Rheinsburg: A Storybook for Lovers by Kurt Tucholsky
The title of the story is partly deceptive. I expected it to be 'a real love story' that would talk about love and capture the essence of 'love'; love as something eternal, soulful, transgressive, bold and hinged to real people and a real place. While the place is real, the lovers are not the kind I expected I would meet in the story.
It is a slim book with some poems, details about the successful reception of the story, biographical information about the author and his life. For instance, the characters Wolf Gang and Claire are based on real people Kurt Tucholsky and Else Weil.
On my first reading, I found both characters foolish, vain, and belligerent. They come across as the exact opposites of conventional or let us say 'ideal lovers.' They act, talk and behave more like modern-day lovers – folks who make love on weekends and who say their goodnights and never forget to hold hands in public to make a point. Everything nasty happens in the closet.
Often times, I understand Clare more than Wolfgang. Whereas the name Claire sounds nice, Wolf+Gang only evokes a scowl– especially when the story is about romance. In their light (and not so light) squabbles, Wolfgang often responds queerly. In some instances, he becomes more annoying because he considers himself better than Claire. He often refers to her if she were a child; her being a doctor is questioned and mocked. Though both tease and act shabbily, it is only Claire whose profession is mentioned demeaningly. As a reader, I detect a tinge of jealousy and even inferiority in Wolfgang. Women entering in professions which were, until then, considered a bastion of men; intrusions into the male domain might have threatened men like wolfgang enormously. Clair is repeatedly portrayed as child-like, vain, pushy, difficult (even though she is a doctor by profession); he, on the other hand, is culturally immune to such negative qualifiers because he is a man.
What I liked most about the story – even though it is a translated work – is the language; one cannot miss wonderful descriptions of nature such as this one;
“The wind blew hard. As they walked against the wind, it wailed as if in mourning … frothy piles of leaves lined the pathways. Milky white light glazed the fields.The sun hid behind stormy clouds, occasionally peeking out, red and frozen in the raw, robust autumn air. An empty path lay before them, swept clean by the wind– and it was bliss, walking along it; young linden trees stood in endless rows, and it was nice having creaking trunks by their side. Their breath was deep, their shoulders raised high. They walked in lockstep.”
The story has many such marvelous renditions.
I find it interesting how the publisher has used illustrations in the story, added poems, preface, biographical information to give the story semblance of a book. Personally, I like reading stories on their own terms – what is in them and how they stand on their own. Anything else can be interesting too, but such 'interests' are incidental, and in no way the primary things I am drawn to.
What I disliked about the story is that it focuses too much on the Jewishness of its central characters. It lists the extraordinary, sad details of their lives, especially of Else Weil. This is indeed informative, but it also seems voyeuristic; this tendency to harp on jewishness which seems like a shabby attempt to make the book extra spicy, in other words salable.
In a way, the joke is on us. As normal, decent human beings first we witness (or ignore) nasty things as and when they happen, and then, we throng to read and discuss the story of the 'wretchednesses' of the victims in polite, guilt-ridden whispers to absolve ourselves.
It is a slim book with some poems, details about the successful reception of the story, biographical information about the author and his life. For instance, the characters Wolf Gang and Claire are based on real people Kurt Tucholsky and Else Weil.
On my first reading, I found both characters foolish, vain, and belligerent. They come across as the exact opposites of conventional or let us say 'ideal lovers.' They act, talk and behave more like modern-day lovers – folks who make love on weekends and who say their goodnights and never forget to hold hands in public to make a point. Everything nasty happens in the closet.
Often times, I understand Clare more than Wolfgang. Whereas the name Claire sounds nice, Wolf+Gang only evokes a scowl– especially when the story is about romance. In their light (and not so light) squabbles, Wolfgang often responds queerly. In some instances, he becomes more annoying because he considers himself better than Claire. He often refers to her if she were a child; her being a doctor is questioned and mocked. Though both tease and act shabbily, it is only Claire whose profession is mentioned demeaningly. As a reader, I detect a tinge of jealousy and even inferiority in Wolfgang. Women entering in professions which were, until then, considered a bastion of men; intrusions into the male domain might have threatened men like wolfgang enormously. Clair is repeatedly portrayed as child-like, vain, pushy, difficult (even though she is a doctor by profession); he, on the other hand, is culturally immune to such negative qualifiers because he is a man.
What I liked most about the story – even though it is a translated work – is the language; one cannot miss wonderful descriptions of nature such as this one;
“The wind blew hard. As they walked against the wind, it wailed as if in mourning … frothy piles of leaves lined the pathways. Milky white light glazed the fields.The sun hid behind stormy clouds, occasionally peeking out, red and frozen in the raw, robust autumn air. An empty path lay before them, swept clean by the wind– and it was bliss, walking along it; young linden trees stood in endless rows, and it was nice having creaking trunks by their side. Their breath was deep, their shoulders raised high. They walked in lockstep.”
The story has many such marvelous renditions.
I find it interesting how the publisher has used illustrations in the story, added poems, preface, biographical information to give the story semblance of a book. Personally, I like reading stories on their own terms – what is in them and how they stand on their own. Anything else can be interesting too, but such 'interests' are incidental, and in no way the primary things I am drawn to.
What I disliked about the story is that it focuses too much on the Jewishness of its central characters. It lists the extraordinary, sad details of their lives, especially of Else Weil. This is indeed informative, but it also seems voyeuristic; this tendency to harp on jewishness which seems like a shabby attempt to make the book extra spicy, in other words salable.
In a way, the joke is on us. As normal, decent human beings first we witness (or ignore) nasty things as and when they happen, and then, we throng to read and discuss the story of the 'wretchednesses' of the victims in polite, guilt-ridden whispers to absolve ourselves.
Comments
Post a Comment