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Very reminiscent of Isherwood's Berlin Stories, except this one is much bleaker and from a German. The great thing about this book is it is not really a witness to the rise of Nazism, though it of course is, because it is so absurd, and the narrator is so cynical, while reading it is hard to trust what he (Fabian) is telling us. In fact one almost suspects Fabian himself doesn't believe what he sees and recounts. And who can blame him, Weimar Berlin must have been a pretty surreal place to live. And it reminds me of Alexanderplatz in that it is not totally a political novel but one interested in the actions and psychology of the characters.
And what are we to make of Fabian? Well, at heart he is a moralist, and proves it in the end. Any reading of this book as a critique of the passivity of German liberalism in the wake of Nazism, and definitely it (like in Isherwood) is here, is totally wrong. Does Fabian know how to fix his country or city? No he bloody well doesn't. Do you? Should he have tried harder? Perhaps, but this book was written in 1931, before the extent of the evil to come was known and the most common "action" among leftist intellectuals like Fabian was probably to flee. Fabian doesn't know what to do, and he sees the evil even in his best friends. (I'm no Arendt expert but could the banality of evil be represented by a young girlfriend sleeping with an ugly old movie producer to get a break and make some dough?). This kind of stuff is depressing. It's one thing to rail against the political powers, another to hear the awful compromising and downright immorality of your friends, colleagues, and age group. And Fabian sees a lot of this everywhere he goes. But though Fabian is a moralist, he is not perfect. And though he might damn those who sell their bodies for money, he isn't much better himself. And knows it.
This book does feel like Grosz or Ernst or whatever Neue Sachlichkeit painter is in vogue at the moment. It really is a literary expression of the same thing. Gross but clear. Absurd but honest. Humans doing inhuman things to each other. This book is a true literary classic of the Weimar era. I'm surprised it's not more popular.
And what are we to make of Fabian? Well, at heart he is a moralist, and proves it in the end. Any reading of this book as a critique of the passivity of German liberalism in the wake of Nazism, and definitely it (like in Isherwood) is here, is totally wrong. Does Fabian know how to fix his country or city? No he bloody well doesn't. Do you? Should he have tried harder? Perhaps, but this book was written in 1931, before the extent of the evil to come was known and the most common "action" among leftist intellectuals like Fabian was probably to flee. Fabian doesn't know what to do, and he sees the evil even in his best friends. (I'm no Arendt expert but could the banality of evil be represented by a young girlfriend sleeping with an ugly old movie producer to get a break and make some dough?). This kind of stuff is depressing. It's one thing to rail against the political powers, another to hear the awful compromising and downright immorality of your friends, colleagues, and age group. And Fabian sees a lot of this everywhere he goes. But though Fabian is a moralist, he is not perfect. And though he might damn those who sell their bodies for money, he isn't much better himself. And knows it.
This book does feel like Grosz or Ernst or whatever Neue Sachlichkeit painter is in vogue at the moment. It really is a literary expression of the same thing. Gross but clear. Absurd but honest. Humans doing inhuman things to each other. This book is a true literary classic of the Weimar era. I'm surprised it's not more popular.