"An Emotionally Charged and Thought-Provoking Masterpiece"
Published Today, 81 Years After the Actual Event
This is my seventh published book and my first historical novel. The reviews are phenomenal — I’ve posted them below — so I wonder if perhaps I have found my medium. In a way, historical fiction caps a lifetime of learning — first, for 35 years, as a journalist specializing in narrative writing, then, after journalism became something else and I returned to school, as a historian specializing in stories about women.
Based on a true story, The Concert is set in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg) during World War II, when Nazis invaded the Soviet Union. Adolf Hitler did not want to fight for this majestic city founded by Peter the Great — he wanted to starve its three million residents to death. That way, he would achieve his military objective without spilling any precious Aryan blood. Instead, the city proved his undoing, as the people of Leningrad, many artists, writers, dancers and musicians, defied his brutality.
On August 9, 1942, the Radio Orchestra of Leningrad did not have enough musicians to perform Dmitri Shostakovich’s taxing Symphony No. 7, a musical rendition of Hitler’s invasion. But they did anyway, in a remarkable profile of courage, summoning the energy and in the process lifting the spirits of a city under siege.
I first heard about this concert from a friend, Rhys Williams, during the pandemic. Maybe a book about these brave musicians would inspire those of us living through the fears of the pandemic. They had survived. Maybe we would too. Amid the hardships of war, they had plotted to defy the Nazis. And I thought their example would give hope to a world shut down, shut in and very much afraid.
But as my fictional story took shape — I adopted Olga Berggolts, a Radio Leningrad broadcaster, as my narrator — and the complications of her life became clear — she was a poet and a devotee of Lenin who was persecuted and tortured for disloyalty by Stalin — I realized that in many ways this story was also a metaphor for our times. These characters were trapped in the Soviet Union, hunted by Nazi Germany. Like many of us, they felt caught between the twin evils of communism and fascism.
As any historian would, I began by searching for archival materials. But this was in the first year of the pandemic, and it turns out that most archives were closed as completely as the restaurants and gyms that once welcomed us. Few of these libraries had gone digital by 2020, so I decided to try to tell this story in a novel.
This is not an easy matter. I had to retrain myself to tell the story not as a narrator, but through the actions and words of the characters. I read everything I could about the event, and began writing in March of 2021. There were many versions — because I had to teach myself to let the characters talk. I hired a book doctor to help steer me — and he more or less pushed me off the ledge, telling me I wrote like James A. Michener, the story unfolding at far too languid a pace to please contemporary readers accustomed to action at the top. Only when I decided to tell the story in the first person, writing as if I were Olga, getting my mind into hers, holding on to languid, that the book came together. The book doctor called it “a brave choice.” And maybe it was. But I think it worked. I look forward to hearing what you think.
One lovely gift from the book doctor was a suggestion that I get a big white board, and putting it in my writing office, and use it to think through the characters, the chapters, and the arc of the story. I have started thinking about my next project — and yes, it will be a historical novel — but I am loathe to erase this first encounter with historical fiction, including its nod to Cinderella, the template for all fiction for its ups and downs between hope and disaster, to hope again. And yes there were several name changes, the Germans called it Daz Konzert, or That Damned Concert. In the end, I decided The Concert seemed more elegant, less freighted with divided memory.
One of the most memorable characters in the book is Katarina Orlova, a prima ballerina, who joins Olga’s Poets Circle, a women’s group that meets periodically to comment on the city’s traumas. I guess you could say they are my Greek chorus. “So much happened so quickly,” Katarina observed during the Siege, “it was as if time too was a casualty of war.” Garegin Ananyan, who had survived the Armenian Genocide to find himself playing the harp for the Radio Orchestra during the Siege of Leningrad, was also an inspiration. Asked by his brother-in-law (and Olga’s husband) how he could sin by stealing food from the city’s Warehouse, he said, “A sin? My friend, hunger is Darwinian. In war there is no right or wrong, only survival.”
The writing of this book was itself an ordeal. Two dozen literary agents turned down an opportunity to represent The Concert. Most did not even think enough of it to send one of those form rejection letters — “Dear Author, What promise your work showed” — that are infamous among writers (my favorite is one to Julia Child, saying American housewives would never read such a long cookbook.) To them I say:
You can buy the book now — at Amazon or on my website, JohannaWriter.com. The Kindle, hardback and paperback versions are available. The audio book — recorded in England — and links on B&N and Goodreads, coming in a few days.
The book was originally planned for publication on June 22, the date in 1941 when Nazi Germany invaded Russia. Hitler called it his Operation Barbarossa. But as the pub date approached, my love, Jeffrey Glazer, was in the hospital, and I had moved in, his advocate. I called my publisher and told him I was in no position to promote the book. He agreed to move publication to August 9, the date of the concert in 1942.
After Jeffrey died in late June, I called the publisher again and asked if there was time to include a dedication. And in this book, Jeffrey is honored on the dedication page, “the love of my life and the hole in my heart.” A friend said that was fitting, as Jeffrey would be looking down, cheering from above, stoking sales, my guardian angel.
His first gift has already arrived — reviews like nothing I’ve ever had before.
“An emotionally charged and thought-provoking masterpiece, The Concert will stay with readers long after the final page,” wrote Francesca McCullough, senior editor at BakeMyBook. “Neuman's masterful prose eloquently portrays the concert's significance as a symbol of defiance against the Nazi regime.”
“The breathtaking novel about women, love, and difficult choices helped me absorb a sense of Leningraders' enduring strength and bravery.” Anush Avetisyan, an international journalist. “This luminous story demonstrates the power of words and music during the darkest pages of Leningrad's history, the Nazi Siege. It reminded me that it is difficult to overpower people with an unbreakable spirit.”
This is also my first book published independently. After The Concert was rejected by dozens of the finest literary agents in New York and Los Angeles, I flipped the script. Instead of letting big houses publish the book — an economic model where they assume the costs and the risks and pay authors very little — I would assume those costs, for a higher share of the profits later. A big thank you to my publisher, Theo Madden and his team at BakeMyBook, for steering this book toward the finish line. They designed a beautiful cover, scrupulously proofread the transcript, arranged audio book production, made me posters and flyers and sparked promotion. Bravo.
And then there was Jeffrey, who for the 20 years of our union cheered me on in everything I did. I was finishing this book when he was diagnosed with a form of leukemia. I sometimes brought my laptop to work on as he took chemo treatments, or blood transfusions. Always, he took great pride in my work, as I did in his heroism. Twenty-five years ago, he fell 40 feet on a construction job, awaking with a spinal cord injury. Most never walk again, but he willed himself to health again. Everyone who knew him, everyone who loved him, was sure he would do it again this time too.
Jeffrey was a big sports guy — before the accident a player, afterward a fan. Whenever I despaired about whether I would ever have a breakthrough book, he would tell me the story of a tennis player named Vitas Gerulaitis, who beat Jimmy Connors in the semi-finals of the 1980 Masters. Asked by a reporter how he finally managed to defeat the reigning king of tennis after 16 tries, he said, “And let that be a lesson to you all. Nobody beats Vitas Gerulaitis 17 times in a row.”
As The Concert neared its publication date, I thought of Gerulaitis often. He and Jeffrey have convinced me it is never too late to produce a win.
I hope you agree.
Loved to read about the germination of The Concert. Looking forward to learning about their struggle and perseverance during the siege. 💕your writing Johanna!!