The Assistant

by Robert Walser

Dressed in his cheap, battered suit, Joseph Marti arrives at the impressive villa of Karl Tobler, an enthusiastic but ill-starred inventor, to begin employment as his clerk. Tobler is determined to finance his family’s lavish lifestyle with the proceeds from his latest idea – a clock adorned with advertisements. But Tobler’s grand plans are destined for failure and the household, including Marti, refuse to acknowledge their approaching ruin.

Robert Walser claimed to have written The Assistant, a semi-autobiographical work, in just six weeks as an entry for a literary competition. The second of his few surviving novels, it is now regarded as major work of modernist literature.

Genres: Fiction, German Literature, Classics, Novels, Literature, 20th Century, Germany

304 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1908

About the author

Robert Walser, a German-Swiss prose writer and novelist, enjoyed high repute among a select group of authors and critics in Berlin early in his career, only to become nearly forgotten by the time he committed himself to the Waldau mental clinic in Bern in January 1929. Since his death in 1956, however, Walser has been recognized as German Switzerland's leading author of the first half of the twentieth century, perhaps Switzerland's single significant modernist. In his homeland he has served as an emboldening exemplar and a national classic during the unparalleled expansion of German-Swiss literature of the last two generations.

Walser's writing is characterized by its linguistic sophistication and animation. His work exhibits several sets of tensions or contrasts: between a classic modernist devotion to art and a ceaseless questioning of the moral legitimacy and practical utility of art; between a spirited exuberance in style and texture and recurrent reflective melancholy; between the disparate claims of nature and culture; and between democratic respect for divergence in individuals and elitist reaction to the values of the mass culture and standardization of the industrial age.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is a master and there is his assistant – what their relations may be like?

When the master was in a jesting mood, one instantly became a poodle, as the task at hand required one to imitate this droll creature and nimbly catch all the jests and jokes in one's mouth. When he was kind, one felt like a miserable wretch. When he was rude, one felt obliged to smile.

Robert Walser writes in a deceivably simple manner so his story seems deceivably simple but his style is quite peculiar and unaffected so very soon his narration turns magnetic.
An assistant serves his master but who in the end is freer – a master or an assistant?

You needn't take anyone in the world into consideration, no one's needs and idiosyncrasies, and no one is keeping you from wandering off into the unknown distance. Perhaps this often feels bitter, but how beautiful and free it can be as well. When it suits you, and when the few surely not so troublesome circumstances of your life allow, you can go marching off, and when you feel the time for this has come, you can rest again at some given point and location, and who would want and what would want or be able to prevent you?

And in the end The Assistant turns out to be a tale of kindness: limitless and all-embracing kindness, kindness almost pathological.

[Guille · Rating 3 out of 5]

Los libros de Walser pueden engañarnos con su humor, con sus descripciones detallistas y entusiastas de una naturaleza casi siempre acogedora, con los destellos de felicidad instantánea que experimentan sus protagonistas, con ese tono ligero e irónico con el que Walser envuelve su literatura, pero todo ello esconde un profundo conflicto interior del autor (¿qué gran obra no lo hace?). Pasa con Jacob Von Gunten, pasa con El paseo y también pasa con El ayudante.

Esa guerra que está presente en cada uno de sus libros está muy bien explicada por Vila-Matas (que sirva esto como disculpa por mi discrepancia con él acerca de Jacob Von Gunten):

“(Walser) Es un héroe –o un antihéroe- actual: primero, porque busca apartarse; después porque, cuando se aparta del mundo, cree que lo van a buscar y no es buscado por nadie y descubre que está solo y que nadie piensa en él.”

Ese afán por desaparecer es en realidad una huida, no cae derrotado quien no lucha. Walser vive como quiere vivir pero no le es suficiente y no puede otra cosa y esa es la verdad que encuentro en cada una de sus obras. Sintomático que quisiera ser actor antes que escritor, dos profesiones que, como él mismo comentó en “El paseo”, están expuestas a la cruel opinión ajena, una opinión ajena tan trascendental como perniciosa:

“Ha sido siempre lo bastante ingenuo como para suponer que los demás se alegrarían de su alegría de vivir y compartirían su felicidad, cuando lo cierto es precisamente lo contrario.”

En esta novela, para mí peor acabada que las otras ya leídas, seguramente por una simple cuestión de gusto, la tragedia que supone la incapacidad de ser aquello que se desea queda reflejada en el fatal fracaso de Tobler, en el alcoholismo y la marginación social y laboral de Wirsich, en la altanería que da paso al coqueteo de Frau Tobler. “El ayudante” es un libro sobre el desencanto, sobre la resignación triste ante lo irremediable, como irremediable y arbitrario es el carácter de Silvi (“¡Qué vieja era Silvi en plena flor de su infancia! ¡Qué injusticia!”) o la respuesta que recibe de todos los que la rodean y que refuerza y da razón a su carácter.

El protagonista, Joseph, se siente descuidado por la vida, sin un sitio por el que pueda tener un sentimiento de pertenencia, necesitado de ser lo que no es y sabedor de la imposibilidad de conseguirlo (llamativa y divertida esa escena del sombrero).

"Qué viejo había sido ya de joven! ¡Cómo la conciencia de no tener un hogar en ningún sitio había logrado paralizarlo y asfixiarlo interiormente! ¡Qué hermoso era pertenecer a alguien en el odio o en la impaciencia, en el amor o en la melancolía! Un triste entusiasmo se apoderaba de Joseph siempre que desde alguna ventana abierta sentía que el mágico calor de un hogar se reflejaba en él, el solitario, el errante, el apátrida, de pie en medio de la calle fría."

Si ningún cambio es posible, si el mundo es enteramente de aquellos que “disimulan su perfidia bajo la gordura”, hay que olvidarse de las grandes palabras, de los grandes gestos, de las grandes tareas. Mejor dejar de pensar y pensarse, mejor la sumisión que le permita la libertad del paseo y la observación, la felicidad insuficiente del instante.

“El hecho de estar atado, encadenado a un sitio es a veces más cálido y rico en secretas ternuras que la libertad sin fronteras, que deja abiertas puertas y ventanas al mundo entero y en cuyas estancias luminosas el hombre es muy pronto atacado por un frío glaciar o un calor opresivo. Aunque la libertad a que Joseph se refería era, Dios santo, la cosa más bella y conveniente del mundo, y contenía una magia inmortal”.

Será por la humillación que consiga el acceso a la alegría pura; será la opinión de los otros, la negación que reciba de los otros, la que permitirá la satisfacción de sus deseos. Es la erótica del pecado, el mayor servilismo posible, que hasta tus placeres dependan de la opinión ajena.

“Quien pueda mostrarse en público con sus placeres y apetitos, quien por sus condiciones de vida pueda hacerlo con facilidad y complacencia, acabará por extinguir muy pronto, en su alma y en su corazón, todo cuanto en ellos ardía.”

[BlackOxford · Rating 3 out of 5]

Watching a Train Wreck

Essential reading for the aspiring entrepreneur; even more so for his or her partner. Over a six month period, the protagonist, Joseph, observes the disintegration of a family driven to penury by its obsessive paterfamilias. Joseph watches as all the emotional and financial resources of the family are consumed by a business project. Having recently read Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), I am struck by the commonality of experience related in books written a century apart.

In The Assistant, the role of Kingsolver’s fundamentalist African missionary is played by a Swiss German engineer; but the personalities and the sociology in which the action takes place are identical in the two books. Both centre on compulsive, irresponsible males who inflict their personal ‘visions’ on their families. The wives are aware of both the incompetence and neurotic drive of their husbands; yet they choose to continue their loyalty and support. The effects of this complicity in the delusions of male dominance are tragic in both cases.

One can only marvel how deeply ingrained this deference to male desire for whatever it is they think they want - money, power, reputation, redemption - in our culture. It is shameful, not so much because it exists but because it is so persistent despite widespread publicity about its destructiveness. Ever since fiction has been widely available to a literate population, the same theme of the exploitation of families by dominant males is consistently described.

Yet males continue to provide the excuse of ‘doing it for the family’. And females continue to believe the male rhetoric, oblivious to both the selfishness and the risk implied by such a rationale. Men lie. They start by lying to themselves about things like ambition, and personal fulfilment, and making the world a better place. They’re encouraged to do so by other men who want to justify their own lies. And when no one calls their bluff, they lie to everyone else, particularly their families.

Apparently, given a chance, women do the same: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

[William2 · Rating 5 out of 5]

This brilliant book is about a young man who goes to work for an independent inventor who lives in a villa on the shores of Lake Zürich. The book was published in 1908 and translated from the German only in 2006 or so.

I've just reread Walser's The Tanners, which I had thought the superior work. With my second reading of The Assistant though my view has changed. I now give that priceless accolade to this book. The fact that unlike its predecessor it has a plot is only one small reason.

The eponymous assistant is a combination of courage and cowardice in his dealings with both his boss and the family occupying the house. This novel is about the indignity of work. What's the line from the film Jerry Maguire? I'm paraphrasing: "the day-in, day-out, soul-crushing siege" of ongoing employment. The small satisfactions contrasted with the humiliations. The stultification of job security versus the gnawing yearning to be free.

"No, he didn't want to leave. He was afraid Frau Tobler might have gone and told her husband everything. As a result of this thought, he hastened and hurried his steps. Moreover, he still hadn't received the final installment of his salary. In short, the main thing was to remain in the household at all costs. 'How improper it was to complain in such a manner,' he cried out into the wintry night. He resolved to fall on his knees before Frau Tobler and kiss her hands.

"She was still sitting in the living room when he returned. Still standing at the door — which, however, he carefully shut behind him — he at once began to speak:

"'I must tell you, Frau Tobler— how good it is that you are still sitting here — that I feel I am utterly in the wrong for having voiced complaints about my superior. I was too hasty, and I beg you to forgive me. My behavior was harebrained, and Herr Tobler was filled with agitation because of that lawyer's accursed letter. Have you spoken with your husband yet? Have you told him everything?'" (p. 268)

The writing is incomparable and it's a joy to read. I hope you'll like it.

[°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· ʜᴇʟᴇɴ Ροζουλί Εωσφόρος ·._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°° ★·.·´¯`·.·★ Ⓥⓔⓡⓝⓤⓢ Ⓟⓞⓡⓣⓘⓣⓞⓡ Ⓐⓡⓒⓐⓝⓤⓢ Ταμετούρο Αμ · Rating 5 out of 5]

« Ο Παραγιός »
του Robert Walser - που θαυμάστηκε πολύ από τους Kafka, Musil, Walter Benjamin και WG Sebald -
ένα πολύ ιδιαίτερο είδος ιδιότροπου-σοβαρού-βαθύ συγγραφέα.
Ο συγγραφέας Robert Walser (1878–1956) γεννήθηκε στην Ελβετία.
Έφυγε από το σχολείο στα δεκατέσσερα και οδηγήθηκε μέσα απο μια περιπλάνηση σε κάποια επισφαλή ύπαρξη
κατά-δική του αποκλειστικά απονενοημένη και τελεσίδικα αποδιωγμένη.
Εργάζεται ως υπάλληλος τράπεζας, μπάτλερ σε κάστρο, και βοηθός εφευρέτη , παράγοντας δοκίμια, ιστορίες και μυθιστορήματα.
Το 1933 εγκατέλειψε τη γραφή και μπήκε σε ένα
σανατόριο/ψυχιατρείο όπου παρέμεινε για το υπόλοιπο της ζωής του.
"Δεν είμαι εδώ για να γράψω", είπε ο Walser,
"αλλά να είμαι τρελός."

Ένας πρώιμος μοντερνιστής, αλλόκοτος, παράδοξος,
με αυστηρές ψυχολογικές πολυπλοκότητες ,
είναι γεμάτος από ενθουσιασμό και απελπισία, φτιαγμένος απο όλες τις αρπαγές και τους πανικούς ενός ατόμου που πνίγεται στην αδιαφορία και την αίσθηση σιγουριάς που του ψιθυρίζει κραυγάζοντας η υπακοή, ως ιδιότητα, ως χαρακτηρισμός, ως στάση θανάτου σε μια ζωή άχρωμη και λειτουργική.
Με αστική φιλοδοξία και ανθρωπιστική αναγκαιότητα, φανερά και αποπνικτικά υποταγμένος στην πιστότητα του παραλογισμού, έγραψε αυτό το μυθιστόρημα
Kafka-esque το 1908.

Αυτό που λάμπει δεν είναι η πλοκή (διαβάζει κανείς για πλοκή; Ίσως!..) αλλά οι λεπτομέρειες της εσωτερικής αναταραχής του παραγιού, των περιστασιακών περιπάτων του στην επαναληπτική ψυχοθεραπεία του χάους της πλάσης, που ποικίλλει σε χρώματα, αρώματα, τοπία, σκοτάδια, κενά, καιρικές εποχιακές συνθήκες που διακειμένονται, αλλάζουν, μοιάζουν, ταιριάζουν και θεραπεύουν, παρηγορούν, χαρίζουν διορίες μεγαλύτερης ή και μικρότερης διάρκειας σε ο,τι διατείνεται
παθητικά προσκείμενο στη ζωή και τον θάνατο.

H αποξένωση και η αλλοτρίωση των σχέσεων της καθημερινότητας, η σοβαροφάνεια και ο παραλογισμός της εξουσίας, γίνονται αντικείμενα χλευασμού και ντροπιαστικού εκφυλισμού από τον Βάλζερ.
Δεν τον ενδιαφέρει όμως ούτε η ταξική πάλη ούτε η υπερβατική λύτρωση.
Ο Παραγιός θέλει να ανήκει κάπου, δεν θέλει
να πετύχει, δεν επιθυμεί προκοπή ��αι οικονομική ευμάρεια μα ερωτεύεται τις ανθρώπινες σχέσεις
και τα βαθιά συναισθήματα που σε κρατούν δέσμιο
με καταναγκαστικές ηθικές αλυσίδες απο υποχρέωση και απο παραδομένη -σε άλλες ψυχές- αγάπη.

Μοναχικός και πλάνης, αποδιώχνει κάθε κατάσταση υποταγής ενώ υποτάσσεται σε θεσμούς και λόγια αρωματισμένα με αξιακές έννοιες και ιδεώδη βαθιάς ενσυναίσθησης για κάθε πλάσμα που αγωνίζεται κατά της παραμέλησης και του αποδιωγμού.
Αρνείται την αναγνώριση της όποιας εξουσίας αδιαφορώντας για την κοινωνική καταξίωση.

Ο ήρωας του Βάλζερ και οι πρωταγωνιστές του ψάχνουν, όπως κι αυτός ο ίδιος, ένα μέρος να ριζώσουν, σαν τα δέντρα που θαύμαζε τόσο στους μοναχικούς περιπάτους του στη φύση, σαν τις λίμνες που παραμένουν αιώνια οι ασάλευτες πλατιές θάλασσες των μεγάλων ωκεανών που ορίζουν υπερπόντια ταξίδια διαφυγής, απο αυτά
που ποτέ δεν θα γίνουν, γιατί τα καράβια δεν ακολουθούν τις γοργόνες και η βαρκούλα που αναλογεί στα όνειρα σου έχει σπασμένα κουπιά και ερωτεύεται πάντα κάποιον δολοφόνο φάρο, παροπλισμένο και αυτόχειρα.
Όμως οι ομορφιές που ελεύθερα περιπλανιέσαι
με ηδονή μέσα τους, σ’αυτούς τους ιαματικούς περιπάτους πάντα αποχωρούν και απομακρύνονται
λίγο πριν τις ακουμπήσεις έστω νοερά.
Το ιδιαίτερο και ιδιόρρυθμο ύφος του, οι τάσεις φυγής του (από την πραγματικότητα ή από καταστάσεις, τόπους ή και ανθρώπους) και ο εγκλεισμός του στο ψυχιατρείο δεν βοήθησαν στην έγκαιρη αναγνώριση του ταλέντου του από το ευρύ κοινό.

Αυτό είναι ένα από τα σπάνια βιβλία στα οποία η ειλικρίνεια δεν έρχεται σε βάρος της ομορφιάς,
ούτε η ομορφιά σε βάρος της τιμιότητας.
Ήταν μεγάλη χαρά πρωτόγνωρη θα έλεγα, να βρίσκομαι μαζί με τον αφηγητή αυτού του μυθιστορήματος,
έναν "περίεργο" χαρακτήρα με τη δική του περιγραφή, αλλά περίεργος με την καλύτερη έννοια της λέξης.
Με έκανε να βλέπω τον κόσμο, τη συνηθισμένη ζωή, τη φύση, τις πολυπλοκότητες του ανθρώπινου νου και καρδιάς σε ένα εντελώς νέο πολυπρισματικο και τόσο ανάλαφρο φως.
Η πλοκή σε αυτό το πολυτραγουδισμένο οικογενειακό ερμηνευτικό συγκρότημα τέχνης, ήταν δευτερευούσης σημασίας, το κύριο μέλημα ήταν το θέμα που πραγματευόταν, η ατμόσφαιρα και η γλώσσα.

Η οικογένεια Tobler στην οποία εργάζεσαι ο παραγιός γλιστρά στην εκποίηση. Ο Walser καταγράφει την επικείμενη κατάσταση περιγράφοντας τους χαρακτήρες και τις αλληλεπιδράσεις τους κατά τη διάρκεια περίπου ενός έτους. Ένα γράμμα από τη μητέρα του Τόμπλερ κρύβει το τέλος της ιστορίας με ένα φαύλο ηθικό επίλογο επιμονής και παραίτησης , αν και αυτό δεν είναι το τέλος του βιβλίου.

Η προ-καφκαϊκή περιγραφή του για έναν πιστωτικό ελεγκτή που κρύβεται γύρω από τη βίλα είναι επίσης ένα κλασικό πέρασμα εδώ. (Ανταγωνίζεται ή ξεπερνά την υπερφυσική εγχώρια φαντασία του Marquez
και των αγγελοκρουσμένων γραφειοκρατών του Kafka, και προ-χρονολογεί και τα δύο).

Η ξαφνική εμφάνιση ενός επεισοδίου στρατιωτικής φυλακής αποτελεί μια από τις καλύτερες και μοναδικές σκηνές του Walser.
Η εκδρομή που θυμάται ο Παραγιός ήταν μια απόλυτα όμορφη και χαρούμενη εμπειρία, και μερικές φευγαλέες αναφορές καθιστούν σαφές ότι αυτό ήταν πολύ κοντά στο φυσιολογικό για την οικογενειακή του ζωή.
Είναι μια λεπτή στιγμή που φέρνει τη ζωή του ήρωα
σε απότομη, ατομική ανακούφιση, αλλά επίσης καθιστά σαφές ότι η ζωή του είναι μέρος του ίδιου θλιβερού συνεχούς με εκείνη της καταδικασμένης οικογένειας στην οποία έγινε προσωρινά μέρος.

Η πνιγηρή σάτιρα του Ντοστογιέφσκι στο υπόγειο επικεντρώνεται έντονα στο κακό και παθολογικό.
Ο ήρωας του Walser είναι μια πολύ πιο θλιβερή φιγούρα, είναι ο κανένας, επομένως, εξ ορισμού θύμα κακοποίησης και εξαπάτησης, με δραστικά περιορισμένες προοπτικές.
Όχι μόνο το γνωρίζει αυτό και το έχει αποδεχτεί,
το αγκαλιάζει.
Έχει περιστασιακές εκρήξεις κακίας ή μη διαχειρίσιμης ψυχραιμίας όπως όλα τα ανθρώπινα όντα.
Όταν το περιθώριο φωνάζει μπορούμε να ακούσουμε όλη την ιστορία για κάθε άνθρωπο, ο παραγιός γράφτηκε το 1908 μα αν προσέξετε θα δείτε πως το μελάνι της πένας του είναι ακόμη νωπό!...
Ο Hermann Hesse παρατήρησε :
«Αν (ο Walser) είχε εκατό χιλιάδες αναγνώστες, ο κόσμος θα ήταν ένα καλύτερο μέρος»

💕😈💕📚📚📚

Καλή ανάγνωση.
Πολλούς ασπασμούς.

[Karen· · Rating 5 out of 5]

Start with that figure at the door early one morning. He seems to have materialised out of thin air. And now here he is, expected to play the main role in a story, he doesn't seem to know himself how he came to be here. There is no indication of his provenance, here he is, here and now, at the door of a free-standing, seemingly spruce residence. Seemingly? Why seemingly? Whether a house is spruce and tidy is only ever apparent to the eye, surely.... That eeriness, that sense of things somewhat out of kilter, continues. It is raining. The young man is well-nigh astonished to find that he is carrying an umbrella. For he never owned an umbrella in his early years - aren't these his early years? If he's young? What child ever owns an umbrella? At the end of one down-stretched arm there is a cheap, tatty suitcase. "Before the eyes of this man who had apparently just come from a journey was an enamel sign on which could be read: C. Tobler, Technical Office. He waited a moment, as if to consider something that was almost certainly inconsequential, then he pressed the button of the electric bell, whereupon a person came, to all appearances a maid, to let him in." (Own translation) To all appearances? Should we not trust what we see?

Joseph, for that is his name, announces himself as the new employee - der neue Angestellte, a word that connotes a relationship with C. Tobler based on contract, on commercial principles, on clearly defined agreements regarding such things as hours of work, payment rendered, notice required for dismissal or resignation, a word that we associate with clear roles and structures, obligations, rights, duties, tax and insurance docked, maybe, maybe the odd perk here and there for outstanding work that goes beyond the line of duty. A word at odds with the title - Der Gehülfe - for that is an outmoded word, one that conjures a far more personal connection, a personal assistant, helpmate, amanuensis. And indeed it is an oddly archaic world that Joseph enters. For although Tobler is an engineer who designs thoroughly modern machines that range from the moderately original (a clock with added wings on each side for advertising) to the bizarre (a vending machine for bullets) to the potentially useful (a wheelchair for the sick), the role he sees for himself is that of Master of All He Purveys. Captain of Industry. Man of Status. Pillar of Society. And while he is waiting for Capital to come and Invest in his Brilliant Ideas, at the very least he must give the appearance of Success. He must give the impression of prosperity: a large house (seemingly spruce) in the best part of town, a happy family including faithful dog, a housemaid, cook and gardener, and (enter Joseph) a live-in assistant.

Joseph is to have a room in the copper-roofed tower, to share the family meals, to drink his afternoon coffee with Madame on the sunny terrace. He may smoke as he works. The food is good, tasty and plentiful, the cigars aromatic, the work, initially at least, is not too taxing. It sounds charming? It could be. If it were not for the weird dislocation, the morass of the inappropriately personal bound up in the commercial: the boss is capricious and irascible and uses Joseph as his kicking board: Madame is sweetly charming, and as lonely as Joseph, (but as distant as the moon and the stars) and uses Joseph as a companion. Pauline, the maid (to all appearances) disdains Joseph, wants to humiliate him by flirting with him - a weird courtship display that involves beating the youngest Tobler child when the parents are out with the others - and then rejecting him. And Joseph?
Joseph is lost.
Joseph has no idea how to behave.
Joseph has no idea how he fits in to this bourgeois idyll, what role he should play.
He is insecure and self-doubting. He seems to be missing a social compass anyway, one that prevents you saying things that might offend, a characteristic that has prompted some critics of Walser to call his protagonists child-like; he has an uncanny knack of picking the wrong battle at the wrong moment and using the most inappropriate language to defend his position. His attacks are pusillanimous at best, and collapse into abject self-recrimination at the slightest opposition. Like a depressive, his mood swings from viciously hurtful rebellion to miserable self-pity and self-loathing, from euphoric intoxication to desolate self-castigation. And no-one here wants to give him any guidance: he is taken into the family, but if he criticizes Madame's treatment of that bed-wetting youngest child, he is threatened with dismissal. He is too afraid of Tobler, too in awe of him to question his business acumen. He is lost in a strange country with no map.
He has a heart. But what room is there for a heart in this heartless world?
Walking, physical activity is the only thing to rely on. The body, moving.

It cannot last, it will not last. C. Tobler has over-extended himself. He is driven by an overweening sense of his own entitlement, his overpowering certainty that his ideas are destined to improve the world if only the idiots out there would recognise their worth, blind to the value of marketing and a realistic calculation of costs and revenue. Mehr Schein als Sein - all surface, no substance.

We were right not to trust appearances.

Discomfiting. Painful. But utterly magnificent.

[Το Άθχημο γατί του θενιόρ Γκουαναμίρου · Rating 2 out of 5]

Στην ουσία εδώ έχουμε μια λογοτεχνική εκδοχή ενός πραγματικού περιστατικού. Στο επίμετρο της έκδοσης που διάβασα, αναφέρει πως το βιβλίο αυτό γράφτηκε μέσα σε έξι εβδομάδες, στα 1907, στο πλαίσιο ενός διαγωνισμού κάποιου εκδοτικού, ο οποίος το απέρριψε. Ένα χρόνο αργότερα το έργο είδε το φως της δημοσιότητας από άλλον εκδότη. Οι κεντρικοί άξονες του έργου είναι τρεις:

-Το μαγευτικό τοπίο, η φύση που απεικονίζεται μέσα από εκτενέστατες ποιητικές περιγραφές.
- Η ψυχολογία των προσώπων της ιστορίας.
- Τα γεγονότα της καθημερινότητας όπου δίνουν έναν (βασανιστικά) αργό ρυθμό στην εξέλιξη της ιστορίας.

Ο Βάλζερ είχε μπει στην υπηρεσία κάποιου αποτυχημένου εφευρέτη στα 1903 και εργάστηκε εκεί για έξι μήνες, στο σπίτι του αφεντικού του, σε μια ειδυλλιακή βίλα, κοντά σε μια μικρή Ελβετική πόλη. Με τον ίδιο τρόπο ο κεντρικός ήρωας, ο Γιόζεφ Μάρτι μπαίνει ως υπάλληλος στην υπηρεσία του Καρλ Τόμπλερ.

Η υπόθεση του έργου (στην ουσία δεν υπάρχει καμία ιδιαίτερη υπόθεση) μου προκάλεσε ένα αίσθημα μονοτονίας το οποίο με τη σειρά του μου δημιουργησε εκείνο το είδος του αναγνωστικού εκνευρισμού, όπου θες να δεις τί στο καλό θα γίνει παρακάτω, ώσπου τελικά, φτάνοντας στην τελευταία σελίδα, διαπιστώνεις πως δεν υπάρχει παρακάτω, τίποτα σπουδαίο δεν συμβαίνει, απλά το έργο τελειώνει. Τελειώνει άδοξα, τελειώνει απότομα (ένα μικρό επιλογικό κόμμάτι έχει παραλειφθεί από την τελική έκδοση του έργου, αλλά κι αυτό δεν προσθέτει το παραμικρό), τελειώνει θλιβερά και αδιάφορα, όπως θλιβερή κι αδιάφορη είναι όλη αυτή η διήγηση μιας αποτυχημένης συνεργασίας ανάμεσα σε ανθρώπους με σπασμένα νεύρα και σοβαρά οικονομικά προβλήματα, άνθρωποι που φαίνονται εκ πρώτης όψεως ανόητοι, αντιπαθητικοί και ψυχικά ασταθείς.

Ωστόσο ακριβώς επειδή είναι ένα ρεαλιστικό πορτραίτο του ίδιου του συγγραφέα, έχει πολύ ενδιαφέρον ο τρόπος που περιγράφει ο ίδιος τον εαυτό του μέσα από το πρόσωπο του κεντρικού ήρωα:

Εργάζεται και ζει με μια οικογένεια ανυπόφορων ανθρώπων. Ασκούν επάνω του ψυχική (ακόμα και σωματική) βία. Δεν αμείβεται. Αραιά ��αι πού, του δίνουν ελάχιστα χρήματα σαν χαρτζιλίκι. Είναι νέος, 24 ετών. Μόλις έχει τελειώσει τη στρατιωτική του θητεία και έχει ελάχιστη εργασιακή εμπειρία. Έχει μια τάση να υπεραναλύει τα πάντα και προκειμένου να ηρεμεί καταφεύγει στη γαλήνη της φύσης ή εκτονώνεται με πρακτικές χειρωνακτικές εργασίες. Δεν έχει ιδιαίτερη αυτοπεποίθηση αλλά σποραδικά κάνει κάποια μικρά ξεσπάσματα για τα οποία μετανιώνει. Έχει ένα βαθύ αίσθημα περί δικαίου αλλά μόνο σε επίπεδο θεωρίας. Έχει μια ευαίσθητη ψυχή και ανεπτυγμένη την συμπόνια για τον συνάνθρωπό του. Είναι υπερβολικά υποχωρητικός. Δουλοπρεπής. Θύμα. Δεν είναι ανόητος. Αλλά εμφανίζει μια τάση για κάτι που θα περιέγραφα ως νοοτροπία ιδρυματισμού. Δεν θέλει να φύγει από αυτό το τοξικό περιβάλλον.

Του αρέσει που είναι έγκλειστος με τις μικρές αραιές εξόδους του. Αγαπά την ανούσια ρουτίνα του, με τα πλούσια γεύματα και τα πούρα που του προσφέρονται ως αντιστάθμισμα για την απουσία μισθού. Η σύζυγος του εφευρέτη, μια τυπική μικροαστή, αποτυχημένη μητέρα του ασκεί μια έλξη, έναν λανθάνοντα πόθο και μια σκιώδη μητρική επιρροή. Το αφεντικό του, ένας ανεκδιήγητος τύπος που σπαταλάει όλη την περιουσία που κληρονόμησε και συσσωρεύει χρέη, ένας κυκλοθυμικός, αλκοολικός αποτυχημένος, φαίνεται επίσης να ασκεί επάνω του μια ιδιαίτερη εξουσία. Η μία κόρη της οικογένειας, η μικρούλα Σιλβί, κακοποιείται ασύστολα και μοιάζει κατά κάποιον τρόπο ως η μικρογραφία, η παιδική εκδοχή του ήρωα. Όλο αυτό το άρρωστο, αφόρητο περιβάλλον προκαλεί στον συγγραφέα ένα αίσθημα γαλήνης. Το επιζητά. Παραμένει εκεί μέχρι να τον διώξουν και τρέμει στη σκέψη πως κάποια στιγμή θα υποχρεωθεί να εγκαταλείψει τον εγκλεισμό του:

"Εκείνη την ώρα ο Γιόζεφ θα προτιμούσε να το έβαζε στα πόδια, αλλά έπειτα από λίγο το ξανασκέφτηκε: Γιατί να επισπεύσω κάτι που, έτσι κι αλλιώς θα έρθει από μόνο του, κάποια στιγμή; Αισθανόταν οίκτο για τον Τόμπλερ, αισθανόταν επίσης περιφρόνηση και συνάμα τον φοβόταν. Αυτά ήταν τρία άχαρα συναισθήματα, το καθένα τους απολύτως φυσικά, αλλά εξίσου άδικα. Τί ήταν αυτό που τον παρακινούσε να συνεχίζει να εργάζεσαι για ετούτον τον άνθρωπο; Η αναμονή για τον μισθό του; Ναι, κι αυτό ανάμεσα σε άλλα πράγματα. Αλλά υπήρχε επίσης και κάτι άλλο, διαφορετικό, κάτι ακόμα πιο σημαντικό: Τον αγαπούσε αυτόν τον άνθρωπο με όλη του την καρδιά. Και η χροιά αυτού του συναισθήματος έκανε όλα τα υπόλοιπα να χλωμιάζουν. Και εξαιτίας αυτού του συναισθήματος υπήρχαν και τα υπόλοιπα τρία, εξαρχής με τέτοια ένταση. Γιατί αναπόφευκτα ό,τι αγαπάμε, ό,τι μας δένει και μας ενώνει, μοιραία μας προκαλεί επίσης δυσφορία, ακόμα και μίσος, εξαιτίας της έντονης έλξης του."

Αυτή είναι η ουσία του έργου. Μια αυτοπροσωπογραφία του καλλιτέχνη, μια κοσμοθεωρία την οποία βρίσκω θλιβερή. Η ζωή του συγγραφέα, που από τα 1929 ως τον θάνατό του στα 1956 έζησε έγκλειστος σε ψυχιατρική κλινική απεικονίζεται ως προσδοκώμενο μέσα από αυτό το πρώιμο έργο. Αυτό πιστεύω. Να τρώει, να πίνει, να κοιμάται, να κάνει τους περιπάτους του και τις όποιες δραστηριότητές του υποφέροντας έναν χαλαρό εγκλεισμό με όλες τις συνέπειες που αυτός προϋποθέτει, αυτό υπήρξε προφανώς η ονειρεμένη ζωή που αποτύπωσε και σε αυτήν την αυτοβιογραφική διήγησή του. Το ότι τελικά κατέληξε σε αυτό ακριβώς δεν μπορεί να είναι τυχαίο.

Αυτό το συμπέρασμα βέβαια μένει να ελεγχθεί. Θα χρειαστεί να διαβάσω και τα υπόλοιπα έργα του, αν και ομολογώ πως μια τέτοια σκέψη δεν με ελκύει ιδιαίτερα.

[Serbay GÜL · Rating 5 out of 5]

Robert Walser'in, Franz Kafka’nın sevdiğini ve etkilendiğini itiraf ettiği yazarlardan biri olduğuna bir yerlerde denk gelmiştim, bu nedenle okumak istemiştim ve gönül rahatlığıyla söyleyebilirim ki en azından 'Yardımcı' kitabını Kafka seven herkesin sevebilme ihtimali çok yüksek.

20. yüzyılın modernizm sancıları dönemini ele alıyor. İflasın eşiğindeki bir yatırımcının yanında çalışmaya başlayan Josep'in gözlemleri ve analizleri üzerinden dönemin buhranları ve insan ilişkilerine değiniyor. Tatlı bir karamsarlık ve tuhaf şekilde huzur veren bunaltıcı bir dili var yazarın. Anlatımıyla daha ilk sayfalarında beni içine çekti. Aynı beklentilerle Tanner Kardeşler ve Haydut eseriyle devam edeceğim Robert Walser keşfime.

Kitaptan çok beğendiğim onlarca güzel cümleden birini de şuraya bırakayım.

'' Mütevazı olmak, '' diye düşündü Yardımcı '' bazı insanların hayattaki son sığınağı değil de nedir? ''

[Nora Barnacle · Rating 5 out of 5]

Snaga Roberta Valzera je u odmerenosti, ali ne onoj što baždari elemente, ovde dodajući prizor, tamo podglavivši emocijom, već u prirodnoj uskađenosti izraza, reči i slika, ljudi i prirode, emocija i misli. Sve je sklisko, životno i stvarno, slike su suverene, nezavisne scene, ali je kao beli dan jasno da će se čitav sistem survati u klobuku dima bude li se makar i jedna reč makla.

No, konstrukcija je stabilna, a stabilnost joj, iako može zvučati paradoksalno, učvršćuje promenljiva piščeva pozicija: kroz fabulu nas vodi protagonista, a pisac je neka vrsta komentatora, prilično distanciranog i gotovo neprimetnog, koji interveniše po sopstvenom nahođenju ali uvek sa jednim ciljem – da ne dozvoli čitaocu da se identifikuje sa protagonistom. Ovo, međutim, ne čini da bi svoj stav progurao kao apsolutnu istinu, te glavnu ličnost omalovažio ili izvrgao ruglu njegove postupke. Upravo suprotno. Pisac, u vrsti sa svojim likom, samo konstatuje okolnosti iz perspektive isto tako svakidašnje osobe, ni bolje ni lošije od protagoniste. Ni prošlost ni budućnost mu nisu u vlasti. A ni sud.
Suditi neka izvoli čitalačko visočanstvo, po volji i smelosti.
Valzer ga na taj angažman više učtivo podseća nego što poziva, nipošto primorava ili provocira. To postiže naročito prozračnom atmosferom koja je udobna kao najmekanija perina, što leti hladi a zimi greje, opervažena suptilnom ironijom i još suptilnijim humorom i – naročito sitan vez – sa izuzetno komplikovanom karakterizacijom potpuno nepredvidivih likova čija je, pak, običnost jedva vredna priče.
Ta bremenitost deluje silom, ali ne opterećuje. Čitaocu najpre zaliči na nepatvorenu sirovost, a kad se ispostavi da je teža od crne zemlje, već je kasno – pročitali ste knjigu.

Radnja je jednoravna, traje šest meseci: izvesni Jozef (da, Kafka je veliki Valzerov fan) Marti početkom leta stupa na prag vile „Večernja zvezda“, dobvši (preko biroa! jer birokratski sistem, dabome, funkcioniše - neka nam je na znanje) posao pomoćnika izvesnom K. (opalac! opet!) Tobleru namernom da svoja inženjerska znanja stavi u službu marketinga. Pravi sat i automat za metke. Nameštenik Jozef tu dobija sobicu u kuli s pogledom na jezero, iz koje se noću čuje kuknjava devojčice koje sluškinja mlati jer se upiškila u krevet, dobija gazdaricu gospođu Tobler sa kojom pije popodnevnu kafu ili joj iz pošte donosi paket sa novom haljinom, nekad zaliva baštu, nekad svrati u kafanu „Kod Ruže“, često puši skupe cigare, piše svakakva pisma, sreće se sa nekolicinom epizodista. I ne prima platu.
Svaki susret sa gospođom Tobler preti da se pretvori u hard core bludničenje. Svaki razgovor sa njenim mužem u prebijanje nasmrt. Sve prestaje prvog januara sledeće godine. Jozef se stalno izvinjava i moli za oprost.

Jakob fon Gunten je poznatiji Valzerov roman, po mnogo čemu komplikovaniji, ali ne ostavlja ni upola snažan utisak. Nije ga prevodio Branimir Živojinović, možda zato.

Izvolite se nasladiti, ljubitelji Kafke, Muzila, Zveva... Bova, čak i ranog Flobera.

Za one koji misle da otuđenje došlo sa interneta, ovo može poslužiti kao kontraargument i prilog činjenici da je građanska epoha počela da se raspada pre više od veka.

Bez ispitivanja razloga nepopularnosti ovog izuzetnog pisca, odoh da ga stavim u pet najboljih knjiga koje sam pročitala.

[Fernando · Rating 3 out of 5]

“Ser joven es equivocarse; la juventud tiene que hablar y actuar irreflexivamente para que haya algún progreso”

Conocí a Robert Walser a partir de un libro de Enrique Vila-Matas en la que nos cuenta acerca de todos aquellos escritores que por una u otra razón dejaron de escribir tempranamente (cambio de profesión, engaños, pérdida de inspiración, enfermedad, locura, muerte).
Walser, un escritor con talento nato para la narrativa supo ganarse la admiración de autores de la talla de Kleist, Musil o Kafka.
Indudablemente, no podía escribir mal, lo que me llevó a leer su nouvelle "El paseo", realmente magnífica y que podría releer muchas veces más.
Lo irónico de todo esto es que Walser fue encontrado muerto a la vuelta del psiquiátrico dónde él solíasalirme a pasear.
Para el caso de "El ayudante" me encuentro ya con una novela más larga en la que un joven llamado Joseph es contratado a trabajar como asistente a la finca de Herr y Frau Tobler y sus cuatro hijos.
A partir de allí, se tendrán todo tipo de relaciones entre las tres personas, ninguna del tipo romántico, sino más bien de conflicto, entendimientos y desavenencias.
El libro tiene un punto fuerte a favor y uno bajo.
Lo mejor es la narrativa tan sutil y convincente de Walser tanto en lo que a la caracterización declos personajes respecto como de la ambientación de todo que pasa en el establecimiento de los Tobler.
Lo flojo, a mi entender, es que si no fuera una novela de Walser leemos una novela en la que no pasa nada.
Apenas sobre el final, cuando Tobler comienza con sus problemas económicos vemos un poco de acción y el final cambia todo lo que se leyó hasta el momento.
En líneas generales, una interesante novela de Robert Walser para leer pero de la que hay que entender que es discreta.

[sAmAnE · Rating 4 out of 5]

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بله این سه آدم تنها بودند،دستیار از همه تنهاتر،چون حس می‌کرد به عنوان یک غریبه عضو خانه‌ای شده است که کم کم خانه بودنش را از دست می‌دهد؛چون بر‌خلاف آقای توبلر اجازه نداشت بگوید حق دارد در آن خانه هر چه می‌خواهد بکند یا از هر چیزی جلوگیری کند یا از روبرو شدن با آن طفره برود،چرا که آن خانه به او تعلق نداشت؛چون ناچار بود خواسته یا ناخواسته عید داشته باشد و جشن بگیرد...
#روبرت_والزر
#ترجمه#علی_اصغر_حداد
📝داستان در مورد مرد جوانی به نام یوزف مارتی هست که دستیار مردی به نام توبلر می‌شود.یوزف از زمانی‌که وارد منزل توبلر می‌شود،رفتارهای او و بقیه‌ی اعضای خانواده را در ذهنش تحلیل می‌کند و امید دارد که به زودی از مسائل مربوط به کسب و کار سر در بیاورد،درصورتیکه این‌کار همیشه برایش سخت بوده است.توبلر همه‌ی مایحتاج زندگی را در اختیار یوزف قرار می‌دهد و در عوض انتظار بازدهی بالا را از او دارد.چرا که اکنون در وضعیت خوبی قرار ندارند.در کل کتاب خوبی بود

[amin akbari · Rating 3 out of 5]

به نام او

پیش از اینکه این کتاب را بخوانم با تعریفی که از کتاب و خود رابرت والزر شنیده بودم و اینکه کافکا تحت تاثیر او بوده. . چندان متمایل نبودم که کتاب را
بخوانم یا حداقل خودم را برای یک اثر ابزرود و سیاه آماده کرده بودم. که با جان کندن باید آن را به پایان رساند. ولی وقتی که شروع کردم به خواندن، دیدم که عجب کتاب خوش خوانی ست.
درست است که همان طنز گزنده ای که در کارهای کافکا سراغ داریم در این اثر هم هست ولی شوخ طبعی های والزر به شدت فضا را تلطیف میکند و داستانی خواندنی را به دست می دهد.
در آخر اینکه ترجمه علی اصغر حداد هم بی نظیر بود خدا به ایشان عمر و عزت بدهد.

[Jim Elkins]

An essay in the form of a novel, ruined, a little, by its plot

This is a stupendous character portrait, marred by a cliche plot of financial downfall.

I agree with Brian Verigan that "Walser's hero is... a nobody with drastically limited prospects. He not only knows that and has accepted it, he embraces it." But it bears saying that the reason the apprentice's prospects are limited is that he is a little simple-minded, and he realizes that, partially and intermittently, throughout the novel. It's a difficult trick for a novelist: a slightly limited, partly unintelligent narrator can often result in a schematic narrative, in which we are more amused or detached than immersed and engaged. That happens, for example, in "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time," which at times becomes a literary trick or puzzle. But in this book the narrator also has an enormous capacity to understand people, an inherent kindness, and a joy in his natural surroundings.

At the same time, each of those capacities is limited: he loves his employer somewhat helplessly, even though he sees some of his employer's flaws; he is kind, but his kindnesses are often ineffectual; he loves nature, but in an unreflective way. And he is aware, sometimes, of each of these traits in himself. He loves to eat and sleep and walk in the countryside: those are his certainties. He is also deeply concerned with injustices and social infelicities: those are his ongoing interests.

The rest is all a cloud: he knows he has no ambition, but he never succeeds in thinking very much about that fact; and he knows that he probably has only a little cleverness, but he doesn't have the energy to keep his mind on that problem long enough to do anything about it. It's a lovely psychological portrait of a partly simple person who is also deeply reflective.

Yet I think the book is also flawed. The tremendous psychological portrait of a person who has some kinds of intelligence and not others is partly ruined by a distracting plot about the plunging finances of the apprentice's boss. We're compelled to worry about his household finances and increasingly angry creditors. The plot resembles an Hollywood movie of Walser's generation or pulp fiction, with their stock figures of drunkards, bank managers, and suspicious townspeople. Through all of that, Walser continues to develop the remarkable character of the assistant, as if the machinery of financial ruin were somehow necessary to bring out the assistant's character. But it isn't, and the novel would have been more focused and convincing, more a masterpiece, if Walser had had the confidence to concentrate on the assistant. After all, he was given a quiet, unchanging character, so why have an off-the-shelf narrative of ruination blaring in the background?

I wonder if this isn't part of the general problem of the "novel-essay" in the 1920s and 1930s, which has been written about by Stefano Ercolino, Sianne Ngai, and others: the way "plot" and "narrative" increasingly appeared to be artificial, and were contrasted against plotless "essays" on character, theories, and many other things, until the novel itself stalled. Plot became machinery, and then distraction, and finally obstruction—but the narratives that it obstructed were themselves immobile: they were essays in human character and situation that were incompatible with temporal development.

[Arash · Rating 4 out of 5]

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اين زن تا هشت پشت بورژوازاده است. در بطن سودمندي و پاكيزگي رشد كرده است، در محيطي كه كارايي و درايت حرف اول را مي‌زنند. اين زن از لذايذ رمانتيك خيلي بهره‌مند نشده است، و به همين دليل اين لذايذ را دوست دارد، چون در عمق جان خود ارزششان را خوب مي‌فهمد. آدم به‌ناچار چه چيزها را با دقت تمام از شوهر خود و تمام دنيا پنهان مي‌كند، چون نمي‌خواهد يك زن احمق باشد. ولي به‌هرحال آدم كه نمرده است، پس در سكوت و سكون به زندگي خاص خودش ادامه مي‌دهد تا آن‌كه يك روز فرصتي كوچك با دو چشم درشت و پرتمنا سلام‌گويان از راه مي‌رسد، و بعد احساس تقريبا ازيادرفته اجازه دارد گرم شود و جان بگيرد، البته فقط براي زماني بسيار كوتاه.
_
یوزف، فردی در پی کار به دفتر کاریابی مراجعه میکند و به او کار به عنوان دستیار برای شخصی مخترع پیشنهاد می شود. او به سرعت و چند روز قبل از زمان مقرر خود را به آن خانه می رساند و در آن جا مستقر می شود. این خانه آنقدر از دور دلربا می نماید که هر شخصی را محصور خود می کند و این چنین برداشت می شود که خانه ای به چنین زیبایی حتما در درون و بطن آن نیز زندگی ای زیبا در حال جریان است ولی این گونه نیست. ارباب خانه شخصی مستبد و دارای تفکراتی رویاپردازانه است که برای شناساندن و فروش اختراعاتش دست به هیچ گونه تلاشی نمی زند. او حتی برای نامه نگاریهایش دستیار استخدام کرده، نامه نگاری هایی که همه اش در تقاضای پول از این و آن خلاصه شده. این فرد به گونه ای سعی در خوب جلوه دادن زندگی و کارش می کند که ساکنین شهر هم فریب ظاهر آن را می خورند و به اعتبار این شکوه ساختگی بدون دریافت وجهی هرچه که بخواهد در اختیارش می گذارند به امید آنکه پس از فروش اختراعات پولشان پس داده می شود. در زندگی خصوصی در جریان در آن ساختمان، بر خلاف تصور همه، پر از بحث و جنگ و بی تفاوتی است، اوج این بی تفاوتی اعتراف مادر نسبت به یکی از فرزندان خودش است. شوهر هم که مدام برای فرار از مشکلات به میگساری و سفر با قطار روی می آورد. با وجود تنگدتی فشار طلبکاران حاضر نیستند از عیش و نوش و خوش گذرانی و جشن های آنچنانی شان دل بکنند. یوزف شش ماه بدون حقوق برای آن ها کار کرد و در نهایت سقوط و افول آن خانه اندک بارش را جمع می کنند و بدون چشم داشتی راهش را می گیرد و می رود. سعی در زندگی به سبک بورژوا خانه و خانواده را دچار سقوط کرد. جایی که یوزف بی خانمان تن به هر خفت و بی احترامی و بی جیره و مواجبی داد تا حداقل سقفی بالای سرش، خوراک خوبی برای طعامش و تخت خواب نرم و زیبایی برای خوابش داشته باشد، این بود تمامیت آرزوهای یوزف در برابر رویاهای بلند پروازانه صاحب کارش.

[E. G. · Rating 4 out of 5]

--The Assistant

Afterword

[Eddie Watkins · Rating 4 out of 5]

He pitied Tobler, he felt contempt for him, and at the same time he feared him. These were three unlovely sentiments, each as natural as the others, but unfair as well. What was prompting him to continue on as this man’s employee? The salary outstanding? Yes, among other things. But there was something quite different as well, something more important: he loved this man with all his heart. The pure hue of this one sentiment made the stains of the three others vanish. And it was because of this sentiment that the other three had always been there as well, almost from the very beginning, and with such intensity. For it was inevitable that something a person was fond of, something he felt bound and conjoined to, would cause him distress as well: he would have to struggle with it, there would be much about it that displeased him, and at times he would even hate it because he had always felt so powerfully drawn to it.

I’m taken back to two early tales of employment… I worked as a prep-boy at The Camel’s Hump restaurant run by a hot-headed Syrian. As newly tanned beach girls in short black skirts worked the patrons, I was besmocked back in the hot kitchen with a guy whose idea of a plan to break the chains that bound him to grinding garbanzos summer after summer was to fly to a socio-political hotspot, snap roll after roll of film, then fly back to safety and sell the pictures. Maybe it worked out for him... But given his sweet-tempered, stagnant nature, I doubt it. Meanwhile during downtimes I’d retreat to the walk-in fridge to cool off and, aligning the first three fingers of my right hand in a Boy Scout salute, I would consume scoop after scoop of baba ghanoush out of big metal bowls. One large order or two in under a minute. I had the method perfected. Then on to clams on the half shell… I suppose I did this out of hunger, but also out of spite, as the hot-headed Syrian was a tyrant, and tyrants drive willful individuals to acts of revolt. But I also liked the guy, and he liked me. Maybe Walser would’ve considered it love… He liked that I wasn’t as subservient as the stagnant dreamer. He liked that he could see fire in my eyes when he was a hot-head at me. But it didn’t end well. One night I stocked his stove with eleven instead of ten wooden serving platters, and he exploded, calling me an idiot and spitting out that if I couldn’t obey simple orders I should just leave. So I tossed my baba ghanoushed smock into his hairy Syrian chest and left. A couple years later I ran into him and he very interestedly inquired of my life, as if we were the best of friends. We chatted then parted free of rancor; which is Walser's way.

And someone else’s - Sean Woodhead’s. A nice guy but mentally… deficient. For decades I've tried to expiate my guilt for always referring to him as “Slow” Woodhead, to rhyme with his older brother Joe. Joe and Slow Woodhead. I do hope both have found some fairly comfortable place in this world. The last I heard Joe was living in solitude on a ranch in Montana. Sean I’ve heard not a word of. One summer Sean was hired by a chicken farmer to rid his chicken houses of the encrustations of chicken shit that over the years become like a wall-to-wall sunbaked earthen floor in these lowly houses; a floor studded with filthy feathers of dead and dying chickens and reeking of ammonia. So for six months Sean piloted a Bobcat tractor through this man’s chicken houses, scooping up layer after foul layer, depositing it who knows where, in the heat of these houses which in summer months are incubators of every sensory unpleasantness imaginable. But the initial terms were that he was hired as a trainee, and so pay was only promised, and ultimately never delivered. Poor Slow. He never fought it. Obedience like that deserves a better place; such as a role in a novel by Walser.

To overlap my comparative intelligence and willful revolt with Sean’s dimwitted trust is to see for a moment Walser’s poor main character, Joseph Marti, who suffered the blows of his boss (followed by gifts of cigars), and who was never paid as far as I could tell,

though he loved well, and ate well, without ever stooping
to devious Boy Scout walk-in-fridge baba ghanoush scooping.

[Teresa · Rating 4 out of 5]

Robert Walser, quando tinha vinte anos, trabalhou, durante seis meses, como secretário e contabilista de um engenheiro - cujas invenções o levaram à falência. Viveu, durante esse tempo, na casa do patrão onde conviveu com a mulher e os quatro filhos do casal.
O Ajudante é claramente inspirado nesse momento da vida de Walser. Em termos de enredo, não existe nada de especial; pouco ficamos a saber do passado ou do futuro das personagens. O que me encanta neste livro (e em todos os que já li dele) é a sua visão da vida e das pessoas e a forma irónica e genuína como relata o que observa.


=================================

"É bem sabido que, quando estamos a ler, transferimos para o que lemos aquilo que nós próprios pensamos; assim sendo, não há, de facto, razão para temer qualquer livro, seja ele qual for. Não é verdade que temos também de saber lidar com todas as pessoas, sejam elas quem forem?"
— Robert Walser (A Rosa)



Robert Walser nasceu em Biel, Suiça, no dia 15 de Abril de 1878 e morreu em Herisau, Suíça, no dia 25 de Dezembro de 1956.
Oriundo de uma família numerosa (oito irmãos), começou a trabalhar aos catorze anos, mas mantinha-se pouco tempo no mesmo lugar. De natureza inquieta, teve várias ocupações - além da escrita - e mudou de casa e de cidade diversas vezes. Aos cinquenta e cinco anos é-lhe diagnosticado esquizofrenia e decide internar-se voluntariamente num hospício, onde vive o resto da sua vida. Nunca parou de escrever mas, por ter adquirido aversão às canetas, escrevia a lápis e em letra minúscula (ilegível a olho nu) em qualquer papel que encontrasse. Morreu aos setenta e oito anos, solitário como viveu: durante um dos seus passeios, perto do hospício, sofreu um ataque cardíaco e foi encontrado já sem vida, no meio da neve, por um grupo de crianças.
Robert Walser influenciou e foi admirado por muitos escritores. Elias Canetti, chamou-lhe o "pai" de Kafka; Vila-Matas refere-o, com idolatria, em várias das suas obras; um dos cinco textos do livro de H. G. Sebald, O Caminhante Solitário, é sobre Walser; e muitos outros, para quem a sua vida e obra foi inspiradora, tais como Robert Musil, Herman Hesse, Thomas Bernhard.

O polémico filme de João César Monteiro (Branca de Neve) foi adaptado de uma peça de Robert Walser, cujo cartaz promocional é o cadáver de Walser caído na neve. Não vi o filme (nem quero); não li a peça (mas quero). Mesmo assim, ouso dizer que o cartaz não terá relação com a peça, tratando-se apenas de um chamariz para os abutres que se deleitam com a morte e, como tal, um desrespeito oportunista e bacoco para com Robert Walser.

[Ubik 2.0 · Rating 4 out of 5]

Divagazioni

La quarta di copertina ricorda che questo romanzo era fra i preferiti di Franz Kafka che lo “rileggeva puntualmente tutti gli anni”. Ciò non stupisce perché numerosi sono i passaggi e le situazioni che evocano lo stile del maestro praghese, fino a dettagli come la presentazione di un personaggio secondario, ad esempio il messo del tribunale che pare uscito dalle pagine di “Il processo”.

“L’assistente” si rivela un romanzo di “non-formazione” nel senso che il giovane Joseph Marti rimane esattamente al punto iniziale dopo l’esperienza, che avrebbe dovuto essere di apprendistato ma diventa tutt’altro, presso la famiglia dell’ingegner Tobler. E’ singolare che nell’operosa Svizzera del primo novecento il carattere di ambedue i protagonisti, Joseph e il suo principale, sia così avulso dall’imperante cultura borghese del lavoro e della produttività al punto di preludere all’inevitabile fallimento: l’uno (Tobler) perso nei suoi progetti di invenzioni mirabolanti che dovrebbero quasi automaticamente produrre successo e ricchezza, ma incline alla rimozione dei problemi, delle scadenze, delle responsabilità, delle regole stesse della società.

Quanto all’assistente Joseph Marti, il giovane si adatta ben presto al ruolo di tuttofare nella casa che lo ospita, quasi a compensare l’inettitudine nel compito per cui è stato assunto (benché in perenne attesa di uno stipendio). Come assistente d’ufficio è inconcludente, distratto, del tutto privo di iniziativa, salvo poi ritrovarsi con piena sollecitudine nelle attività d’impegno fisico o quando, come un fattorino, deve recarsi all’Ufficio Postale o in luoghi simili.

Sono situazioni che, nell’economia del romanzo, all’inizio paiono semplici divagazioni ma con l’andare del romanzo assumono una valenza e un significato particolare: Joseph, dimenticato o esaurito l’impegno originario, passeggia, gironzola a lungo come un vagabondo, guarda le finestre delle case, i giardini fioriti e i parchi che segnano l’avvicendarsi delle stagioni, traendo dall’attività contemplativa un piacere interiore e sperperando il tempo allo stesso modo del denaro.

In queste lunghe parentesi deambulatorie lo stile di Walser si conforma al carattere del suo personaggio, divaga senza una bussola lungo un racconto in cui ci si imbatte in marginali personaggi che mai più incontreremo in seguito, attraverso episodi apparentemente trascurabili, infarcendo di riflessioni esistenziali la descrizione degli eventi col risultato di conferire al romanzo un’atmosfera vagamente surreale nonostante la concretezza delle azioni e della minaccia di fallimento che incombe sulla famiglia Tobler e indirettamente sull’assistente; ma Joseph sente di avere ben poco da perdere, come testimoniano le sue considerazioni nel fulmineo finale del romanzo: “…si mette nella valigia il poco che si possiede, e si parte. Da qualche parte si andrà. In qualche posto, per un po’, ci si fermerà. Qualcosa si troverà. Qualcosa si farà.

[Alma · Rating 5 out of 5]

“A dor tem a sua maneira de falar.”

“Também ali ele era apenas um botão quase a cair, que ninguém se dava ao trabalho de coser bem, porque de antemão se sabia que o casaco não seria usado por muito mais tempo. Sim, a sua existência não era mais do que um casaco provisório, um fato que não cai bem.”

“A água era ao mesmo tempo fresca e morna. Talvez soprasse uma ligeira brisa ou talvez muito ao alto passasse um pássaro a voar sobre a sua cabeça. (…) Tudo tão brando na claridade luminosa. E com os braços nus e sensíveis golpeamos o elemento molhado, limpo e benevolente. Cada impulso das pernas faz-nos avançar mais um pouco nas águas bonitas e profundas. Somos transportados por correntes quentes e frias. Mergulhamos a cabeça para molhar a alegria doida que temos no peito, fechamos os olhos e a boca e sustemos a respiração para sentir no corpo este arroubo. (…) E nunca vamos ao fundo. Depois fechamos bem os olhos e mergulhamos no elemento líquido insondável, verde e firme, e nadamos até terra.
Magnífico!”

“Os dois olhos encontraram-se. Os olhos do ajudante desviaram-se dos olhos da mulher, quase por um sentido das conveniências. Joseph sentiu, como tinha de sentir, que teria sido quase uma insolência fazer frente ao olhar da mulher, de novo cheio daquele espanto, num reflexo tão fiel de sobranceria que, ninguém o podia negar, lhe assentava tão bem no rosto. De que serviam os olhos de um ajudante se não para se desviarem e baixarem, e que expressão seria mais natural no outro par de olhos do que a expressão de espanto e surpresa?”

“As quatro estações têm todas os seus cheiros e cores particulares. Quando vemos a Primavera, julgamos nunca ter visto nada assim. A exuberância do Verão é sempre nova e mágica em cada novo ano. Só este ano vemos bem pela primeira vez o Outono. E quando chega o Inverno é um Inverno novo que chega, muito, muito diferente do Inverno do ano passado ou de três anos atrás. Sim, também os anos têm as suas melodias próprias e os seus próprios cheiros. Ter passado o ano aqui ou ali quer dizer ter vivido e visto esse ano. Os lugares e os anos estão estritamente unidos, e o que dizer da ligação entre os acontecimentos e os anos? As experiências podem dar novas cores a uma década inteira, quanto mais a um breve ano.”

“Em casa, entretanto, a preocupação com as necessidades quotidianas já começara a bater levemente nos vidros da janela, a levantar uma cortina, a olhar comodamente para o interior da família Tobler, a ficar à porta para lembrar a quem passasse a sensação de incerteza. A preocupação mostrava-se agora mais interessada do que no Verão. Rondava a casa e examinava o terreno, mas sempre pela calada. Bastava-lhe que alguém por vezes sentisse a sua presença, era cortês e cautelosa. Contentava-se com o umbral de uma porta, com a cornija de uma janela, com um cantinho no telhado ou debaixo da mesa. Não era arrogante, com o seu sopro frio roçava no coração de Frau Tobler de tempos a tempos, fazendo com que ela por vezes, em pleno dia, se voltasse como se alguém estivesse atrás de si, como se devesse perguntar: «Quem é que está atrás de mim?»”

“Ser jovem é errar, é falar e agir sem pensar muito, só assim se pode avançar.”

[Sherrymoon · Rating 5 out of 5]

Das war doch ein wunderbar schönes Werk für mich, und ich empfehle es jedem, der ab und zu das Leben als zauberhaft empfindet, unberührt von all dem Hass, all der Angst, all den täglichen Kämpfen. Mit diesem Text, so würde ich behaupten, kann es einem passieren, dass man sich in Walsers Schreibe verliebt, wobei ich anzufügen habe, dass ich vorgängig nur "Der Spaziergang" von Walser gelesen habe und mit seinen anderen Werke bisher nicht in Berührung kam.

So rufe ich dir zu bibliophiler Freund: Nimm es und lies! Entdecke die Köstlichkeit, Heiterkeit, Leichtfüssigkeit aber auch Tiefen-Sinnigkeit Walsers.

Im Nachhinein muss ich mit Bedauern sagen: Warum nur konnte dieses Buch nicht umfangreicher sein? So gerne hätte ich noch länger und noch anderweitig in dieser Welt geweilt, all die Charakteren waren mir so sehr ans Herz gewachsen!

[Kuszma · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Toblerék háza: milyen rendületlenül, mégis kedvesen áll ez a ház a sarkain, mintha csupa báj lakozna benne, csupa ötlet! Egy ilyen házat nem könnyű lerombolni; hosszú élettartamot szántak neki a szorgos, ügyes kezek, amelyek habarcsból, gerendákból és téglából rakták össze. A tóról fújdogáló szél nem ingatja meg, de talán még egy orkán sem. Hogyan is árthatna egy ilyen háznak néhány üzleti balfogás?"

A fenn említett villa egy kies dombtetőn áll, pazar kilátással a tóra. Példaszerű polgári család lakja: Tobler, a mérnök, feltaláló és vállalkozó, valamint felesége és a csimoták. Ide érkezik egy szép nyári napon az ifjú Joseph Marti, hogy mindenesként segítse a főnök urat bokros teendőiben - egyengesse az olyan páratlan találmányok útját, mint a reklámóra vagy a lövedékautomata. Amelyeknek magam ugyan nem sok értelmét látom, de hát ki vagyok én, hogy kétségbe vonjam Tobler úr lángelméjét. Joseph, ez a "sebbel-lobbal megkötött bog" sem tamáskodik, nem zavarja az unortodox bérezési szisztéma sem (ami alatt a bérezés hiányát kell érteni), feloldódik a bukolikus családi idillben, a svájci vidéki élet örömeiben, mintha foglyul ejtené őt az eddig sosem kóstolt nagypolgári atmoszféra.

Amivel amúgy, mint csakhamar kiderül, akad némi gond. Walter gonddal cirkalmazott, finoman pöndörödő mondatai mögött ugyanis ennek az életvitelnek az alapvető hazugságai bújnak meg. A látszólag tevékeny Tobler úr vérbeli üzleti antitalentum, aki csak az adósságok felhalmozásában jeleskedik, Joseph pedig azon kapja magát, hogy munkája oroszlánrészét a hitelezőknek küldött haladékkérő levelek teszik ki. Ahogy a verőfényes nyár lassan ködös őszbe, majd kopogós télbe fordul, úgy szaporodnak a repedések a Tobler-család fundamentumán, Walser pedig azon van, hogy a maga gazdag prózájával minél finomabban ragadja meg az összeomlás esztétikáját.

Ui.: Tépelődöm, van-e létjogosultsága a walseri mondatokkal kapcsolatban a "buja" jelzőnek. Ahogy Walser ír, abban van valami tobzódó, valami túlcsorduló, ugyanakkor azt a hatást kelti, mintha egyben el is akarna leplezni valamit. Mintha folyton kerülgetné bizonyos dolgok kimondását, amelyek nem férnek bele a polgári irodalom önképébe. Különösen Toblerné és Joseph páros jeleneteiben éreztem, hogy itt egész regények vannak elhallgatva, belefojtva az elbeszélőbe.

[Hakan · Rating 4 out of 5]

1908'de yayınlanmış olan Yardımcı - Gezinti (öyküler) ve ilk romanı Tanner Kardeşler'den sonra - Walser'den yine keyifle okuduğum üçüncü kitap oldu. Duru ve insanı içine çeken üslubuyla, gözlem gücüyle, doğaya olan sevgisiyle, karakterlerini ikna edici bir şekilde işlemesiyle, bireye odaklanan yönüyle gerçekten çok iyi bir yazar Walser. Sakin bir suda yüzer gibi okunan roman, düşüşte olan ama bunun pek kabullenmek istemeyen bir burjuva ailenin malikanesinde, evin reisi, iflah olmaz kaybeden mucit/mühendis Bay Tobler'in "Yardımcı"sı olarak 5-6 ay geçiren Joseph Marti'nin hikayesini anlatıyor. Doğayı ve insanları seven, düzenin bir parçası olmayı umursamayan, yeri geldiğinde çekip gitme cesareti gösteren karakterleriyle Walser'in eserleri yüz küsür yıl önce yazılmış olsa da günümüzde hala, hatta belki de daha fazla geçerli. Bu yazarı okudukça "Eğer Walser'in yüz bin okuyucusu olsa dünya daha iyi bir yer olurdu" diyen Herman Hesse'nin ne kadar haklı olduğunu da anlıyorsunuz. Çevirisi sağlam olan Cemal Ener, kaleme aldığı Sonsöz'le de gayet iyi bir iş kotarmış, aydınlatıcı bir katkı sağlamış.

[Mostafa · Rating 3 out of 5]

خوب بود!
فضای کافکایی رو درنظر بگیرد و کمی طنز و سرخوشی و امید بهش اضافه کنید میشه این!
والرز هم دوره کافکا بوده و کافکا از این کتاب تعریف کرده
داستان روایتگر زندگی کارمندیه که میخواد خوب کار کنه، تقابل سرشت طبیعت و آدم، تغییر نحوه زندگی در ابتدای قرن بیستم
نویسنده داستان رو از خاطراتش گرفته و اتفاقات و مکانهای داستان همگی واقعی بودن و فقط اسامی عوض شده

[Domenico Fina · Rating 5 out of 5]

"L'amore non s'impara. Lo si ha e lo si sente o non lo si ha e non lo si sente. Non averlo significa, credo, non averlo mai".

[Sini · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ik hou erg van Robert Walser. Zijn korte romans "Jakob von Gunten" en "De rover" horen bij mijn topfavorieten, zijn korte verhalen vind ik fabuleus, en ook van zijn andere werk geniet ik als een kleuter. Elk Walser- boek is een feest van onaangepastheid, en al zijn hoofdpersonen kiezen voor een leven dat volkomen nederig en onbepaald is, en vol van omfloerste treurigheid, maar tegelijk ook vederlicht, en zonder de verplichtingen van gevestigde burgermannen. Want het zijn kleine, onaanzienlijke mensen, die klein willen blijven: bedienden of werklozen die in de alleronderste regionen wonen, en alleen daar kunnen leven en ademen. Of grote kinderen die hun naïeve kinderblik nooit kunnen of willen kwijtraken, simpelweg omdat ze zich niet thuis voelen in de wereld van de volwassenen. Dat heeft zeker iets treurigs en wanhopigs, want hun leventjes zijn getekend door onbestendigheid, armoe en thuisloosheid. Maar hun lichtheid is voor mij heel benijdenswaardig, net als het ongrijpbare geluk dat zij soms voelen. Natuurlijk, het is bijzonder jammer dat zij geen vaste voet in de maatschappij kunnen krijgen en daardoor steeds op de dool zijn, maar precies dat geeft hen tegelijk een grote vrijheid, een bijna jaloersmakende onthechting van alle zwaarwichtigheid die het normale leven kenmerkt. En die onthechting lijkt mij geweldig, hoe ondraaglijk licht deze toestand vast ook is.

Ook "De bediende" las ik dus weer met veel plezier. Het is Walsers tweede roman, en de meest succesrijke tijdens zijn leven. Het was ook een van zijn meest autobiografische romans: Walser heeft naar eigen zeggen niets verzonnen, en heeft alle personages en gebeurtenissen aan zijn eigen leven ontleend. De onaanzienlijke bediende Joseph Marti, hoofdpersoon van deze roman, maakt dus dezelfde soort dingen mee die Walser zelf meemaakte, als werkloze en onaanzienlijke bediende. En dat alles in de zo kenmerkende humoresk- wanhopige Walser-stijl, vol van melancholieke vederlichtheid. Een stijl die naar mijn smaak weer mooi is getroffen door - de helaas overleden-Machteld Bokhove, net als in haar vorige Walser- vertalingen.

Hoofdpersoon Joseph Marti wordt aan het begin van deze roman aangesteld als kantoorbediende bij huize Tobler, een firma die draait om allerlei fantasievolle maar weinig rendabele uitvindingen. Zoals een reclameklok, een ziekenstoel en een schuttersautomaat. De firma is aan huis gevestigd, en Joseph krijgt een kamer in de statige villa van de familie Tobler: mede daardoor is hij behalve kantoorbediende ook een soort huisknecht, en is hij vaak langer bezig met de tuin sproeien of met sigaren roken dan met zakelijke brieven schrijven of balansen opmaken. In de keuze voor en uitvoering van zijn taken is hij bovendien erg besluiteloos en wispelturig, net als zijn baas overigens en net als het hele gezin Tobler. De instructies van de heer Tobler veranderen voortdurend van inhoud en toon, en Joseph reageert daarop voortdurend met veel verwondering en twijfel, en met de naïeve onaangepastheid van een kind. Ook zwenkt hij soms in één zin van opstandigheid naar zelfvernedering en onderdanigheid, of van brutaal zelfvertrouwen naar kruiperige lafheid, of (bijvoorbeeld in brieven aan schuldeisers) van bijna provocerende onverschilligheid naar onderdanig gesmeek. En ook in zijn werk is hij soms de besluiteloosheid zelve: "Beland aan zijn schrijftafel probeerde hij te werken alsof er niets was gebeurd, maar het was geen werk wat hij deed, eerder een tasten en tikken met trillende, verstrooide vingers, een poging om kalm te zijn, een niet- kunnen, een ander iets, een niets, iets zwarts". Waardoor hij zich een ezel en nietsnut voelt. Maar even later geniet hij weer met volle teugen van zijn wandeling.

Josephs karakter is kortom volkomen onvast, en mistig bovendien: het is een grillig en nevelig oppervlak, waaronder nauwelijks diepte schuilgaat. Eigenlijk heeft hij nauwelijks zoiets als een karakter, zoals hij ook nauwelijks een identiteit heeft en ook geen positie in de wereld. Zodat hij zich ook nauwelijks weet te verweren tegen de ondergang en het nakende faillissement van de firma Tobler. Hij weet zelfs niet hoe hij zich daaronder moet voelen: wanhopig, strijdvaardig, onverschillig of gelaten. Al voelt hij op enig moment wel een bepaalde treurnis: "Wat voel ik me ellendig. Hier mocht ik "hersenloos" zijn, tot op zekere hoogte tenminste. Ik zou graag weten op welke plaatsen van deze geciviliseerde wereld dat verder nog is toegestaan? En de tuin die ik zo vaak besproeid heb, en de grot? Waar krijg ik dat? Mensen als ik genieten verder nergens het genoegen en de betovering van tuinen. Ben ik verloren? Ik voel me ellendig, ik geloof dat ik nu een sigaar zal moeten roken. Ook dat zal ik missen. Het zij zo". Ook in deze passage zwalkt Josephs gemoed behoorlijk heen en weer, van zich ellendig voelen naar behoefte aan een sigaar naar berusting. Maar mooi vind ik vooral Josephs aarzelende conclusie dat hij een soort van thuis had bij de familie Tobler omdat hij daar "hersenloos" kon en mocht zijn. In die hersenloosheid, en de daarmee gepaard gaande onaangepastheid en onvastheid, zoekt hij dus een nederig thuis. Of, zoals iemand tegen hem zegt: "Jij wordt een beetje door het leven verwaarloosd, hoor je, en daarom kun jij zo mooi je eigen voorkeuren trouw blijven". Of, zoals een nog weer ander personage tegen hem zegt: "U hoeft met niemand ter wereld, met niemands eigenaardigheid en behoefte rekening te houden, niemand weerhoudt u ervan in het weidse en ongewisse rond te dolen. Dat is misschien vaak bitter, maar wat mooi en wat vrij kan dat ook zijn".

Ronddolen in het weidse en ongewisse is exact wat Joseph doet, meestal in zijn eigen hoofd. En behalve bitterheid levert dat ook veel aanstekelijke vrijheid en onberedeneerbare vreugde op. Bijvoorbeeld: "Wat rustig en stil was het hierboven. Hier voelde hij zich bevrijd, van wat, dat wist hij eigenlijk niet eens. Maar het volstond dit gevoel te hebben: de ware oorzaak was, dacht hij, vast ergens hier of daar verstopt, maar wat konden oorzaken hem nu schelen. Iets goudkleurigs leek om hem heen te zweven". En zie ook hoe zijn stemming zomaar van zelfkwelling kan overslaan naar pure jubel: "Hij voelde een duistere, knagende golf over zijn hele bestaan heen gaan. Zijn eigen, naar het hemzelf voorkwam anders niet slechte ziel snoerde hem aan alle kanten dicht. Hij beefde zo hevig dat de getallen die hij zojuist had opgeschreven er naderhand verschrikkelijk vreemd, verschoven en groot uitzagen. Maar na een uur voelde hij zich heel goed. Hij ging naar de post, het was net mooi weer, hij liep daar zomaar, en allengs geloofde hij dat alles hem kuste. De kleine schattige blaadjes leken allemaal in een liefkozende, kleurige zwerm naar hem toe te vliegen. De voorbijkomende, overigens volkomen alledaagse mensen zagen er zo mooi uit, letterlijk tot om-de-hals-te-vliegen aan toe. Hij keek blij alle tuinen in, naar de open hemel omhoog. Wat waren de witte, frisse wolken helder en mooi. En dat verzadigde zoete blauw".

Een passage vol jubel, naïef en ongeremd als van een kind. Jubel om zoiets gewoons als het mooie weer, dat is iets waar ik als verkalkte volwassene veel te weinig gevoel voor heb. Precies datzelfde kinderlijke en benijdenswaardige geluk komt ook in de volgende passage luidkeels aan bod: "En als dat mooie weer dan kwam, wat een gelukkig gevoel kon je dat geven. Er waren voornamelijk drie kleuren in de natuur te zien, wit, blauw en goud, nevel, zon en hemelsblauw, drie zeer, zeer speciale, ja zelfs voorname kleuren. Je kon dan doorgaan met buiten eten in de tuin, je stond daar dan zomaar, leunend tegen het hek en dacht erover na of je dat al eens eerder, ergens in je jeugd misschien, kon hebben gezien. Warmte en kleur waren één geworden. Ja, zei je, zulke kleuren leveren zo'n warmte op! De omgeving leek te glimlachen, de hemel zelf leek met zijn uiterlijk gelukkig te zijn, hij leek de geur en de inhoud en de lieflijke betekenis te zijn van dit geglimlach van landschap en meer. Zoals dat alles er zomaar bij kon liggen, stil kon zijn en kon schitteren. Als je over het meeroppervlak keek, had je het gevoel, en daar hoefde je niet eens bediende voor te zijn, aangesproken te worden door vriendelijke, weldadige woorden. Keek je in de geelachtige bomenwereld, dan welde er een vage melancholie in je op. Keek je naar het huis, dan moest je lachen [...]. De wereld leek vol muziek. Boven de kronen van de bomen verschenen als verre wegstervende klanken de verblindend- licht- witte omtrekken van de Alpen. Je keek ernaar en voelde dat alles opeens als onwerkelijk aan. Dan was 't weer anders. Andere uitzichten, andere gevoelens! Ook de omgeving leek te voelen en haar gevoelens te veranderen. Het gevoelde verloor zich iedere keer in dat allesoverheersende blauw. Ja, alles was blauw beneveld en bewasemd".

Walser is echt de outsider der outsiders, ook in "De bediende", en van alle outsiders een van de meest ontroerende en meest opvrolijkende. Ook dit Walser- boek ontroerde mij door de melancholie, en door de kinderlijk- naïeve aangepastheid van de hoofdpersoon en de diverse nevenpersonages. Maar ik werd vooral heel vrolijk, door de aanstekelijke jubelervaringen van Joseph: jubelervaringen waarin hij zich helemaal overgeeft aan de lichtheid van het bestaan omdat hij aan de zwaarwichtigheden van dat bestaan geen boodschap heeft. En ik zal nog lang blijven namijmeren over de nederige Joseph, die ervoor kiest klein te zijn en te blijven, en die daardoor zijn leven lang kan blijven ronddolen in het weidse en ongewisse.

[Inderjit Sanghera · Rating 4 out of 5]

Robert Walser was an outcast in the truest sense; a man who barely existed on even the fringes of society; a lonely and isolated star, whose flame was destined to perish beneath the cruel snowfall of a funereal Christmas morning. Yet his works rise, phoenix like, from the ashes of his lachrymose existence, in some ways, with their fantastical environments and deadpan humour they act as a kind of precursor to Kafka, in other ways, with his random, rambling, rambunctious meanderings into irrelevant and irreverent topics they echo Gogol (Walser himself resembles is very much a Gogolian figure) and his characters, with their tedious and unreal behaviours and dialogues resemble the very worst of Dostoevsky; Walser is, in other words, a mixed bag of banality and brilliance and it is often difficult to differentiate one from the other.

The Assistant is the story of Joseph Marti and his brief employment as a clerk with a failed inventor, Carl Tobler. Walser’s imagery shimmers with the iridescence of a dream; dark, dank and delirious, there is something fundamentally unreal about his prose, as if the mind which created is forever teetering on the oblivion of awakening from a morose, yet magical, slumber;

“Am I only dreaming this, or am I really experiencing it, thought Joseph, and what does the cigar lady have to do with Frau Wirsich? Then a magnificently constructed, curvilinear golden boat sailed into the shop, the woman got in, and off she went, far, far away, until she vanished in a black, glaring, acrid stretch of sky, but a tiny dot of her remained suspended in the air.”

Walser has a sensitive eye for the variance of colour in the sky and atmosphere according to the different seasons. More than this, however, colours and seasons coalesce to reflect the emotion of the characters (Martin in particular) as the novel is beset with a variety of colours, blue, red, yellow and green in accordance to the mood of the characters. There is nothing particularly convincing or well-rounded about Walser’s characters, instead they float spectre like round the novel, the rare passages in which they are well fleshed out are drowned beneath the deluge of tedious Dostoevskian dialogue which Walser writes for them. This is particularly true for the female characters, whose dialogue and actions are cliché ridden and reflect Walser’s lack of interaction with other people-he is like a man who is staring in a house of people in a darkly tinted window. That is not to say that he is unable to elicit our sympathy for the characters; Walser has an eye for the pathetic, from the pathetic inventor Tobler, to his lonely wife Frau Tobler and the heart-wrenching Silvi, who is subject to constant beating by both Frau Tobler and the maid, Pauline. Where Walser best excels, however, is when he lets his imagination run free, his rambles can often be infuriating, but at other times beautiful;

“If you gazed into the yellow realm of the trees, a tender melancholy stirred in your breast. If you looked at the house, you felt compelled to laugh, although despotic Pauline was just brushing out rugs at the kitchen window. The world seemed to be full of music. Above the crowns of the trees, the dazzling gauzy-white outlines of the Alps appeared like notes of music fading into the distance. Looking at all these things, you were suddenly struck by how unreal it all looked. Then another time things were different. Other vista, other feelings! The region itself appeared to be sentient and to be experiencing different feelings. And what was being felt vanished each time into the all-encompassing blue.”

His prose has a plastic quality; the ethereal and often surreal imagery which dots the novel is permeated beneath a perpetual haze of fog, like a Turner seascape, Walser’s futile attempts to recreate people and the world around him are lost beneath the weirdness of his imagination. Indeed when Walser ceases to lecture the reader on human nature and gives free reign to his imagination and unique world view, the prose soars with the wonders of his imagination;

“The small paths went snaking pale and yellow through the shimmering white meadows, the limb of the thousand trees were glittering with frost; such an utterly sweet spectacle! The farmhouses stood there amid all this delicate white branching splendour, like decorative or ornamental houses created only to be looked at and for the understanding of the child.”

[Jimmy · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Incidentally, I still owe you money, don't I, and I'm almost glad of this. Exterior ties can preserve the life of inner bonds."

This book made me smile almost throughout. The humor in it is so soft and enjoyable, it doesn't take you hostage. It's like a light breeze. The inner and outer dialogues of Joseph Marti, the main character, reflects the little noodle in the human cavity that vacillates constantly between being content/dutiful/grateful/polite and being indignant/rebellious/proud/angry. The book essentially has no plot except for these tiny changes in mood, like the changes in weather, but oh is it well written, with such joy and lightness and humor. I love Robert Walser more with every passing book.

"Mercantile coups are, as a rule, most successful when they are initiated telephonically."

[Derian · Rating 4 out of 5]

Qué loco lindo que es Walser. Me siento muy atraído por su prosa. Me pasa con pocos. Cuando lo leo siento como si me estuviera susurrando lo que cuenta en el oído. Los narradores de Walser no cuentan historias, las comentan.

[Miloš · Rating 5 out of 5]

Tebe život malčice zanemaruje, čuješ li, i zato možeš tako lepo ostajati veran sopstvenim naklonostima. Ne želim ni da te vređam ni da te veličam, i jedno i drugo bi bilo neistinito, a nas dvoje smo, zar ne, do sada uvek sasvim lepo prolazili sa nedvosmislenim rečima. Ono što si ti meni i što sam ja tebi, to ćemo ostati jedno drugom! (Klara Jozefu) (106)

Karl Rosman i Jozef Marti su blizanci - razdvojena bebčad.

[Thomas Voss · Rating 4 out of 5]

Het is acht uur ’s ochtends, voor een vrijstaand, ‘ogenschijnlijk fraai’ huis verschijnt een 24-jarige jongeman die heen en weer drentelt, peinst, het naamplaatje met daarop C. Tobler inspecteert, nog langer wacht ‘om over iets vast heel onbelangrijks na te denken’. Dan belt hij aan. Hij mag naar binnen, hij wordt al verwacht. Een smalle trap af, weer wachten, en dan verschijnt die C. Tobler, een ingenieur en uitvinder die ‘de baas’ wordt genoemd. Algauw blijkt dit een foeterende, drinkende en ook af en toe gefrustreerde ondernemer te zijn, iemand die wat hij heeft aan geld in steeds nieuwe en steeds raardere uitvindingen pompt: een zogeheten reclameklok, een schuttersautomaat, een gepatenteerde ziekenstoel. En die 24-jarige jongen tegenover hem, die voor hem gaat werken, luistert naar de naam Joseph Marti. Of nou ja, ‘werken’, hij moet vooral brieven schrijven om schuldeisers te paaien en via nieuwe wegen geld binnen te hengelen. En salaris? Dat ontvangt hij in deze omstandigheden natuurlijk niet.

Een intrigerende dynamiek ontvouwt zich in De bediende. Niet eens zozeer omdat de roman al ruim een eeuw geleden verscheen – de Zwitser Robert Walser (1878-1956) schreef dit kennelijk zeer autobiografische verhaal in een zes weken durende roes anno 1907 – maar vooral omdat de roman gaat over een wereld die zich niet voluit laat kennen. Naar verluidt was Kafka een groot liefhebber van De bediende, en dat valt wel te begrijpen: er zit in de roman iets aangenaam ondoorgrondelijks. Alsof we vooral niet te dicht bij de hoofdpersoon Joseph Marti mogen komen. Dat zit al in zo’n zinnetje aan het begin, dat hij over iets ‘vast heel onbelangrijks’ nadacht. Wát hij dan denkt houdt de alwetende verteller in het midden, net als eigenlijk de hele roman onduidelijk blijft waarom Joseph zo weinig van zich afbijt tegen Tobler. Vertrouwen heeft hij immers niet in diens ondernemingen; hij raakt op den duur vooral gefascineerd door Toblers echtgenote, een dominante en tamelijk rebelse vrouw die op haar beurt ook helemaal niks ziet in het bedrijf van haar man.

Joseph blijft echter doen wat hem door Tobler gevraagd wordt. Hij is plichtsgetrouw, verlegen, dromerig, een tikkeltje ouwelijk (over zijn 24-jarige leeftijd denkt hij met kenmerkende ernst: ‘Dat kun je geen jeugd meer noemen. Ik ben achtergebleven in het leven’). En bovenal is hij afstandelijk, terwijl hij zelf juist probeert volop mee te doen, daarom blijft hij ook zo loyaal, hij wil opgaan in dit huishouden.

In veel opzichten is Joseph een klassieke antiheld, maar dan gelukkig wel eentje van het boeiende soort: De bediende is geen verhaal over aanhoudende misère of over mislukking, tenminste, het is direct duidelijk dat Toblers plannen tot mislukken gedoemd zijn en dat zijn gezinsleven ineenstort, maar dat lijkt Joseph niet wezenlijk te raken. Je zou kunnen zeggen dat deze roman vooral draait om de vraag hoe onderdanigheid werkt; de machtsrelatie tussen deze knecht en zijn meester raakt meer en meer verstoord. Waarom schikt Joseph zich daar zo makkelijk in? Bijna driehonderd pagina’s lang blijft hij stoïcijns zijn onbetaalde taakjes uitvoeren, en intussen mijmert hij erop los, over Toblers vrouw, over zijn gebrek aan daadkracht. Zijn gedachtekronkels zijn uitgebreid en worden steeds nadrukkelijk ingeleid, met voortdurend ‘dacht hij’ of tussenzinnen als ‘hier onderbrak de werknemer zijn gedachten’. Een ambitieuze, hedendaagse redacteur zou zeggen: goh, dit kan allemaal wel iets losser op papier terechtkomen, en als je toch gaat herschrijven, misschien wat extra witregels invoegen? En kan Joseph niet iets meer meedoen en zich mengen in zijn omgeving, waar is de buitenwereld eigenlijk, los van dat huis?

Ik werd juist meegenomen door de kale plot, door het bedeesde verteltempo met soms vreemde tijdsprongen midden in een scène, door Walsers serieuze, nog altijd opvallend toegankelijke stijl – ook een verdienste van vertaler Machteld Bokhove – en de onderkoelde humor die in de hele roman opduikt. Daarbij: de zakelijke, afstandelijke toon past bij Josephs voortdurende reflecties, die uiteindelijk vooral om hemzelf draaien. Want hij is zich ervan bewust dat zijn karakter niet wezenlijk zal veranderen. Dit is Josephs ware tragiek, die door het hele boek voelbaar is maar nergens wordt uitgesponnen of tot larmoyante scènes leidt: hoe graag hij ook wil, hoe geduldig hij ook blijft tegenover al die rare strapatsen van de huisbaas, Joseph voelt zelf al dat hij er nooit voluit bij zal horen. Vanaf het moment dat hij de villa instapt weet hij dat dit geen moment echt zijn wereld zal worden.

Als een oude roman zoals deze wordt afgestoft, is de onvermijdelijke vraag: waarom nu? De afgelopen jaren verschenen al Walsers romans De Tanners en De rover, past dit oeuvre bij het huidige tijdsgewricht? Zegt het op enige manier iets over hedendaagse problemen, ontwikkelingen? Ik zou niet weten wat. De bediende is een amodieus boek over een amodieuze jongen. En wat is het prijzenswaardig dat uitgeverij Koppernik, wars van commerciële potentie of toegankelijke ‘mediahaakjes’, het werk van Walser opnieuw uitgeeft. Een heerlijke roman, dit. Ik weet nu al dat ik dat gepieker van Joseph en die eindeloze ondernemingsdrift van Tobler nog lang zal onthouden.