The Atlas of Beauty, by Mihaela Noroc

Romanian Mihaela Noroc has travelled extensively since 2013 photographing women in everyday situations, and in The Atlas of Beauty: Women of the World in 500 Portraits (2017) she presents colour images taken in about 50 countries.  There are women of all kinds, from different backgrounds and of different ages (though the bulk of them are fairly young, perhaps reflecting the author’s own age).  Most are photographed in the street, presumably stopped in passing; in other cases she has sought out subjects, such as in Kurdish-held territory and in refugee camps.

A number of the photographs have a paragraph of biographical commentary attached, occasionally with the subject’s name, others simply note the places they were taken.  Several pages consist of thumbnails with no further information, presumably because of space constraints.  Often, however, we learn about subjects’ lives, which are frequently hard, and their aspirations, giving depth to the portraits.  Noroc is keen to show women carving a role for themselves, particularly in male-dominated professions.

 Naturally there are a number of photographs of Romanian women (Noroc lives in Bucharest), plus a Moldovan who happened to be in Romania to sing at a concert.  Romania has not been privileged in any way as Noroc is internationalist in her outlook, though surprisingly half the Romanian shots were taken in Bucharest when one would have expected her to have travelled more widely in her own country.

 While the book’s title might lead the reader to assume these are going to be Vogue-style shots, Noroc’s intention in fact is to challenge conventional notions, expanding the term to find beauty in all women, not restricting it to those who conform to a particular commercialised notion which is selling a sexualised image in the service of profit: a male conception of what constitutes attractiveness.  As she points out, that representation becomes a norm against which women often judge themselves, frequently with negative consequences. 

 Instead, Noroc wants to highlight that the western glamour standard is artificial (conversely those cultures which insist on a male-imposed idea of what constitutes ‘modesty’ also inhibit women’s free expression).  If those she approached felt they were not beautiful, or looking too dowdy to be photographed, they were judging themselves by an external criterion.  Women, she argues, should be able to be themselves, without external demands or constraints, to demonstrate there is diversity in beauty, and beauty in diversity.  It is an authenticity coming from within: she only uses natural light, a good decision as lighting can be used to manipulate the look and introduces an editorial aspect.

 She emphasises the importance both of valuing roots (often photographing women in traditional costumes) and of looking forward, always stressing tolerance, compassion and kindness.  There is a campaigning edge because she depicts women clearly living under oppressive cultural and religious strictures.  She uses her photography to break down barriers of all kinds, to remind us that we are part of one family and should be looking for connections, not differences, to improve the world.

 This is not a systematic survey, and many women refused her request to take a picture, because of mistrust or lack of confidence, but often because of patriarchal social pressures.  She also has quite a few countries to go, so it is a stretch to call it an atlas.  Admittedly in many cases Noroc faced language problems, but I would like to have had more text to amplify the photographs, and learn about the wider situations of those depicted.  The photograph was the thing, the words, which would have helped the reader to know about those photographed, are often either perfunctory or absent.

 One final point: noroc in Romanian means luck, so I wondered if it was actually a pseudonym.  Either way, she has made her own luck in initiating a project that reminds us of our interconnectedness, and in so doing touched many.

Forest of the Hanged, by Liviu Rebreanu

Liviu Rebreanu’s 1922 novel Pădurea Spânzuraţilor is dedicated to his brother Emil.  It was partly inspired by Emil’s execution for spying and desertion during the First World War while serving in the Austro-Hungarian army.  His death is paralleled by the fate of the main character, Apostol Bologa.

 Bologa is a Romanian fighting for Austria, a subject in its sprawling multi-ethnic empire.  Many serving in its army had divided loyalties, pitted against soldiers from the same background but on the other side (Romania fought the Central Powers off and on during the conflict).  Born in Transylvania – then Hungarian, later ceded to Romania under the provisions of the 1920 Treaty of Trianon – Bologa finds himself in the war more or less by accident, to impress a young lady, and possessing no strong patriotic motives.

 The titular forest of the hanged is a dark foreboding place where executions are conducted, the bodies left as a warning to others.  The novel opens with Bologa participating in a military tribunal and the subsequent hanging of a Czech officer, and ends with his own, giving the narrative a circular structure.  Initially he considers he is doing his duty, even exceeding it by testing the rope for the Czech’s execution.  Yet witnessing the death starts Bologa on a journey of introspection.

 He is not a physical coward and is wounded in action, his convalescence giving him time for reflection.  Coming to doubt his previous certainties, he realises he could easily do what the Czech officer did in the same circumstances.  He acknowledges the pointlessness of war, and asks himself precisely what cause he is fighting for when people are all the same under the skin.  Unfortunately, deciding on a course of action is not easy.  He is an intellectual who is contemplative by nature and slow to reach conclusions, hence the novel charts at length his struggle to reconcile his duty with his moral sense.

 Transferred to the Romanian front, these reflections become urgent.  He finds he has more in common with those he is facing than with those he serves.  For the Austro-Hungarian high command there is no problem sending ‘their’ Romanians to fight soldiers of the same ethnicity because they should be loyal to the emperor, but as he faces his fellow Romanians, Bologa’s sense of priorities shifts, reaching crisis point when he is again ordered to sit on a tribunal, holding life and death in his hands.  Appalled at the prospect, he walks haphazardly towards the Romanian lines, with severe consequences.

 This is not a novel about armies in battle, rather it charts Apostol’s inner turmoil.  It is a spiritual battle, as evinced by Biblical echoes.  God is a constant reference: Apostol’s name is derived from apostolic; three men protesting their innocence are hanged on Easter Monday, with orders given for their bodies to hang for three days; twelve alleged deserters are caught in the woods; there are numerous references to lightness and darkness.  Rebreanu sees Bologa as a martyr, thereby exonerating his own brother Emil, as he explores the multiplicity of motives that take men to war, and the multiplicity of emotions they feel when they are there.