...first of three...
"Flight Into Darkness" takes the reader deep into Schnitzlerovia (Schnitzlvania ?) but by small, hardly noticeable steps. This little story begins ala Simenon, with a protagonist who is distracted and tempted to step out of his everyday existence by entertaining small, purple fantasies of a life he hasn’t lived. Little bits of diversion turn into larger suspicions along the way. As in: what if the ex-fiancee that disappeared from his life had in fact been murdered, and by himself, in a fit of hysterical passion ... perhaps lying deep in his subconscious but unseen and unknown ... Deception, suspicion, and denial figure in every future calculation, once the appropriate doubts are in place.
There is mysticism and enchantment at the heart of this, and the kinds of dysfunction that only a romantic could voluntarily nurse and ponder. The really beautiful translation aids the author’s intentions at every turn, making all the transformations and realizations very smooth, very plausible, and surrounding them with lovely prose describing fin de siècle Vienna at its most beguiling. When the clues fall into place and the verdict comes down, the reader is in nearly the same, bewildered position as the lead character, lulled into a kind of logical certainty that nothing is as it appears. When in fact, it just may be.
...second of three...
This very early novella presents a meditation on mortality and dying young, and on the implications for those who must face the consequences. Conveniently titled "Dying", this seems like an unpublished bit of juvenalia, but Schnitzler was in his thirties when it came out. The author has settled on a young and inexperienced couple in turn-of-the-century Austria, full of misgivings and inarticulate in their attempt to deal with the terminal illness of the husband. Who may or may not really face unavoidable death.
We're led through one vertiginous swoon after the next in the wake of the doctor's ominous prognosis. Will he, won't he, doesn't she care enough, how can they cope, does suicide cut to the chase, should they cry bitter tears or just have breakfast, would a double-suicide solve even more issues... All very goth and dramatic to a YA reader, perhaps, but wheedling, immature-- nothing like the complexity and depth of future works. There are Klimt & Poe associations to be made, luxurious settings from Vienna to Salzburg, but all go nowhere to save this one.
... third of three ...
Last in this compilation, the famous "Fräulein Else" whistles her operatic stream-of-consciousness way into late Schnitzler city, where we get more than a glimpse of our host's ... preoccupations. Along with the turn-of-the-century cult of early, romantic death, we get all the signature motifs: obsession, fixation, longing, scandal and sensual stimulation accompanied by taboo. This is kind of a Death In Venice from the wrong end of the telescope.
This story is a cornerstone in Schnitzlerberg, and so has been condensed many times, but to save time, let's go this way: Slick Chick Nixes Fix With Tricks. There's not much beyond the basic twist here, except for the storytelling. Other than spoken dialog, the only text is internal stream of consciousness from Else. This works nicely to keep a taut pace, and since she's a young woman, a virtual waterfall of associations and ideas pour out during the proceedings. More often than not, the reader is given the job of filling in the blanks for what is seen; it's a kind of roving dolly-shot wherein the only map is Else's fragmented commentary.
Distraught and distracted under difficult circumstances, the monologue splits and diffracts in all directions. It would have been interesting to look into Schnitzler's methodology for this project, his own map in writing it. This isn't the first time that first-person narrative has been concentrated in such spare and direct form, but it's before Woolf's Mrs Dalloway or Joyce's Molly, and flows nearly like the music that plays an integral part.
What works so well is that if we go with the idea, this is one rocky roller-coaster ride in the mind of a nineteen-year-old woman, flashing with clues, peppered with doubts and lightening-fast inspiration. What tears at the curtain behind it is knowing that the author was a sixty year old man portraying the flighty, innocent personality of his heroine. A bit creepy, or at very least tawdry, for this reader, but no doubt a lingering frisson for the Edwardian audience of its day.
Nothing here is perfect, but you can't say you've been to the heart of Schnitzltown without "Flight" or "Fräulein". When all is said and done there is something autumnal, and dreadful, in the air :
She walked out to the Ring Strasse, hailed a carriage, and let herself be taken for a ride. Dusk had fallen, and she leaned comfortably into a corner to enjoy the pleasant, effortless motion and the changing scenes, dipped in the golden light of the evening and the flickering gaslights. The beautiful September evening had lured a crowd of people out into the streets...
Sometimes he jumps his own shark, but overall, impresario Schnitzler puts the fin in fin de siècle. End marks here.