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The Reader
Originally published in Switzerland and gracefully translated into English by Carol Brown Janeway, The Reader is a brief tale about sex, love, reading and shame in post-war Germany. Michael Berg is 15 when he begins a long, obsessive affair with Hanna, an enigmatic older woman. He never learns very much about her and when she disappears one day, he expects never to see her again. But, to his horror, he does. Hanna is a defendant in a trial related to Germany's Nazi past and it soon becomes clear that she is guilty of an unspeakable crime. As Michael follows the trial, he struggles with an overwhelming question: what should his generation do with its knowledge of the Holocaust? "We should not believe we can comprehend the incomprehensible, we may not compare the incomparable... Should we only fall silent in revulsion, shame, and guilt? To what purpose?"
The Reader, which won the Boston Book Review's Fisk Fiction Prize, wrestles with many more demons in its few, remarkably lucid pages. What does it mean to love those people--parents, grandparents, even lovers--who committed the worst atrocities the world has ever known? And is any atonement possible through literature? Schlink's prose is clean and pared down, stripped of unnecessary imagery, dialogue and excess in any form. What remains is an austerely beautiful narrative of the attempt to breach the gap between Germany's pre and post-war generations, between the guilty and the innocent and between words and silence. --R Ellis, Amazon.com
218 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1995
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91390 people want to read
About the author
Bernhard Schlink
79 books2,254 followersBernhard Schlink is a German lawyer, academic, and novelist. He is best known for his novel The Reader, which was first published in 1995 and became an international bestseller. He won the 2014 Park Kyong-ni Prize.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 14,385 reviews
January 19, 2021
What About the Children?
The Reader is a profound exposition of the 'second generation' issues concerning moral guilt for the Holocaust. But it is, I think, also relevant more generally to the way in which human beings get ensnared incrementally into the evils of their society. We are all inevitably involved in this larger problem. And, like the SS guards at a Nazi death camp, we are unaware of the moral peril of our situation, and unwilling to remove ourselves from that situation even when its harmful effects are obvious.
To be more personal and concrete: At the moment I have three acquaintances, each of whom has had a reasonably successful corporate career - one as an investment manager in the City, the second as a senior executive of an international sporting organisation, and the third as a partner of a global accounting firm. All three are, however, deeply dissatisfied with their lives.
Their marriages, they all feel, are on the edge of breakdown. One has had a psychological breakdown and is now institutionalised. Another has been made redundant and, despite a large payout, sees nothing but existential gloom for the rest of his days. The last is disgusted with the complete indifference of both his colleagues and clients to the visible harm their firms are inflicting on the world. All of them, it shouldn't be necessary to emphasise, 'volunteered' for the careers and styles of living they now suffer from.
A central question posed to The Reader's defendant in her trial for causing the death of Jewish prisoners trapped in a burning church is, "Why didn't you unlock the door?" I posed essentially the same question to my three acquaintances: "The situation you now find yourself in did not occur overnight." I gently suggested, "Therefore as you perceived what was happening to your mind, to your family, to the quality of your life, to national culture, why didn't you stop?" In principle, stopping is even less difficult than unlocking a door.
The reasons given for not stopping were almost identical in all three cases: "I can't afford to." The financial denotation of 'afford', however, wasn't the main point. Guilt in not providing what their families needed was important. Financial compensation had become just that - compensation for the companionship of marriage and family that had been denied. This was associated with a fear of the disappointment or disapproval by their friends and family. Success is naturally a social matter defined for us by those we know well. But upon pushing a bit harder, it was also clear that the common strand among them was that each believed he had somehow let himself down by not realising the full potential he believed he had in him.
This psychic driver of "being the best you can" struck loud bells in my own experience. It also reminded me of the remarkable book by Karen Ho, a social researcher from Princeton. Her ethnographic study of the life and culture of Wall Street, Liquidated, is as insightful as it is troublesome to anyone who asks themselves why indeed they have not simply unlocked the door to an alternative life. As she discovered in her employment in an investment bank, the culture of professional firms like Goldman Sachs and McKinsey & Company is grounded in a simple, direct message: "You are here (or want to be here in the case of applicants) because you are the best and want to be among the best." Call it the Culture of Presumptive Excellence (CPE) for short.
CPE is what stimulates people to work consistently impossible hours, in places distant from home, with no respite. It also justifies the treatment of subordinates as corporate fodder, hiring and firing with panache, and insisting on single-minded loyalty as one moves up the ranks. Standards of excellence, after all, do not maintain themselves. In my experience, CPE, not compensation, or excitement, or 'perks', is the motive force of not just Wall Street but of the entire global corporate world. Escaping that world is no easier than escaping the totalitarian society of Nazi Germany. The identity and the obligations of 'being the best' is a very powerful lock indeed, without any obvious key.
Of course CPE is not merely a corporate problem; it is a societal problem. It is a problem of the perceived order. Schlink's war-trial defendant, Hanna, did not unlock the doors of the church to let the prisoners out, not because she is evil or because she was following orders. She was afraid, she says, of the disorder that would have ensued: prisoners running amok without the proper supervision to get them back in marching line.
It is this same disorder that my three acquaintances seem to fear most. The problem with being 'the best' is that the criterion for being best has to be set by someone with authority. The self-identity of the best depends on this. To reject this classification and the criteria that define it, one also must reject the authority that sanctioned it. This authority is so diffuse throughout society, that to reject it means to reject the entire society. The loss of both identity and context for establishing a new identity is the ultimate disorder, chaos.
Jean Korelitz, for example, herself a former admissions officer for Princeton, shows how pervasive the CPE is in the steps before entering the corporate world in her novel, Admission. Princeton's 'pitch' to applicants is exactly the same as that of the Wall Street firms to its applicants: "As the best, you will want to stay among the best, so apply to Princeton." The stage before this, entry into prep school, is also fictionalised from experience, in turn, by Louis Auchincloss, particularly in his novel, The Rector of Justin. The message doesn't vary: "We are the best and will help you stay among the best."
The destruction of personalities, families, and culture by CPE is systematic. And it is systematically defended even by those whom it excludes. The effects of CPE extend beyond those who are certifiably, as it were, the best to those who aspire to become part of the elite. Deficiencies are masked by the aspiration itself, which is merely the acceptance of the defining authority.
In The Reader, Hanna is able to hide her secret shame by joining the SS, an elite corps. I can say with a moral certainty that all three of my acquaintances have what are, to them, equivalent to Hanna's secret deficiencies. Fear of exposure is therefore a powerful motivation to keep the system going, to promote its stable orderliness even when it is so evidently destructive.
Schlink's narrator, Michael Berg, knows that Hanna could not have committed the crimes she is accused of because of the secret she is unwilling to reveal. She may be guilty but not as guilty as she appears, or of what she is charged with. What duty does he have to unlock the door with which she has imprisoned herself? To speak up, either to her or the court, would expose her to profound shame, greater shame even than that of being found guilty of war crimes perhaps. And if he does decide to speak up, how should he do it - to her? To her lawyer? To the judge? I feel the same dilemmas in advising my acquaintances, knowing that any mis-step could provoke yet more consternation as well as a pointed lack of gratitude for my solicited but still impertinent advice.
Berg's father, a philosopher, advises a simple ethical rule: don't try to second guess the criterion of the good that an individual has established for himself. This is useless advice. It simply anoints conformity as the ethical norm. Conformity is the opposite of resistance, a capacity for which is essential to avoid personal co-optation, to either totalitarianism or corporatism. Resistance which can take many forms. All of them dangerous because they challenge order and the power behind order. And all demand apparently un-virtuous behaviour. How can one advise such a course to anyone one cares about? Ultimately Berg fails to act at all.
I find myself in Berg's position. I feel any advice I can give is vapid. To suggest resistance against a corporate culture that is so pervasive and so domineering is madness. I can only ask the question "Best is the superlative for what?" But I can't answer the question. I am as trapped as anyone else. Will the children of my acquaintances, or my own, look at the lives of their parents with the same dismay as the so-called second generation of German children perceived their parents after 1945?
Schlink's story ends in tragic sadness and unresolved guilt. Perhaps no other ending is possible.
The Reader is a profound exposition of the 'second generation' issues concerning moral guilt for the Holocaust. But it is, I think, also relevant more generally to the way in which human beings get ensnared incrementally into the evils of their society. We are all inevitably involved in this larger problem. And, like the SS guards at a Nazi death camp, we are unaware of the moral peril of our situation, and unwilling to remove ourselves from that situation even when its harmful effects are obvious.
To be more personal and concrete: At the moment I have three acquaintances, each of whom has had a reasonably successful corporate career - one as an investment manager in the City, the second as a senior executive of an international sporting organisation, and the third as a partner of a global accounting firm. All three are, however, deeply dissatisfied with their lives.
Their marriages, they all feel, are on the edge of breakdown. One has had a psychological breakdown and is now institutionalised. Another has been made redundant and, despite a large payout, sees nothing but existential gloom for the rest of his days. The last is disgusted with the complete indifference of both his colleagues and clients to the visible harm their firms are inflicting on the world. All of them, it shouldn't be necessary to emphasise, 'volunteered' for the careers and styles of living they now suffer from.
A central question posed to The Reader's defendant in her trial for causing the death of Jewish prisoners trapped in a burning church is, "Why didn't you unlock the door?" I posed essentially the same question to my three acquaintances: "The situation you now find yourself in did not occur overnight." I gently suggested, "Therefore as you perceived what was happening to your mind, to your family, to the quality of your life, to national culture, why didn't you stop?" In principle, stopping is even less difficult than unlocking a door.
The reasons given for not stopping were almost identical in all three cases: "I can't afford to." The financial denotation of 'afford', however, wasn't the main point. Guilt in not providing what their families needed was important. Financial compensation had become just that - compensation for the companionship of marriage and family that had been denied. This was associated with a fear of the disappointment or disapproval by their friends and family. Success is naturally a social matter defined for us by those we know well. But upon pushing a bit harder, it was also clear that the common strand among them was that each believed he had somehow let himself down by not realising the full potential he believed he had in him.
This psychic driver of "being the best you can" struck loud bells in my own experience. It also reminded me of the remarkable book by Karen Ho, a social researcher from Princeton. Her ethnographic study of the life and culture of Wall Street, Liquidated, is as insightful as it is troublesome to anyone who asks themselves why indeed they have not simply unlocked the door to an alternative life. As she discovered in her employment in an investment bank, the culture of professional firms like Goldman Sachs and McKinsey & Company is grounded in a simple, direct message: "You are here (or want to be here in the case of applicants) because you are the best and want to be among the best." Call it the Culture of Presumptive Excellence (CPE) for short.
CPE is what stimulates people to work consistently impossible hours, in places distant from home, with no respite. It also justifies the treatment of subordinates as corporate fodder, hiring and firing with panache, and insisting on single-minded loyalty as one moves up the ranks. Standards of excellence, after all, do not maintain themselves. In my experience, CPE, not compensation, or excitement, or 'perks', is the motive force of not just Wall Street but of the entire global corporate world. Escaping that world is no easier than escaping the totalitarian society of Nazi Germany. The identity and the obligations of 'being the best' is a very powerful lock indeed, without any obvious key.
Of course CPE is not merely a corporate problem; it is a societal problem. It is a problem of the perceived order. Schlink's war-trial defendant, Hanna, did not unlock the doors of the church to let the prisoners out, not because she is evil or because she was following orders. She was afraid, she says, of the disorder that would have ensued: prisoners running amok without the proper supervision to get them back in marching line.
It is this same disorder that my three acquaintances seem to fear most. The problem with being 'the best' is that the criterion for being best has to be set by someone with authority. The self-identity of the best depends on this. To reject this classification and the criteria that define it, one also must reject the authority that sanctioned it. This authority is so diffuse throughout society, that to reject it means to reject the entire society. The loss of both identity and context for establishing a new identity is the ultimate disorder, chaos.
Jean Korelitz, for example, herself a former admissions officer for Princeton, shows how pervasive the CPE is in the steps before entering the corporate world in her novel, Admission. Princeton's 'pitch' to applicants is exactly the same as that of the Wall Street firms to its applicants: "As the best, you will want to stay among the best, so apply to Princeton." The stage before this, entry into prep school, is also fictionalised from experience, in turn, by Louis Auchincloss, particularly in his novel, The Rector of Justin. The message doesn't vary: "We are the best and will help you stay among the best."
The destruction of personalities, families, and culture by CPE is systematic. And it is systematically defended even by those whom it excludes. The effects of CPE extend beyond those who are certifiably, as it were, the best to those who aspire to become part of the elite. Deficiencies are masked by the aspiration itself, which is merely the acceptance of the defining authority.
In The Reader, Hanna is able to hide her secret shame by joining the SS, an elite corps. I can say with a moral certainty that all three of my acquaintances have what are, to them, equivalent to Hanna's secret deficiencies. Fear of exposure is therefore a powerful motivation to keep the system going, to promote its stable orderliness even when it is so evidently destructive.
Schlink's narrator, Michael Berg, knows that Hanna could not have committed the crimes she is accused of because of the secret she is unwilling to reveal. She may be guilty but not as guilty as she appears, or of what she is charged with. What duty does he have to unlock the door with which she has imprisoned herself? To speak up, either to her or the court, would expose her to profound shame, greater shame even than that of being found guilty of war crimes perhaps. And if he does decide to speak up, how should he do it - to her? To her lawyer? To the judge? I feel the same dilemmas in advising my acquaintances, knowing that any mis-step could provoke yet more consternation as well as a pointed lack of gratitude for my solicited but still impertinent advice.
Berg's father, a philosopher, advises a simple ethical rule: don't try to second guess the criterion of the good that an individual has established for himself. This is useless advice. It simply anoints conformity as the ethical norm. Conformity is the opposite of resistance, a capacity for which is essential to avoid personal co-optation, to either totalitarianism or corporatism. Resistance which can take many forms. All of them dangerous because they challenge order and the power behind order. And all demand apparently un-virtuous behaviour. How can one advise such a course to anyone one cares about? Ultimately Berg fails to act at all.
I find myself in Berg's position. I feel any advice I can give is vapid. To suggest resistance against a corporate culture that is so pervasive and so domineering is madness. I can only ask the question "Best is the superlative for what?" But I can't answer the question. I am as trapped as anyone else. Will the children of my acquaintances, or my own, look at the lives of their parents with the same dismay as the so-called second generation of German children perceived their parents after 1945?
Schlink's story ends in tragic sadness and unresolved guilt. Perhaps no other ending is possible.
February 26, 2024
If ever there was a book to go into blind, it would be this one. I’ve never felt so morally conflicted while reading. Much like the award-winning film, it’s thought-provoking in a way I’ve never quite experienced. I found it hard to put down.
“There’s no need to talk, because the truth of what one says lies in what one does.”
The Reader is told in three parts, across many years. Set in post-war Germany, 15-year-old Michael Berg is suffering from hepatitis, and becomes sick outside the building of 36-year-old Hanna Schmitz. She comforts him and walks him home. Later, once feeling better, he goes to thank her. An affair then commences that will ultimately shape his life.
Themes and subject matter here won’t be for everyone. It’s not afraid to be controversial. The short chapters moved quickly and I found myself immediately captivated. The tension between Michael and Hanna was palpable. Their interactions soon revolve around Michael reading to her. This activity is pivotal to the plot and later takes on different meanings. They don’t even learn each other’s names until their sixth or seventh meeting, with Hannah referring to Michael as ‘Kid’ throughout – reinforcing the taboo nature of their “relationship.”
“Why does what was beautiful suddenly shatter in hindsight because it concealed darker truths?”
As Michael tells his story, you gain an intimate understanding of what he’s thinking and feeling – perhaps even more than the film. The book explores many themes. I found the ideas of ‘numbness’ and ‘detachment’ among the most fascinating. It was also interesting to see how this relationship impacted Michael, altering the entire course of his life and personality in various ways.
Without giving spoilers, the court room scenes and revelations were harrowing. The Holocaust will always be heartbreaking to read – in any context. It was portrayed here in ways I hadn’t read before, which added to the poignancy and its ability to make me reflect, become lost in thought.
Despite its short length, I felt things got too philosophical towards the end – though this didn’t detract much. The prose itself is quite simple, yet still packs a punch. The Reader is a book that will stimulate emotions – one way or another. The final scenes are good examples of this.
If you’re after a quick, yet powerful and thought-provoking read, then The Reader might be for you. It’s a haunting story that will undoubtedly linger once you’ve closed the book. The film is just as good.
“She stopped at the window, looked out into the darkness, at the reflection of the bookshelves, and at her own.”
“There’s no need to talk, because the truth of what one says lies in what one does.”
The Reader is told in three parts, across many years. Set in post-war Germany, 15-year-old Michael Berg is suffering from hepatitis, and becomes sick outside the building of 36-year-old Hanna Schmitz. She comforts him and walks him home. Later, once feeling better, he goes to thank her. An affair then commences that will ultimately shape his life.
Themes and subject matter here won’t be for everyone. It’s not afraid to be controversial. The short chapters moved quickly and I found myself immediately captivated. The tension between Michael and Hanna was palpable. Their interactions soon revolve around Michael reading to her. This activity is pivotal to the plot and later takes on different meanings. They don’t even learn each other’s names until their sixth or seventh meeting, with Hannah referring to Michael as ‘Kid’ throughout – reinforcing the taboo nature of their “relationship.”
“Why does what was beautiful suddenly shatter in hindsight because it concealed darker truths?”
As Michael tells his story, you gain an intimate understanding of what he’s thinking and feeling – perhaps even more than the film. The book explores many themes. I found the ideas of ‘numbness’ and ‘detachment’ among the most fascinating. It was also interesting to see how this relationship impacted Michael, altering the entire course of his life and personality in various ways.
Without giving spoilers, the court room scenes and revelations were harrowing. The Holocaust will always be heartbreaking to read – in any context. It was portrayed here in ways I hadn’t read before, which added to the poignancy and its ability to make me reflect, become lost in thought.
Despite its short length, I felt things got too philosophical towards the end – though this didn’t detract much. The prose itself is quite simple, yet still packs a punch. The Reader is a book that will stimulate emotions – one way or another. The final scenes are good examples of this.
If you’re after a quick, yet powerful and thought-provoking read, then The Reader might be for you. It’s a haunting story that will undoubtedly linger once you’ve closed the book. The film is just as good.
“She stopped at the window, looked out into the darkness, at the reflection of the bookshelves, and at her own.”
July 18, 2018
booring. is that a review?? this was just very flat to me. i wasn't offended by the subject matter - i could care less about the "scandalous" elements. but the writing was so clinical and thin. at one point, i blamed the translation, but c'mon - its not that hard to translate german to english (i can't do it, of course, but it's supposed to be one of the easiest translations) i have nothing helpful to say about this except i was bored bored bored. the characters were unappealing, the "twists" were ho-hum, and i thought it very dry .i don't know what oprah was thinking...
come to my blog!
come to my blog!
December 9, 2024
القارئ ...الرواية التي ترجمت إلي ٣٧ لغة و تعتبر أول رواية ألمانية تصل إلي قائمة الكتب الأكثر مبيعاً في صحيفة النيويورك تايمز..
الرواية في جزئها الأول بتحكي عن مايكل المراهق اللي عنده ١٥ سنة و أقام علاقة جنسية مع هانا السيدة التي تبلغ من العمر ٣٦ عاماً ..مع تقدمه في العمر وتطور الأحداث بنشوف إزاي أثرت هذه العلاقة علي حياته وعلي مشاعره تجاه الآخرين...
أما الجزء التاني-وهو الجزء اللي أعتقد أعطي شهرة لهذه الرواية- اللي بيتكلم فيه عن الهولوكوست و المحاكمات التي تمت بعد سقوط الرايخ الثالث وهتلر ..الجزء دة مبني علي فكرة العار والذنب الذي يشعر به الجيل التاني علي الجيل السابق الذي عايش فترة هتلر و إحساسهم إنه كان الممكن يرفضوا ما كان يحدث أو يحاولوا في مساعدة المعتقلين بأي طريقة...
بدون حرق للأحداث أو دخول في تفاصيل بس طبعاً في ربط مباشر بين الجزئين و يأتي الجزء التالت والأخير ليضع نهاية مؤلمة لهذه الرواية وهو في رأيي كان أحلي جزء فيهم..
الرواية مكتوبة بسلاسة وحتلاقي نفسك مش قادر تبطل قراءة علي الرغم إن الأحداث إلي حد ما عادية...
شخصية هانا -وهي شخصية رئيسية في الرواية -لم ترسم بعناية.. مقدرتش أفهمها أوي ولا أتعاطف معاها إلا في الجزء الأخير ..
ترجمة الرواية -في رأيي -كانت سيئة..أفقدت العمل الكثير الصراحة لدرجة إن الأحداث ملمستنيش أوي ومحسيتش إنها رواية دافية كدة ومعرفش هل ده بسبب الترجمة الغير موفقة ولا هي دي طريقة الكاتب..
رواية جميلة علي الرغم من كل شئ والرواية ليها فيلم من بطولة كيت ونسلت وأخدت عليه أوسكار وأظن إن الفيلم حيكون أحلي بكتير من الرواية..
تقييمي للكتاب ٣ نجوم وحتة :)
وبما إن الحتة دي صغيرة و مش كبيرة أوي يعني ،فحيفضل التقييم النهائي عند ٣ نجوم فقط لا غير:)
الرواية في جزئها الأول بتحكي عن مايكل المراهق اللي عنده ١٥ سنة و أقام علاقة جنسية مع هانا السيدة التي تبلغ من العمر ٣٦ عاماً ..مع تقدمه في العمر وتطور الأحداث بنشوف إزاي أثرت هذه العلاقة علي حياته وعلي مشاعره تجاه الآخرين...
أما الجزء التاني-وهو الجزء اللي أعتقد أعطي شهرة لهذه الرواية- اللي بيتكلم فيه عن الهولوكوست و المحاكمات التي تمت بعد سقوط الرايخ الثالث وهتلر ..الجزء دة مبني علي فكرة العار والذنب الذي يشعر به الجيل التاني علي الجيل السابق الذي عايش فترة هتلر و إحساسهم إنه كان الممكن يرفضوا ما كان يحدث أو يحاولوا في مساعدة المعتقلين بأي طريقة...
بدون حرق للأحداث أو دخول في تفاصيل بس طبعاً في ربط مباشر بين الجزئين و يأتي الجزء التالت والأخير ليضع نهاية مؤلمة لهذه الرواية وهو في رأيي كان أحلي جزء فيهم..
الرواية مكتوبة بسلاسة وحتلاقي نفسك مش قادر تبطل قراءة علي الرغم إن الأحداث إلي حد ما عادية...
شخصية هانا -وهي شخصية رئيسية في الرواية -لم ترسم بعناية.. مقدرتش أفهمها أوي ولا أتعاطف معاها إلا في الجزء الأخير ..
ترجمة الرواية -في رأيي -كانت سيئة..أفقدت العمل الكثير الصراحة لدرجة إن الأحداث ملمستنيش أوي ومحسيتش إنها رواية دافية كدة ومعرفش هل ده بسبب الترجمة الغير موفقة ولا هي دي طريقة الكاتب..
رواية جميلة علي الرغم من كل شئ والرواية ليها فيلم من بطولة كيت ونسلت وأخدت عليه أوسكار وأظن إن الفيلم حيكون أحلي بكتير من الرواية..
تقييمي للكتاب ٣ نجوم وحتة :)
وبما إن الحتة دي صغيرة و مش كبيرة أوي يعني ،فحيفضل التقييم النهائي عند ٣ نجوم فقط لا غير:)
September 2, 2012
I'm not really sure why this book is considered one of the best books of all time and managed to make into the big 1001 list. Most of the time, even if I don't like a book, I tend to understand why someone else picked it. In this case, I'm rather clueless. Is it, perhaps, that people see in it some message about humanity when Hanna won't purchase her freedom with the secret she has kept hidden for years? Is it the vivid sexual tale of a teenage boy with an older woman? Are we supposed to be shocked by it?
The novel starts with a romance when fifteen year old Michael finds himself ill on the way home from school and is taken in by a woman twice his age. They begin an affair which is described by numerous critics as "erotic". This was the first hurdle my enjoyment came up against. When I was fifteen with raging hormones and an extremely good-looking history teacher, I would probably have been able to appreciate the eroticism of such an opportunity - to have an illicit affair with someone much older and experienced. But that's just a bunch of teenage fantasies that would never have become realities. Now, it creeps me out. I couldn't see it as a love story, I saw it as being about an adult who takes advantage of a child (all very ironic when I think about my first interpretation of Lolita, but I guess I grew up somewhat).
It has been suggested that we are expected to draw parallels between Hanna's secret and the behaviour of most German people during the second world war, that is why Schlink deliberately set the novel in this fragile post-war period. But I'm really not a fan of stories that are one big metaphor for something else... or no, maybe it isn't so much that I don't like that, but more that it has to be done in a manner which I find appealing and it has to be obvious. I refuse to believe in metaphors that have been proposed by some random critic and then jumped on by everyone else. I'm trying not to give away Hanna's secret in case there are people who haven't worked it out straight away, but I wasn't buying into this metaphor.
This combined with the author's sparse tone quickly distanced me from the novel. I just prefer interesting and complex characters, an engaging plot, relationships I care about... I prefer all this over metaphor. In the end, metaphor is subjective and if I can't see it myself without someone else suggesting it to me then I believe either the author failed to make their metaphorical point clearly enough or the metaphor itself doesn't exist.
The novel starts with a romance when fifteen year old Michael finds himself ill on the way home from school and is taken in by a woman twice his age. They begin an affair which is described by numerous critics as "erotic". This was the first hurdle my enjoyment came up against. When I was fifteen with raging hormones and an extremely good-looking history teacher, I would probably have been able to appreciate the eroticism of such an opportunity - to have an illicit affair with someone much older and experienced. But that's just a bunch of teenage fantasies that would never have become realities. Now, it creeps me out. I couldn't see it as a love story, I saw it as being about an adult who takes advantage of a child (all very ironic when I think about my first interpretation of Lolita, but I guess I grew up somewhat).
It has been suggested that we are expected to draw parallels between Hanna's secret and the behaviour of most German people during the second world war, that is why Schlink deliberately set the novel in this fragile post-war period. But I'm really not a fan of stories that are one big metaphor for something else... or no, maybe it isn't so much that I don't like that, but more that it has to be done in a manner which I find appealing and it has to be obvious. I refuse to believe in metaphors that have been proposed by some random critic and then jumped on by everyone else. I'm trying not to give away Hanna's secret in case there are people who haven't worked it out straight away, but I wasn't buying into this metaphor.
This combined with the author's sparse tone quickly distanced me from the novel. I just prefer interesting and complex characters, an engaging plot, relationships I care about... I prefer all this over metaphor. In the end, metaphor is subjective and if I can't see it myself without someone else suggesting it to me then I believe either the author failed to make their metaphorical point clearly enough or the metaphor itself doesn't exist.
October 31, 2022
On my last-minute whim,
I grabbed,
a story of an erotic love affair between
a 15-year-old German boy, Michael Berg,
and 35-year-old, Hanna Schmitz!
Suffering from hepatitis and Hanna nurturing him,
In due course both develop passionate feelings for each other.
They keep their relationship under wraps.
Eventually, as Michael matures, the relationship starts dwindling,
Hanna disappears into thin air!
Destiny bestows a second encounter between the two,
but in vexatious circumstances.
with numerous deaths charged against her during the bombing!
What follows is all circled around discovering whether Hanna is guilty and be incarcerated,
or is innocent (avoiding spoilers)?
The biggest remnant-
My Views-
Originally published in German, I found the English translation to be weak, thin, sporadic, and sparse, and it couldn’t endow an awe-inspiring feeling to me! I just couldn’t stay riveted, irrespective of the compelling plot premise. ☹
Not to mention, the novel got numerous accolades and raving terrific reviews, but this may sound like an outlier.
I was attracted due to the premise around WWII (the holocaust era) and an unwonted love story weaving in the backdrop, between two individuals from totally different backgrounds and a stark age difference.
But honestly, I remained neutral. It didn’t arouse any feelings in me, I couldn’t marry the characters, and found them scattered and weak! The biggest takeaway for me was the fact literacy is a massive accomplishment, and can never be compromised!
The entire narration is from Michael’s point of view, and I am sure the original German text must have done justice to the brilliant plot premise, and so acquired raving positive reviews.
But the English translation just faltered for me, and made my reading experience insipid and banal! I just couldn’t wed the plot, due to the sporadicity.
Without any further belaboring, I close the review, by giving a respectful 3 stars!
NB- Resonating with writing style/translation is a subjective topic, and request people not to take the rating universally. It is strictly my point-of-view, and request readers to explore this short book, with a marvelous plot-line! :) It is my behove, to be honest with my views and rating, and try to do the same with all my reviews.
I grabbed,
a story of an erotic love affair between
a 15-year-old German boy, Michael Berg,
and 35-year-old, Hanna Schmitz!
Suffering from hepatitis and Hanna nurturing him,
In due course both develop passionate feelings for each other.
They keep their relationship under wraps.
Eventually, as Michael matures, the relationship starts dwindling,
Hanna disappears into thin air!
Destiny bestows a second encounter between the two,
but in vexatious circumstances.
with numerous deaths charged against her during the bombing!
What follows is all circled around discovering whether Hanna is guilty and be incarcerated,
or is innocent (avoiding spoilers)?
The biggest remnant-
My Views-
Originally published in German, I found the English translation to be weak, thin, sporadic, and sparse, and it couldn’t endow an awe-inspiring feeling to me! I just couldn’t stay riveted, irrespective of the compelling plot premise. ☹
Not to mention, the novel got numerous accolades and raving terrific reviews, but this may sound like an outlier.
I was attracted due to the premise around WWII (the holocaust era) and an unwonted love story weaving in the backdrop, between two individuals from totally different backgrounds and a stark age difference.
But honestly, I remained neutral. It didn’t arouse any feelings in me, I couldn’t marry the characters, and found them scattered and weak! The biggest takeaway for me was the fact literacy is a massive accomplishment, and can never be compromised!
The entire narration is from Michael’s point of view, and I am sure the original German text must have done justice to the brilliant plot premise, and so acquired raving positive reviews.
But the English translation just faltered for me, and made my reading experience insipid and banal! I just couldn’t wed the plot, due to the sporadicity.
Without any further belaboring, I close the review, by giving a respectful 3 stars!
NB- Resonating with writing style/translation is a subjective topic, and request people not to take the rating universally. It is strictly my point-of-view, and request readers to explore this short book, with a marvelous plot-line! :) It is my behove, to be honest with my views and rating, and try to do the same with all my reviews.
February 1, 2009
I have the feeling there's more than one way of looking at this book. On one hand it can be viewed as a bildungsroman, it follows Michael Berg since the age of 15 till full maturity. On the other hand, it's the post-war German generation coming to terms with their past, the Nazi crimes and their parents' guilt. Guilt, actually, is a recurring theme in the novel: Hanna is guilty of war crimes, Michael is guilty for betrayal (plus he feels guilty for having loved Hanna and asks himself if that makes him a criminal as well), Michael's father for not being enough of a father.
The question you get stuck with, after reading, is Hanna's question addressed to the judge: "What would you have done?"
The question I am stuck with is: What would have happened if the truth had been told?
On a bohemian level, the novel is about love for books and reading, so that's a plus for bookworms :)
The question you get stuck with, after reading, is Hanna's question addressed to the judge: "What would you have done?"
The question I am stuck with is: What would have happened if the truth had been told?
On a bohemian level, the novel is about love for books and reading, so that's a plus for bookworms :)
January 5, 2009
There are some books you know will stay with you forever, and Bernhard Schlink's The Reader is definitely one of them. It has been highly critically acclaimed, winning the Boston Book Review's Fisk Fiction Prize, and it deserves all the praise it has received.
The Holocaust is a difficult, though much covered, subject matter, and this novel has a sure touch and an appealing lack of judgment with it. The story begins in the world of almost-childhood of fifteen-year-old Michael Berg, recovering from a summer of hepatitis, begins a relationship with Hanna, a much older woman he meets by chance. The first part of the novel, untouched by the shadow of the recent war or Germany's disturbed and dangerous past, deals with Michael and Hanna's burgeoning relationship, and the little fears and worries that can make up one big problem. Eventually, as we know it must, their relationship ends and Hanna moves away.
When the book moves on to the second part, the tone has changed considerably. Michael, now a law student, attends the trial of female Nazi war criminals. To his shock, one of them is Hanna, who had been a camp guard at Auschwitz. I won't say more for fear of spoiling it for you, but the Holocaust is seriously considered in the light of philosophy and moral responsibility. There is an attitude that one becomes numb to the horror of it all if too exposed to it, and this book does not go into ghastly detail, but rather examines even more painful details: who was to blame, how do we live with the suffering, how can one atone, and most of all, what is the next generation to do?
It also looks at what it means to love someone, how much we can accept of them and how blind we can be to those we love. Love, guilt and betrayal feature prominently in this novel.
In many ways Hanna was innocent, and yet it becomes apparent that she lived every day with terrible guilt; Michael was a victim of her actions, and yet he too is guilty by association. The reader of the title is Michael, who read to Hanna during the early part of the relationship; the reader is Hanna, alone in prison occupying herself by learning about the experiences of camp inmates. The reader is selected individuals in the camps who read aloud to Hanna, and may have died because of it. But most of all, the reader is ourselves; the title points the finger at us, because now we have the knowledge, what should we do with it? If all it takes for evil to prevail is for the good to remain silent, then how innocent are any of us? And how can we deal with the subsequent guilt? There are so many layers to this subtly complex novel that having just finished it, I have to start it again. The transforming power of words is negated by their ultimate futility, and actions in this novel speak deafeningly loud.
If we have a responsibility towards the past, to learn from it, and I believe we do, then this book will help us to go some way towards fulfilling it.
The Holocaust is a difficult, though much covered, subject matter, and this novel has a sure touch and an appealing lack of judgment with it. The story begins in the world of almost-childhood of fifteen-year-old Michael Berg, recovering from a summer of hepatitis, begins a relationship with Hanna, a much older woman he meets by chance. The first part of the novel, untouched by the shadow of the recent war or Germany's disturbed and dangerous past, deals with Michael and Hanna's burgeoning relationship, and the little fears and worries that can make up one big problem. Eventually, as we know it must, their relationship ends and Hanna moves away.
When the book moves on to the second part, the tone has changed considerably. Michael, now a law student, attends the trial of female Nazi war criminals. To his shock, one of them is Hanna, who had been a camp guard at Auschwitz. I won't say more for fear of spoiling it for you, but the Holocaust is seriously considered in the light of philosophy and moral responsibility. There is an attitude that one becomes numb to the horror of it all if too exposed to it, and this book does not go into ghastly detail, but rather examines even more painful details: who was to blame, how do we live with the suffering, how can one atone, and most of all, what is the next generation to do?
It also looks at what it means to love someone, how much we can accept of them and how blind we can be to those we love. Love, guilt and betrayal feature prominently in this novel.
In many ways Hanna was innocent, and yet it becomes apparent that she lived every day with terrible guilt; Michael was a victim of her actions, and yet he too is guilty by association. The reader of the title is Michael, who read to Hanna during the early part of the relationship; the reader is Hanna, alone in prison occupying herself by learning about the experiences of camp inmates. The reader is selected individuals in the camps who read aloud to Hanna, and may have died because of it. But most of all, the reader is ourselves; the title points the finger at us, because now we have the knowledge, what should we do with it? If all it takes for evil to prevail is for the good to remain silent, then how innocent are any of us? And how can we deal with the subsequent guilt? There are so many layers to this subtly complex novel that having just finished it, I have to start it again. The transforming power of words is negated by their ultimate futility, and actions in this novel speak deafeningly loud.
If we have a responsibility towards the past, to learn from it, and I believe we do, then this book will help us to go some way towards fulfilling it.
October 15, 2018
This novel breaks so many taboos, it is hard to know where to start reflecting on it. And yet, its plot is not unrealistic or uncommon.
It is about a sexual relationship between a young man and an older woman.
It is about illiteracy and shame.
It is about crimes against humanity, committed out of helplessness and an egocentric wish to hide one's own weakness.
It is about the Holocaust weighing on the shoulders of post-1945 Germany's population.
It is about the past being reshaped in memory when further knowledge about a person adds a new layer to a relationship.
It is about the coexistence of complete indifference towards the lives of many human beings and compassion for one specific individual.
It is surprisingly not much about hatred, despite the topic.
It is about overcoming a disability.
It is about facing justice - or not.
It is painful to read. And yet hope hides in a corner.
If you can't read it yourself, find someone who is willing to read it to you. Or record it on tape. Literacy is a massive achievement and immensely important for human communication.
Read it!
It is about a sexual relationship between a young man and an older woman.
It is about illiteracy and shame.
It is about crimes against humanity, committed out of helplessness and an egocentric wish to hide one's own weakness.
It is about the Holocaust weighing on the shoulders of post-1945 Germany's population.
It is about the past being reshaped in memory when further knowledge about a person adds a new layer to a relationship.
It is about the coexistence of complete indifference towards the lives of many human beings and compassion for one specific individual.
It is surprisingly not much about hatred, despite the topic.
It is about overcoming a disability.
It is about facing justice - or not.
It is painful to read. And yet hope hides in a corner.
If you can't read it yourself, find someone who is willing to read it to you. Or record it on tape. Literacy is a massive achievement and immensely important for human communication.
Read it!
January 22, 2016
This is the deep character development and type of writing that i've been craving. A book that made me think and ask so many questions. Sometimes I felt like I was struggling through really heavy writing, but the actual story itself and the moral questions that arise from its telling were really, really interesting and I surprised myself with how much I found myself contemplating this novel. Someone told me there's a movie with Kate Winslet and she is my actual wife so i'm gonna go track that down bye
April 26, 2016
It's too simple to say I read any single book because I want to read it. There are dozens of reasons I'll pick up a particular title: I like the author; I like the subject matter; the book is an award winner; the book comes with many trusted recommendations; I was supposed to read the book in high school and I feel guilty because I played Goldeneye on my N64 instead. I will freely admit that I read War and Peace simply to say I read War and Peace. I'd take it to the cafeteria every day and let people see me with it. I was trying to project a certain image; unfortunately, the image I projected was a creepy loner way too interested in Russian melodrama.
I read The Reader because it had Nazis. And because it prominently featured a deviant sexual affair. Sold and sold.
I dared think that Bernhard Schlink's novel might be that rarest of things, these days: truly transgressive. I mean, sex and Nazis and a literary pedigree to boot. Where do I sign up?
This slim novel tells the story of an affair between 15 year-old Michael and the far-older Hanna, with whom he has an affair in West Germany in 1958. Hanna, a tram conductor, comes to Michael's aid when Michael falls ills. Later, Michael's mother forces Michael to go thank Hanna; after a laughably stupid seduction (the literary equivalent of that old porn standby, the copy repairman), the two are having an affair.
I guess this is shocking? Taboo busting? I don't know. I can't really muster much moral outrage at statutory rape when it is set against the recent background of the Holocaust. Moreover, the scenes between the two "lovers" (how I despise that phrase!) are written in such a mundane, clinical fashion, that I could only speculate that Schlink (or his translator) was a technical writer, taking time off from telling me the side effects of Ditropan. (In reality, Schlink is a judge, and I suppose the detached, just-the-facts-ness of The Reader could be compared to a legal brief).
The affair goes on for awhile. It doesn't generate much heat, since both the main characters are constructed out of cardboard, with macaroni faces and yarn for hair. The title is also explained - partially - because Michael must read aloud to Hanna before they Biblically unite. That sound you hear is my eyes rolling.
Eventually, Hanna disappears. Seven years later, Michael is a law student, and he attends a war crimes trial where - SHOCK! - Hanna is on trial. Turns out she was a concentration camp guard: think Mary Kay Letourneau crossed with Heinrich Himmler.
It's hard to screw up a novel about a Nazi pedophile, but it happens here.
There is always going to be tension when a fictional work of art (using that term loosely) is set against the backdrop of a recent tragedy. Until the last person who survived said tragedy is dead, any author daring to touch the subject is going to get dinged a little. We can all argue about the morality of such fictionalizations, but the point is moot. It's going to happen.
Schlink obviously knew the dangers going in, and tried to avoid them. In doing so, he wrote a book that is simply flat. There are two directions to take a story like this. First, there is over-the-top, Inglorious Basterds-style pulp. Just accept that your book is basically fan-fiction from the SS Experiment Camp line of movies, and wait for Cinemax to call with an offer. The second direction is to make a serious, searching novel about an ordinary person who survived the Holocaust, but as a cog in the machinery of death, rather than a survivor. Explore how that person lives each day wtih the things he or she has done. This kind of book would take a lot of psychological digging, and there aren't a lot of authors up to this task.
The Reader tries to do a little of both, and ends up a big, dull, intellecutally-insulting dud. As already noted, the love affair generates slightly less heat than the pairing of Liza Minnelli and David Gest. The decision to include a statutorily illegal relationship was obviously meant to garner attention, but it fails to shock, titilate, or even vaguely incite any interest.
The transition to the courtroom, and beyond, is even worse. Here, the author makes a half-hearted attempt to avoid moral relativism, and then falls right into that trap. In an epic bit of reductionism, Schlink manages to equate the tragedy of the Holocaust with - spoiler alert, I guess - adult illiteracy. If only that was a joke.
Schlink's idea of depth is to fill a couple of pages with facile hypothetical questions that he helpfully leaves unanswered. All the better; I doubt I would care about what answers he discovered.
While Part I of The Reader is a tepid affair between two paper dolls, and Part II reduces the Holocaust to one SS Guard's illiterate shame, Part III manages, stunningly, to get worse. The epilogue, which must be read to be believed, is so stilted, awkward, and glib that I almost felt bad for the characters/ciphers forced to utter the tortured dialogue.
I suppose I got what I deserved. It's like when you click on a hyperlink for naked celebrity photos and get a computer virus instead. (Or so I've been told...) I picked up this book thinking it might be trashy, and it turned out it was, but just not the kind of trash I enjoy.
I read The Reader because it had Nazis. And because it prominently featured a deviant sexual affair. Sold and sold.
I dared think that Bernhard Schlink's novel might be that rarest of things, these days: truly transgressive. I mean, sex and Nazis and a literary pedigree to boot. Where do I sign up?
This slim novel tells the story of an affair between 15 year-old Michael and the far-older Hanna, with whom he has an affair in West Germany in 1958. Hanna, a tram conductor, comes to Michael's aid when Michael falls ills. Later, Michael's mother forces Michael to go thank Hanna; after a laughably stupid seduction (the literary equivalent of that old porn standby, the copy repairman), the two are having an affair.
I guess this is shocking? Taboo busting? I don't know. I can't really muster much moral outrage at statutory rape when it is set against the recent background of the Holocaust. Moreover, the scenes between the two "lovers" (how I despise that phrase!) are written in such a mundane, clinical fashion, that I could only speculate that Schlink (or his translator) was a technical writer, taking time off from telling me the side effects of Ditropan. (In reality, Schlink is a judge, and I suppose the detached, just-the-facts-ness of The Reader could be compared to a legal brief).
The affair goes on for awhile. It doesn't generate much heat, since both the main characters are constructed out of cardboard, with macaroni faces and yarn for hair. The title is also explained - partially - because Michael must read aloud to Hanna before they Biblically unite. That sound you hear is my eyes rolling.
Eventually, Hanna disappears. Seven years later, Michael is a law student, and he attends a war crimes trial where - SHOCK! - Hanna is on trial. Turns out she was a concentration camp guard: think Mary Kay Letourneau crossed with Heinrich Himmler.
It's hard to screw up a novel about a Nazi pedophile, but it happens here.
There is always going to be tension when a fictional work of art (using that term loosely) is set against the backdrop of a recent tragedy. Until the last person who survived said tragedy is dead, any author daring to touch the subject is going to get dinged a little. We can all argue about the morality of such fictionalizations, but the point is moot. It's going to happen.
Schlink obviously knew the dangers going in, and tried to avoid them. In doing so, he wrote a book that is simply flat. There are two directions to take a story like this. First, there is over-the-top, Inglorious Basterds-style pulp. Just accept that your book is basically fan-fiction from the SS Experiment Camp line of movies, and wait for Cinemax to call with an offer. The second direction is to make a serious, searching novel about an ordinary person who survived the Holocaust, but as a cog in the machinery of death, rather than a survivor. Explore how that person lives each day wtih the things he or she has done. This kind of book would take a lot of psychological digging, and there aren't a lot of authors up to this task.
The Reader tries to do a little of both, and ends up a big, dull, intellecutally-insulting dud. As already noted, the love affair generates slightly less heat than the pairing of Liza Minnelli and David Gest. The decision to include a statutorily illegal relationship was obviously meant to garner attention, but it fails to shock, titilate, or even vaguely incite any interest.
The transition to the courtroom, and beyond, is even worse. Here, the author makes a half-hearted attempt to avoid moral relativism, and then falls right into that trap. In an epic bit of reductionism, Schlink manages to equate the tragedy of the Holocaust with - spoiler alert, I guess - adult illiteracy. If only that was a joke.
Schlink's idea of depth is to fill a couple of pages with facile hypothetical questions that he helpfully leaves unanswered. All the better; I doubt I would care about what answers he discovered.
While Part I of The Reader is a tepid affair between two paper dolls, and Part II reduces the Holocaust to one SS Guard's illiterate shame, Part III manages, stunningly, to get worse. The epilogue, which must be read to be believed, is so stilted, awkward, and glib that I almost felt bad for the characters/ciphers forced to utter the tortured dialogue.
I suppose I got what I deserved. It's like when you click on a hyperlink for naked celebrity photos and get a computer virus instead. (Or so I've been told...) I picked up this book thinking it might be trashy, and it turned out it was, but just not the kind of trash I enjoy.
September 18, 2018
The biggest problem I had with this book was the fact that it made me feel...nothing.
I didn't feel connected to the characters or to any part of the plot. This is quite a bummer, as it deals with a pretty heavy topic.
I feel like the author intended to write the story this way though, because the writing style in general has a certain type of "coldness" to it, and the true feelings of a character are never really explored. Some people might not be bothered by this, but I personally simply prefer feeling close and connected to the characters of a story.
This doesn't make the entire book bad though. It certainly was interesting, and Bernhard Schlink is skillful with how he uses words. He describes mundane activities in a wonderful and fascinating way, and this makes me understand 100% why so many schools choose this novel as part of their required reading material.
I also appreciated how he always got straight to the point, instead of writing unnecessary details to prolong the plot points we all already know are coming.
I also couldn't help but feel disgusted at the things taking place in the first part of the book, and I wish the problematic aspects were explored further, instead of just brushing upon the issue later on.
Overall, this was a good book to read inbetween, but nothing life changing or special.
I didn't feel connected to the characters or to any part of the plot. This is quite a bummer, as it deals with a pretty heavy topic.
I feel like the author intended to write the story this way though, because the writing style in general has a certain type of "coldness" to it, and the true feelings of a character are never really explored. Some people might not be bothered by this, but I personally simply prefer feeling close and connected to the characters of a story.
This doesn't make the entire book bad though. It certainly was interesting, and Bernhard Schlink is skillful with how he uses words. He describes mundane activities in a wonderful and fascinating way, and this makes me understand 100% why so many schools choose this novel as part of their required reading material.
I also appreciated how he always got straight to the point, instead of writing unnecessary details to prolong the plot points we all already know are coming.
I also couldn't help but feel disgusted at the things taking place in the first part of the book, and I wish the problematic aspects were explored further, instead of just brushing upon the issue later on.
Overall, this was a good book to read inbetween, but nothing life changing or special.
February 5, 2017
" " I ... I mean ... so what would you have done? "
Hanna meant it as a serious question. She did not know what she should or could have done differently, and therefore wanted to hear from the judge, who seemed to know everything, what he would have done. "
This same question is posed in other situations throughout this book.
Should Michael, being the only other person to know Hanna's secret, have exposed this secret in order to help her during the trial?
Should Michael have been more understanding toward Hanna, after the trial?
Should the average German citizen feel shame for not doing more to avert the Holocaust?
How should today's German citizen feel towards their ancestors that had to endure World War II?
As 'that guard', what should Hanna have done?
You be the judge...........
Hanna meant it as a serious question. She did not know what she should or could have done differently, and therefore wanted to hear from the judge, who seemed to know everything, what he would have done. "
This same question is posed in other situations throughout this book.
Should Michael, being the only other person to know Hanna's secret, have exposed this secret in order to help her during the trial?
Should Michael have been more understanding toward Hanna, after the trial?
Should the average German citizen feel shame for not doing more to avert the Holocaust?
How should today's German citizen feel towards their ancestors that had to endure World War II?
As 'that guard', what should Hanna have done?
You be the judge...........
May 11, 2025
A 15-year old boy, the reader, is seduced by an older woman; their erotic affair-of-sorts is laid bare by a simplistic sparse storytelling technique. One day she disappears. Years later as a law student he comes across her, on trial, as an agent of the Holocaust!
In just 216 pages, from a darkly erotic coming-of-age through to the relationship power struggles to the shocking reality of the woman's past; to the momentous question she asked re: the Holocaust: "What would you do?" A book that maybe asks why more people didn't try to stop what happened; what would you do? What could you do? So much said in such a short time. An immense work, that takes the Holocaust novel to a place it had maybe feared to tread, and by a German writer! Four Stars 8 out of 12.
2025 read
In just 216 pages, from a darkly erotic coming-of-age through to the relationship power struggles to the shocking reality of the woman's past; to the momentous question she asked re: the Holocaust: "What would you do?" A book that maybe asks why more people didn't try to stop what happened; what would you do? What could you do? So much said in such a short time. An immense work, that takes the Holocaust novel to a place it had maybe feared to tread, and by a German writer! Four Stars 8 out of 12.
2025 read
March 23, 2017
Great book.Wonderful piece and remotely expressed Words flowing like water in oceans.
I'd Miss someone with that book.
As the Young Lady entangled with teen.
Which flows the flawless love between them even when she got life imprisonment, She was turned to old. And Teen was turned to Man.
Time had changed, but their love sustained as he gave her recordings of stories.
Lovely Book.
Also, Watch movie based on this novel, My one of favourite actress, the drama Queen Kate Winslet's performance was surreal .
I'd Miss someone with that book.
As the Young Lady entangled with teen.
Which flows the flawless love between them even when she got life imprisonment, She was turned to old. And Teen was turned to Man.
Time had changed, but their love sustained as he gave her recordings of stories.
Lovely Book.
Also, Watch movie based on this novel, My one of favourite actress, the drama Queen Kate Winslet's performance was surreal .
June 15, 2018
The book is clearly structured. Also the choice of words is at a normal level and therefore also suitable for beginners in classical, great literature.
January 15, 2022
Goash! What a plot! What delivery! This is the perfect case for show don't tell done in just the way that even when we get told something, we see it.
A lot of painfully salient topics raised in here. Gross ones, of course. Horrible ones. Stanley Milgram would've been so effing proud...
Review to follow.
Q:
Maybe I did write our story to be free of it, even if I never can be. (c)
Q:
Hanna became absorbed in the unfolding of the book. But it was different this time; she withheld her own opinions; she didn't make Natasha, Andrei, and Pierre part of her world, as she had Luise and Emilia, but entered their world the way one sets out on a long and dazzling journey, or enters a castle which one is allowed to visit, even stay in until one feels at home, but without ever really shedding one's inhibitions. All the things I had read to her before were already familiar to me. War and Peace was new for me, too. We took the long journey together. (c)
Q:
The fact that I came later than the others or left earlier, depending on Hanna' s schedule, didn't hurt my reputation, but made me interesting. I knew that. I also knew that I wasn't missing anything, and yet I often had the feeling that absolutely everything could be happening while I wasn't there. There was a long stretch when I did not dare ask myself whether I would rather be at the swimming pool or with Hanna. (с)
Q:
Then I began to betray her. (c)
Q:
I know that disavowal is an unusual form of betrayal. From the outside it is impossible to tell if you are disowning someone or simply exercising discretion, being considerate, avoiding embarrassments and sources of irritation. But you, who are doing the disowning, you know what you're doing. And disavowal pulls the underpinnings away from a relationship just as surely as other more flamboyant types of betrayal. (c)
Q:
At first I told myself that I wasn't yet close enough to my friends to tell them about Hanna. Then I didn't find the right opportunity, the right moment, the right words. And finally it was too late to tell them about Hanna, to present her along with all my other youthful secrets. I told myself that talking about her so belatedly would misrepresent things, make it seem as if I had kept silent about Hanna for so long because our relationship wasn't right and I felt guilty about it. But no matter what I pretended to myself, I knew that I was betraying Hanna when I acted as if I was letting my
friends in on everything important in my life but said nothing about Hanna. (c)
Q:
"There's another reason I arrive later or leave earlier."
"Do you not want to talk about it, or is it that you want to but you don't know how?" (c)
Q:
We did not have a world that we shared; she gave me the space in her life that she wanted me to have. I had to be content with that. Wanting more, even wanting to know more, was presumption on my part. (c)
Q:
But I knew it was her. She stood and looked — and it was too late. (c)
Q:
Everything was easy; nothing weighed heavily. Perhaps that is why my bundle of memories is so small. Or do I keep it small? I also wonder if my memory of happiness is even true. If I think about it more, plenty of embarrassing and painful situations come to mind, and I know that even if I had said goodbye to my memory of Hanna, (c)
Q:
I had not overcome it. Never to let myself be humiliated or humiliate myself after Hanna, never to take guilt upon myself or feel guilty, never again to love anyone whom it would hurt to lose — I didn't formulate any of this as I thought back then, but I know that's how I felt. I adopted a posture of arrogant superiority. I behaved as if nothing could touch or shake or confuse me. I got involved in nothing, and I remember a teacher who saw through this and spoke to me about it; I was arrogantly dismissive. ...
I also remember that the smallest gesture of affection would bring a lump to my throat, whether it was directed at me or at someone else. Sometimes all it took was a scene in a movie. This juxtaposition of callousness and extreme sensitivity seemed suspicious even to me. (c)
Q:
The more horrible the events about which we read and heard, the more certain we became of our responsibility to enlighten and accuse. Even when the facts took our breath away, we held them up
triumphantly. Look at this! (c)
Q:
She had no sense of context, of the rules of the game, of the formulas by which her statements and those of the others were toted up into guilt and innocence, conviction and acquittal. To compensate for her defective grasp of the situation, her lawyer would have had to have more experience and self-confidence, or simply to have been better. (c)
Q:
She was not pursuing her own interests, but fighting for her own
truth, her own justice. Because she always had to dissimulate somewhat, and could never be
completely candid, it was a pitiful truth and a pitiful justice, but it was hers, and the struggle
for it was her struggle.
She must have been completely exhausted. Her struggle was not limited to the trial. She was
struggling, as she always had struggled, not to show what she could do but to hide what she
couldn't do. A life made up of advances that were actually frantic retreats and victories that
were concealed defeats. (c)
Q:
I knew about the helplessness in everyday activities, finding one's way or finding an address or choosing a meal in a restaurant, about how illiterates anxiously stick to prescribed patterns and familiar routines, about how much energy it takes to conceal one's inability to read and write, energy lost to actual living. Illiteracy is dependence. By finding the courage to learn to read and
write, Hanna had advanced from dependence to independence, a step towards liberation. (c)
Q:
I was proud of her. At the same time, I was sorry for her, sorry for her delayed and failed life, sorry for the delays and failures of life in general. I thought that if the right time gets missed, if one has refused or been refused something for too long, it's too late, even if it is finally tackled with energy and received with joy. Or is there no such thing as "too late"? Is there only "late," and is "late" always better than "never"? I don't know. (c)
Q:
I still said nothing. I could not have spoken; all I could have done was to stammer and weep. (c)
Q:
She didn't seem unhappy or dissatisfied. In fact it was as though the retreat to the convent was no longer enough, as though life in the convent was still too sociable and talkative, and she had to retreat even further, into a lonely cell safe from all eyes, where looks, clothing, and smell meant nothing. No, it would be wrong to say that she had given up. She redefined her place in a way that was right for her, but no longer impressed the other women. ...
Can the world become so unbearable to someone after years of loneliness? (c)
Q:
if something hurts me, the hurts I suffered back then come back to me, and when I feel guilty, the feelings of guilt return; if I yearn for something today, or feel homesick, I feel the yearnings and
homesickness from back then. (c)
Q:
The tectonic layers of our lives rest so tightly one on top of the other that we always come up against earlier events in later ones, not as matter that has been fully formed and pushed aside, but absolutely present and alive. (c)
Q:
Whatever I had done or not done, whatever she had done or not to me — it was the path my life had taken. (c)
A lot of painfully salient topics raised in here. Gross ones, of course. Horrible ones. Stanley Milgram would've been so effing proud...
Review to follow.
Q:
Maybe I did write our story to be free of it, even if I never can be. (c)
Q:
Hanna became absorbed in the unfolding of the book. But it was different this time; she withheld her own opinions; she didn't make Natasha, Andrei, and Pierre part of her world, as she had Luise and Emilia, but entered their world the way one sets out on a long and dazzling journey, or enters a castle which one is allowed to visit, even stay in until one feels at home, but without ever really shedding one's inhibitions. All the things I had read to her before were already familiar to me. War and Peace was new for me, too. We took the long journey together. (c)
Q:
The fact that I came later than the others or left earlier, depending on Hanna' s schedule, didn't hurt my reputation, but made me interesting. I knew that. I also knew that I wasn't missing anything, and yet I often had the feeling that absolutely everything could be happening while I wasn't there. There was a long stretch when I did not dare ask myself whether I would rather be at the swimming pool or with Hanna. (с)
Q:
Then I began to betray her. (c)
Q:
I know that disavowal is an unusual form of betrayal. From the outside it is impossible to tell if you are disowning someone or simply exercising discretion, being considerate, avoiding embarrassments and sources of irritation. But you, who are doing the disowning, you know what you're doing. And disavowal pulls the underpinnings away from a relationship just as surely as other more flamboyant types of betrayal. (c)
Q:
At first I told myself that I wasn't yet close enough to my friends to tell them about Hanna. Then I didn't find the right opportunity, the right moment, the right words. And finally it was too late to tell them about Hanna, to present her along with all my other youthful secrets. I told myself that talking about her so belatedly would misrepresent things, make it seem as if I had kept silent about Hanna for so long because our relationship wasn't right and I felt guilty about it. But no matter what I pretended to myself, I knew that I was betraying Hanna when I acted as if I was letting my
friends in on everything important in my life but said nothing about Hanna. (c)
Q:
"There's another reason I arrive later or leave earlier."
"Do you not want to talk about it, or is it that you want to but you don't know how?" (c)
Q:
We did not have a world that we shared; she gave me the space in her life that she wanted me to have. I had to be content with that. Wanting more, even wanting to know more, was presumption on my part. (c)
Q:
But I knew it was her. She stood and looked — and it was too late. (c)
Q:
Everything was easy; nothing weighed heavily. Perhaps that is why my bundle of memories is so small. Or do I keep it small? I also wonder if my memory of happiness is even true. If I think about it more, plenty of embarrassing and painful situations come to mind, and I know that even if I had said goodbye to my memory of Hanna, (c)
Q:
I had not overcome it. Never to let myself be humiliated or humiliate myself after Hanna, never to take guilt upon myself or feel guilty, never again to love anyone whom it would hurt to lose — I didn't formulate any of this as I thought back then, but I know that's how I felt. I adopted a posture of arrogant superiority. I behaved as if nothing could touch or shake or confuse me. I got involved in nothing, and I remember a teacher who saw through this and spoke to me about it; I was arrogantly dismissive. ...
I also remember that the smallest gesture of affection would bring a lump to my throat, whether it was directed at me or at someone else. Sometimes all it took was a scene in a movie. This juxtaposition of callousness and extreme sensitivity seemed suspicious even to me. (c)
Q:
The more horrible the events about which we read and heard, the more certain we became of our responsibility to enlighten and accuse. Even when the facts took our breath away, we held them up
triumphantly. Look at this! (c)
Q:
She had no sense of context, of the rules of the game, of the formulas by which her statements and those of the others were toted up into guilt and innocence, conviction and acquittal. To compensate for her defective grasp of the situation, her lawyer would have had to have more experience and self-confidence, or simply to have been better. (c)
Q:
She was not pursuing her own interests, but fighting for her own
truth, her own justice. Because she always had to dissimulate somewhat, and could never be
completely candid, it was a pitiful truth and a pitiful justice, but it was hers, and the struggle
for it was her struggle.
She must have been completely exhausted. Her struggle was not limited to the trial. She was
struggling, as she always had struggled, not to show what she could do but to hide what she
couldn't do. A life made up of advances that were actually frantic retreats and victories that
were concealed defeats. (c)
Q:
I knew about the helplessness in everyday activities, finding one's way or finding an address or choosing a meal in a restaurant, about how illiterates anxiously stick to prescribed patterns and familiar routines, about how much energy it takes to conceal one's inability to read and write, energy lost to actual living. Illiteracy is dependence. By finding the courage to learn to read and
write, Hanna had advanced from dependence to independence, a step towards liberation. (c)
Q:
I was proud of her. At the same time, I was sorry for her, sorry for her delayed and failed life, sorry for the delays and failures of life in general. I thought that if the right time gets missed, if one has refused or been refused something for too long, it's too late, even if it is finally tackled with energy and received with joy. Or is there no such thing as "too late"? Is there only "late," and is "late" always better than "never"? I don't know. (c)
Q:
I still said nothing. I could not have spoken; all I could have done was to stammer and weep. (c)
Q:
She didn't seem unhappy or dissatisfied. In fact it was as though the retreat to the convent was no longer enough, as though life in the convent was still too sociable and talkative, and she had to retreat even further, into a lonely cell safe from all eyes, where looks, clothing, and smell meant nothing. No, it would be wrong to say that she had given up. She redefined her place in a way that was right for her, but no longer impressed the other women. ...
Can the world become so unbearable to someone after years of loneliness? (c)
Q:
if something hurts me, the hurts I suffered back then come back to me, and when I feel guilty, the feelings of guilt return; if I yearn for something today, or feel homesick, I feel the yearnings and
homesickness from back then. (c)
Q:
The tectonic layers of our lives rest so tightly one on top of the other that we always come up against earlier events in later ones, not as matter that has been fully formed and pushed aside, but absolutely present and alive. (c)
Q:
Whatever I had done or not done, whatever she had done or not to me — it was the path my life had taken. (c)
August 25, 2018
There have been many ways over the years in which literature has found a path to deal with the Holocaust and its consequences, but a book about the inability to be able to read might not seem the most obvious. Yet in terms of attracting a mass audience, something that Schlink has clearly done, this German novel with illiteracy at its heart published back in the mid-90's, has been a phenomenon amongst readers.
Bernhard Schlink's forth and easily most popular novel opens in post-war Germany when a teenage boy, Michael Berg (who also narrates), embarks on a love affair with a thirty-something woman, Hanna, who disappears, then years later turns up in the dock as a former concentration camp guard accused of the mass murder of Jewish women locked in a burning church. Michael, by now a law student observing the trial, realises that Hanna is a secret illiterate, a fact that has profoundly affected her actions in the past as well as fatally undermining her defence in court. Schlink says that writing about illiteracy "was there when I started to think about the book. I did a great deal of research into it, but I never had an objective beyond telling that story. I'm sure the things I think about and worry about in other contexts play into the stories I write. But I do not know how they do that, and I'm really uninterested in the epistemology of my writing." The theme certainly chimes, in terms of dramatically echoing the Third Reich's moral illiteracy, but the way the book has been enthusiastically taken up and used almost as documentary points to an impact that has far exceeded Schlink's immediate narrative ambitions.
The hapless Hanna, conscientiously unscrupulous in the performance of her labor-camp duties, committed crimes against humanity, obviously. But what of the young law student who denies her his word, his aid? The paralyzing shame, the psychic numbing, the moral failures of the lucky late-born are the novel's central focus. Nazi holdovers in postwar Germany are denounced only at the margins of the story, so to speak. But this oblique approach has its own power. In one quietly disturbing scene, Michael visits the nearest concentration camp, Struthof, in Alsace that had a sign on it indicating that it had been a gas chamber. But Schlink spares his readers the sickening details.
Literature is not only a bridge between the generations, sometimes it may get closer to the truth of recent history than benumbed eyewitness accounts. But this redemptive magic has its limits. Substituting great books for human contact is a cowardly dodge. At the novel's somber conclusion, Michael betrays Hanna yet again. On Hanna though, if one would call this more holocaust literature
than a legal thriller with sex in it, then criticism of the book, from people who treat it as Holocaust literature, are right to say that Schlink doesn't come to a proper judgment of Hanna. Schlink acknowledges that he has been criticised for not unambiguously condemning Hanna. Is this fair? I think his novel can be open to so many interpretations. Guess that's part of it's appeal.
All this aside, I just found the novel top to bottom rather bland. It brings up many questions, yes, and for the most part it at least held my curiosity. But seeing that it sold in huge numbers I expected much more. Maybe it's shortish length didn't help, it felt like not enough pages are actually given to alluding as to the true horrors of Hanna's crimes and the rest of it is simply the diatribe and musings of a teenage boy. Maybe I am missing the point? As books about the legacy of the holocaust go, there are much better ones out there than this. I will also say I much preferred the film over the book. With Kate Winslet giving a tour-de-force performance as Hanna.
Bernhard Schlink's forth and easily most popular novel opens in post-war Germany when a teenage boy, Michael Berg (who also narrates), embarks on a love affair with a thirty-something woman, Hanna, who disappears, then years later turns up in the dock as a former concentration camp guard accused of the mass murder of Jewish women locked in a burning church. Michael, by now a law student observing the trial, realises that Hanna is a secret illiterate, a fact that has profoundly affected her actions in the past as well as fatally undermining her defence in court. Schlink says that writing about illiteracy "was there when I started to think about the book. I did a great deal of research into it, but I never had an objective beyond telling that story. I'm sure the things I think about and worry about in other contexts play into the stories I write. But I do not know how they do that, and I'm really uninterested in the epistemology of my writing." The theme certainly chimes, in terms of dramatically echoing the Third Reich's moral illiteracy, but the way the book has been enthusiastically taken up and used almost as documentary points to an impact that has far exceeded Schlink's immediate narrative ambitions.
The hapless Hanna, conscientiously unscrupulous in the performance of her labor-camp duties, committed crimes against humanity, obviously. But what of the young law student who denies her his word, his aid? The paralyzing shame, the psychic numbing, the moral failures of the lucky late-born are the novel's central focus. Nazi holdovers in postwar Germany are denounced only at the margins of the story, so to speak. But this oblique approach has its own power. In one quietly disturbing scene, Michael visits the nearest concentration camp, Struthof, in Alsace that had a sign on it indicating that it had been a gas chamber. But Schlink spares his readers the sickening details.
Literature is not only a bridge between the generations, sometimes it may get closer to the truth of recent history than benumbed eyewitness accounts. But this redemptive magic has its limits. Substituting great books for human contact is a cowardly dodge. At the novel's somber conclusion, Michael betrays Hanna yet again. On Hanna though, if one would call this more holocaust literature
than a legal thriller with sex in it, then criticism of the book, from people who treat it as Holocaust literature, are right to say that Schlink doesn't come to a proper judgment of Hanna. Schlink acknowledges that he has been criticised for not unambiguously condemning Hanna. Is this fair? I think his novel can be open to so many interpretations. Guess that's part of it's appeal.
All this aside, I just found the novel top to bottom rather bland. It brings up many questions, yes, and for the most part it at least held my curiosity. But seeing that it sold in huge numbers I expected much more. Maybe it's shortish length didn't help, it felt like not enough pages are actually given to alluding as to the true horrors of Hanna's crimes and the rest of it is simply the diatribe and musings of a teenage boy. Maybe I am missing the point? As books about the legacy of the holocaust go, there are much better ones out there than this. I will also say I much preferred the film over the book. With Kate Winslet giving a tour-de-force performance as Hanna.
October 28, 2021
«اگه تو جای من بودی چکار میکردی؟»
این جمله تنها دلیلیه که این کتاب به یادم میمونه
داستان از جایی شروع میشه که مایکلِ پانزده ساله در خیابان مریض میشه و زنی بهش کمک میکنه. بعدها رابطهای بین این دو شکل میگیره که بعضیها اسمش رو عشق میگذارند، ولی به نظر من فقط اروتیکه. زن بزرگتری که از پسر کم سنی سواستفاده جنسی میکنه. اما داستان اصلی سالها بعد از این رابطه اتفاق میوفته، وقتی مایکل راجع به گذشتهی هانا میفهمه
قلم نویسنده به معنای واقعی کلمه خشک و یکنواخته. هیچکدام از کاراکترها برای من جان نگرفتند و اهمیت پیدا نکردند. زمان در کتاب سریع جلو میرفت، اما من بزرگشدن پسر و پیر شدن هانا رو حس نمیکردم. از همه بدتر مکانیکی نوشته شدن احساسات و صحنههای اروتیک بود که من رو از داستان خیلی دور نگه داشت
برعکس کتاب، در فیلم اقتباسی تمام این ضعفها جبران شده بود و کیت وینسلت شخصیت هانا رو برای من زنده کرد. تمام احساسات، گذر زمان و تلخی داستان به بهترین شکل تصویر شده و این داستان بیروح انگار زنده شده بود
اما دلیلی که این کتاب به یک کلاسیک تبدیل شده تابو شکنیه. اول رابطهی نامتعارف مایکل و هانا و از اون مهمتر نگاه نویسنده به زمان حساسِ پس از جنگ جهانی دوم در آلمان. زمانی که آلمانیها باید با آنچه انجام داده بودند رو به رو میشدند و حتی برای سکوتشون شماتت میشدند. زمانی که سوالهای بزرگی در مورد درست و غلط مطرح شد. چطور باید نازیها رو محاکمه کنیم؟ کسی که در اون زمان در چهارچوب قانون عمل کرده رو میتونیم با قوانین الان محاکمه کنیم؟
فرض کنید قانون الان کشتن فردی رو مجاز میدونه و تو در جایگاهی قرار داری که باید این کار رو بکنی. اگر فردا قانون عوض بشه و همه به این نتیجه برسند که اون قتل توجیهی نداره، آیا تو قاتلی یا فقط در چهارچوب قانون عمل کردی؟ آیا باید خودت میفهمیدی که اینکار اشتباهه؟ بر چه اساسی؟ این سوالاتیه که هربار پس از یک تغییر اساسی در هر سیستمی پیش میاد و اصولاً جوابش رو ساده میکنند: گیوتین، اعدام، حبس ابد
الان واقعا دارم فکر میکنم که اگر من بودم چکار میکردم؟
M's Books : کتاب و صوتیش رو هم اینجا گذاشتم
۱۴۰۰/۷/۲۰
این جمله تنها دلیلیه که این کتاب به یادم میمونه
داستان از جایی شروع میشه که مایکلِ پانزده ساله در خیابان مریض میشه و زنی بهش کمک میکنه. بعدها رابطهای بین این دو شکل میگیره که بعضیها اسمش رو عشق میگذارند، ولی به نظر من فقط اروتیکه. زن بزرگتری که از پسر کم سنی سواستفاده جنسی میکنه. اما داستان اصلی سالها بعد از این رابطه اتفاق میوفته، وقتی مایکل راجع به گذشتهی هانا میفهمه
قلم نویسنده به معنای واقعی کلمه خشک و یکنواخته. هیچکدام از کاراکترها برای من جان نگرفتند و اهمیت پیدا نکردند. زمان در کتاب سریع جلو میرفت، اما من بزرگشدن پسر و پیر شدن هانا رو حس نمیکردم. از همه بدتر مکانیکی نوشته شدن احساسات و صحنههای اروتیک بود که من رو از داستان خیلی دور نگه داشت
برعکس کتاب، در فیلم اقتباسی تمام این ضعفها جبران شده بود و کیت وینسلت شخصیت هانا رو برای من زنده کرد. تمام احساسات، گذر زمان و تلخی داستان به بهترین شکل تصویر شده و این داستان بیروح انگار زنده شده بود
اما دلیلی که این کتاب به یک کلاسیک تبدیل شده تابو شکنیه. اول رابطهی نامتعارف مایکل و هانا و از اون مهمتر نگاه نویسنده به زمان حساسِ پس از جنگ جهانی دوم در آلمان. زمانی که آلمانیها باید با آنچه انجام داده بودند رو به رو میشدند و حتی برای سکوتشون شماتت میشدند. زمانی که سوالهای بزرگی در مورد درست و غلط مطرح شد. چطور باید نازیها رو محاکمه کنیم؟ کسی که در اون زمان در چهارچوب قانون عمل کرده رو میتونیم با قوانین الان محاکمه کنیم؟
فرض کنید قانون الان کشتن فردی رو مجاز میدونه و تو در جایگاهی قرار داری که باید این کار رو بکنی. اگر فردا قانون عوض بشه و همه به این نتیجه برسند که اون قتل توجیهی نداره، آیا تو قاتلی یا فقط در چهارچوب قانون عمل کردی؟ آیا باید خودت میفهمیدی که اینکار اشتباهه؟ بر چه اساسی؟ این سوالاتیه که هربار پس از یک تغییر اساسی در هر سیستمی پیش میاد و اصولاً جوابش رو ساده میکنند: گیوتین، اعدام، حبس ابد
الان واقعا دارم فکر میکنم که اگر من بودم چکار میکردم؟
M's Books : کتاب و صوتیش رو هم اینجا گذاشتم
۱۴۰۰/۷/۲۰
October 7, 2023
لماذا كل ما كان لطيفاُ بالنسبة لنا يتبعثر فجأة عند استعادة الماضي، ألأنه توارى خلف حقائق قاتمة؟
- "القارئ" لبرنارد شلينك، رواية مبنية على ردّات الفعل، تحكي عن مرحلة خطرة وحساسة جداً، تلك التي تلت انهيار الرايخ الثالث وسقوط النازية، نظرة الجيل الثاني للجيل السابق، أسئلته الكثيرة عن المعتقلات والهولوكوست والتعذيب، اسئلة عن دورهم في هذه المعمعة، عن سبب رضاهم بالقيام بالتعذيب او المشاركة فيه او غضّ الطرف عنه كأنه غير موجود. رواية نقدية بإمتياز يتخللها العديد من الإستطرادات الفلسفية والفكرية بأسلوبٍ سلس ولغةٍ واضحة ومفهومة.
حقيقة ما يقوله الواحد تكمن فيما يفعله
- ابتدأت الرواية بقسمها الأول بحادثة بسيطة بين ثلاثينية ومراهق، تطورت الأحداث الى علاقة جنسية بينهما مبنية على الرغبة المتبادلة وأصبحت لاحقاً تعلّقاً وحباً حسب صيرورة الأحداث اللاحقة وتأثيرها في الشخصيات، تميّز هذا القسم بوصف التعلّق والإنكسارات والأحوال النفسية للراوي. القسم الثاني اتى بعد سنوات اختفاء المرأة في محاكمة لمجموعة تابعة للأمن النازي حيث كانت المرأة في قفص الإتهام والراوي في "سيمينار" قانوني (او حقوقي) يتابع الجلسات، هذا القسم كان فيه الكثير من الأسئلة حول الذات والخيانة والقانون، والنقد للشخصية الألمانية الجامدة، الذنب، العار، وبعض الأفكار الفلسفية عن الخير والشر والخيارات الممكنة. القسم الثالث وهو فترة سجن المرأة اتى ليتمم ما سبق ويعطيه معنىً، النهاية كانت منطقية جداً فقد أدّت المرأة كفارتها (رغم انها لم تكن الملامة لكن عنادها دعاها لتحمّل كل اللوم) وذهبت الى المكان الأفضل بإرادتها.
ان عمل التاريخ يعني بناء جسور بين الماضي والحاضر، وملاحظة كلتا الضفتين للنهر، والمشاركة بفاعلية في كلا الجانبين
- الرواية عذبة بطريقة غريبة، سلسة جداً رغم كمية الأفكار التي تحتويها، وتمسك بتلابيب القارئ الى ان ينهيها، لكن الترجمة افتقدت للتحرير فتكاثرت الأخطاء الإملائية الساذجة وبعض الأخطاء اللغوية مما نغّص القراءة بعض الشيئ.
ان طبقات حياتنا مشيّدة بإحكامٍ واحدةٍ فوق الأخرى لدرجة اننا نصطدم دائماً بالأحداث السابقة في الأيام اللاحقة، ليست كمسألة تشكلت وذهبت لحالها، ولك كمسألة راهنة وحيّة
- أودّ الإشارة ختاماً الى خيطٍ حريري استمر في الرواية بين هانا ومايكل، بدأ حينما زجرته وأنبّته لينتبه لمدرسته واستعملت سلطتها المكتسبة لتحثه على النجاح ونجح.. وانتهى مع تعلمها للكتابة والقراءة مع نهاية الرواية بعد تشجيعه لها من خلال التسجيلات الصوتية.
July 23, 2017
Hace unos días una compañera de GR me recomendó esta lectura, y no dudé ni un segundo en ir a la biblioteca para ver si tenían este libro. Es más, como sé que más o menos nos gustan las mismas lecturas, ni tan siquiera perdí el tiempo en leer la sinopsis. ¿Para qué lo iba hacer? Además, ¿no es más interesante abrir un libro sin saber lo que te vas a encontrar en su interior? ¿Dejarte llevar hacia donde él quiera conducirte? Pues bien, he de decir que esta lectura me ha gustado y sorprendido a partes iguales: he disfrutado con el amor de Michael por Hanna, y cuestionado el pasado de ella. Y al final, supongo, los he perdonado y entendido a los dos.
October 5, 2020
Just not for me.
Hated both characters.
I didn't feel sorry for either of them.
Hated both characters.
I didn't feel sorry for either of them.
watched-the-movie-instead
July 19, 2020"You don't have the power to upset me. You don't matter enough to upset me."
Best quote ever :)
March 10, 2025
"Pero el que huye no sólo se marcha de un lugar, sino que llega a otro. Y el pasado al que llegué a través de mis estudios era tan vívido como el presente.".
4,5⭐️. Una lectura que no deja indiferente.
Dice la sinopsis:
Un adolescente conoce a una mujer madura con la que inicia una relación amorosa. Antes de acostarse juntos, ella siempre le pide que le lea fragmentos de Goethe, Schiller& hasta que un día ella desaparece. Siete años después, el joven, que estudia derecho, acude al juicio de cinco mujeres acusadas de crímenes nazis y descubre que una de ellas es su antigua amante. Una deslumbrante novela sobre el amor, la culpa, el horror y la piedad.
Qué destaco del libro.
La prosa del autor, fluida, rica en matices, delicada, reflexiva y madura. Engancha y se lee con facilidad. Destaca su manera de conectar con el lector a la hora de transmitir reflexiones, emociones y sentimientos. Una doble conexión, la intelectual y la emocional que me ha dejado impresionada.
La trama se articula en tres partes que corresponden a tres momentos en la vida del protagonista, adolescencia, primera juventud y madurez. La acción transcurre en la Alemania de finales de los 50 y década de los 60. Será el propio Michael quien nos narre en primera persona la historia. Vamos a conocer al adolescente enamorado de Hanna, una mujer que le dobla la edad, al joven universitario horrorizado e impotente ante los crímenes de la generación anterior y al hombre maduro que, a sabiendas de que existen realidades para las que no cabe el olvido, sí es capaz de mostrar cierta compasión por Hanna. Es una novela corta, pero compleja, que aborda cuestiones como la culpa, la responsabilidad, la connivencia, la búsqueda de la verdad, la redención y el perdón para los demás y para sí mismos.
Los personajes tan bien trazados en una obra de poco más de 200 páginas. Destaca la importancia que tiene el pasado en el presente de cada personaje. Un pasado que determina no solo las acciones de Michael y Hanna, sino la de los pocos secundarios que aparecen en la novela. Algunos, como Michael, viven marcados por las atrocidades de un pasado reciente del que no son culpables. Otros, los que sí lo son, conviven con las consecuencias de sus actos, unos actos de los que muchos no se sienten responsables e intentan justificar o blanquear.
“Los estratos de nuestra vida reposan tan juntos los unos sobre los otros que en lo actual siempre advertimos la presencia de lo antiguo, y no como algo desechado y acabado, sino presente y vívido”.
Las reflexiones sobre temas varios, como las consecuencias de la guerra y el Holocausto, la dicotomía entre decisión y acción, el eterno dilema de si es lícito revelar "por su bien" los secretos de otro y el poder de la literatura. Podría poner frases y más frases sobre cada uno de estos temas, pero creo preferible que cada lector se encuentre con las suyas, así que me contentaré con una.
“Pero la acción no se limita a llevar a cabo lo que he pensado y decidido previamente. Surge de una fuente propia, y es tan independiente como lo es mi pensamiento y lo son mis decisiones”.
En conclusión. Una novela compleja con una trama atractiva y que mueve a la reflexión. Imperdible.
4,5⭐️. Una lectura que no deja indiferente.
Dice la sinopsis:
Un adolescente conoce a una mujer madura con la que inicia una relación amorosa. Antes de acostarse juntos, ella siempre le pide que le lea fragmentos de Goethe, Schiller& hasta que un día ella desaparece. Siete años después, el joven, que estudia derecho, acude al juicio de cinco mujeres acusadas de crímenes nazis y descubre que una de ellas es su antigua amante. Una deslumbrante novela sobre el amor, la culpa, el horror y la piedad.
Qué destaco del libro.
La prosa del autor, fluida, rica en matices, delicada, reflexiva y madura. Engancha y se lee con facilidad. Destaca su manera de conectar con el lector a la hora de transmitir reflexiones, emociones y sentimientos. Una doble conexión, la intelectual y la emocional que me ha dejado impresionada.
La trama se articula en tres partes que corresponden a tres momentos en la vida del protagonista, adolescencia, primera juventud y madurez. La acción transcurre en la Alemania de finales de los 50 y década de los 60. Será el propio Michael quien nos narre en primera persona la historia. Vamos a conocer al adolescente enamorado de Hanna, una mujer que le dobla la edad, al joven universitario horrorizado e impotente ante los crímenes de la generación anterior y al hombre maduro que, a sabiendas de que existen realidades para las que no cabe el olvido, sí es capaz de mostrar cierta compasión por Hanna. Es una novela corta, pero compleja, que aborda cuestiones como la culpa, la responsabilidad, la connivencia, la búsqueda de la verdad, la redención y el perdón para los demás y para sí mismos.
Los personajes tan bien trazados en una obra de poco más de 200 páginas. Destaca la importancia que tiene el pasado en el presente de cada personaje. Un pasado que determina no solo las acciones de Michael y Hanna, sino la de los pocos secundarios que aparecen en la novela. Algunos, como Michael, viven marcados por las atrocidades de un pasado reciente del que no son culpables. Otros, los que sí lo son, conviven con las consecuencias de sus actos, unos actos de los que muchos no se sienten responsables e intentan justificar o blanquear.
“Los estratos de nuestra vida reposan tan juntos los unos sobre los otros que en lo actual siempre advertimos la presencia de lo antiguo, y no como algo desechado y acabado, sino presente y vívido”.
Las reflexiones sobre temas varios, como las consecuencias de la guerra y el Holocausto, la dicotomía entre decisión y acción, el eterno dilema de si es lícito revelar "por su bien" los secretos de otro y el poder de la literatura. Podría poner frases y más frases sobre cada uno de estos temas, pero creo preferible que cada lector se encuentre con las suyas, así que me contentaré con una.
“Pero la acción no se limita a llevar a cabo lo que he pensado y decidido previamente. Surge de una fuente propia, y es tan independiente como lo es mi pensamiento y lo son mis decisiones”.
En conclusión. Una novela compleja con una trama atractiva y que mueve a la reflexión. Imperdible.
December 27, 2024
Set in post WWII Germany, The Reader is the story of the ‘affair’ between the 15 year old student, Michael Berg and the 36 year old Hanna Schmitz who was a tram conductor.
The book is divided into three parts.
The first is about Michael and Hanna’s relationship and Hanna’s obliging Michael to read for her every time before their sexual intercourse.
In the second part, six years have passed since Hanna’s disappearance, when Michael learns that she is on trial for war crimes committed at Auschwitz.
In the third part of the book, Michael is going through his feelings of love , grief and betrayal as after 18 years, Hanna is going to be released.
The story was one I would have loved to read about, but for the flat and sparse writing style of the author, didn’t care much about the characters, nor about the events.
Or maybe it was the translation which was lacking?
The book is divided into three parts.
The first is about Michael and Hanna’s relationship and Hanna’s obliging Michael to read for her every time before their sexual intercourse.
In the second part, six years have passed since Hanna’s disappearance, when Michael learns that she is on trial for war crimes committed at Auschwitz.
In the third part of the book, Michael is going through his feelings of love , grief and betrayal as after 18 years, Hanna is going to be released.
The story was one I would have loved to read about, but for the flat and sparse writing style of the author, didn’t care much about the characters, nor about the events.
Or maybe it was the translation which was lacking?
March 28, 2008
This book just fell short with me, on oh so many levels. One thing that did intrigue me and that I have not yet seen much of is the perspective of Germans after the Holocaust and their views on the Third Reich and Hitler's agenda, especially of the younger generation of that time. That was really the only thing that struck me about this book. The rest was just not enough. For one, the affair between MIchael and Hanna was deplorable. Is it supposed to not be as bothersome because it is an older woman with a teenage boy, rather than an older man with a teenage girl? Either way, in my opinion, it's just not palatable and I felt neither sympathy for either of the characters nor did I feel that it was relatable on many levels at all whatsoever. The writing fell flat for me and was rather dry. Not in the beautiful sparse language trends of Hemingway, but in an annoying succinct manner that just left each situation as it occurred "as is" with nothing left to ponder. I noticed that this novel has won awards and while it means absolutely nothing to me because her choices are not always great or even good in the least, but it was on Oprah's Book Club list a number of years back. Neither are good enough reasons for anyone to read this book, in my opinion. Spare yourselves and read a nice historical account of Germany after the Holocaust, if you are inclined. I am sure it would be much richer reading in any case than this novel.
July 10, 2018
There are certain books which have an impact on one, without one being able to put one's finger exactly on the reason why. 'The Reader' by Bernhard Schlink is such a book.
The experience of reading this book was like taking a train ride through a pleasant landscape: you mosey along comfortably, enjoying the view and the climate, settled and relaxed. The journey is comfortable enough without being anything out of the ordinary. Then suddenly, the train enters a section of the countryside which is breathtaking in its beauty, and you are jolted out of your somnolence. You sit up and watch, your nose glued to the window, watching with rapt attention. You are unaware of the journey's passing, of temporal time, so engrossed are you in the present experience.
The tale of 15-year-old Michael Berg (the first-person narrator) and thirty-something Hanna Schmidt, a tram conductor in post WW-2 Germany is pretty sordid in the beginning; having collapsed from hepatitis in front of her house, he is taken care of and helped home by her. Michael's thank-you visit to Hanna after convalescing, however, becomes a voyeuristic session and it's not long before they are lovers. It is an adolescent's fantasy come true, a bit like Lolita in reverse.
The tale takes on a different twist once Michael starts reading to Hanna. Apparently, she can't get enough of his stories. So their sexual escapades are now connected to prolonged reading sessions which each one of them enjoys. But Hanna still remains an enigma to Michael with her erratic behaviour, an enigma which becomes all the more inexplicable when she disappears on the threshold of her promotion as tram driver.
The next time he sees her, she is in the dock. Hanna is charged as a Nazi war criminal, a guard of a small concentration camp near Cracow, a satellite camp for Auschwitz. She is accused, along with others, of causing the death of a group of camp inmates by locking them up in a burning church. As a law student, Michael is covering her trial. Hanna's strange, self-destructive behaviour in the courtroom as well as her unusual acts as the camp guard (providing vulnerable young inmates with special status in the camp, to read books to her, until they were sent to Auschwitz to their death) intrigue him. One day, linking it to their sex-cum-reading sessions, he makes a startling discovery about his one-time lover...
Later on, Michael is a disillusioned middle-aged man, with a failed marriage and a colourless life. He finds that he cannot exorcise Hanna from his psyche. At the end of his tether, he hits upon a unique solution: Michael finds solace for himself, as well as redemption for Hanna, through his old medium - that of reading.
***
Ultimately, what is this book about? Is it about paedophilia, or an adolescent fantasy? Is it about Nazism, and man's cruelty towards man? Is it the tale of a Germany coming to terms with its Nazi past, disguised as a coming-of-age story?
I, personally, would like to see it as an allegory on the redemptive power of storytelling. In all cultures, bards enjoyed a special, revered status - in India, it approaches the divine (think of Vyasa and Valmiki). Here, Hanna's sins - both the carnal as well as the homicidal - are linked with getting stories read to her; so, unusually, is her redemption in the last part of the book.
Hanna Schmidt is a masterly creation. In the short span of 200+ pages, the author has brought to life an engrossing character who remains a puzzle until the very end.
This is one holocaust story which does not take the trodden path.
The experience of reading this book was like taking a train ride through a pleasant landscape: you mosey along comfortably, enjoying the view and the climate, settled and relaxed. The journey is comfortable enough without being anything out of the ordinary. Then suddenly, the train enters a section of the countryside which is breathtaking in its beauty, and you are jolted out of your somnolence. You sit up and watch, your nose glued to the window, watching with rapt attention. You are unaware of the journey's passing, of temporal time, so engrossed are you in the present experience.
The tale of 15-year-old Michael Berg (the first-person narrator) and thirty-something Hanna Schmidt, a tram conductor in post WW-2 Germany is pretty sordid in the beginning; having collapsed from hepatitis in front of her house, he is taken care of and helped home by her. Michael's thank-you visit to Hanna after convalescing, however, becomes a voyeuristic session and it's not long before they are lovers. It is an adolescent's fantasy come true, a bit like Lolita in reverse.
The tale takes on a different twist once Michael starts reading to Hanna. Apparently, she can't get enough of his stories. So their sexual escapades are now connected to prolonged reading sessions which each one of them enjoys. But Hanna still remains an enigma to Michael with her erratic behaviour, an enigma which becomes all the more inexplicable when she disappears on the threshold of her promotion as tram driver.
The next time he sees her, she is in the dock. Hanna is charged as a Nazi war criminal, a guard of a small concentration camp near Cracow, a satellite camp for Auschwitz. She is accused, along with others, of causing the death of a group of camp inmates by locking them up in a burning church. As a law student, Michael is covering her trial. Hanna's strange, self-destructive behaviour in the courtroom as well as her unusual acts as the camp guard (providing vulnerable young inmates with special status in the camp, to read books to her, until they were sent to Auschwitz to their death) intrigue him. One day, linking it to their sex-cum-reading sessions, he makes a startling discovery about his one-time lover...
Later on, Michael is a disillusioned middle-aged man, with a failed marriage and a colourless life. He finds that he cannot exorcise Hanna from his psyche. At the end of his tether, he hits upon a unique solution: Michael finds solace for himself, as well as redemption for Hanna, through his old medium - that of reading.
***
Ultimately, what is this book about? Is it about paedophilia, or an adolescent fantasy? Is it about Nazism, and man's cruelty towards man? Is it the tale of a Germany coming to terms with its Nazi past, disguised as a coming-of-age story?
I, personally, would like to see it as an allegory on the redemptive power of storytelling. In all cultures, bards enjoyed a special, revered status - in India, it approaches the divine (think of Vyasa and Valmiki). Here, Hanna's sins - both the carnal as well as the homicidal - are linked with getting stories read to her; so, unusually, is her redemption in the last part of the book.
Hanna Schmidt is a masterly creation. In the short span of 200+ pages, the author has brought to life an engrossing character who remains a puzzle until the very end.
This is one holocaust story which does not take the trodden path.
March 18, 2019
[Before reading: posted late 2009]
Haven't read it, but was completely blown away by the movie. Masterpiece! Kate Winslet was even better than I'd expected, and that's saying quite a bit.
Maybe I'll finally get serious about improving my German... no question about the appropriateness of the book.
_______________________
[After reading: posted early 2019]
It's funny how all the books you read link up inside you and start talking to each other. I finished Der Vorleser a week or so ago, and for once I just didn't know what to say. Everything I thought of seemed inadequate. But then yesterday I started Romain Gary's Chien blanc, which a French friend had recommended to me, and after a couple of hours I found a scene that brought everything into focus.
In Gary's supposedly autobiographical novel, the author, who's living in 1968 LA, adopts a stray dog, a German shepherd he calls Batka. Gary is a dog person, Batka is a kind, good-natured dog, and they really hit it off. Within days, Gary and his wife feel he's part of the family. But then a terrible and unexpected thing happens. A guy comes to clean their pool, and the moment Batka sees the visitor he's transformed into a murderous, snarling beast. Teeth bared, he lunges at the terrified pool cleaner, who's luckily still on the other side of the gate. Gary can barely hold him back. He apologises profusely and the pool cleaner, still shaking, leaves. A couple of days later, the same thing happens again, this time with a Western Union delivery boy.
Gary thinks about it, and there's a link between the two incidents which is distressingly obvious: the pool cleaner and the delivery boy were both black, all their other visitors that week have been white. He takes Batka to a friend who's an expert on animals, and the friend confirms his suspicions. Batka is a "white dog", a dog who's been painstakingly trained to attack blacks. They have them in the American South. Originally, they tracked escaped slaves; now the police use them against demonstrators. Gary's friend says Batka, who is about seven, is way too old to be retrained and is highly dangerous. The only sensible thing is to put him down.
Gary sits with the dog for several hours. Then he takes Batka to his car and visits a friend who lends him a revolver. They drive out to an isolated place in the woods. They get out of the car. Batka is happy to be with his master. He sits expectantly, waiting for new instructions. Gary takes out the revolver. Batka knows what is is, but he doesn't run. He just sits where he is, looking at Gary sadly. Gary aims, but he's now crying so much that he can't see properly. He fires and misses. Batka still doesn't run. Instead, he slowly walks over to Gary and licks the barrel of the gun. Gary can't take any more. They get back in the car and drive home.
Well, Der Vorleser is like that. Except that it's not a stray dog he's known for a week, it's the love of his life.
Haven't read it, but was completely blown away by the movie. Masterpiece! Kate Winslet was even better than I'd expected, and that's saying quite a bit.
Maybe I'll finally get serious about improving my German... no question about the appropriateness of the book.
_______________________
[After reading: posted early 2019]
It's funny how all the books you read link up inside you and start talking to each other. I finished Der Vorleser a week or so ago, and for once I just didn't know what to say. Everything I thought of seemed inadequate. But then yesterday I started Romain Gary's Chien blanc, which a French friend had recommended to me, and after a couple of hours I found a scene that brought everything into focus.
In Gary's supposedly autobiographical novel, the author, who's living in 1968 LA, adopts a stray dog, a German shepherd he calls Batka. Gary is a dog person, Batka is a kind, good-natured dog, and they really hit it off. Within days, Gary and his wife feel he's part of the family. But then a terrible and unexpected thing happens. A guy comes to clean their pool, and the moment Batka sees the visitor he's transformed into a murderous, snarling beast. Teeth bared, he lunges at the terrified pool cleaner, who's luckily still on the other side of the gate. Gary can barely hold him back. He apologises profusely and the pool cleaner, still shaking, leaves. A couple of days later, the same thing happens again, this time with a Western Union delivery boy.
Gary thinks about it, and there's a link between the two incidents which is distressingly obvious: the pool cleaner and the delivery boy were both black, all their other visitors that week have been white. He takes Batka to a friend who's an expert on animals, and the friend confirms his suspicions. Batka is a "white dog", a dog who's been painstakingly trained to attack blacks. They have them in the American South. Originally, they tracked escaped slaves; now the police use them against demonstrators. Gary's friend says Batka, who is about seven, is way too old to be retrained and is highly dangerous. The only sensible thing is to put him down.
Gary sits with the dog for several hours. Then he takes Batka to his car and visits a friend who lends him a revolver. They drive out to an isolated place in the woods. They get out of the car. Batka is happy to be with his master. He sits expectantly, waiting for new instructions. Gary takes out the revolver. Batka knows what is is, but he doesn't run. He just sits where he is, looking at Gary sadly. Gary aims, but he's now crying so much that he can't see properly. He fires and misses. Batka still doesn't run. Instead, he slowly walks over to Gary and licks the barrel of the gun. Gary can't take any more. They get back in the car and drive home.
Well, Der Vorleser is like that. Except that it's not a stray dog he's known for a week, it's the love of his life.
April 28, 2018
Kitabı'n çok akıcı bir dili var, betimlemeler, duygusal ve psikolojik tahliller çok iyiydi..
Keşke Hanna nın ne düşündüğünü kendi ağzından öğrenebilseydim..
Okunası..
Keşke Hanna nın ne düşündüğünü kendi ağzından öğrenebilseydim..
Okunası..
August 29, 2025
5/5
📗📗📗📗📗
Terminado en mayo de 2025
Todos nosotros condenamos a la vergüenza eterna a nuestros padres, aunque sólo pudiéramos acusarlos de haber consentido la compañía de los asesinos después de 1945… La culpabilidad colectiva, se la acepte o no desde el punto de vista moral y jurídico, fue de hecho una realidad para mi generación de estudiantes.
Bernhard Schlink (Bielefeld, 1944) es un jurista y escritor alemán. Es autor de 4 novelas policíacas cuyo protagonista es Selbst, alguna de ellas premiada. Pero, en 1995, publica El lector, que se convierte en un éxito de ventas en Alemania, siendo en 1997 cuando Anagrama publica la primera edición española. Esta novela se hizo acreedora de diversos galardones en varios países. Recientemente, en 2023, publicó La nieta también en Anagrama, obra que también tengo entre mis intereses para leer más adelante.
Bernhard Schlink explora en esta novela las secuelas que han dejado los participantes en el Holocausto sobre las generaciones alemanas posteriores y como estas afrontan la carga derivada del pasado de sus antepasados, con sus culpabilidades y contradicciones.
Me pregunto:… ¿cómo debía interpretar mi generación, la de los nacidos más tarde, la información que recibíamos sobre los horrores del exterminio de los judíos? No podemos aspirar a comprender lo que en sí es incomprensible, ni tenemos derecho a comparar lo que en sí es incomparable, ni a hacer preguntas, porque el que pregunta, aunque no ponga en duda el horror, sí lo hace objeto de comunicación, en lugar de asumirlo como algo ante lo que sólo se puede enmudecer, presa del espanto, la vergüenza y la culpabilidad.
Michael Berg es un adolescente que se embarca en una relación sentimental con una mujer llamada Hanna, que tiene 36 años. Durante esta relación, en la que ella asume un rol más dominante, juega un papel importante y erótico la lectura que Michael le hace de obras literarias clásicas, que ella escucha embelesada. Un día Hanna desaparece de la vida de Michael sin previo aviso. Siete años después, durante unas prácticas en su formación como abogado, la volverá a encontrar sentada en el banquillo de los acusados como criminal de guerra nazi. En dicho juicio, destaca como Hanna asume una defensa débil intentando ocultar algo que ha estado ocultando durante toda su vida, siendo castigada severamente a pena de cárcel. Es en la cárcel, donde retomarán las sesiones de lectura usando cintas grabadas que Michael le envía periódicamente, desarrollándose una cierta dependencia de ella hacia él, que condicionará la conclusión de la historia.
Debía de estar completamente agotada. No sólo luchaba en el juicio. Luchaba siempre, y había luchado siempre, no para mostrar a los demás de lo que era capaz, sino para ocultarles de qué no era capaz.
Destaca, sobre todo, el choque que produce en Michael el pasado criminal de Hanna, lo que sirve al autor para reflexionar sobre las consecuencias que el nazismo y quienes lo toleraron han generado sobre las generaciones siguientes y como estas lo afrontan y lo sobrellevan. Esta novela fue llevada al cine por Stephen Daldry, bajo el título The Reader en 2009, con Ralph Fiennes y Kate Winslet, en los papeles protagonistas, consiguiendo el Oscar y el Bafta a la mejor actriz protagonista, por el gran trabajo desplegado por Kate. Os recomiendo leer primero la novela, pero la película también me gustó mucho y os la recomiendo a su vez.
Por todo lo que he argumentado, mi valoración no puede ser inferior a las 5 estrellas, con mi recomendación sobre todo a aquellos que os interese analizar las secuelas del pasado nazi sobre las generaciones siguientes. Por supuesto, desde ya manifiesto mi interés en leer su última novela, en la que retoma la línea ya iniciada por la aquí reseñada.
¿Por qué lo que fue hermoso, cuando miramos atrás, se nos vuelve quebradizo al saber que ocultaba verdades amargas?...A veces un final doloroso hace que el recuerdo traicione la felicidad pasada. A lo mejor es que la única felicidad verdadera es la que dura siempre.
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Terminado en mayo de 2025
Todos nosotros condenamos a la vergüenza eterna a nuestros padres, aunque sólo pudiéramos acusarlos de haber consentido la compañía de los asesinos después de 1945… La culpabilidad colectiva, se la acepte o no desde el punto de vista moral y jurídico, fue de hecho una realidad para mi generación de estudiantes.
Bernhard Schlink (Bielefeld, 1944) es un jurista y escritor alemán. Es autor de 4 novelas policíacas cuyo protagonista es Selbst, alguna de ellas premiada. Pero, en 1995, publica El lector, que se convierte en un éxito de ventas en Alemania, siendo en 1997 cuando Anagrama publica la primera edición española. Esta novela se hizo acreedora de diversos galardones en varios países. Recientemente, en 2023, publicó La nieta también en Anagrama, obra que también tengo entre mis intereses para leer más adelante.
Bernhard Schlink explora en esta novela las secuelas que han dejado los participantes en el Holocausto sobre las generaciones alemanas posteriores y como estas afrontan la carga derivada del pasado de sus antepasados, con sus culpabilidades y contradicciones.
Me pregunto:… ¿cómo debía interpretar mi generación, la de los nacidos más tarde, la información que recibíamos sobre los horrores del exterminio de los judíos? No podemos aspirar a comprender lo que en sí es incomprensible, ni tenemos derecho a comparar lo que en sí es incomparable, ni a hacer preguntas, porque el que pregunta, aunque no ponga en duda el horror, sí lo hace objeto de comunicación, en lugar de asumirlo como algo ante lo que sólo se puede enmudecer, presa del espanto, la vergüenza y la culpabilidad.
Michael Berg es un adolescente que se embarca en una relación sentimental con una mujer llamada Hanna, que tiene 36 años. Durante esta relación, en la que ella asume un rol más dominante, juega un papel importante y erótico la lectura que Michael le hace de obras literarias clásicas, que ella escucha embelesada. Un día Hanna desaparece de la vida de Michael sin previo aviso. Siete años después, durante unas prácticas en su formación como abogado, la volverá a encontrar sentada en el banquillo de los acusados como criminal de guerra nazi. En dicho juicio, destaca como Hanna asume una defensa débil intentando ocultar algo que ha estado ocultando durante toda su vida, siendo castigada severamente a pena de cárcel. Es en la cárcel, donde retomarán las sesiones de lectura usando cintas grabadas que Michael le envía periódicamente, desarrollándose una cierta dependencia de ella hacia él, que condicionará la conclusión de la historia.
Debía de estar completamente agotada. No sólo luchaba en el juicio. Luchaba siempre, y había luchado siempre, no para mostrar a los demás de lo que era capaz, sino para ocultarles de qué no era capaz.
Destaca, sobre todo, el choque que produce en Michael el pasado criminal de Hanna, lo que sirve al autor para reflexionar sobre las consecuencias que el nazismo y quienes lo toleraron han generado sobre las generaciones siguientes y como estas lo afrontan y lo sobrellevan. Esta novela fue llevada al cine por Stephen Daldry, bajo el título The Reader en 2009, con Ralph Fiennes y Kate Winslet, en los papeles protagonistas, consiguiendo el Oscar y el Bafta a la mejor actriz protagonista, por el gran trabajo desplegado por Kate. Os recomiendo leer primero la novela, pero la película también me gustó mucho y os la recomiendo a su vez.
Por todo lo que he argumentado, mi valoración no puede ser inferior a las 5 estrellas, con mi recomendación sobre todo a aquellos que os interese analizar las secuelas del pasado nazi sobre las generaciones siguientes. Por supuesto, desde ya manifiesto mi interés en leer su última novela, en la que retoma la línea ya iniciada por la aquí reseñada.
¿Por qué lo que fue hermoso, cuando miramos atrás, se nos vuelve quebradizo al saber que ocultaba verdades amargas?...A veces un final doloroso hace que el recuerdo traicione la felicidad pasada. A lo mejor es que la única felicidad verdadera es la que dura siempre.
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