'Eine Halligfahrt' ('Journey to a Hallig') by Theodor Storm (Review)

One of the joys of German Literature Month is making time to return to some old friends, revisiting writers who have been ignored since a previous November.  Today's post, then, is a short trip in the company of one of my favourite classic German-language writers, and we won't even be taking the bus.  I do hope that none of you get sea-sick...

*****
Theodor Storm's Eine Halligfahrt (Journey to a Hallig) is a novella (possibly just a longish short story) describing a pleasant, short journey across the sea from the North Friesland region of Germany to one of its many 'Halligs', small islands unprotected by dykes and hence at the mercy of the sea.  A party of three - the narrator, a young lady and the young lady's mother - are ferried across the water to meet a relative who long ago decided to spent the rest of his days away from the mainland.

Of course, being a Storm tale, there's a little more to the story than this.  The trip, naturally, revolves around a love interest, and (just as naturally) it's one which isn't fated to provide a happily ever after.  Amidst the beauty of the sea and the tiny piece of land buffeted by the waves, we are treated to memories of a might-have-been love and a relationship doomed never to get off the ground...

The start is typical of Storm's modus operandi, with a frame narrative looking back to older times:

"Einst waren große Eichenwälder an unserer Küste, und so dicht standen in ihnen die Bäume, daß ein Eichhörnchen meilenweit von Ast zu Ast springen konnte, ohne den Boden zu Berühren."

"Once, there were great oak forests along our coast, and the trees stood so thickly together that a squirrel could jump for miles, from branch to branch, without once touching the ground." *** (My translation)

This is just the start of the theme of looking back (if not in anger), and while the main action takes place at a later time than that of the energetic squirrels, the whole story is occurs in the distant past.

There are actually two tentative relationships outlined here.  The first involves the narrator and the beautiful Susanne, his companion on the visit to the hallig.  The other, a slightly more mysterious one, has to do with the old relation who has withdrawn from society.  A jovial type, he nevertheless reacts strongly when a sore point is touched accidentally, such as when he is asked to play his old violin:

"Siehst du denn nicht, daß das ein Särglein ist?  Mann soll die Toten ruhen lassen."

"Can't you see that this is a coffin?  The dead should be left in peace." ***

This is a man with secrets loves of his own, hinted at, but never quite revealed...

Eine Halligfahrt is a short tale, but there's a whole lot going on.  In addition to the slow, unsuccessful flirting between the narrator and the beautiful Susanne, we are treated to a personal tour of the hallig (with Storm as our own travel guide).  On the trip to the little island, there's even a glimpse of local mythology, as a sailor tells the story of Rungholt, a mysterious North-Sea Atlantis.

While the content is interesting, though, it's the writing we're really there for.  I always seem to forget about this between reads, brushing Storm off as a mere scribbler of short stories, but whenever I return to his work, I'm always captivated by his achingly poignant passages and lyrical descriptions:

"Und siehe! - während das Wasser weich, fast lautlos zu meinen Füßen anspülte, plötzlich mit leichten unhörbaren Schritten ging die Erinnerung neben mir.  Sie kam weit her aus der Vergangenheit; aber ihr Haar, das sie kurz in freien Locken trug, war noch so blond wie einst. - Es war deine Gestalt, Susanne, in der sie mir erschien; ich sah wieder dein junges, festumrissenes gesichtchen, die kleine Hand, die lebhaft in die Ferne zeigte - wie deutlich sah ich es!"

"And lo!  As the water washed gently, almost silently up to my feet, suddenly, with light inaudible steps, the memory was walking beside me.  It came from the depths of the past; but the hair, worn in short, loose curls, was as blonde as ever. - It was your figure, Susanne, in which it appeared to me; once again, I saw your young, clearly-defined little face, your little hand, pointing vibrantly into the distance - how clearly I saw it!" ***

Storm treads a very fine line between poignancy and the over-wrought emotion of the Sturm and Drang works (e.g. Young Werther...), but he usually pulls it off.  This is one of his better descriptive pieces, full of beautiful, moving passages.

Luckily for all of you out there, this is one which has been translated into English.  It's available in a collection of three tales (along with Immensee and Hans and Heinz Kirch) in the Angel Classics version, translated by Denis Jackson and Anja Nauck.  Having read it in German, I have no idea about the translation, but someone who will know a little more about that is a certain Amateur Reader residing at the Wuthering Expectations blog, who posted on this one a while back.  All I can say is that it's certainly one I'd recommend - and I'll definitely be downloading more of Storm's stories for future perusal :)

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 :)

A Portrait of Two Artists as Unloved Men

Earlier this year, I had one of my periodic bouts of RSI, and as a result, there are several gaps in my reviews for 2011.  Now, as we're coming up to the end of the year, I thought it would be nice to go back and revisit a few of the shorter pieces and give them the publicity they deserve, which is why today I'm reviewing a couple of German classics, both concerned with writers and unrequited love...

*****

I read Tonio Kröger on my Kindle a good while back now, but when I saw a cheap edition featuring this story and another of Thomas Mann's novellas, Mario und der Zauberer, I couldn't resist.  At the start of Tonio Kröger, our eponymous hero is a young boy growing up in a north-German town, the product of a marriage between a local businessman and a southern-European beauty.  Different from the locals in many ways (not least of which is his bi-cultural name), he falls in love with two examples of the Aryan folk around him: the popular Hans Hansen and the beautiful Inge Holm, neither of whom really feel the same way about him.

We fast forward a couple of decades, and now Kröger is a successful writer living in Munich.  In an attempt to relax, and get over some writing issues, he decides to take a trip to Denmark (taking in his old hometown on the way), ending up at a quiet coastal resort.  One day, after several weeks of tranquillity, a party of guests arrives, shattering the peace and quiet Kröger craves - and among them are two very familiar blond figures...

The story will ring a whole group of bells with anyone who has ever read Death in Venice, and there are many similarities with the more famous novella (although this one has a slightly less depressing ending!).  As is often the case in his work, Mann is exploring here the difficulties of being an artist, at the same time drawing deeply on his personal history to paint a picture of a Bohemian from a middle-class family.  It can be a little patronising when Kröger looks down on the attempts of working men to create their own little works of art, and his plea to keep literature away from those 'normal', happy folk who don't need it is a little bizarre...

Despite this though, Tonio Kröger is a wonderful piece of writing.  You feel as if you are actually there with our unusually-named friend, walking around the old walls of Lübeck in the rain with Hans Hansen, crossing the sea to Denmark on a stormy night, sitting on the beach watching the grey-tipped waves roll in from a grey horizon...  It's one of those stories which will be a constant companion in the years to come, a perfect book to curl up with in winter, when all you want is warmth, a cup of tea and a well-written story.  Happily, I now have my paper copy for that very purpose - reading it on my Kindle just isn't the same...

*****
...which is not to say that my little electronic friend is not useful in its own right.  After all, my first reading of Tonio Kröger was in digital form, and were it not for free e-copies of classics, it's doubtful that I would have got into the author of the next of today's stories.

Earlier this year, I downloaded several of Theodor Storm's short stories and novellas and had a wonderful few days losing myself in his storytelling world.  The best (and most famous) of these is Immensee (Lake of Bees), an evocative, and almost painful, tale of missed opportunity.  The story, divided up into about eight short sections, is contained within a frame narrative: an old, stern-looking man walks home and goes to his study, where he sits alone in the twilight.  When the fading light hits a portrait hanging on the wall, he mutters the name 'Elisabeth' - and memories come flooding back...

The real story then begins, and the reader is taken through the childhood of young Reinhard and his younger neighbour, Elisabeth.  The two children spend all their free time together, and it is clear from the start that theirs is a love waiting to happen.  Reinhard later leaves to study in the city, and Elisabeth is left behind to wait for his return.  Sadly though, a lot can happen in a couple of years - the next time the young couple meet, by the Immensee, Elisabeth is a married woman...

Ouch.  It's painful just writing about it :(  Not a lot happens in Immensee, but what does happen is unveiled in such wonderful language, such precise, elegant prose, that it stays with the reader long after the story is over.  Parallels abound in the story, from the two encounters Reinhard has with gypsy musicians, to the white lily floating in the lake, a beautiful flower which, on closer approach, is unattainable - just like Elisabeth herself.  On the last day the pair are to spend together, Reinhard points at the mountains and says:

"Elisabeth... hinter jenen blauen Bergen liegt unsere Jugend.  Wo ist sie geblieben?"

       "Elisabeth ... behind those blue mountains lies our youth.  Where did it go?"

Shortly afterwards, the story ends, and we return to our old man sitting alone in his study, the darkness engulfing him as the black waters of the Immensee once did.

Excuse me while I get myself a tissue...

Rider on the Storm

After a month spent metaphorically galloping all over Victorian England, you would think that it was time to relax, fill the bathtub with Radox and hot water, slip into some comfortable jim-jams and read something light and fluffy.  Well, no.  Instead, it's back into the saddle (once we've got the little matter of the English Channel out of the way), across France and on into the German-speaking lands of Central Europe - and we'll be heading back a few hundred years in time too.  Off we go, and don't forget to bring your phrase book...

*****

Today, we're off to the North Sea, where the small groups of coastal dwellers live in awe and fear of the watery deeps which occasionally try to reclaim their land.  This is the setting for one of the most famous works in German literature, Theodor Storm's acclaimed novella Der Schimmelreiter.  Translated into English as The Rider on the White Horse (which simply does not have the same ring to it...), this hundred-page story is a tense, taut Teutonic tale with a slight supernatural slant.  Based on a true story Storm read in a newspaper (which is included in the appendix of my version), the novella takes the central premise of the ghostly rider and fills in the back story of its origins.

Hauke Haien is a young man fascinated by the dykes which surround, and protect, his hometown.  He educates himself in mathematics and, through his own studies and a fortuitous marriage, he achieves his aim of becoming the Deichgraf, the overseer of all the town's works on the dykes.  Once established in his role, he decides to pursue his dream of building a new, improved style of dyke to reclaim more land from the sea, and it appears as though his dream will become reality.  However, not everything is perfect in Hauke's cold, bleak homeland.  His cool nature and perfectionism have made him enemies amongst the local farmers; his only child appears to be developing very slowly; and there is also the matter of his new white horse (der Schimmel) - which appeared at the same time an old horse skeleton disappeared...

I don't think I'm giving too much away by saying that you shouldn't expect much of a happy ending here.  Unlike English Victorian authors, their German contemporaries felt themselves under no pressure to marry off the hero happily at the end of the third volume (they also felt no obligation to even let them get that far, the novella seemingly being the work of choice at the time).  Like Hardy and Eliot, Storm paints such a detailed picture of his setting that you can see the sea rolling towards the dykes and breaking on the hard walls, the long, narrow and treacherous path rising between the town and the sea, the distant isolated islands poking out from amongst the waves.  Unlike the pastoral depictions of the aforementioned English writers, the images we perceive are dark, cold and - I'll say it again - bleak.

Another similarity to some of the V-Lit I've read recently is the structure of the book.  Storm takes us from the year of publication, 1888, to the 1830s, then to the 1820s and finally to the early eighteenth-century, via a series of the ever-popular frame narratives.  Firstly, the narrator recalls a story a visitor told his grandmother when he was a child fifty years ago.  Then we enter the visitor's story and end up in an old inn (after this visitor has had a rather unpleasant encounter).  Finally, the visitor is entertained by an old man at the inn with the story which makes up the bulk of the novella.

This Russian-doll approach is similar to the ones employed by the Brontës in both The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and, especially, Wuthering Heights, and the setting of the main part of the tale in the distant past also allows Storm to introduce supernatural elements which would perhaps be less tolerated in a contemporary setting.  While Der Schimmelreiter never descends into a true ghost story, the hints of other-wordly elements at play help to prepare us for the dark ending, a finale which, while not unexpected, is still powerful and gripping.

If there is anything I would criticise about Der Schimmelreiter, it is probably the characterisation.  While, as mentioned, certain elements remind the reader of Eliot and Hardy, the protagonists here are certainly never as three dimensional as their characters.  Hauke Haien receives most of what attention to personality there is, but many of the other characters are merely types, rather than individuals.  This is a slight quibble though, and, of course, this is probably due to the brevity of the book.  If Storm had spread his story out over five hundred pages, then the characterisation would no doubt have been deeper - and probably at the expense of the tension.

And that is the abiding memory the reader takes away from Der Schimmelreiter - the sense of foreboding pervading the story, leading up to the gripping, inevitable end amidst the stormy northern night.  The final few pages, filled with thundering hoofs and lashing rain, are as tense as anything you're likely to read...  There is definitely no happily ever after in Storm's work, but the reader certainly won't be sorry they decided to make the long journey to the German coast.