Thomas Mann is an amazing novelist and I’ve enjoyed several of his books. Two that were interesting were A Death in Venice and Doctor Faustus.
A Death in Venice. I really enjoyed A Death in Venice – it was wonderfully evocative. I believe there is a film but I don’t think I want to see it – I have the images in my head and don’t think a movie could match them. The book is one of those “quiet” shorter stories where, on one hand, nothing much happens, but the character internally is going through a lot. In this case, Gustav von Aschenbach is a writer who is in his 50s, is feeling unsettled in his routine in Germany, and can’t focus on his writing. He is well-respected and fastidious in his appearance and behavior, but is seeking something new yet familiar – so he goes to Venice, where he has been happy before.
Mann wonderfully describes the discomfort of Aschenbach in the initial chapters – the inconveniences and grubbiness of travel, the desire to be settled somewhere, the wariness in associating with strangers and having to trust people, and the feeling of helplessness when being conveyed from one place to the next. Aschenbach almost leaves Venice as soon as he arrives, but he sees a 14 year old Polish boy who captures his attention.
Mann is really masterful at balancing descriptive language with spareness – the book is only about 160 pages. His intensity of feeling when he sees Tadzio is fascinating yet troubling. Tadzio is with his sisters and mother, all of whom are rigidly proper and plainly dressed – it is clear that he is the indulged and pampered son. Tadzio is “Greek god” beautiful – in fact, there are numerous references to Greek mythology and literature. Yet, Tadzio also seems to be somewhat wan, perhaps unhealthy in some way. Aschenbach becomes obsessive, always seeking and watching the boy, who is aware of his focus and, to some extent, participates in it by walking near Aschenbach while going to the beach, sneaking glances at him, etc. The two don’t have physical contact – or even verbal, though there may have been a brief word exchanged here or there. There seems to be a connection. Aschenbach, through this obsessive “love” is restored and revitalized – he relaxes and enjoys his surroundings. Although his attraction to and observation of Tadzio is a bit unsettling (he cannot focus on anything else), his lack of action on the physical side makes it possible to identify with him. It’s like those times when you know you need to let something go, but just cannot seem to make yourself stop and, further, you get so much pleasure from it.
Unfortunately for Aschenbach, there is an epidemic in Venice and he does not heed the warnings to avoid certain foods or locations. This plays on the dual meaning of forbidden fruits – literally, the strawberries and figuratively, Tadzio. The book reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray and Ethan Frome. Dorian in the worship of youth and beauty, as well as the movement into obsession and carelessness and pleasure. Frome in the sense of restriction giving way to a release through love, but ultimately ending sadly. I think the fact that the attraction is not acted upon keeps it from moving into Lolita territory – I was able to experience Aschenbach’s dilemma and the discomfort of obsession without the revulsion of rape/pedophilia.
Doctor Faustus. Normally, I would not note the translator, but for this book the translator is key. This translation (Everyman Library) has been noted as very difficult to read, making the book more challenging than it needed to be. The main story and its parallel story are both very compelling. The book is narrated by Serenus Zeitblom, a German professor who knew Adrien Levenkuhn from childhood through their adult lives. The narration was a useful way to tell the story, but the self-deprecation and self-recrimination of the narrator was at times annoying, particularly as it seemed to introduce nearly all of the many chapters in the book.
The main story follows the life of Adrien, an ambitious and arrogant young man who (following the Faustian legend) makes a deal with the devil – he receives greatness but gives his soul to Satan. In this case, Adrien is a gifted musician who is not satisfied with his accomplishments and is frustrated by not being able to bring his vision to fruition. In addition to risking his soul, he contracts syphilis, which contributes to debilitating physical illness and madness. Adrien has the ability to draw people to him, yet is self-centered and introverted, often to the point of rudeness. With Adrien and Serenus, I was reminded of an extreme version of the relationship in Brideshead Revisited – the hard-working, smart-but-not-brilliant Serenus is profoundly (though not explicitly sexually) attracted to Adrien, his work, his thoughts/ideas, his intellect. For his part, Adrien becomes less enamored of Serenus over time, though in their college days, they are very close.
The story both implicitly and explicitly parallels Germany from WWI through WWII – with the Hitler-Satan comparison emerging. The explicit part of the side story documents how Serenus, a loyal and proud German, grows to understand that the German embrace of Hitler had devastating consequences for the nation and its soul. In the book, the penance for Germany’s atrocities and for Adrien’s fall from grace is high and their forgiveness and absolution are not guaranteed. The implicit parallel is about the rise and fall of German culture and intelligentsia through the two world wars and with the migration of people.
Interestingly, there is not much mention of the loss of many groups of people who died under the Nazi regime. Serenus begins to understand the impact as a witness to the concentration camps as the war draws to a close. Despite its difficulties, this is a fascinating book. At some point down the line, I would like to re-read it – or rather, the John E. Woods translation, which is supposed to be much more accessible than this one! Parts were not the most pleasant reading experience, but other parts were lovely.
