The 50th anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution brought forth a small torrent of books about the Revolution and other matters Hungarian. Three of them are here discussed. One of them examines the lives of nine famous Jewish Hungarians who left their native country, the second is (in part) an eyewitness account of the Revolution, and the third is a family history against the background of tragic historical events. Each of the three authors is of Hungarian descent.

Kati Marton’s “The Great Escape” (Simon & Schuster, 271 pages, $27) addresses the abundance of Hungarian Jewish talent that emerged in the first half of the past century, focusing on nine highly successful and famous individuals who left Hungary during World War II. They include four scientists (John von Neuman, Leo Szilard, Edward Teller, Eugene Wigner), two photographers (Andre Kertesz and Robert Capa), two film directors (Alexander Korda and Michael Curtiz), and one writer (Arthur Koestler). It is not quite clear why these particular individuals were chosen from a much larger pool of the talented and famous. While the impact of the scientists is beyond doubt (they all contributed to the creation of the atomic bomb) and the significance of Koestler is well established, (both as a writer and political thinker and witness), the other choices are questionable. In a volume dealing with artistic and scientific creativity there might have been place for the great Hungarian Jewish musicians and conductors and perhaps other Noble Prize–winning scientists Hungary also exported. At the end of the book, there is a brief presentation of four more recent, famous émigrés: Imre Kertesz, the Noble Prize-winning writer; Andy Grove, the cofounder of Intel; George Soros, the socially conscious billionaire; and Tom Lantos, the only Hungarian-American and Holocaust survivor to serve in the U.S. Congress.

The nine portraits are vivid miniature biographies, highlighting the dramatic events in the lives of these figures. The reader is bound to learn a great deal about the history, social history, and culture of Hungary, as well as about the societies where these distinguished émigrés settled and achieved fame.

The most interesting question this volume raises is why at certain points in time and in particular places there is an upsurge of creative energy among members of certain groups. The people here portrayed belonged to the same generation; all came from a secular Jewish background. They grew up in (or moved to) Budapest in their youth — at the time an exceptionally dynamic, growing city encouraging creativity and artistic experimentation. Even under these favorable conditions, Jews were outsiders, integrated culturally but not politically. The protagonists left Hungary in the 1920s and ’30s (Koestler, earlier, with his family) when the rise of right-wing governments and movements created political-existential threats, and opportunities abroad became all the more appealing.

Although more could have been said about conditions which encourage artistic and scientific creativity, this is a well-researched and lively volume providing much information about the times and lives of these nine remarkable individuals.

MICHAEL KORDA
Journey to a Revolution: A Personal Memoir and History of the Hungarian Revolution of 1956

Michael Korda was born in England and does not speak Hungarian but has been well aware of his Hungarian background. He used to be editor-in-chief at Simon & Schuster and a major influence in the publishing industry — he has also written several best-selling nonfiction books. Over half of “Journey to a Revolution” (HarperCollins, 240 pages, $24.95) seeks to acquaint the reader with the basics of Hungarian history. The remainder is the account of his 1956 visit to Hungary with three other adventurous Oxford undergraduates intent on seeing at close range a major historical event while delivering a few boxes of medical supplies. Mr. Korda correctly identifies the roots of the Revolution and has no illusions about (recently alleged) potential Soviet willingness to grant some of the demands of the revolutionaries. He is also among those who plausibly argue that the Revolution, notwithstanding its defeat, was the beginning of the end of the Soviet empire. He gets the larger picture mostly right but sprinkles the book with a remarkable number of errors and inaccuracies, not all of which are noted below.

Hungary was not “the first to challenge Russian hegemony in Eastern Europe.” That happened in East Germany in 1953. Nor did Hungary have a common border with what was then West Germany. Sándör Petöfi, the famous 19th-century poet, did not appeal to Hungarians to fight the Russians in one of his famous poems; it was written well before the Russian intervention. Raul Wallenberg did not rescue Jews from the SS, but from the Hungarian Arrow-Cross thugs. It was not the Russians who rigged the Hungarian elections after World War II, but the Hungarian communists, doubtless with the approval of the Soviet authorities. Imre Nagy was not involved in organizing AVO (or AVH, the political police), nor was he tortured while under arrest in Romania; he was not shot, but hanged. The students who began the demonstrations in October 1956 did not contribute “heavily” to the fighting — working class youth did that. The Hungarian communists seized power in 1948, not 1949. The AVO troops did not fire on demonstrators from the roof of the Parliament, but from the roof of the Ministry of Agriculture, across from the Parliament. Food was not “strictly” (or otherwise) “rationed” during the years before the Revolution, although there were severe shortages. Kossuth Lajos Street does not lead to the Parliament. András Hegedüs was not “first deputy chairman” of the government, but prime minister. The Hungarian political system between the two World Wars cannot properly be described as “fascist” — it was conservative, right-ofcenter, nationalistic, but permitted opposition, a good deal of free expression, and had no corporatist ideology.

This remarkable and occasionally humorous book offers interesting details of the fighting in Budapest witnessed by the author and about Western journalists seeking to report these events.

ADAM BIRO
One Must Also Be Hungarian

“One Must Also Be Hungarian” (University of Chicago Press, 169 pages, $20) is a moving evocation and exploration of a Jewish family’s history extending over several generations. Though the author, a writer and publisher living in France, left Hungary in 1956 at age 15 without his parents; he tells us little about his life in the West. Aside from the detailed portraits of family members, much of this slim volume deals with his difficult relationship with his parents that continued after his departure from Hungary. There is also a retelling of the horrors, including the murder of the author’s uncle and grandfather by Hungarian Arrow-Cross storm troopers in 1944. Not surprisingly, the experiences of Nazism and communism left more than a trace of bitterness and a sense of profound alienation. Mr Biro writes:

I miss my childhood. … But it is not the rotten world of the past that I’m missing, the war and its aftermath, Hitlerism, misery and politics. … I don’t care about the country of my childhood, about that world. … I hail from nowhere. Those, who like me, have three passports, can either be proud of it and feel rich and safe, or feel utterly and definitely lost. I belong to this second group.

There is more to this little book than evocations of the past, nostalgic or bitter; it is also a portrait of the endemic problems of identity colored by difficult parental relations and the perspectives of an immigrant.

Paul Hollander also left his native Hungary in 1956 after the Revolution. His most recent books are “From the Gulag to the Killing Fields: Personal Accounts of Political Violence and Repression in Communist States” (Intercollegiate Studies Institute) and “The End of Commitment: Revolutionaries, Intellectuals, and Political Morality” (Ivan R. Dee).