'Irrungen, Wirrungen' ('Trials and Tribulations') by Theodor Fontane (Review)

As you may have seen, I did have some rather detailed plans for German Literature Month, but the best-laid plans of mice and men do tend to be deviated from.  While I've read some of the books I mentioned, others will have to wait - and then, of course, there are those books which came from nowhere (like today's book...).  So, who do you have to thank for today's choice?  Well, two people - but we'll get to that later...

*****
Theodor Fontane's Irrungen, Wirrungen (Trials and Tribulations) begins in Berlin during the glorious summer of 1875.  Young seamstress Lene Nimptsch is enjoying the company of a noble cavalry officer, Botho von Rienäcker, after a chance encounter on a boating trip.  It's all a bit of summer loving, a harmless flirtation, but gradually both Lene and Botho learn to appreciate their partner more.

Botho is a gentleman who is genuinely attracted to Lene, and he starts to fall in love with the attractive commoner.  However, he's from a poor family, one which has fallen in its fortunes due to mismanagement of their estates, leaving him (and others) under no illusion as to his duty to marry into money:

"Rienäcker steht vor einer scharfen Ecke."
  "Und vor welcher?"
  "Er soll heiraten."
  "Und das nennen Sie eine scharfe Ecke?  Ich bitte Sie, Wedell, Rienäcker steht vor einer viel schärferen: Er hat 9000 jährlich und gibt 12000 aus, und das ist immer die schärfste aller Ecken, jedenfalls schärfer als die Heiratsecke."

"Rienäcker's in a sticky situation."
  "What?"
  "He has to get married."
  "And you call that a sticky situation?  I beg you, Wedell, Rienäcker is about to be in a much stickier one:  He has 9,000 a year and spends 12,000, and that's the stickiest of all situations, in any case much stickier than marriage." *** (my translation)

Lene is well aware of this and is content to enjoy her days in the sun - but what will happen when the summer is over?

While I'm a big fan of Fontane, he wasn't on my original list, and there are two people to blame for my trying another of his books this month.  The first is Lizzy, whose great review of Unwiederbringlich (Irretrievable), plus her readalong of Effi Briest three years ago, got me into Fontane in the first place.  The second is Tom, the Amateur Reader himself, whose series of reviews on Unwiederbringlich early in November had me itching to try another of Fontane's books.  And very happy I am too to have been swayed as Irrungen, Wirrungen is a great bit of G-Lit comfort reading :)

As Tom discussed (and as I've mentioned before), Fontane is almost unique among 19th-Century German writers for his ability to write rounded characters.  For anyone who has read much of Anthony Trollope's work, Fontane's novels will be rather familiar, with their focus on the romantic trials and tribulations of the upper-middle and noble classes.  In fact, if you strip away the superfluous court case in Trollope's Lady Anna (my most recent Trollope read), the two novels have very serious themes.

What we have here is a nice young nobleman from a poor family, one who needs to revive the fortunes of his house, and at first it seems as if he's destined to break Lene's heart.  The truth is, though, that she knows the score right from the start:

"Wie du mich verkennst.  Glaube mir, daß ich dich habe, diese Stunde habe, das ist mein Glück.  Was daraus wird, das Kümmert mich nicht.  Eines Tages bist du weggeflogen..."

"How little you know me.  Believe me, that I have you, that I have this hour, that makes me happy.  What the future holds doesn't concern me.  One day, you'll be gone..." ***

Lene is simply happy to know a few short months of love, fully prepared to get on with her life once the autumn has arrived...

Many of Botho's officer friends also have their flirtations in Berlin, but Fontane makes Lene stand out among these lower-class figures.  She's charming, well-mannered and intelligent, more than a match for the aristocratic soldier, and it would be hard for the modern reader to find anything to object to in her behaviour.  However, this wasn't the case for the original readers - in fact, Fontane was roundly condemned for the sympathetic treatment of his heroine.

For much of the novel, Irrungen, Wirrungen is played with a fairly light touch.  One example of the humour is the comic figure of Lene's motherly friend, Frau Dörr, a statuesque figure who accompanies the young couple on many of their early walks.  Another is mentioned in a friend's discussion of the Rienäcker's (blonde) intended bride when doubt is cast upon Botho's intentions towards her:

"Rienäcker ist nämlich seit einiger Zeit in einen anderen Farbenton, und zwar ins Aschfarbene, gefallen..."

"You see, Rienäcker has recently acquired a liking for another colour, namely ash..." ***

Which makes little sense in English unless you are told that the German name for Cinderella is Aschenpüttel!  This is just one example of a lot of sparkling conversation, and the first part, in particular, feels almost like a play at times.

Later, however, the story becomes more serious as Fontane explores the aftermath of the relationship.  There's nothing predictable about the story though, and the handling of both sides is surprisingly nuanced - I doubt many readers will guess exactly how the story ends.  It's a novel which is never dull, an enjoyable look at regret and reality, romance and responsibility.

On finishing, I was surprised to realise that this was actually the sixth of Fontane's books I'd read.  One thing I can say with certainty is that it won't be my last. Just like Trollope, Teddy F. is a writer I can turn to when I want some guaranteed quality comfort reading :)

*****
There is a translation floating around, but reviews suggest that it's very old and not well edited: Trials and Tribulations, translated by Katharine Royce (available in several cheapish editions because of lapse of copyright).

Update: After Lizzy pointed out a newer edition (Angel Classics) and translation (by Peter James Bowman - see comments), I've also noticed that the same book is now available in the Penguin Classics range as On Tangled Paths :)

Another Update:  Tom has pointed out a bilingual edition from Quillcox Press!  This one is called Diversions and Entanglements and is translated by Curt Swanson - Irrungen, Wirrungen indeed...

Back to Berlin

Theodor Fontane was definitely one of my better G-Lit finds last year.  In addition to taking part in last year's Effi Briest readalong, I also read Frau Jenny Treibel and Unwiederbringlich (Irretrievable), so I was always going to add to that list for this years challenge.  This time around, I've picked another of Fontane's tales of marital woe, so get comfy - the bus is off to Berlin today...

*****
L'Adultera is set in the German capital towards the end of the nineteenth century and is another of Fontane's Gesellschaftsromane (Society Novels).  Wealthy businessman Ezekiel van der Straaten lives with his wife, Melanie, and their two children in a luxurious Berlin mansion.  The fifty-two-year-old van der Straaaten married his beautiful Swiss wife ten years earlier - when she was just seventeen...

Although the marriage initially appears to be a happy one, it isn't long until the cracks appear.  Van der Straaten can be boorish and arrogant at times, and his behaviour at a dinner party embarrasses his wife immensely.  When the weather gets warmer, and it is finally time for Melanie to move out to the couple's country residence, she is only too glad to get some respite from her husband, whose work keeps him in the city for much of the time.

All that is needed for things to take a dramatic turn is a catalyst, and it is van der Straaten himself who unwittingly supplies one, in the shape of Ebenezer Rubehn.  This young businessman is a relative of a business partner, and van der Straaten finds himself obliged to offer the young man a home while he is finding his feet in Berlin.  Oh, did I mention that he was handsome, intelligent and cultured?  This can't end well...

Anyone who was with us last year will immediately see that comparisons with Effi Briest are unavoidable.  Once again, the writer is exploring the perils of a marriage where there is a significant age gap, and the inevitability of a bored young housewife having a wandering eye.  However, in some ways it is a very different novel.  Van der Straaten, despite what I've said so far, comes across as a much more sympathetic character than Effi Briest's Innstetten ever did.  As for Melanie, well she's not quite so loveable - she's certainly no Effi ;)

The couple's true characters are revealed in a wonderful scene in Chapter 16, entitled 'Abschied' ('Farewell').  Van der Straaten acknowledges his shortcomings and pours his heart out to his estranged wife: 

"Und sieh, Melanie, weiter will ich auch jetzt nichts, oder sag' ich lieber, will ich auch in Zukunft nichts.  Denn in diesem Augenblick erscheint dir das wenige, was ich fordere, noch als zu viel.  Aber es wird anders, muß anders werden."

"And Melanie, I want nothing more at the moment, or rather, I will want nothing more than this in future.  At the moment, the little I demand still seems too much for you.  But that will change, it must change."

Melanie, however, is unable to see that her husband's brusque, humorous tone hides true feelings and simply feels repelled.  It's tempting to say that she doesn't really deserve him...

There are constant intimations of impending disaster in L'Adultera, whose title, as well as being that of a painting, is the Italian for 'The Adultress'.  Melanie is warned of such occurrences by one of her closest friends, and a story told to her by the gardener comes very close to home.  Even van der Straaten himself, in buying the painting and in his anecdotes hints at the possibility of getting your fingers burnt:

"Und in die Luft geflogen warum?  Weil die Leute, die mit dem Feuer spielen, immer zu sicher sind und immer die Gefahr vergessen.  Ja, Melanie, du lachst.  Aber, es ist so, immer die Gefahr vergessen."

"And why was he blown to kingdom come?  Because people who play with fire are always overconfident and always forget the risk.  Yes, Melanie, you may well laugh.  But it's true, they always forget the risk."

Sadly though, despite being a man of the world in many ways, in others he is blind and unsuspicious.  As the narrator says:

"Und am wenigsten sah er sie von der Seite her gefährdet, von der aus die Gefahr so nahe lag und von jedem andern erkannt worden wäre."

"And he saw the least danger to her in the direction from which it was most likely to come and which would have been perceived by anyone else."

Hindsight may be a wonderful thing, but surely most people would think that bringing a handsome young man into your house and leaving him alone with your beautiful young wife is tempting fate a tad, no?

While L'Adultera is not quite up to the standard of a couple of Fontane's other novels (the ending, in particular, is a little weak), it's still an enjoyable read, especially because such novels are relatively rare in nineteenth-century German-language literature.  In a sea of novellas, Fontane's longer works stand out like beacons, particularly to those of us reared on Victorian blockbusters which require wheels if you're planning to take them out of your study.

In fact, it is the similarities with another of my favourite writers, Anthony Trollope, which attract me to Fontane.  Like Trollope, Fontane is skillful in his depictions of the well-off citizens of a successful empire, and he is also very sympathetic in his portrayal of unhappy marriages and the effect they have on the women involved.  In one way, Fontane even has an advantage over his English counterpart - he is able to be much more daring when writing about characters with loose morals, which leads for some fascinating ethical dilemmas.  So, if you've always fancied reading some Victorian novels without implausibly virtuous young women, you could do worse than give Fontane a try...

More Fun with the Two Teds

The other day, I decided to read a couple of my Hamburger Lesehefte books (cheap editions of German-language classics), and it gave me the opportunity to catch up with two writers I first discovered last year, Theodor Fontane and Theodor Storm.  I'd like to tell you that I chose the two books carefully, weighing up their complementary values, but that would be a big fat lie - I chose them because they're both written by a man called Ted.  Funnily enough though, there was actually a lot more connecting them than that...

****
Grete Minde is a bitter-sweet love story, about eighty-pages long, which is concerned with our titular heroine.  Poor Grete is having a tough time of things after the death of her mother as her pious sister-in-law doesn't approve of her manners or her burgeoning relationship with the neighbours' son, Valtin.  Things get worse when Grete's father dies, and after a particularly violent argument, Grete and Valtin run away together.  Years later, the young woman returns to her hometown of Tangermünder, and that's when things really hot up.

The novella is a mix of styles and influences, starting off very much like Storm's Immensee,  turning into a kind of Cinderella story, developing later into a variation of Keller's Romeo und Julia auf dem Dorfe before finishing off as a Stephen King novel.  That may sound a little confused (and I can assure you that I am often confused), but Grete Minde does meander around a little, not always sure what it wants to be.  By the end though, everyone gets the point...

*****
Aquis Submersus, at sixty pages one of Storm's longer efforts, is (as Storm was wont to produce) a frame narrative, beginning in the nineteenth century, before dragging us, via a second text, back to the middle of the seventeenth century.  A young man is fascinated by a portrait of a dead child he sees in a church, and the letters C.P.A.S. (Culpa Patris Aquis Submersus) at the bottom seem to hint at a drowning caused by the father's negligence.  When our friend stumbles across some old documents however, he discovers that the story is more complex than that.

It is another tale of forbidden love, this time between an artist and the daughter of a nobleman.  Her brother forbids any thought of a marriage, but the two do manage to share some time together before being separated.  Later in life, the artist thinks back to his lost love, wondering what could have become of her - until his work takes him to an old church near his hometown...

The majority of Aquis Submersus is written in seventeenth-century German (I assume!), which takes a little getting used to.  Once you're used to the proliferation of 'h's - used to lengthen vowels - and archaic verb forms though, it's a surprisingly smooth read, and a very good one too.  Of the Storm works I've read, this one probably has most in common with Der Schimmelreiter, and the quality is up there too.  I raced through it and enjoyed it thoroughly, despite the occasional linguistic hurdle ;)

*****

Although I chose the two stories virtually at random, there is an incredible amount linking the two stories.  Both were based on real-life events (both from the seventeenth century!), and the two stories have remarkably similar themes.  Family members get in the way of young lovers, either for reasons of religion or social status.  In both works, the role of children is a dominant one.  Both novellas also have a natural break in proceedings, with the culmination of the story coming a matter of years later.

Having said that though, I would have to add that Aquis Submersus is far better than Grete Minde, an opinion which is shared by the German literary world (always nice to know!).  This is one of Fontane's minor works, light years away from the later big-city psychological portraits of the middle classes (Effi Briest, Frau Jenny Treibel) which brought him lasting fame.  Where Aquis Submersus is poignant and touching, Grete Minde is slightly melodramatic and clichéd, and doesn't hang together as well as Storm's story.  Which is not at all surprising - the historical novella is really Storm's home turf...

*****

Both novellas are well worth reading, but Aquis Submersus is much more typical of Storm's work than Grete Minde is of Fontane's.  However, by the time I got to the end of the two books, there was something else bothering me.  The Hamburger Lesehefte are great (cheap!) copies of German classics, but I've gone off them a little and, for many reasons, am no longer as much of a fan as I was.

For one thing, you can get free e-copies very easily anyway, which kind of defeats the object of cheap, low-quality editions.  Secondly, the Hamburger Lesehefte editions are for use in schools, which means that the language conforms to the new writing reforms.  This means little to most of you, but it basically means that what you're reading is not the original text (I especially hate the ß-lessness of the new standards!).  Finally, and perhaps most importantly, to save on printing costs the font size is minuscule, and my eyes aren't what they used to be...

What does that mean for me?  Well, in future I think I'll be downloading e-books for the most part and buying better, more expensive versions for books I really want.  And which books would they be?  Well, I would imagine that they would be books by classic German authors that I know and trust - like, for instance, the two Teds :)

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

I've finally made it to the end of Effi Briest, and an entertaining journey it's been too.  However, dear reader, if you have yet to reach the end of the novel, it would be a good idea to leave my blog post-haste, lest your eyes be offended by news of events yet to come.  Go on then...

*****
For those of you who have also reached the end of the book then (and for those who don't intend to), this third post will look back at the final section and try to summarise some of my overall thoughts on Fontane's novel - and a very good one it turned out to be too.  As suspected, things all went a little pear-shaped for our heroine on her return to Berlin, and I turned out to be (sadly) right in my suspicions that Effi's innocent comments on outliving certain characters were fated to be proven untrue.

Of course, Fontane's light touch in describing, or rather not describing, Effi's indiscretions was a major turning point, and when we find out (via the letters) the full extent of Effi's betrayal, we feel a little betrayed ourselves.  For the first, and perhaps the only, time in the book, the reader distances themself from Effi, sympathising with Innstetten in his turmoil.  With later events in mind, it is ironic that it is actually Annie who is the means to Effi's downfall...

Of course, our sympathy with the politician is fleeting.  In a matter of pages, he has made his decision, one which will end in a violent death, a further lingering one and (probably) an extremely disturbed childhood.  The moment Innstetten chooses to pursue Crampas, ignoring the inner voice which implores him to forgive and forget, he returns to his usual robotic self, unaffected even by a brief stretch in prison.  Effi herself describes her husband best when, near the end of the novel, she says to herself:

"Denn er hatte viel Gutes in seiner Natur und war so edel, wie jemand sein kann, der ohne rechte Liebe ist." p.249 (Hamburger Lesehefte)

Effi's casual comment about the goodness of Innstetten's nature, coupled with a complete absence of love, is a telling one indeed.

We never really expected much from Effi's husband, so his actions on learning the truth of the affair, while extreme, are not exactly surprising.  However, the reaction of her parents was absolutely stunning, probably one of the most jaw-dropping moments of the book.  I had assumed that Effi would be returning to Hohen-Cremmen to live out her life in tranquil solitude, so her mother's letter was rather... surprising, shall we say.

Over the first two weeks of this read-along, our hosts, Caroline and Lizzy, had been dropping hints as to the importance of the parents in Effi Briest, and it is only in the third section that we see why.  It would be interesting to find out how Fontane's contemporary readership saw this part of the plot.  Were the late-nineteenth-Century German folk as upset as we were at the way Effi was disowned, or did they also think that it was the only possible action?  Did they believe that Effi's parents redeemed themselves by finally taking her in three years later after her serious illness?  Because I certainly don't...

I'm fairly sure though that Fontane fully intended the parents to be despised by his readers.  The contrast in the final scene between the faithful Rollo and the disinterested Briests is a sight to behold, and the final words of the book, between the mother and father, really say it all:

"...ob sie nicht doch vielleicht zu jung war?"
"Ach, Luise, lass... das ist ein zu weites Feld." p.250

When the mother tentatively asks if perhaps Effi really had been too young to marry Innstetten, the father replies with his usual stock, dismissive response (which I like to interpret as 'opening up a can of worms'!).  Concerned parents?  I'll leave that for you to decide.

*****
So, stepping back from the action for a moment, how good is Effi Briest as a book, and how does it compare to those other great novels of marital infidelity, Anna Karenina and Madame Bovary?  Well, as a character, Effi is infinitely more sympathetic than the two other fictional ladies mentioned, and credit for that goes to the writer and his decision to start his story at the very beginning.  I am not a big fan of heroines betraying their husbands, whatever the cause, but by introducing Effi to the reader at a relatively young age, Fontane allows us to live through her marriage with her, seeing it through her eyes, noticing the neglect of her ambitious husband.  It also helps that she realises that her actions are wrong and attempts to make amends, a very different turn of events to those portrayed in Tolstoy's and Flaubert's novels.

However, that's not to say that it's a better book.  Despite my antipathy for AK herself, I think Anna Karenina is a wonderful book (even if it's more the Levin side which interests me), and I think it shows a deeper character development than Fontane's novel.  Fontane is probably one of the best classic German authors I've read when it comes to character development, but compared to some Victorian writers (and the two Russian legends), he still comes off second best.

One of my problems with Effi Briest is the character of Innstetten.  I don't feel that he was brought to life in the way you'd expect from a major character, especially compared to Effi herself, and this detracts a little from the novel as a whole.  Still, this is comparing the book to classics of world literature, and I'm not dismissing it by any means.  On the contrary - it's a wonderful book, and one I'll no doubt be rereading many times over the coming years.  And Fontane's emphasis on Effi is not a bad thing; he is able to transfer the affection he feels for his heroine across to the reader, helping us to form an attachment with the doomed young women.

Finally, should anyone doubt Fontane's affection for Effi, one line towards the end of the novel (p.247 in my version) finally shows us what his true feelings are:

"Arme Effi, du hattest zu lange hinaufgesehen und darüber nachgedacht..."

When you're on such familiar terms with your characters, it's safe to say that they have a special place in your heart...

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 ;)

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 :)

Twice Around the Fontane

Today, after our brief trip down to Switzerland, we're back up to the north of Germany to become acquainted with another wonderful classic writer, Herr Theodor Fontane.  No, not Theodor Storm, he of Der Schimmelreiter fame, but another Theodor, from very much the same part of Germany.  Let me clarify this a little...

*****
Theodor Fontane is one of the most famous of Germany's nineteenth-century writers, and he is probably the one I'd recommend most to those who have grown up with the English V-Lit canon.  Unlike many of the works I've been reading recently, which can struggle to crack the hundred-page barrier (and, in some cases, are barely scraping into novella territory), Fontane's back catalogue includes a few actual novels, books over the 200-page mark.

Another area where Fontane's writing has more in common with English works than the German novellas is the amount of attention paid to characterisation and the internal workings of his protagonists.  In some of the novellas I've read recently, I felt the lack of a real connection to the characters, the subtle painting of layer upon layer of humanity applied by writers like Eliot and Hardy.  Happily, the two works I've read by Fontane have been much better in this regard, allowing the reader to become absorbed in the lives of those depicted within their pages.

Earlier this year, I read (and failed to review...) Unwiederbringlich (Irretrievable), a novel about the disintegration of the marriage of a north-German aristocratic couple.  Count Holk, a minor nobleman attached to the Danish court in Copenhagen, goes off on one of his occasional residences in the Danish capital, leaving his faithful wife behind in his majestic, but solitary, mansion on the Baltic coast.  The jovial Holk is already starting to grow apart from his more serious wife, and when he meets a beautiful, fiery young courtier at the palace, sparks are bound to fly.

The story is not as predictable as you might think, and the ending, most definitely, is different to that which an English novelist would probably plump for.  The effect of the whole, however, is to make you ponder about what you really want from life, and what you are prepared to risk to get it.  Having read this a good few months back now, I'm not going to try to go into any more detail than that; however, the wonderful Lizzy Siddal of Lizzy's Literary Life wrote a marvellous review of Irretrievable a while back (the review that induced me to read it in the first place), so why not give that a go instead?

*****

And now, dear reader, our journey takes us to Berlin near the end of the nineteenth century, where we will meet the title lady of another Fontane novel, Frau Jenny Treibel.  Jenny is a well-to-do middle-aged woman who has managed to elevate herself in the world (through an advantageous marriage) from humble beginnings, and now, with her home life secure and sumptuous, and one son safely married off, she is looking around for a bride for her younger son, the slightly colourless Leopold.  While her daughter-in-law's sister is only too eager to create another tie between the business-like Berlin Treibel family and the rigidly formal Hamburg Munks, Frau Treibel secretly believes that Leopold needs a partner with more fire and flair.  Of course, when one actually appears, Jenny's true colours will be exposed for all to see...

From his private letters, we know that Fontane had it in for the vulgar bourgeoisie with their false pretensions towards high culture and their desperate desire for increasing their wealth, but Frau Jenny Treibel is a more measured, and subtle, attack on the newly-moneyed classes.  Corinna Schmidt, the lively, intelligent young woman in question, is clever enough to know that Leopold is far below her in terms of intelligence and character, but shrewd enough to realise that the financial and social gains from such an alliance would probably make up for her husband's shortcomings.  The writer cleverly develops a comparison between Jenny and Corinna, allowing the reader to see the similarities and differences in their respective positions; in fact, it is when Corinna herself becomes aware of this that the crisis of the piece is reached.

The book is, unusually for the time, a fairly humorous one, Fontane's tongue-in-cheek handling of the bourgeois troubles reminding one of Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest.  In fact, the story can at times seem almost more suited to being a play than a novel, with long conversations between the principal characters and switches of scene between the two prominent settings: the luxurious (albeit located next door to a factory) mansion of the Treibels; and the run-down, but comfortable, Schmidt abode.

When you throw in a couple of elderly court ladies (one plump, one thin), a gaggle of young husband-seeking misses (including the Misses Kuh - cow-, jocularly referred to as Kälber, or 'calfs'), an over-educated young girl who is well on her way to becoming a Stepford wife, and Mr. Nelson, a jovial Englishman who speaks half in English, half in German and expects every man to do his duty... well, you can see that this is a welcome change from some of the more depressing stories I've read of late.  I would heartily recommend Frau Jenny Treibel, and I suspect that when I next visit The Book Depository web-site (which will probably be not too far in the future...), I will more than likely be throwing a couple more of Fontane's works into my shiny, virtual basket.  And I think that really says it all, don't you?