Das Schloß - The Play (Act Three of Three)

A few hours have passed.  The short winter day is drawing to a close, and the sky is getting darker by the minute.  The Innkeeper is behind the bar, drying glasses and studiously not looking in Tony’s direction.  A barmaid is also behind the bar, using a rather dirty-looking cloth to wipe down the long, wooden surface. Tony is still sitting at the table nursing his beer, staring at the glass, concentrating on the dark remnants inside.  Suddenly, he looks up and, gesturing in the direction of the bar, tries to catch the barmaid’s eye…

Tony: Hello? Could I get another please?

 [The barmaid looks up, nods, and starts to fill another tankard with beer.  A few moments later, she walks over to the table and puts the tankard firmly down.  After picking up the finished drink, she goes to walk away.]

Sorry, could I ask you something, erm…?

Barmaid: Frieda, my name’s Frieda.

Tony: Frieda… could I ask you something about the castle, Frieda?

[Frieda sits down opposite Tony, her manner noticeably less hostile than before.  Tony pauses, smiles, and then continues speaking.]

I was wondering if you had…  if you had ever been up there…

Frieda: [Surprised] To the Castle?  What, of course not! [Giggles]  Why would I have been to the Castle? [She leans forward, and her face becomes more serious.]  I do know a man though, an official called Kramm… have you heard of him?

Tony: No…

Frieda: Well, he’s supposed to be very influential, knows a lot of people… [She pauses, looking Tony up and down.] Of course, he’s a lot older than you… [She smiles coquettishly across the table.]

Tony: [Nervously playing with his wedding ring] Actually, I think I should call my wife…

[The smile disappears from Frieda’s face.  She stands up and storms off in the direction of the kitchen.  A door is heard to slam in the distance.  From behind the bar, there’s a mutter from the Innkeeper.   The only audible words are “add” and “file”.  Tony starts to get up, as if to walk over to the telephone again, when a noise from behind stops him.  He turns around.  The door opens, and the darkness of late evening is framed within its outline .  A man’s figure emerges from the darkness and enters the inn.]

Man: [Looks around] Hello?  Could someone help me please?

[Frieda looks around, and her eyes light up when she sees the handsome face and strong build of the newcomer.  She rushes from behind the bar and addresses the stranger.]

Frieda: Welcome to the inn!  Are you looking for a place to stay?  Dinner?  Drinks?  Or… [She plays with her hair and sends an unambiguous look towards the man.]

Man: [Taking a step backwards] Erm, well, actually… I’m here on business as a Land-Surveyor, at the Castle, I believe, and I was looking for a place to stay tonight.  Do you have any rooms?

[The Innkeeper, who has been drying the glasses up to this point, looks up and speaks.]

Innkeeper: Sorry, no rooms.

[Tony looks up in surprise.]

Tony: But you offered me a room?  I won’t be needing it, so why don’t you let Mr…

Man: K.

Tony: [Sceptically to the man] K.?  [The man nods.] Really? [The man nods again.  Tony turns back to the Innkeeper.]  Why don’t you let Mr. K. have my room?

Innkeeper: No, can’t do that.  That room’s just for you.  And I’m adding that to your file…

Tony: [Jumping up and shouting] Will you stop saying that?!!

Frieda: [To K.] You can share my room…

[The Innkeeper’s face darkens, and he begins to walk around from behind the bar.  Frieda takes a step towards K., and K. takes two big strides back.  Tony takes K.’s arm, and guides him towards the door.]

Tony: Come on, let’s go.  You can’t even get into the castle anyway, so we may as well get out of this village while we can. [Points at the coach]  We’ve still got a seat on the bus if you want to join us…

K.:  Have you got toilets on board?

Tony: Toilets, coffee-making facilities, wide-screen television, extensive library, very comfy seats…

K.: Sounds good. [K. and Tony walk across the road to the coach.  Gary, Lizzy and Caroline, loitering on the pavement across the road, slip guiltily back onto the bus, Gary slipping what looks suspiciously like an empty whisky bottle into his coat pocket.  He says something to the driver, and the engine roars into life.]  So, where are we going anyway?  Anywhere special?

Tony:  Not really.  I’ve got a friend up north, and I thought I’d pay her a visit.

K.: [Hopefully] A friend… Pretty, is she?

Tony: [Thumping K. on the shoulder] Yes… and she’s married.  Anyway, Effi’s not like that…

[The two men get onto the coach.  There’s a loud cheer, and, moments later, the bus drives off down the road.  Very soon, it has disappeared into the darkness and the falling snow.

Back in the inn, Frieda is sitting in the middle of the floor, howling and tearing her hair out.  The Innkeeper is standing behind the bar again, polishing some glasses.  Suddenly, the phone rings.  The Innkeeper puts down a glass, walks over to the phone and picks up the receiver.]

Innkeeper: Hello? [Undecipherable sounds from the other end of the line]  That’s right, two visitors, not one.  And a bus. [More sounds] Understood.  Can you add that to the file?

*****
Still confused?  Click through for a little enlightenment ;) 

Das Schloß - The Play (Act Two of Three)

A few minutes have passed since the previous action.  Tony is now seated at one of the round tables in front of the bar, along with the Innkeeper.  The Innkeeper’s Wife brings over a tray with two beers on it and puts them down in front of the two men.  Tony’s beer is brought down with a crash, sending a small puddle of beer flying towards his fur coat.  The Innkeeper’s Wife sneers at Tony, then turns on her heel and stomps back to the bar.  Tony begins to speak…

Tony: So what you’re saying is that I’m actually inside Kafka’s book?

Innkeeper: [Drinks, then brings his tankard crashing down onto the table] No!  Why do you keep talking about a book?  You are in the Village, the Village which belongs to the Castle, and there is no way to get into the Castle without connections, without working your way into a higher position.  If you start off as a barman, perhaps, if you are dutiful, in a few years, there will be the possibility of moving on to something more substantial…

Tony: [Interrupting] And then I can go to the castle?

Innkeeper: [Sighs] No.  Then you may have access to someone who might know someone who occasionally has access to a person who works in a capacity loosely connected with the Castle… [Pauses] …if you’re lucky.

Tony: Hmm.  [Pauses, then speaks] I was planning to be in Hohen-Cremmen on Saturday...

[There is silence.  Both men devote themselves to their tankards, Tony thinking of how to turn the conversation, the Innkeeper wondering how he can end it.  Suddenly, the door crashes open, and, framed against the streetlights and the swirling snow, a young man appears, still in the doorframe for a brief moment, before moving into the inn.]

Innkeeper: [Standing up] There you are, my friend, the answer to your prayers! [Points to the newcomer]  This is Barnabas, and he is a messenger from the Castle! [Addresses Barnabas]  Do you have a message for our foreign friend?

Barnabas: [Shifts nervously from foot to foot] I do have a message to deliver… [He steps forward and hands Tony a small piece of paper.  Tony opens it and reads it aloud as the Innkeeper tries to peer over his shoulder.]

Tony: [Reads the note] “ Tony, the people on the bus are getting a bit restless – some of them aren’t too keen on Kafka anyway and want to move on to the Thomas Mann trail.  How are those tickets looking?  Gary.” [Tony and the Innkeeper look at Barnabas, who is trying to look innocent and failing dismally.]

Barnabas: [Sheepishly] I never said it was a message from the Castle now, did I?

[Tony scribbles something on the back of the note and then hands it back to Barnabas.]

Tony: Here you are, take this back to the bus for me, will you?

[Barnabas nods, pockets the message, and leaves the inn.]

Innkeeper: [Curious] What did you say?

Tony: [Sitting down at the table again] Oh, I just told Gary to stick the German TV adaptation of Buddenbrooks on the DVD player – should keep the Mann fans quiet for a good few hours.

[The Innkeeper sits back down, and Tony leans across the table to ask him a question.]

So, tell me, what do you think of the castle?

Innkeeper: [Nervously] The Castle?  What I think of it?  Me?  What do you mean?  The Castle is just the Castle, everpresent, everchanging, untouchable… [He leans back, gazing at the wall behind Tony’s head, lost in thought.] …the Castle is a part of the Village, and we, in turn are a part of the Castle…

Tony: Well, yes, but what I’m trying to get at here is the idea behind the castle, what it represents, the metaphor behind the reality if you will. [The Innkeeper nods cautiously.] I mean, look, there are a lot of possibilities, the bureaucracy, that’s one, the castle could be representative of our inability to penetrate the thick red tape surrounding us and preventing us from enjoying our daily lives.  Or, or… [Waves his arms in the air as if clutching for words] …it could all be a religious metaphor, the castle as heaven and all the people down below in the village looking for the best way to get to the castle, confused as to the best way in, distracted by all the earthly, that is to say, village diversions… [The Innkeeper nods again.] …it has to be that, right?  What do you think?

[The Innkeeper leans forward slowly, and Tony leans towards him, eager to hear his thoughts.]

Innkeeper: [Slowly] Do you know what I think the Castle is? [Tony waits expectantly.]  A big stone building – with bloody thick walls.  [Tony’s head thuds into the table, splashing into a puddle of beer.  The Innkeeper pats him on the shoulder and stands up to go.]  I’ll add that to your file…

*****
To see how the story ends, click through to Part Three...

Das Schloß - The Play (Act One of Three)

A large coach pulls up in a quiet street in a small village somewhere in Central Europe.  Through the gently falling snow, the words “German Literature Month Tour Bus” can be seen on the side facing us.  A door opens, a man steps out, struggling to get into a large fur coat, and walks towards the only building in the street with lights on, “The Bridge Inn”.  He crosses the street and opens the door…

Tony:  [Turns to face the bus and shouts] Tell the driver to keep the engine running Gary, I’ll just ask someone for directions.  [He walks into the inn and sees the Innkeeper]  Ah, good morning!

[The Innkeeper looks at him blankly] Good afternoon?

Innkeeper: Hurry in, hurry in.  We have been expecting you, your room is ready, please, take a seat, warm yourself by the fire, you must be tired after your long journey, and cold, very cold, after all, it is winter, and the winters here in the village are extremely bitter, something a stranger like yourself will have to get used to if you are to adapt quickly to our small community.

Tony: [Confused]  Erm, well, I actually just wanted to ask for directions to the castle, you know, the one that’s used in Kafka’s book – a few of us are on a bit of a literary tour.  Do you know it?

[The Innkeeper’s wife, sitting behind the bar, breaks out in laughter.  The Inkeeper grins wryly and, turning to his wife, raises an eyebrow.]

Innkeeper: Do we know the castle? Hah! [Turns back to Tony]  Of course we know the Castle, everyone knows the Castle, the Castle is why we are here, the Castle is, if this is not too much of an exaggeration, the only reason for our, for my, for your existence. [He looks expectantly at Tony]

Tony: [Nervously] OK, so… could you give me some directions up there?  You see, we’re a bit lost…

[The Innkeeper visibly flinches, and his wife stops laughing, gets up and runs out of a door at the back of the inn.]

Innkeeper: You want to go to the Castle?  You think you can just decide to go to the Castle?  You honestly believe, you naïve young man, that you can just make your own way up to the Castle, ignoring the secretaries and assistants and just wander in, unannounced, simply stroll into the Castle?  Do you?  Do you really?

Tony: [A little cowed] Well, no.

[The Inkeeper is relieved]

We’re planning to buy entrance tickets, of course…

[The Innkeeper slaps his hands over his face, and presently a sound of sobbing can be heard.  After standing around awkwardly for a minute or two, Tony starts to look around the inn, and, almost immediately, a telephone catches his eye.  He wanders over, having forgotten the innkeeper – who is now banging his head, slowly, but firmly, against the wall -, and reads a sticker attached to the wall above the phone.  It reads: “Castle Hotline – 371883.  Twenty-four hour connection to your lords and masters all year round (except Christmas Day and Shrove Tuesday)”.  Tony picks up the receiver and dials the number.]

Automated Menu: [A woman’s voice speaks] Thank you for calling the Castle Hotline.  This call will be recorded for quality assurance and legal purposes.  If you are not happy with this, well, tough luck.  So that we can best answer your call, please choose from one of the following options.  If you are looking for a job as a messenger, press 1; if you have a complaint about one of our friendly officials, press 2; if you would like to know our opening hours, press 3; for directions to the Castle, press 4…

[Tony presses 4]

There are many roads to the castle.  These roads are ever-changing and sometimes impassable, and each is accessible only to the person it was created for… [Tony sighs] …to return to the main menu, press the ‘star’ key… [Tony presses the ‘star’ key, immediately followed by 3.]

Our opening hours are infrequent, inconstant, whimsical and unknowable for the common man.  Thank you for calling the Castle Hotline – a transcript of this call has been added to your file.

[There is a click, and the line goes dead.  Tony bangs the receiver against the phone (once, hard) and then replaces it.]

Tony: [To himself] Toto, I've a feeling we’re not in Seldwyla any more…

*****
If you'd like to know how the story continues, click through to Part Two...

German Literature Month - 'Effi Briest' Read-Along (Part Two)

And we're back for the second of three posts on Theodor Fontane's classic, Effi Briest.  While the first post was relatively general in nature, this one will start to give the game away plotwise, so if you haven't made it to the end of Chapter 24 yet, please look away now...

*****

Still with me?  Excellent :)

The middle section of Effi Briest picks up where Chapter Fifteen left off, with the dashing Major Crampas worming his way into Effi's affections both in front of and behind Innstetten's back.  On a series of rides and picnics by the coast, the two become closer, and the more Effi realises that her honour is in danger, the more she tries to pull away.  Our poor heroine tries to face down her admirer, but events (as they always seem to do in fiction - bad writers!) conspire against her, and on a cold night, alone with the Major in a sleigh, the inevitable happens...

The reader, to this point at least, is not aware of any further indiscretions, although this is implicitly hinted in Effi's 'walks', but I believe Fontane is sympathetic to Effi's struggles.  The references she makes to the poem Gottesmauer indicate her willingness to seek shelter from the storm of Crampas' advances - ironically, when the wall of darkness does surround her, Crampas is on the wrong (or right side)...

However, the move to Berlin comes as a godsend to our young heroine, and she deliberately avoids returning to the coast, putting herself out of temptation's way until Innstetten can join her in the capital.  It looks as if a dangerous chapter in her life may be behind her, with Crampas far away and her husband now near enough to pay her (and her daughter) more attention.  With a little effort - on the part of both husband and wife -, there's no reason why things can't end happily ever after.

Of course, that would make for a very boring ending, and there are indications that the final sixty pages or so will bring another dramatic turn.  The mere mention of the name Crampas (this time the village Effi hears of on her holidays), brings memories of her betrayal rushing back, and as we leave her on a sleepless night at her parents' house, we sense that somehow or other, the marriage is fated to come crashing down around Effi's ears...

Should we feel sorry for her?  Well, I've already indicated that perhaps there is reason to forgive her, both on the grounds of her youth and the amends she has tried to make in avoiding Crampas before the move to Berlin.  However, it's not quite as simple as that.  The full extent of the relationship with Crampas has yet to be revealed, and for us to forgive her, Effi would need to be truly penitent.  Yet the final part of Chapter Twenty Four shows Effi's thoughts to be less related to guilt and more concerned with getting away with it all.

So where do we go from here?  Will Innstetten stumble upon the truth?  Will Crampas brag and let the cat out of the bag?  Will Effi succumb to guilt and blurt everything out to her husband?  How will her parents react?  And, assuming the secret is aired, what will Innstetten do about it?  I still have the feeling that Effi's youth and naivety may lead her to do something drastic...

...but I suppose I'll find out what really happens next week ;)

Please don't miss the Swiss!

Climb on board!  After a few days in Austria and Germany, it's time for the German Literature Month Tour Bus to trundle over the mountains again for a brief trip around Switzerland.  The Swiss can be the overlooked cousins of the G-Lit family - certainly, my reading experiences reflect that -, so I thought it was time to see what they have to offer.  Today's treats?  A couple of tasty nineteenth-century novellas for you all to get your teeth into - onward, driver!

*****
The first of today's two stories is Conrad Ferdinand Meyer's Der Schuß von der Kanzel (The Shot from the Pulpit), an entertaining and amusing novella set in a small Swiss town.  Pfannenstiel, a young man with clerical ambitions, pays a visit to General Wertmüller, a returning local hero with dubious morals and a mischievous sense of adventure.  Pfannenstiel is hoping for a preferment overseas, mainly to escape from an unsuccessful romance, but the General, always with an eye for the comical and ludicrous, has other plans for our young friend...

This is a short tale, eleven chapters spanning about thirty-five pages, but it's highly entertaining.  In some ways, it feels more like a play, with clearly defined changes of scenery, an impressive (and humorous) turning point and a neat resolution pleasing all and sundry.  The  characters are surprisingly well drawn for such a short text: the devilish General; his cousin, the shooting parson; Pfannenstiel, the pessimistic young lover, and his intended, the feisty Rahel.  There's more than a touch of Trollope about proceedings - and I mean that in the best possible way ;)

The first half of the novella is suggestive of Gothic literature, with the tense nocturnal discussions between Pfannenstiel and the General, and the spooky lodgings the young cleric is led to for the night, but once the sun has risen (as should be the case), things look very different, and the wry humour takes over.  I don't want to say anything more about the plot, but the title is there for a reason - and a very good one it is too!  Meyer shoots and definitely hits the mark :)

*****
Today's second offering, Die schwarze Spinne by Jeremias Gotthelf, reverses the progression of Meyer's novella in some ways.  It starts peacefully enough, following a group of farming folk in a small Swiss village as they get ready for a Christening.  Once the child has been baptised (not without one minor hiccough), the guests head back to the farmhouse for plenty of food and lashings of drink.

In between courses, some of the men decide to stretch their legs, and when they sit down under a tree to rest, the grandfather of the house begins to tell the guests a story - one which will remain in the memory far longer than the food...  You see, the misleading first ten pages or so form the first part of a frame narrative, and the grandfather's story, suggested by the Christening and the mention of an old piece of wood used in the new house, is the real start of the story (and an amazing one it is).

A few hundred years earlier, a group of farmers are set an impossible task by the knight who owns the village.  Desperate, and at their wits' ends, they are offered help by a mysterious stranger, but at a certain price - the gift of an unbaptised child...  From here, events turn eerier and darker, and when the villagers attempt to cheat the stranger, it soon becomes clear that this was someone they should not have messed with.  Winds howl, storms thunder over the valley, and the pregnant women start to get extremely nervous.  And when you have trouble with the devil, who are you going to call?  A clue - it's not the Ghostbusters...

Die schwarze Spinne is a stunning piece of short fiction, evolving from a commonplace piece of naturalist writing into a full-blown horror story, pitting good against evil and scattering the countryside with the corpses of the unjust and unfortunate alike.  The religious implications are fairly clear, but the story works on many other levels too.  The idea of collective guilt and the inability to speak up against the crowd, even when you know that what is being done is wrong, is an important one, as is the role of the outsider in bringing disaster to an otherwise harmonious community.  There may also be overtones of the 'Black Death' plagues which afflicted Europe in the dark ages, represented by the black curse which sweeps over the valley.

If you want good writing with a high body count, look no further.  The further the story progresses, the higher the death toll, and it is genuinely gripping reading.  Then the story returns to the present day, and the guests (in a slightly more sombre mood) return to the table; just when we could be forgiven for thinking that the worst is over, the grandfather takes the story up again, leading the reader through another round of death and chaos...

And the spider?  Well, I'd got about half-way through the story when I began to wonder where this black spider (Black Widow?) had got to - and then it began to appear (and I chose those words deliberately)...  I'll say no more (you'll enjoy the book more that way!), but remember this: if you start looking under your bed for spiders after reading Die schwarze Spinne, don't say I didn't warn you...

A Couple Of (Metaphorical) Big Guns

The German language has produced thirteen Nobel prizes in literature so far, behind only English and French, and today's post celebrates two of those Teutonic laureates, in what could be described as skillful planning on my part, but which would be more accurately described as blind luck and quick thinking - enjoy ;)

*****
First up today is one of my favourite German authors, Heinrich Böll.  He received his prize in 1972, but today's offering, Und sagte kein einziges Wort (And Didn't Say A Word), is one of his earlier offerings.  Set in Cologne in 1950, the book relates two days in the lives of Fred and Käte, a married couple whose recent life together has actually been spent apart.  Unable to cope with living in a cramped single room with three noisy children, Fred has moved out, sending Käte his pay packet each month and occasionally meeting up with her for clandestine dates.  However, Käte has had enough of this demeaning existence, and the events of the weekend force the couple to face up to both their responsibilities and reality.

Post-war blues among the poor is Böll's speciality, and once again he portrays the plight of people going nowhere with a clear, sympathetic and, at times, ironic pen.  He also continues in his attacks on the Catholic church, an organisation which he sees as putting the horse before the cart in its insistence on adherence to doctrine above brotherly love.  By comparing the pomp and ceremony of the church with a procession of pharmacists in town for a convention (the neon signs imploring us to trust in our pharmacist are a particularly deft touch!), Böll pokes fun at an organisation that is perhaps taking itself a bit too seriously.

The book is divided into thirteen chapters written in the first person, alternating between Fred and Käte.  The couple tell us in their own voices about the struggles they face, and it is perhaps more what they tell us about the other than about themselves that gives the reader an insight into their exhausting existence.  With their contrasting ways of coping with the daily grind (Fred lives recklessly, unable to see the point of living; Käte takes each day as a battle, facing up to her enemies, whether they be landladies or dirt...), the question has to be asked: are they actually right for each other?

You'll have to read the book to find out...

*****
Gerhart Hauptmann was honoured sixty years before Böll, but ninety-nine years later I still hadn't got around to reading any of his works (now that's laziness for you!).  That has now changed, mainly thanks to the miracle of free e-texts, as I was able to download a well-known novella - plus an unexpected bonus...

Bahnwärter Thiel is a short novella featuring the aforementioned railway attendant, a gentle giant of a man who loses his first wife while gaining a son.  Unable to continue his work and take care of his child, he marries again, this time for practical purposes rather than love.  As it soon becomes clear that his new wife is less than fond of his son, Thiel is forced to choose between domestic harmony and standing up for his child.  The wrong decision could prove deadly for all involved...

The story, written in the late 1880s, is a beautiful piece of naturalism, its lengthy, elegant descriptions of the woods around Thiel's work hut reminiscent of one of my favourite writers, Thomas Hardy.  The tragic outcome of the tale only strengthens that connection, and in fact Hauptmann was greatly influenced by Hardy's writing.  Thiel could be a Hardy hero, tormented by someone whose presence should make his life more bearable, doomed to an unhappy life despite his able faculties and propensity for hard work.

However, one could argue that it is all his own fault.  The crushing blow he receives is directly related to his failure to face up to his moral dilemma.  In shying away from his duties, he fails himself and his son...  A sad story, but beautiful writing.

*****
The Kindle file showed that Bahnwärter Thiel was 818 sections long, but it actually finished a while before that, leaving a further story to fill the remaining space.  Der Apostel is a short story about a man who walks through the Swiss countryside believing he is an apostle, or even the son of God himself.  Our hero considers himself to be chosen to spread the word of peace, abstaining from conflict and from eating the flesh of animals.  He attracts amazed stares wherever he goes, crowds of children following him through the streets as he walks ever onward...

...at least that's what he tells us.  You see, I'm not entirely convinced that Hauptmann intends the apostle's ramblings to be taken completely at face value.  We never see what is actually happening around our egotistical friend, and I'm tempted to believe that the writer may just be poking fun at his creation.  Of course, I may be very, very wrong (one of the two!).  Whatever the truth is, Der Apostel is an unexpected tale in more ways than one :)

German Literature Month - 'Effi Briest' Read-Along (Part One)

A while back I got a message from Lizzy Siddal, one of the hosts of German Literature Month, asking if I'd read Effi Briest, as she had 'secret plans'.  Of course, that has turned out to be a read-along of what is arguably the most well-known and popular German classic.  I'd previously read two of Thedor Fontane's works, Unwiederbringlich (Irretrievable) and Frau Jenny Treibel (Really? You really want a translation?) - and loved them -, so I was looking forward to cracking open my Hamburger Lesehefte edition and joining in the fun.  The only problem is going to be rationing the reading out over the allotted time...

*****
The novel starts with a detailed description of the Briest house (read mansion) and an even more thorough portrait of the heroine herself.  Effi is a seventeen-year-old, mischievous, playful girl, an attractive young woman who teases one of her friends about her fervent desire for marriage.  It comes then as a surprise to the modern reader to see her engaged in a matter of pages to Geert von Innstetten, a thirty-eight-year-old baron whom Effi first meets at the same time we do - a few hours before the betrothal...

Of course, back in the nineteenth century, this kind of age gap was fairly common (it was the successful career men who could afford to support a family that had the pick of the beautiful young women), and the aristocracy have always been known for putting social mobility over love in arranging suitable (and often quick) marriages.  Even so, the fact that Innstetten is himself the former lover of Effi's mother does it make it that touch more intriguing!

On marrying the Baron, Effi is taken out of her comfort zone, both literally and metaphorically, as she is forced to leave her idyllic family home to move to the Baltic Coast, far from friends and family, surrounded only by cold, disinterested landed gentry.  Once the honeymoon is over, she begins to discover that her husband, while kind and gentlemanly, is slightly self-centred and has little time for the romantic side of marriage, leaving her to her own devices far too often.  For a high-spirited woman like Effi, this probably does not bode well for a long and happy married life.

This alone would probably give our young heroine pause for thought, but she has one more slight problem to contend with.  You see, the house she and her husband share is an old, ramshackle building, much of which is unused.  One night, when Innstetten is away, Effi is startled by what she thinks is a figure gliding through her bedroom - and the day after, she hears stories about the death of a Chinaman who used to live in the town...

*****
You don't need to be psychic to realise that things are unlikely to end well in Effi Briest.  The young couple are patently unsuited to each other, Effi's need for adventure clashing with Innstetten's attention to what other people think, and the slightest catalyst (perhaps in the form of the dashing Major Crampas?) could bring things crashing down around their ears.

But what kind of novel will Effi Briest turn out to be?  After fifteen chapters, I'm still not 100% certain.  Is it a Jane Eyre, with a former wife hidden in the attic?  Is it a new The Mysteries of Udolpho, with villains around every corner?  Or is it another Anna Karenina, where Effi will eventually succumb to the temptation of marital infidelity?  While I have my suspicions, it really could go any way...

One thing I did pick up on though was Effi's repeated comments about her youth and about other people (e.g. Innstetten, Niemeyer the priest) dying before her.  That looks suspiciously like tempting fate to me...  Am I right?  Well, I'm sure things will be a bit clearer by this time next week - happy reading :)

A Rather Masculine Set of Shorts

A while back, I sent a polite e-mail asking if I could get a review copy of Iosi Havilio's Open Door from And Other Stories, a small independent publisher over in the UK.  I got back a polite reply with a request that I accept an e-copy, one I was happy to agree to.  I was even happier when I was sent not only Open Door, but also All the Lights, a collection of short stories by a young German writer called Clemens Meyer - just in time for German Literature Month :)

*****
All the Lights, translated by Katy Derbyshire, contains fifteen stories, mostly set in the poorer Eastern states of Germany.  The protagonists are mainly men whose lives have not quite turned out as they would have expected.  Whether they are in jail, or have spent time there in the past, on the dole, working in a supermarket or living alone in an old damp flat, the protagonists of the tales (it would be a stretch to call them heroes...) have a lot to regret, and (usually) a lot of time in which to do it.

A common theme is life passing us by, or having already passed us by.  In Waiting for South America, Frank is distracted from his empty life by a series of letters from a friend who claims to have struck it lucky and gone off to chase his dreams in the Americas.  Frank's drab existence is contrasted with the glamour described in the letters he receives - although we have our doubts as to the veracity of these claims.

Fatty Loves is an excellent story, showing us an overweight, middle-aged teacher, sitting in his living room reminiscing about his earlier career, and about one student in particular.  When his thoughts start to become a little disturbing though, the reader is forced to analyse their feelings for the teacher and perhaps pass judgement on his behaviour...

The original title for this collection was Die Nacht, die Lichter (The Night, the Lights), and as childish and rhyming as that would have sounded in English, it's a very apt title.  Many of the events take place between dusk and dawn, emphasising the solitude of the characters by following them through empty streetscapes.

In Your Hair is Beautiful, a man lurks outside a woman's house in the dark, caught in an obsession which has cost him his family and his job; Carriage 29 sees a wine salesman sitting on a train at night, with no knowledge of how he got there; in I'm Still Here!, a black Dutch journeyman boxer experiences the darker side of East Germany, both inside a bar and out on the streets, after surprisingly knocking out his local opponent for an unexpected and rare win.  These are not streets you would like to be caught in...

The majority of the stories are intriguing, but I do have some reservations about All the Lights.  While there are some notable exceptions (the confusing opener Little Death and the frankly bizarre The Short Happy Life of Johannes Vettermann spring to mind), the stories did tend to blur into one another for me, and I had trouble remembering much about some of them the day after reading them.  Also, I'm a sucker for measured, flowing (florid?) prose, and Meyer's terse, sparse style didn't really do a lot for me.

Perhaps my biggest problem though was a feeling that several of the stories were one-trick ponies (the biggest, funnily enough, being Of Dogs and Horses).  There are twists, perfectly good ones, but... I'm not convinced that many of the stories would bear up to repeated reading, and that's what I'm looking for in the books I choose.

In fairness, All the Lights was slightly handicapped from the start.  I'm not a big fan of e-reading, and I felt a bit funny reading a German book in English (probably for the first time!).  I was also reading it having just completed Alois Hotschnig's Die Kinder beruhigte das nicht; I'm afraid that I found the Austrian writer's collection a much better one, and perhaps this affected my appreciation of Meyer's work.

Still, it's a pleasant collection of stories, and there are many that are well worth reading.  In the Aisles, another late-night special, set this time in a supermarket, is a well-written, poignant tale of male friendship, while the last story of the book, The Old Man Buries his Beasts, follows an old man as he takes a last look around his farm and the moribund nearby town.  These two tales are good examples of how some stories can stand up to rereading, even when the outcome is fresh in the mind.  Even if the same cannot be claimed for all the stories, All the Lights is still worth checking out.

Eerie, Austria

Welcome to German Literature Month, thirty days showcasing the best fiction, modern and classic, written in the German language :)  It's very important to note that the month is about celebrating the language, not the country - throughout the month, I'll be trying my best to mix it up when it comes to geography, chronology and genre.

To start off then, it's only fitting that I branch out a little from my usual classic German novels and novellas and introduce a collection of short stories from a contemporary Austrian writer (one which many of you may have heard of...).  Alois Hotschnig's slender collection of stories, Die Kinder beruhigte das nicht, also known by the English title of its Peirene Press translation, Maybe This Time, comprises nine tales, all of which are normal enough on the surface, but which eventually become... well, ever so slightly creepy.

The first story, Dieselbe Stille, dasselbe Geschrei, is a good example of what the collection is about.  A man who has recently arrived in his area tells us about his neighbours, a couple who spend all day lounging around on a deck by the river at the back of their house.  This seemingly innocuous behaviour gradually makes the man feel strangely oppressed, and his waking (and sleeping) moments begin to be filled with his obsession over the neighbours' lack of activity.  Very quickly though, despite the sympathetic first-person narrative, the reader starts to mistrust our guide - especially when he starts using binoculars to spy on the couple...

Hotschnig elegantly plays with the idea of a man unable to move on with his life, caught up obsessing on something he doesn't understand, and it's a theme which crops up several times in the collection.  In Vielleicht diesmal, vielleicht jetzt (the story which gives the English translation its name), it's a whole family which is unable to live their lives, waiting as they are for the mysterious, ever-elusive - and ever-absent - Uncle Walter to join them at a family gathering.  In Morgens, mittags, abends (probably my favourite of the nine stories), a whole area seems to be caught in a loop, people watching people, crossing roads, walking down the street and coming back again, all fixed in time by an event we are unaware of until the last paragraph.  One aspect of this story I loved was a girl playing the flute, practicing the same few bars over and over again, breaking off at the same point each time - very much like a stuck record.

Another idea the writer explores is the idea of watching, and the majority of the stories (if not all of them) contain the verb beobachten, to watch or observe.  In Zwei Arten zu gehen, a woman walks down the street, shadowed by a man who could be either a stalker or a former lover (we're never completely sure which...); Eine Tür geht dann auf und fällt zu, one of the creepiest of the tales, has its hero in a sort of trancelike state, observing himself at various times in the past, while being watched by a rather strange old lady (with a penchant for dolls...); In meinem Zimmer brennt Licht, a story about a man with a hidden past, is full of people observing each other, looking for hints of what might be hidden behind silence.

Most of these observers appear to be watching other people, not because the observees are doing anything wrong, but because the observers are living their lives through other people, needing other people's approval.  This idea is taken to extremes in Du kennst sie nicht, es sind Fremde, a story in which a man's identity constantly changes - an issue nobody has a problem with except the man himself.  One way of interpreting this story is that we are what other people see us as and that our identity is externally created (although this little tale takes the idea further than one would expect!).

The ideas in the stories are excellent, and they are all wonderfully constructed.  I went through the collection for a second time a week after the first reading, and if anything, I enjoyed it more the second time around (a sure sign of a good piece of writing).

However, the success of the book is not limited to the ideas as the writing style is also key to the way the stories unfold.  The majority are told in the first person, unravelling in a near-constant interior monologue mostly uninterrupted by any dialogue (what little conversation there is is reported), and the sense of things being slightly off-kilter is heightened by the frequent use of contradiction within sentences, the narrator backtracking on an idea within seconds.  If the storyteller isn't completely sure of what they are saying, then how on earth can we trust them...

There are a lot more things I'd love to say about Die Kinder beruhigte das nicht, and considering that the book comes in at a mere 120 pages, that probably gives you as much of an idea of how highly I rate this slender tome as a few more paragraphs would ;)  It has been described as Kafkaesque, and I can only agree with that assessment.  While there's little here that could be described as extraordinary or supernatural, you can't help but get the feeling that it's all just a little bit... wrong.  But, in another sense, it's very right :)

October 2011 Wrap-Up

October was a mixed bag compared to previous months.  I had a few review books to get through, a couple of slim Japanese works waiting to be read, and (of course) I wanted to get a start on reading for November's German Literature Month.  In addition to this, I had one review to write for both the Literary Giveaway Blog Hop and the Classics Circuit's Gothic Literature Stop.  Enough excitement for one month, you'd think, but wait - there's more...

You see, October marked a significant milestone in the history of Tony's Reading List.  For the first time in its three-year existence, I have managed to crack the magic century - 100 books (not out)!  E.T.A. Hoffmann's gothic thriller Die Elixiere des Teufels had the honour of being the 100th book, for those who want to know :)

Anyway, on with the show...

*****
Total Books Read: 10
Year-to-date: 106

New: 10
Rereads: 0

From the Shelves: 7

From the Library: 1

On the Kindle: 2

Novels: 5

Novellas: 3
Short Stories: 2

Non-English Language: 8 (6 German, 2 Japanese)

In Original Language: 5 (5 German)

Books read in October were:
1) Jenseitsnovelle by Matthias Politycki
2) Beauty and Sadness by Yasunari Kawabata
3) That Deadman Dance by Kim Scott
4) Die Elixiere des Teufels by E.T.A. Hoffmann
5) All That I Am by Anna Funder
6) A Personal Matter by Kenzaburo Oe
7) Die Kinder beruhigte das nicht by Alois Hotschnig
8) All the Lights (Die Nacht, die Lichter) by Clemens Meyer
9) Und sagte kein einziges Wort by Heinrich Böll
10) Bahnwärter Thiel & Der Apostel by Gerhart Hauptmann

Murakami Challenge: 0 (3/3)

Aussie Author Challenge: 2 (19/12)

Victorian Literature Challenge: 1 (28/15)
Japanese Literature Challenge 5: 2 (6/1)

Tony's Recommendations for October are: Alois Hotschnig's Die Kinder beruhigte das nicht and Kenzaburo Oe's A Personal Matter

October was a good reading month with plenty of interesting books consumed.  I loved my first taste of E.T.A. Hoffmann's work, Herr Böll once again produced a wonderful slice of post-war life, and Matthias Politycki's tale from beyond the grave was also a highlight.  However, Die Kinder beruhigte das nicht and A Personal Matter were the two that jumped out at me when I was thinking about this month's recommendation, and (once again!) I was unable to split my top two :)

So, onto November, and the next thirty days will be dominated by my Teutonic tastes.  For the second time this year, I will be participating in a month of German-language reading - this time accompanied by other people!  Hopefully, you'll all stick around to find out about the joys of Central-European literature - bis bald ;)