A novel that indeed manifests itself as a quiet sadness.
A man of about 36 years feels a sudden pain in his chest. What seems like physical distress at first reveals itself as an existential suffering, a fear of not being oneself, and the inhibitions of unfreedom in Germany's East. This short piece tries to bring us along the protagonist's path, his journey, of discovering himself (at best). But the most that it could achieve is the old Conradian realization that one lives like one dreams -- alone.
Therein lies the power of the novel: What does it take to change something, or even just oneself? Can one achieve it even at all, can one perform the action necessary, can one tilt at windmills? -- For its attempt to convey the melancholy of such endeavors, it remains a great book.