Tradition and Morality
One could argue that Broken April is a critical evaluation of the nature of cultural traditions. Throughout the novel, it is noted that the blood feuds have continued for centuries. This long duration is thought to ennoble the tradition – that is to say, the practice of blood feuding is honored because it has been happening for so long.
Yet in Broken April, Kadaré challenges the notion that these blood feuds are honorable for the sole reason that they are a tradition. Rather, he suggests that the uncritical continuation, and celebration, of this tradition is what allows the violence and destruction to persist. In other words, he argues that just because something is a tradition that has been practiced for centuries, that alone does not make it moral. Of course, Kadaré does not suggest that cultural inheritance is inherently immoral or dangerous, but rather that we must not overlook the potential immorality or danger of our practices precisely because they are traditional.
The Pointlessness of Vengeance
At its core, Broken April is a novel about vengeance. The blood feuds themselves are premised on the idea of vengeance. That is to say, each killing is justified by the killings before it. According to the Kanun, one has “the right to take vengeance” after one of their family members has been killed. While the pursuit of vengeance is regarded as sacred for the people of the High Plateau, Kadaré has a dramatically different opinion. As he demonstrates throughout the novel, the pursuit of vengeance does not bring about peace. More than anything, it merely continues the cycle of violence. For Kadaré, this continuation of violence is destructive and futile. In this way, he cautions us to practice peace and forgiveness instead of vengeance.
Manipulation and Control
One of the greatest strengths of Broken April as a novel is the way in which Kadaré continually shifts the narrative focus between different characters. In the first two chapters, he focuses on Gjorg, in the second chapter he focuses on Diana and Bessian, and in the fourth chapter he focuses on Mark Ukacierra. Doing this allows Kadaré to describe the cultural practices of the High Plateau–and the blood feuds, in particular–from a range of perspectives. By focusing on Gjorg first, Kadaré depicts the experience of the blood feuds from the perspective of someone who is involved in one. From Bessian’s perspective, the blood feuds are beautiful and poetic.
When Kadaré shifts to Mark’s perspective, however, he depicts the blood feuds in a drastically different way. For Mark, and for the Prince, the blood feuds are a means by which to gain revenue from the taxes paid after each killing. Mark’s job is to be “the chief instigator of feuds and acts of vengeance” (136). In other words, he encourages more killing so that he can make more money. Here, Kadaré makes it clear that the blood feuds are little more than a means of manipulating and controlling the local population so as to make more money from them.
From this perspective, the Kanun, and the customs associated with it, are a means of justifying and validating this form of control. Indeed, the local people are so concerned with following the laws of the Kanun that they do not even realize how they are being manipulated. In this way, Kadaré prompts his reader to question the ways in which their cultures and contexts might obscure the practices of power and the persistence of oppression.
The Care for Strangers
A central tenet of the Kanun is the duty to care for strangers and guests. As Bessian explains, “the guest, in an Albanian’s life, represents the supreme ethical category, more important than blood relations” (76). As a demonstration of this fact, Bessian and Diana are welcomed into the homes of people they have never met. Throughout the novel, Kadaré exhibits a nuanced opinion of the exalted status of the guest in the culture of the High Plateau. On one hand, he shows it to be a deeply beautiful and honorable practice. These people treat guests as they themselves would want to be treated, and therefore they can travel the region knowing that they will also have a safe place to stay.
At the same, Kadaré suggests that this practice has been taken into extremes under Kanun law. For example, the blood feud between the Berisha and Kryeqyqe families began after a member of the Kryeqyqe family killed a guest that had stayed at Gjorg’s grandfather’s house the night before. According to the Kanun, “the Berisha who had given the stranger shelter and had fed him, had had the duty to protect him until he left the village lands, and must now avenge him” (32). As a result, “forty-four graves had been dug since then” (33). To this point, scholar Catherine MacMillan argues that the practice of hospitality in the novel is “risky, as the guest may turn out to be an enemy and, as in the case of the Berisha clan, may even bring devastation on the host family for generations to come” (285).
In this sense, the duty to care for a stranger has obviously been taken much too far. As Kadaré argues, we should care for strangers and show compassion towards them, but this must be done within reason.
The Dangers of Idealization
While it is normal to have curiosity about cultures different from our own, Kadaré uses the character of Bessian to demonstrate the dangers of idealizing other ways of life. From the very introduction of his character, it is clear that Bessian holds unrealistic and romanticized notions about life in the High Plateau. Before traveling to the region, Bessian had “written half-tragic, half-philosophical sketches about the North” and although he is not a member of this culture, and has little experience of it, he nonetheless views himself as an expert on what he considers the “part-imaginary, part-epic world” of the High Plateau (64).
It is made clear to the reader that Bessian will eventually suffer because of his pompous and idealized notions about the High Plateau. Over the course of the novel, this is precisely what happens. During an argument between Bessian and the doctor late in the novel, the doctor chastises Bessian, saying: “your books, your art, they all smell of murder. Instead of doing something for these unfortunate mountaineers, you help death, you look for exalted themes, you look here for beauty so as to feed your art” (195). This is a harsh condemnation, but one that gets to the core of the problem with Bessian’s attitude towards the culture of the High Plateau. For him, the blood feuds are not a horrible tragedy, but rather the fodder for his art. In this way, Kadaré cautions the reader not to be guilty of cultural idealization and romanticization like Bessian.
The Importance of Independence
Throughout the novel, Gjorg expresses a skepticism of the Kanun and of the practice of the blood feuds. He imagines what would have happened had he become a priest, or if “that late guest had not knocked at the gate of their kulla” which led to the beginning of his family’s blood feud. At the same time, he is unable to feel the hatred for the Kryeqyqe family that his father tries to instill in him. In a sense, Gjorg demonstrates a degree of independent thought and a resistance to the continuation of the blood feuds. Indeed, he begins “mentally preparing himself not to shed blood” (45).
Nonetheless, Gjorg succumbs to the pressure placed on him by his family and by his community and he kills Zef. For the reader, this is a tragic outcome, for if Gjorg only had the strength to follow his convictions, he could have put an end to the blood feud and saved his life in the process. In this way, Kadaré stresses the importance of practicing independence and a dedication to one’s convictions, even in the face of pressure to act otherwise.
The Nature of Law
Broken April is a literary depiction of the real-life Kanun law that has been practiced in Albania for centuries. Throughout the novel, Kadaré examines the origins and practice of this code of laws. In addition to describing many of the customs of the Kanun–most notably the blood feuds–Kadaré also describes the many punishments delivered to those who break the rules. He writes of those “persons punished by their own families, whole families punished by the village, or even whole villages punished by a group of villages, or by the Banner” (18).
Overall, Broken April is a probing analysis of a most unique legal practice. For this reason, scholars Brunilda Pali and Robert Mackey argue that the novel can help elucidate “our understanding of law through literature” (4). While the reader will have good reason to question the cruel and punitive nature of the Kanun law, Kadaré also prompts the reader to interrogate the nature of the laws they live under. In the process, he seems to suggest that our conduct is all being guided by a code of laws, just as Gjorg is guided by the Kanun.
