Non­fic­tion

What Lan­guage Do I Dream In?

Ele­na Lappin
  • Review
By – June 4, 2017

Ele­na Lappin’s enchant­i­ng mem­oir unfolds like a Russ­ian nest­ing doll. Though the book is a most­ly chrono­log­i­cal telling of her life’s sto­ry, each chap­ter’s insights bring us clos­er to the book’s core.

Born in Moscow in 1954, Lap­pin is brought by her free­dom-seek­ing par­ents to Prague in 1958. She learns Czech — the lan­guage she will some­day speak to her own chil­dren — and French. In 1970, the fam­i­ly moves to Ham­burg in search of eco­nom­ic oppor­tu­ni­ty. Lap­pin, her par­ents, and her younger broth­er all learn to speak Ger­man. Ger­many forces Lap­pin to con­front her Jew­ish­ness, and she heads to Tel Aviv as a grad­u­ate stu­dent. There she acquires both Hebrew and a soul­mate, when she meets and mar­ries an immi­grant from Cana­da. Togeth­er, they fol­low employ­ment oppor­tu­ni­ties to Cana­da, the Unit­ed States, and even­tu­al­ly Lon­don. Nat­u­ral­ly, Lap­pin learns Eng­lish with aston­ish­ing ease. No one read­ing her con­fi­dent and ele­gant prose would ever guess that she is writ­ing in her sixth language.

Lapin’s relo­ca­tions echo the twentieth-century’s search for increased polit­i­cal free­dom and pros­per­i­ty. We fol­low her from post-Stal­in Rus­sia to the Prague Spring of 1968, to the lib­er­al­ism of Ger­many in the 1970s, to the still-new state of Israel, and final­ly to North Amer­i­ca and England.

After years of pere­gri­na­tions, Lap­pin is hap­pi­ly set­tled in Lon­don with her hus­band and chil­dren. One day, she answers the phone, and a man speaks to her in Russ­ian, her moth­er tongue. He has news for her — he is her uncle, and the man who raised her is not her bio­log­i­cal father.

Lap­pin, now in her for­ties, is forced to rethink her past, her relo­ca­tions and dis­lo­ca­tions. She must con­front her par­ents about the secrets they kept and the words left unsaid. The way to do that is to move back — through time, place, and lan­guage. Lappin’s whole life has pre­pared her for writ­ing a mem­oir: A life­time is not so many years for a per­son to play with; when you move, or rather, as is often the case, flee from place to place, coun­try to coun­try, lan­guage to lan­guage, you are con­stant­ly rewrit­ing the nar­ra­tive of your life.” Lap­pin writes com­pelling­ly and flu­id­ly of her many moves and what she thought — before the phone call — was the nar­ra­tive arc of her life.

In this com­plex sym­pho­ny, reli­gious iden­ti­ty is no more than a grace note. Lappin’s sense of self is formed by her wan­der­ing, but not by her Jew­ish­ness. How­ev­er, there is some­thing pro­found­ly, if uncon­scious­ly, Jew­ish in her sto­ry of mul­ti­ple exiles, and of yearn­ing for a place to call home.

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