Who still knows and reads Ivo Andrić ? A powerful writer from the former Yugoslavia, Nobel Prize in Literature in 1961, he explores the subtle boundaries of the Balkans and seeks, in the face of everything that separates us, to constantly rediscover what connects us… The style, like the subtle art of storytelling, makes Ivo Andrić a rare writer who deserves to be placed in the rightful position that belongs to him.
Coming from Bosnia, Ivo Andrić attempted to scrutinize worlds that intertwine, religions that coexist and confront each other, long histories of empires, starting with the Ottoman Empire, which have deposited in these lands layers of time, ways of doing things, and ways of inhabiting the world, often too antagonistic.
The arrival of the French empire, Napoleonic, up to Travnik, confronted with the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which he recounts in his famous Chronicle of Travnik, while the grip of Ottoman power remains, testifies to a storytelling art that reveals the intricacies of these complex societies.
Thanks to Ivo Andrić's pen, we are immediately immersed in the place where each person's life is woven, where the order of time is suddenly impacted by all these “ foreigners ” who are bustling about, who have “ projects ” to beautify or transform the city, disrupting ancestral, repeated, ritualized ways of life.
His masterpiece—The Bridge on the Drina—gives us an idea of this, like few books in the history of literature. It allows us to grasp the shock that “ European modernity ” or what was imagined as such could represent among these societies that lived to the rhythm of the Drina, in a completely different social time. With the arrival of the Austro-Hungarian army, even on the banks of the Drina, a world shifts:
“ There were Czechs, Poles, Croats, Hungarians, and Germans.
At first, it seemed that they had ended up there by chance, according to the whims of the wind, and that they came to live here temporarily, to share more or less with us the way we had always lived in these lands, as if the civil authorities were to prolong for a certain time the occupation initiated by the army. However, month by month, the number of these foreigners increased. What surprised the townspeople the most and filled them with both astonishment and suspicion was not so much their number as their incomprehensible and endless projects, the overflowing activity and persistence they showed in carrying out the tasks they undertook. These foreigners never stopped working and did not allow anyone to take the slightest break; they seemed determined to enclose within their network—invisible, but increasingly perceptible—of laws, ordinances, and regulations the whole life, men, beasts, and objects, and to move and transform everything around them, both the external appearance of the city and the customs and habits of men, from cradle to grave. They did all this calmly and without much talking, without using violence or provocation, so that there was nothing to resist. When they encountered misunderstanding or reluctance, they immediately stopped, consulted somewhere without being seen, changed only their objective or method, but still managed to achieve their ends. They measured uncultivated land, marked trees in the forest, inspected latrines and canals, examined the teeth of horses and cows, checked weights and measures, inquired about the diseases afflicting the people, the number and age of fruit trees, the breeds of sheep or poultry. (It seemed as if they were having fun, as what they were doing appeared incomprehensible, unreal, and unserious in the eyes of the people.) Then everything that had been done with such diligence and zeal vanished into who knows where, seemed to disappear forever, leaving no trace. But a few months later, and often a year after, when one had completely forgotten about it, one suddenly discovered the meaning of all this seemingly senseless and already forgotten activity: the neighborhood leaders were summoned to the palace and were informed of a new ordinance on forest cutting, the fight against typhus, the trade of fruits and pastries, or even on mandatory certificates for livestock. And so, every day a new ordinance. And with each ordinance, the individual man was imposed more restrictions and constraints, while the collective life of the inhabitants of the city and villages developed by structuring and organizing itself.
But in the houses, among the Serbs as well as the Muslims, nothing changed. People lived there, worked there, and had fun there as they always had. They kneaded the bread...
...in the trough, roasted coffee in the fireplace, steamed laundry in tubs, and washed it in a “wash” that gnawed and cracked the hands of women; they wove and embroidered on frames and looms. They remained faithful to the old customs during the slava, festivals, and weddings, while only rarely mentioning, in whispers, as something incredible and distant, the new habits introduced by the foreigners. In short, they worked and lived as they always had and as they would still do in most homes fifteen or twenty years after the beginning of the occupation. ”
Ivo Andrić is a timeless writer. To be read and reread endlessly to discover and better understand this world, his world, of which Bosnia was the epicenter, where the “Great Game” of empires clashed. Where, however, passages and bridges remain that connect us, in the face of so many powers that strive to erect walls.
In a brilliant postscript to the French edition of The Bridge on the Drina, Predrag Matvejevitch emphasizes how “Andrić resembles a sage from the East who cares little about building but simply seeks to convey his wisdom.” Ivo Andrić, or the art of storytelling and recounting.
And to go further:
The Bridge on the Drina, translated from Serbo-Croatian by Pascale Delpech, published by Belfond, 1994
The Chronicle of Travnik, same translator, Le Serpent à plumes, 2011
The Cursed Courtyard, same translator, Les éditions Noir sur Blanc, 2025
Cover Photo: Statue of Ivo Andrić in front of the museum dedicated to him in Belgrade ©Alex333e
Thierry Fabre
Founder of the Rencontres d’Averroès in Marseille.
Writer, researcher, and exhibition curator. He has overseen the journal La pensée de midi, the BLEU collection at Actes-Sud, and the programming at the Mucem. He established the Mediterranean programme at the Institute for Advanced Studies at Aix-Marseille University.
He is responsible for editorial content.