the private and public as a whole. That is, we need to discern the meaning of this connection at the less obvious level of public history in the novel. The level of private history has been heavily studied elsewhere (see, e.g., De l’abjection à la banalité du mal by Julia Kristeva.) It is here argued that justice serves as link between The Eumenides and The Kindly Ones.
In The Eumenides, Aeschylus tells more than just the story of Orestes, the son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, who kills her mother upon the suggestion of his sister Electra and the god Apollo, thus revenging the murder of his father. The theme of the storyline of Aeschylus’ Oresteia is endless retribution: injustice or crime followed by revenge as punishment, which in turn becomes crime, and so on. In telling this story, Aeschylus unfolds a mythical-poetical history of the constitution of the Areopag, the house of a new form of justice, judged by the people of Athens. The private story of Orestes is turned into a public and historical event as pardon to Orestes brings justice to all people. If the end of the Littell’s novel brings reconciliation to his character, it relates both to the private and the public realms. The narrative arch of Littell’s novel encourages the discussion of a theme of reconciliation at the level of family history (Erinyes turned into Eumenides) and that of justice (the constitution of the Aeropag).
Aue’s Self-Deception
What is the role of “the kindly ones” on the level of private history? First, Aue, the main character and narrator, repeatedly claims that he does not seek any kind of reconciliation by way of writing. His main idea is to show that we all are as he is, that is, trapped by various conditions, sentenced to inevitabilities. A man of evil is a regular man, neither daemon nor special. However, contradictory to his proclaimed position, Aue admits by the very end of his writings that has effectively undergone a reconciliation process by way of writing. The proof of this comes in his only mention of the Eumenides, or, “the kindly ones.” This reference to the Eumenides can be translated: “I was haunted by my past and my deeds, but now I am at the end of writing and I feel relieved.”
In fact, Aue was searching for reconciliation, though did so unconsciously. Indeed, the main trait of Aue as a character is self-deception. Aue’s unconscious plays a constitutive part of the narrative. The psychosomatic problems, or better put, attacks, that Aue faces, represent the words of his unconscious, a modern way of expressing the nature of the Erinyes. The fact that Aue is unaware that he himself has murdered his mother and stepfather, and that he is able to deny this even in the face of clear proof, is evidence of his self-deception. A clue for a reader that she or he should consider self-deception as a pathway to the essence of Aue’s character. We should not believe a word related to Aue’s conscious intentions as he is a self-misled man. His intellectual adventures do not serve him to grasp what is going on around him, but prevent him from seeing the unbearable reality. Once the reality becomes so terrifying to men that it cannot be comprehended, self-deception grows as a necessity of self-preservation. Disavowal of reality is at times the only means of protection against one’s superego.
Hence, there is a distance between Aue as a character and his writing. Much more important than facts and truths in the book are omissions and lies. Aue must be approached with suspicion. His writing is not just “a deep expression of himself” – as if anybody wants to understand the role of writing in this way – it is rather a proof against him. His own narrative is the first-rate proof against himself that he committed matricide, regardless of his psychological denial of it. Furthermore, Aue’s writing proves to fall into other misconceptions, above all, the misconception about his own intentions of writing down “the truth.” While he attempts to rid himself of his past by means of writing, he at the same time denies the attempt itself. Yet we, the reader, do not believe him. He is simply blind to his true intentions. Therefore, it is not by chance that the Eumenides enter the scene at the end of the novel. Aue comes to the end of his writing and finds what he is searching for though denying it: peace.
Perverted Justice
Let us finally ask: What is the role of “the kindly ones” at the level of public history in the novel? In Aeschylus’ tragedy, while the Areopag represents a part of public history, it is at the same time solution for the Orestes’ private story, providing him with a final verdict. In The Kindly Ones, this binary is the same, though operating differently. By finding personal reconciliation, Aue not only resolves his private struggle, but also an issue of public history. Much as Athena the Goddess helps Orestes with her vote at the court and saves him (as the people’s court votes half pro and half contra Orestes), we can understand Aue as voted for by God to diminish his torture of conscious. It is clearly not only matricide, which represents the height of all crimes, that is pardoned in this way. All other crimes are included in Aue’s breath of relief.
If such a conclusion causes outrage in the reader, it is to be expected. The Kindly Ones not only follows Oresteia in terms of theme, it reverts and deeply perverts Oresteia’s conclusion. While the Eumenides tells a story about the constitution of justice, The Kindly Ones speaks to the reverse: relief without a court, peace without repentance, forgiveness without punishment. As such, the text expresses a perversion of justice. If there is sin or hubris on one side, there must be something (e.g., punishment, repentance) on the other side, a plus and minus, to return things back to an equilibrium of justice. Jonathan Littel’s novel expresses the existence of a perverted justice, one that is established by deliberate forgetfulness and self-deception, much like the kind many live with today. We forgive ourselves of everything as we deceive ourselves in not facing the unbearable reality.