خواب‌گردها

The Sleepwalkers #1-3

by Hermann Broch, علی‌اصغر حداد (Translator)

A trilogia Os sonâmbulos retrata três fases cruciais na vida da a prussiana, a imperialista e a da Primeira Guerra Mundial. Cada romance narra a história de indivíduos que, tal como os sonâmbulos, vivem entre o sono e a realidade, buscando encontrar um sentido para a própria Pasenow ou O romantismo (1888), Esch ou A anarquia (1903) e Huguenau ou O realismo (1918). Pasenow, Esch e Huguenau tentam libertar-se dos valores do passado, nos quais já não acreditam, mas dos quais ainda fazem parte.

Em cada romance, Broch retrata a decadência dos antigos valores europeus, a libertação da razão acompanhada pelo surgimento da irracionalidade, e a autodestruição do mundo em sangue e miséria. Ao mergulhar nas reviravoltas de seus personagens, Broch oferece um retrato profético de um mundo atormentado pela perda da fé, da moral e da razão, e cria um novo tipo de romance, um dos pilares da prosa moderna.

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

781 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1931

About the author

Broch was born in Vienna to a prosperous Jewish family and worked for some time in his family's factory in Teesdorf, though he maintained his literary interests privately. He attended a technical college for textile manufacture and a spinning and weaving college. Later, in 1927, he sold the textile factory and decided to study mathematics, philosophy and psychology at the University of Vienna.

In 1909 he converted to Roman Catholicism and married Franziska von Rothermann, the daughter of a knighted manufacturer. This marriage dured until 1923.

He started as a full-time writer when he was 40. When "The Sleepwalkers," his first novel, was published, he was 45. The year was 1931.

In 1938, when the Nazis annexed Austria, he emigrated to Britain after he was briefly arrested. After this, he moved to the United States. In his exile, he helped other persecuted Jews.

In 1945 was published his masterpiece, "The Dead of Virgil." After this, he started an essay on mass behaviour, which remained unfinished.

Broch died in 1951 in New Haven, Connecticut. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize and considered one of the major Modernists.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

There are some books that are not much read but nonetheless they serve as a kind of Bethlehem star for the whole literary movements and The Sleepwalkers is one of those.

Driven by that extraordinary oppression which falls on every human being when, childhood over, he begins to divine that he is fated to go on in isolation and unaided towards his own death; driven by this extraordinary oppression, which may with justice be called a fear of God, man looks round him for a companion hand in hand with whom he may tread the road to the dark portal…

The novel is full of fresh ideas and it institutes a new approach to reality: the beautiful romanticism of the old is dying (The Romantic), the dream of the purifying power of anarchy is fruitless and morbid (The Anarchist), and the only thing that remains is the eerie, roily and bleak actuality (The Realist).
We didn’t choose the world we were born into…

[Mansoor · Rating 5 out of 5]

خواب‌گردها رمان یک دوران است. تصویری است از تحول اروپا، از شکوهش در پایان قرن نوزدهم تا زوالش بعد از جنگ بزرگ. از این جهت، شبیه آثار یوزف روت است. دو دفتر اول این سه‌گانه روایت‌هایی سرراست و رئالیستی دارند. دفتر سوم اما فرم عوض می‌کند. بروخ، با ذهن ریاضیاتی و نگاه تحسین‌گرش به پوزیتیویسم، همواره در جهت وضوح حرکت می‌کند. هرگز به‌ دنبال ابرآلود‌کردن فضا نیست. منتقدان معمولا شخصیت‌پردازی را در شمار نقاط قوت بروخ تلقی نمی‌کنند، ولی خواب‌گردها شخصیت‌هایی قوی، خوب‌پرداخت‌شده و به‌یادماندنی دارد. هر کدام از سه شخصیت مرکزی رمان یا مشغول خواب‌گردی در گذر ایامند یا می‌کوشند به گذر ایام تن ندهند


Screenshot from The House Is Black (Forugh Farrokhzad, 1963)

[Szplug · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hermann Broch is another of those early twentieth century Austro-Hungarian writers whose works I have discovered and devoured over the past decade. Though not as famous as Franz Kafka and Robert Musil, his work is right up there with them in its caliber and depth. His magnum opus was the stunning hallucinatory prose poem The Death of Virgil, but The Sleepwalkers—more in the vein of Musil's A Man Without Qualities—is another extraordinary work of art.

German language novels from the dawn of the modern age are not entertaining beach reads, and several people I have recommended this book to found it dreadfully boring and impossible to finish. To others—myself included—these works, which plumb the depths to explore the societal changes that were forming themselves at the time, are fascinating and hard to put down. The translation is by the Muirs, of Kafka fame, who render here another superb and elegant version for those of us who cannot, sadly, read the book in its native tongue.

The novel is divided into three parts, each exploring an aspect of the struggles of different classes and people in Germany to deal with the flux in morals, mammon and modernity as the twentieth century was dawning and the old world was passing on. The first part, The Romantic, details the personal conflicts of a Prussian nobleman, Von Pasenow, as he tries to avoid the dangerous and seductive lures of liberal society and maintain the faith and tradition of the Junkers. The second book, The Anarchist, moves us to the Rhineland, where we follow the peregrinations of Esch up and down the great river, seeking better work and seething against the perceived class war in Germany, and the corruption and ethical laxity of the rich capitalists who have risen to economic power. The third part, The Realist, brings us Von Pasenow and Esch, each older and scarred, in a small town in the Eifel Highlands in Germany, bordering Belgium, during the First World War. They are beset by Huguenau, an Alsatian deserter from the German Army and a thoroughly modern businessman, devoid of scruples or morals, determined to live his life using reason and reason alone.

Broch is lamenting the turn that German and Austrian society was taking. As the novel's denoument approaches, Von Pasenow and Esch rise to the occasion—even the old anarchist is moved by his moral compass towards heroism, whilst Huguenau, looking out for number one from dawn till dusk, can only see in heroism the irrational lure of suicide. Hueguenau survives the war—indeed, comes out of it a wealthy man; but what, actually, has he won? There is an act of injustice, a remorseless betrayal by the Alsatian, that will have any red-blooded reader seething—but Broch offers no pat endings or comforting answers to his questions. As he posits:

The great question remains: how can an individual whose ideas have been genuinely directed towards other aims understand and accommodate himself to the implications and reality of dying?

This is not a book of action or important events: it is a slow, detailed study of its characters, their milieu, and their way of dealing with the massive changes coursing through Germany and Europe. It probes and prods, and moves at a leisured pace. Broch is a brilliant writer, and he has produced a brilliant book.

When desire and aims meet and merge, when dreams begin to foreshadow the great moments and crises of life, the road narrows then into darker gorges, and the prophetic dream of death enshrouds the man who has hitherto walked dreaming in sleep...The man who from afar off yearns for his wife or merely for the home of his childhood has begun his sleepwalking.

[Maziyar Yf · Rating 2 out of 5]

هرمان بروخ نویسنده اتریشی بوده که علاوه بر نوشتن ، به سرودن شعر و مقاله و رساله نویسی هم می پرداخته ، او فلسفه دان بوده و آنگونه که در مورد او نوشته اند متاثر از اندیشه های نیچه .
بروخ دوستی نزدیکی با اندیشمند و فیلسوف معروف هانا آرنت داشته ، آنها به مدت پنج سال با هم نامه نگاری کرده و در مکاتبات خود به فلسفه و میهن مشترکشان ، آلمان پس از جنگ می پرداخته اند . شناخته ترین کتاب های آقای بروخ ، مرگ ویرژیل و همین کتاب سه گانه خوابگردها ست که به تازگی بدست توانای استاد علی اصغر حداد به فارسی ترجمه شده است .
با گشتی کوتاه در اینترنت ، می توان به آسانی به حجم انبوه ستایش از کتاب خوابگردها پی برد ، آنان خوابگردها را شاهکاری بی بدیل دانسته اند که " به از دست دادن معنای زندگی و زوال ارزش ها و پیامدهای آن در جوامع مدرن پرداخته ، شخصیت های داستانی او در جامعه ای که در آن ساختارها و ارزش های پیشین رو به زوال اند در جست و جوی هویتی تازه اند ، آنان سرگردان و پریشان، پیوسته از این نظام ارزشی به نظام ارزشی دیگری پناه می‌برند، اما از دریافت معنای زندگی عاجزند " .
یا در تعریف رایجی دیگر سه گانه خوابگردها را " سه مرحله‌ی کمابیش پایانی ارزش‌های پیشینِ اروپا می‌دانند ونویسنده می‌کوشد تا نشان بدهد که در پی بی‌رمق ‌شدن بیش ‌از پیشِ سنن و ارزش‌های روبه‌فروپاشی ‌گذاشته‌ی قدیم، درهم‌آمیختگی زندگی با عناصر رؤیایی، با تصورات و تخیلات خواب‌گونه، هرچه بیش‌تر آشکار می‌شود ".
اما از نگاه خواننده تازه کاری همانند من ،خواندن کتاب خوابگردها با 780 صفحه ، تنها همانند یک پرگویی و شاید زیاده گویی نویسنده ، جناب آقای باروخ باشد . نویسنده هر سه بخش کتاب را با فلسفه سنگین آلمان به ویژه هگل و امانوئل کانت چنان پر کرده که در بیشتر مواقع داستان اصلی فراموش شده و آنچه که باقی مانده تنها و تنها فلسفه است . حجم فلسفه به کار رفته کتاب به تدریج بیشتر می شود ، به گونه ای که در دفتر سوم خواننده نگون بخت آنچه می خواند گویی تنها منطق هگل یا دیالکتیک خاص اوست .
آسان ترین و قابل فهم ترین بخشی از کتاب را که می توان اندکی درک کرد تلاش نویسنده برای مجسم کردن فضای اجتماعی و فرهنگی آلمان در دوران ویلهم دوم در سه دفتر است ، فضایی که اگرچه میان رمانتیک در دفتر اول ، آنارشی دفتر دوم وواقع نگری دفتر سوم نوسان داشته اما در روند آن می توان زوال ارزش ها و غلبه افراط گری را دید .
شوربختانه باید گفت اگر خواننده علاقه ای به فلسفه ، یا یک شبه رمان فلسفی ، یا دلبسته کتاب های ادبی نباشد کتاب حجیم آقای باروخ برای او مانند شکنجه ای سخت و یا گرفتار شدن در رنجی ناتمام خواهد بود ، رنجی بسیار طولانی و گران که برای رها شدن از دست آن باید 780 صفحه را خواند !

[پیمان عَلُو · Rating 5 out of 5]

_میلان کوندرا که عاشق بروخ بوده می‌گوید:
رمان می کوشد تا، در هر مرحله از تاریخ تحول خود، جزئی ناشناخته از هستی را کشف کند و انسان را در برابر «فراموشی هستی» مصون دارد. اگر رمان از این مسیر منحرف شود از «تاریخ خود بیرون می افتد» و رمان نویس به «قلم زنی» مبدل می شود که به جای ادامه ی راه سروانتس، کافکا، بروخ و نظایر آنان، به پرگویی و داستان سرایی محض می پردازد.

_ هرمان هسه در مورد (خوابگردها) از کلماتی مانند«بدیع» و «ماندگار» ستایش کرده...

_ هانا آرت کلمات بیشتری را در وصف این کتاب خرج می‌کند و می‌گوید:رمان‌های مهم قرن بیستم،در جست و جوی زمان از دست رفته اثر مارسل پروست.اولیس اثر جیمز جویس.و خوابگردها اثر هرمان بروخ.این اثر به سه دوره تاریخ اروپا می‌نگرد سال 1888 فروپاشی رمانتیک دنیای قدیم
سال 1903 آشفتگی آنارشیستی دوران پس از جنگ
سال 1918 نهیلیسم واقع‌نگر فعال شده.
هرمان بروخ در همۀ این سه‌گانه به فروپاشی ارزش‌ها می‌پردازد.
«دیگر نه‌ی گذشته»«هنوز نه‌ی آینده»و«هم اینک زمان حال».
_________________________________________________
هرمان هسه و هانا آرت و میلان کوندرا را در جیب می‌گذارم.
برای دیدن شوالیه تاریکی باید به تاریکی پناه بُرد...
این کتاب «بتمن» است،یک قهرمان که باید در تاریکی دنبال آن گشت.
پس در ویترین‌ها دنبالش نگردید...
در اینکه این اثر،یک شاهکار است هیچ شکی نیست،اما بتمن«خوابگردها» ممکن است صفحات اول شما را مانند دریک ردمونز در المیپک 1992 زمین بزند،شما به یک پدر یا انگیزه یا کافویین یا عرق سگی یا... هرچیزی نیاز دارید تا بیایَد و زیر شانه‌هایتان را بگیرد و شما را از خط پایان کتاب رد کند...
معمولا خیلی ها بخاطر ریتم همان سی چهل صفحه اول تسمه تایم پاره می‌کنند...
بعد از نوشته‌ای که «هانا آرت» در مورد خوابگردها اول کتاب آورده با خودم گفتم عَلو تو که «در جستجوی زمان از دست رفته را نخوانده‌ای و دخل‌ات با خرج‌ات هم که....
مگر اینکه از یک‌گوشه‌ای این هفت جلد را بدزدی که آن هم هنر می‌خواهد و کار تو نیست...
پس ای خاک به سر حالا که «خواب گردها» مفت دستت رسیده، حداقل این یک مورد که بانو هانا آرت گفت را بخوان ، تا بعدها در مورد در جستجوی زمان از دست رفته و اولیس هم یک خاکی به سرت کنی...
بخوان عَلو،بخوان،استوری دخترها را بعدها هم میتوانی لایک کنی،زود باش بخوان ...
از لحاظ فرم و ساختار خوابگردها یک شاهکار است،یک «ادبیات چیست؟» واقعی.
کارلوس فوئنتس در مورد عادت های نویسندگی خودش می‌گوید:
من عادت دارم صبح‌ها بنویسم، معمولا از ساعت هشت‌ونیم تا دوازده‌ونیم با استفاده از قلم و کاغذ می‌نویسم، ساعت دوازده‌ونیم می‌روم کمی شنا می‌کنم، بعد بر می‌گردم، ناهار می‌خورم و روزنامه‌های عصر را می‌خوانم تا وقت پیاده��روی برای نوشتن مطالب روز بعد می‌رسد. من باید پیش از آنکه بنشینم به نوشتن، کتاب را در ذهنم بنویسم. اینجا در پرینستون برای پیاده‌روی‌ همیشه از یک الگوی مثلثی پیروی می‌کنم. اول به خانه انیشتین در خیابان مرسر می‌روم، بعد می‌روم به خانه توماس مَن در خیابان استاکتون و دست آخر هم می‌روم به خانه هرمان بروخ در اِوِلین پَلِس. بعد از دیدن آن سه مکان بر‌می‌گردم خانه. تا آن موقع دیگر شش، هفت صفحه‌ای را در ذهنم نوشته‌ام.



در خوابگردها اگر تسمه تایم پاره نکنید می‌بینید که هرمان بروخ به سه عصر می‌پردازد در بخش اول به رمانتیسیم ...در بخش دوم به آنارشیست...
و در بخش سوم به واقع گرایی ...
و فضای فرهنگی اجتماعی آلمان را از سال 1888 تا 1918 نقد و برسی می‌کند...
آن هم چه نقدی! ابراز تأسف!
گویا این هرمان بروخ یهودی آمده آلمانی ها را با زبان خودشان بزند...
این کتاب یک کوره آدم سوزی‌سست از طرف یک یهودی...
کوره ای که جنگ...
مدرنیته...
ایمان...
لباس...
رمانتیسم...
شرافت...
و...
را تبدیل به خاکستر می‌کند...
برگردیم به پاراگراف اول و سخنان میلان کوندرا:
رمان می کوشد تا، در هر مرحله از تاریخ تحول خود، جزئی ناشناخته از هستی را کشف کند و انسان را در برابر «فراموشی هستی» مصون دارد. اگر رمان از این مسیر منحرف شود از «تاریخ خود بیرون می افتد» و رمان نویس به «قلم زنی» مبدل می شود که به جای ادامه ی راه سروانتس، کافکا، بروخ و نظایر آنان، به پرگویی و داستان سرایی محض می پردازد.

[Patrizia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Parlare di questo romanzo non è facile. Avevo infatti pensato di non farlo ma, avendolo letto con un gdl, cercherò di riordinare le idee.
Diviso in tre parti, I sonnambuli è, secondo la concezione che Broch ha della letteratura (in particolare della poesia) un percorso di conoscenza. Scritto tra le due guerre, rappresenta il disorientamento dell’individuo di fronte a una società che non riconosce e in cui non si riconosce più.
Sono tre le reazioni e tre le fasi di questo processo, incarnate dai tre protagonisti del romanzo: von Pasenow, Esch e Hugenau.
Nel primo e nel secondo libro, pur con una differenza, i sonnambuli sono coloro che si adattano a vivere in quella zona d’ombra tra un passato che non esiste più e un futuro ancora in embrione, ricorrendo a convenzioni, residui inconsistenti del passato.
Von Pasenow, figlio di un proprietario terriero, ha lasciato la famiglia e la vita della campagna per entrare nell’esercito. In città, a Berlino, vive uno sfaldamento tra le sue tradizioni e un ambiente in cui quelle stesse tradizioni sono diventate un guscio vuoto a cui egli continua ad aggrapparsi per attenuare la propria insicurezza. La tonaca è stata sostituita dall’uniforme che, indossata, diventa per lui come come una seconda pelle che, oltre a dargli un’identità precisa e separata, gli consente anche di guardare le cose dall’esterno, con un confortante distacco. Si sente sradicato e allo stesso tempo attirato dal nuovo che intravede.
Esch, pignolo e preciso contabile, vive proiettato verso un futuro che ancora non è, rifiutando per questo il passato. Il ricordo è per lui un’agonia. Il viaggio ha un senso, perché con esso ci lasciamo tutto alle spalle e guardiamo in avanti. La visione di Esch si basa sulla necessità di mettere ordine nel caos del mondo.

“Chi è sul mare non ha meta e non può giungere a compimento; è chiuso in sé. Quel che in lui è possibile, riposa. Chi lo ama, può amarlo solo per quel che promette [...] Per questo l’uomo della terra ferma ignora che cosa sia l’amore e prende per amore la propria angoscia. Ma il navigante subito lo impara, e i fili che lo univano a quelli della riva si strappano ancora prima che la costa declini.”
In questa parte il saggismo si sovrappone spesso alla narrazione. C’è un continuo cambio di registro, con incursioni nella sfera religiosa e una visione del presente che si discosta da quella del primo libro. Qui si percorre un’altra tappa del cammino che dovrebbe portare l’uomo a capire e prepararlo a una rinascita dopo la necessaria distruzione”.

In questa parte il saggismo si sovrappone spesso alla narrazione. C’è un continuo cambio di registro, con incursioni nella sfera religiosa e una visione del presente che si discosta da quella del primo libro. Per Broch la scrittura - soprattutto la poesia ma anche il romanzo - è un processo di conoscenza. Qui si percorre un’altra tappa del percorso che dovrebbe portare l’uomo a capire e prepararlo a una rinascita dopo la necessaria distruzione.

Discorso diverso e molto più complesso andrebbe fatto per la terza parte del libro, in cui la fase finale del sonnambulismo è descritta in forme diverse, dalla ballata, al saggio, al racconto in prima persona. Si frammenta la narrazione e si frammentano le storie. Ritroviamo Pasenow ed Esch, insieme allo sgradevole protagonista del terzo volume, Hugenau, affarista, disertore e omicida, uomo totalmente libero da qualsiasi valore, concentrato esclusivamente sul proprio interesse. E ancora, troviamo altri personaggi, che potremmo definire comprimari, ognuno dei quali ha in sé una forma diversa di sonnambulismo. C’è il soldato dal corpo devastato dalle ferite, inspiegabilmente vivo, distaccato dal mondo e chiuso in un’anima che a fatica si è ricostruita intorno alle membra distrutte; c’è un soldato che trova nell’alcol lo stordimento necessario per difendersi dagli orrori vissuti in guerra; c’è Hanna, una donna col marito al fronte, il cui io appare “strozzato” in rapporto a una realtà incerta.
Siamo al culmine del sonnambulismo, al momento in cui la società è polverizzata nell’individualismo e il tema di sottofondo è l’estrema solitudine.
Broch sostiene la necessità della distruzione perché dalle ceneri nasca una società nuova.

Questo, a grandi linee, il senso de I sonnambuli.
Le considerazioni da fare sarebbero ancora tante, dall’evoluzione delle figure femminili nelle tre parti, alla visione religiosa, alla convinzione che solo il Medioevo sia stato un tempo perfetto, perché la concezione della vita era teocentrica; e ancora la rappresentazione dell’amore; le idee sull’arte; il valore del tempo; la natura, protagonista di pagine splendide.
Ma non è questo il luogo.

[Amaranta · Rating 3 out of 5]

Finire questo libro è stata una liberazione. E mi dispiace, perchè la prima parte mi era piaciuta. Poi però andando avanti, la lettura per me si è appesantita, le digressioni filosofiche davano l'idea di uno stacco troppo netto con il resto della storia, non scorreva. Ho fatto fatica, ho avuto più volte il desiderio di mollarlo ma la curiosità di capire dove volesse andare a parare l'autore è stata più forte. L'idea di base trovo sia vincente: l'evoluzione dell'impero guglielmino attraverso tre personaggi: Pasenow, Esch e Huguenau. Tre libri diversi che si riuniscono nell'ultimo. Ma pur ammettendo l'indiscutibile valore dell'opera qualcosa per me non ha funzionato. Tre stelle solo per la piacevolezza con cui ho affrontato la prima parte.

[نیکزاد نورپناه · Rating 2 out of 5]

۱- آن‌قدر که انتظارش را داشتم از خواندن خوابگردهای هرمان بروخ لذت نبردم. خیلی جاها، مخصوصاً در داستان دوم و سوم از سر وظیفه ادامه می‌دادم.

۲- اما داستان اولش را دوست داشتم. کوتاهترینِ این مجموعه‌ی سه‌تایی بود. شخصیت فون‌پاسنوفِ پیر استادانه طراحی شده بود؛ با اینکه شخصیت اصلی داستان هم نبود. پیرمردی‌ست غرغرو و بداخلاق. یک پسرش را در حادثه‌ای از دست می‌دهد و از همین جا زوال عقلش هم شروع می‌شود. اسمی از دمانس یا آلزایمر نمی‌شنویم. اما زوال پیرمرد خیلی دقیق چنین چیزی را تصویر می‌کند. بدیهی‌ست اما من یادم رفته بود: بیماری‌ها، مثل مابقی چیزها، قبل از نامگذاری هم وجود دارند، فقط اسم ندارند.

۳- کلاً از اینکه رمان سه داستانِ نسبتاً مجزا بود خوشم نیامد. رمان ضخیم شاید شروعش سخت باشد، شاید پرگویی‌هایی داشته باشد، اما در نهایت جایی خواننده را به داخل گرداب خودش می‌کشد. جایی که اعمال و سرنوشت قهرمان‌ها برایت مهم می‌شود. جایی که دیگر به شماره‌ی صفحه نگاه نمی‌کنی و فقط پیش می‌روی چون باید بدانی «بعدش چه می‌شود؟» اما خوابگردها مرا از این لذت محروم کرد. به خاطر ساختمانش. دویست صفحه می‌خوانی و داستان اول تمام می‌شود و بعد دومی شروع می‌شود و احیاناً وقتی قهرمان داستان اول در بعدی هم ظاهر می‌شود باید ذوق کنی از اینکه سر و کله‌اش پیدا شده، آن هم بدون اینکه نقش چندانی داشته باشد یا ارتباطی معنی‌دار با پیشینه‌اش داشته باشد. به نوعی خواندن این رمان ۸۰۰ صفحه‌ای شبیه بالا رفتن از کوهی‌ست که هیچ وقت نه به تکه‌های سرسبز مسیر می‌رسی، نه به استراحتگاهی دنج، نه به چشم‌اندازی، فقط در ظل آفتاب باید روی شیب‌های خاکی کوه راه بروی.

۴- اما خوابگردها از نظر تاریخی جالب بود. همان‌طور که مثلاً خواندن مادام بوواری جالب است. شاید هم دارم خودم را توجیه می‌کنم؛ چون برعکس خوابگردها خواندن مادام بوورای لذت‌بخش هم بود. چه نوع لذتی؟ تقریبا چنین چیزی: انگار همه‌ی عمرت با پراید رانندگی کرده باشی و بعد از قضا با یک بنز موزه‌ای مواجه شوی؛ بله پراید قطعا تکنولوژی پیشرفته‌تری از بنز قدیمی دارد، اما نمی‌توان از مواجهه با «نخستین‌ها»، با «نخستین‌هایی» که از قضا بی‌نقص هم کار می‌کنند لذت نبرد. این بماند. با این تفاسیر خوابگردها شاید یکی از پدربزرگ‌های چیزیست که به آن «رمان فلسفی» می‌گوییم. در کنار موزیل. اما یادم است رمان موزیل را که چند سال پیش می‌خواندم خیلی کیف کردم. خیلی بیشتر از خوابگردها. با اینکه آنجا هم قصه کمی کمرنگ بود، حتی می‌شد گفت به نحو توهین‌آمیزی ساده‌لوحانه بود، اما تحشیه‌های موزیل آنجا خیلی به دلم می‌نشست. از این طرف فلسفه‌پردازی‌های بروخ نه. اینها چندان هم در متن تنیده نبود، بلکه در فصولی مجزا بنام «فروپاشی ارزشها» عرضه می‌شد. چیز بدی هم نبود، اما حین خواندن نظریه‌پردازی‌های بروخ حس می‌کردم باید بابت این همه زحمت «تشویقش» کرد. بابت اینکه انگار خود مؤلف موفق شده یک نقد جاندار روی اثر خودش بنویسد؛ آن هم نه چیزی مجزا، بلکه داخل خود اثر. (تحشیه‌ها و فلسفه‌پردازی‌های موزیل در «مرد بدون کیفیات» یا به قول ترجمه‌ی عربی کتاب که نمی‌دانم چرا این‌قدر از اسمش خوشم می‌آید «رجل بلاصفات» در مورد داستان خودش نیست، بیشتر در مورد شخصیت‌های داستانش است؛ موزیل شخصیت‌هایش را روانکاوی می‌کند، در حالی که بروخ گویا در حال پروردن یک تز جامعه‌شناسانه است که چطور شد اروپا اینطور شد؛ این «چطور شد» هم از رنسانس شروع می‌شود و تا دوره‌ی قبل از هیتلر را پوشش می‌دهد و خب به نظرم «کوه جادوی» توماس مان این کار را خیلی هوشمندانه‌تر انجام می‌دهد. در بخش‌هایی از خوابگردها که بروخِ فیلسوف داغ می‌کند چیزهای اینجوری می‌خوانیم: «نه فقط آگاهی، که نامعقولیت هم به قول کانت ابزاری است که تمام مقولات را همراهی می‌کند، امر مطلق زندگی است که با تمام غرایزش، کنش‌خواهی‌اش، احساساتش، به موازات امر مطلق اندیشه حرکت می‌کند [و بلاه بلاه بلاه]». این از همان جاهایی‌ست که آدم احساس وظیفه می‌کند «تشویقش» کند برای زحمتی که کشیده و نه لزوماً برای اینکه چیز خیلی خوب و معناداری نوشته.)

۵- باز هم یک نکته‌ی شخصی درباره رمان فلسفی. بایستی اعتراف کنم برخلاف چند سال قبلم دیگر دلبستگی آنچنانی به این «ژانر» ندارم. دقیقا به نظرم ژانر است. محصولات خوبی درش یافت می‌شود. اما مشکلم اتکایش است به چیزی دیگر. انگار که ادبیات خودکفا و خودبسنده نیست. انگار برای اعتبار دادن به خودش، به «ادبیاتی» که دارد تولید می‌کند، دنبال عصاست، انگار خودش به تنهایی کافی نیست و با ارجاع مکرر به فلاسفه، با تفت دادن و تولید چیزی که نه رمان است و نه فلسفه دنبال قوام دادن به داستانش است (متفنن آن را با فلسفه اشتباه می‌گیرد—من هم مثلا سال‌ها پیش در اولین مواجهه با رمان‌های میلان کوندرا احساس کردم که دارم فلسفه می‌خوانم—و بی‌ربط، اما یادم نرود که از قضا اسم بروخ و موزیل را اولین بار در مصاحبه‌ای با میلان کوندرا خواندم). من این منش امروزی را ترجیح می‌دهم: اینکه مولف موقع رمان نوشتن رمانش را می‌نویسد و اگر عرضِ قابل عرضی باقی ماند بالکل می‌رود سراغ فرمی دیگر، مثلاً جستار. انگار که جستارْ حاصل بُریدنِ زوائد «رمان فلسفی» باشد، بریدنش و عرضه‌اش در بسته‌بندی ��ناسب‌تری، در شکلی جمع و جورتر و هدفمندتر.

۶- شاید هم رمان‌ها بایستی یک طبقه‌بندی سنی داشته باشند، مثل کتاب‌های کودکان؛ رمان‌هایی برای دهه‌ی سوم زندگی، برای دهه‌ی چهارم (و رمان‌هایی به خط بریل برای دهه‌ی پنجم چون احتمالاً اگر تا آن سن زنده باشیم و هنوز ذوق رمان خواندن داشته باشیم لاجرم نابینا هم شده‌ایم). حدس می‌زنم مخاطبِ مناسب خوابگردها در دهه‌ی سوم زندگی‌اش باشد و تفننی علاقمند «ادبیات و فلسفه» است و با خواندن آن جمله‌ی بند قبل درباره‌ی نامعقولیت و امر مطلق و اینها اول افسوس می‌خورد که چرا خودِ کانت را نخوانده و شاید بعدش هم مصمم شود که کتاب ضخیم کانت یا حداقل خلاصه‌ای از آن را بخواند.

۷- ترجمه‌ی آقای حداد بی‌نقص است. از شدت بی‌نقصی تقریباً ماشینی‌ست. یعنی صفحه‌ای از کتاب نیست که آدم یادش برود دارد ترجمه می‌خواند. وسواس و امانت‌داری مترجم به نظرم در منتهی درجه‌اش است. این هم ماجرایی سلیقه‌ایست. چنین نگاه جزم و جفتی به ترجمه چندان به مذاق من خوش نمی‌آید. مطلقاً هیچ ایرادی به آن وارد نیست جز اینکه متن می‌توانست خیلی «فارسی‌تر» از آب در بیاید. جاهایی که بروخ نثرش اوج می‌گیرد همین‌جاها خصلت «ترجمه‌ای» متن بیشتر توی ذوق می‌زند. مثلا: «و آن کس که به درون آزادی پرتاب شده است، یتیم است، مانند قاتلی که در راه خود به سوی سکوی اعدام مادرش را صدا می‌زند. در قطاری که به سرعت پیش می‌راند، همه چیز آینده است.» نه اینکه چنین جملاتی را نفهمم، اما مدام بایستی حدس می‌زدم منظور نویسنده چی بوده. مثلاً «همه چیز آينده است» به نظرم در متن اصلی کمی حال و هوای شاعرانه دارد، در فارسی چنین نیست، نه مصطلح است نه چندان معنی می‌دهد—شبه‌ادبی‌ست یا اصطلاحاً «فاخر»—حتی لب مرز غلط بودن است. اما شک ندارم که اینها محصول وسواس و پایبندی به متن اصلی‌ست، به تک تک کلمات، که خب گفتم برای من روح متن به کلماتش ارجح است. اما از آن طرف چنین پایبندی مومنانه‌ای به «متن اصلی» هماهنگ است با خود رمان خوابگردها؛ یعنی همانطور که روایت و داستان برای بروخ کافی نیست و دنبال عصایی‌ست که به آن تکیه کند، «زبان فارسی» نیز برای مترجم کافی نیست و دنبال تکیه‌گاهی‌ست که متنش را به آن وصل کند؛ نمی‌تواند متن اصلی را بخواند، هضم کند، فارسی کند؛ نمی‌تواند از «متن اصلی» فاصله بگیرد و برای همین ترجمه‌اش کند و کلمه به کلمه پیش می‌رود، دست به عصا، ریخت جملات فارسی نیست؛ به همین خاطر کیفیت «ترجمه» بودنش اینقدر واضح است.

۸- پشت جلد کتاب به نقل از سوزان سونتاگ، خوابگردها سومین کتاب در مثلث مهم ادبیات مدرن معرفی شده. جستجوی پروست و اولیس جویس دوتای اولند. اما سرِ جایگاه سوم گویا اتفاق نظر نیست. من «رجل بلاصفات» موزیل را هم شنیده‌ام که صاحب جایگاه سوم است. این رتبه‌بندی‌ها برای چه کسی مهم است؟ گاهی فکر می‌کنم این تبلیغات پشت جلدها و معرفی‌ها و تکریم‌ها و تمجیدها هم برای مخاطبی‌ست با سنی به‌خصوص. بعد از مدتی بی‌معنی می‌شوند. به درد ویترین افتخارات می‌خورند. به درد علامت زدن در گودریدز می‌خورند. با بادی در غبغب اعلام شود: من سه اثر مهم مدرن را خوانده‌ام… ایضاً فهرست صد رمان برتر قرن. یا ده رمان برتر این‌ور قرن. یا آن جستجوی ابدی مجله‌ها که هر چند سال یک‌بار «اولیس» جدید و «جویس» جدید را معرفی می‌کنند و بعد که هیاهو فرو می‌کشد آن نام‌ها هم فراموش می‌شوند. اینها را نمی‌دانم برای چی نوشتم. شاید برای توجیه اینکه چرا با سومین رمان مهم مدرنیته‌ی ادبی چندان ذوق نکردم و حتی بعضاً خمیازه کشیدم، بعضاً فلسفه‌بافی‌ها را روزنامه‌خوانی کردم (دروغ نگویم: چند سطر و پاراگراف کوبنده هم ازش توییت کردم که توجه معتنابهی دریافت کرد) و گمان هم نکنم به کسی توصیه‌اش کنم.

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

I find the compartments that this trilogy is supposed to be fit into–The Romantic, The Anarchist, and The Realist–less worthy of mention than the inner insanity that Broch capably delineates through his three protagonists–Pasenow, Esch, and Huguenau. For me, the human commentary will always take precedence over the historical or social. It is the juxtaposition of that inner insanity with the yielded outer perspective, the surface that rest of the world is given to perceive, that makes one wonder whether that surface is also all that the proprietor of that inner insanity perceives–as if by some sleight we all blind ourselves to all but that perfectly normal, perfectly human outer shell. That is to say, it is that Broch manages this polarity most capably (and most blatantly with the Pasenow section) by which one is almost tempted to syllogize: if people can be so delusional, neurotic, disposed to habit and whim, and yet appear to be normal, and if all people I see in my world appear more or less likewise normally, then they too might be so ruled by delusion, habit and neuroses. From which it is a small step to ask, ‘Might not I be counted among them?’

I’ll say it is a good book that can get you into this conversation with yourself. The Sleepwalkers is not just a good book. It is another one of those great books whose greatness is perhaps a little defined, perhaps a little tainted by its ability to make the reader aware of how great it could (I’ll stop short of saying should–as everyone should) be and thus, unavoidably, how great it is not. In my opinion it suffers from a lack of cohesion around its major themes–most major of which is the the disintegration (meaning division or perversion more than destruction) of values. Experimentation of style–mostly in book III–seems to be the primary means of injecting this philosophy, and this, for being a poor way of integrating the theme, I would say makes a clever meta-comment on the theme (disintegration) itself, that is I would say, if something in the text could lead me to believe that it was done intentionally for this purpose rather than as the path of lesser resistance. Rather than belaboring the painstaking way through the integration of his philosophy into the narrative, Broch seems content to grab the crutches and go. As a result, the style of the philosophical sections and that of the narrative itself veer sharply from one another. The venn diagram of readers who can stomach the academic, and yet not all that rigorous, philosophical jargon and those who would tolerate the too often too slow, too often too divergent plot developments, flaunts little overlap. Besides essay, styles of verse and dramatic scene handicap the overall flow and presentation. A little play in which the author seems content to let his characters finish each other’s sentences was particularly nauseating.

But onto the good: Reading the Pasenow and Esch sections one could almost conclude that adulthood is a plague in which giant children have had the misfortune of taking themselves seriously. Pasenow, at least, has had the luck to have more than a passing acquaintance with the sage in sheep’s clothing, Bertrand–who single handedly evokes comparisons to Musil’s Ulrich (i.e. the ever wise man without qualities). Esch’s association with the same Bertrand is teasingly slight and by the same token his trials comparatively boring. At the same time the Esch section is an impressive delineation of the caprice that shape a man’s life–a concatenation of stimuli and reactionary whim that serve as an explication of his illusory self-control.

All three sections impressively end with its protagonist–Pasenow and Esch in defeat and Huguenau in a kind of triumph–settling into an empty prescription of salvation:

“Joachim (Pasenow) was silent; it was with reluctance that he took up this thought that hung cold and bewildering between them: “He is remote…he thrusts us all away, for God wills us to be solitary.” “He does, indeed,” said Elizabeth, and it was not to be determined whether she had referred to God or Bertrand; but that ceased to matter, since the solitude prescribed for her and Joachim now begun to encompass them, and froze the room, in spite of its intimate elegance, into a more complete and dreadful immobility; as they sat motionless, both of them, it seemed as if the room widened around them; as the walls receded the air seemed to grow colder and thinner, so thin that it could barely carry a voice. And although everything was tranced in immobility, yet the chairs, the piano, on whose black-lacquered surface the wreath of gas-jets was still reflected, seemed no longer in their usual places, but infinitely remote, and even the golden dragons and butterflies on the black Chinese screen in the corner had flitted away as if drawn after the receding walls, which now looked as if hung with black curtains. The gas-lights hissed with a faint, malicious susurration, and except for their infinitesimal mechanical vivacity, that jetted fleeringly from obscenely open small slits, all life was extinguished.”

Such is the state of things as Pasenow and Elizabeth are engaged. While the partnership between Esch and Mother Hentjen ends with the line:

“He still sometimes beat her, but less and less and finally not at all.”

As if we are to read, ‘until death do they part,’ in that “finally”.

And even if it is the most flawed section, the last seems quite right in ending contrastingly. Huguenau accomplishes about everything he tries for, for which we can be sure he is just as miserable as those who went before him. Not a book for the Optimist’s Club. Alas there is no Lemon Law for our dreams.

[Hakan · Rating 5 out of 5]

broch’un çok merak ettiğim uyurgezerler üçlemesini hobsbawm’ın 1875-1914 yıllarını işleyen harika eseri imparatorluk çağı ile birlikte okudum. anlama çabası, okuması bile baş döndürücü bir dönem. yüzyıl sonra bile bir yanı hiç bilinemez, bir yanı hep muamma. tarihten bakınca hızı, yoğunluğu, şiddeti insanın yüzüne çarpıyor. edebiyattan bakınca kimlik bunalımı denen şey neredeyse ete kemiğe bürünüyor: insanın arayışı, savruluşu, şaşkınlığı…çöken değerler, çözülen ilişkiler, gelecek kaygıları, korkular, yalnızlıklar. ve yıkım, yok oluş.

broch romanların adlarında yer verdiği ölçüde -izm’lere bağlanmamış. üçlemenin dünyasını kalıplarla, katılıkla kurmamış bekleneceği üzere. ancak saf edebiyat alanında kaldığını söylemek de mümkün değil. üçlemede ilerledikçe artan bir doğrudanlık söz konusu. düşünceler, düşünceler üstünden bir felsefe aktarma çabası. keşke, diyesi geliyor insanın, broch keşke bu çabaya girişmeseydi. ama bugünden bakıp bunu söylemek hem broch’a hem yaşadığı-yazdığı döneme büyük haksızlık olur elbette.

bunun yerine romancılığı değerlendirmiş olayım tek kelimeyle: kusursuz. hikayenin ilk sayfalardan sekizyüzlü sayfalara, yıllardan yıllara, roman dünyasını genişleterek akışı ve üçlemeyi bir büyük hikaye olarak tamamlayışı, büyük hikaye içinde kahramanların zamanla birlikte aldığı yol, dünyayla birlikte geçirdiği değişim, dönüşüm başka türlü ifade edilemez herhalde.

bir övgü de, uyurgezerler’i bir ilk roman olarak, 40 yaşında yazarlığa başlayan bir yazarın ilk romanı olarak düşünmek üzerinden: yazıldığı zamanında okusak broch’un ölümsüz bir başyapıta imza atacağını söyleyebilir miydik acaba?.. -izm’ler yıkılacak, hobsbawm’ın imparatorluk çağı diye niteldirdiği çağ imparatorlukların yok oluşuyla sona erecek ve vergilius’un ölümü’nü yazdıktan sonra broch kendi çağının en büyük yazarlarından biri olarak anılacak…

uyurgezerler’in çok çok uzun zamandan sonra türkçeye kazandırılmasına dair teşekkürle bitirmek isterdim: teşekkürler elbette. ve ancak çeviride, türkçede, ciddi aksaklıklar olduğunu belirtmeden geçmek pek mümkün değil. 824 sayfa boyunca sık sık ahmet cemal’i anmış oldum vergilius’un ölümü çevirisiyle ve bu da güzel bir şey herhalde.

[Armin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Das Meisterwerk der Moderne? Nicht uneingeschränkt, aber Brochs Trilogie, die immer wieder den geistigen Mäandern und der seltsamen Logik ihrer Protagonisten folgt, kommt ans Ziel. Im Gegensatz zu Musil, der (wohl als Reaktion darauf) einen fehlgeleiteten Übertrumpfungsehrgeiz entwickelte und sich bei der weiteren Arbeit am MoE total verzettelte, während er beim Produzieren von allerlei brillanten Paradoxiefeuerwerken vollkommen die Struktur aus den Augen verlor.
Broch zielt sicherlich nicht ganz so hoch, sieht spirituelle Ausnahmezustände deutlich kritischer, liefert dabei trotzdem genügend faszinierende Reflexionen zum Thema Verfall der Werte und Weltkriegsbesoffenheit und anschließendem Höllenkater im dritten Teil.
Das Hörbuch bekommt sicher noch mal einen Durchlauf.

[Lee Foust · Rating 5 out of 5]

Well, it's been more than a month since I finished reading this epic novel and I despair of getting it together to write a review doing it any sort of justice. I finished it mostly on the plane and then during the jet lag period after my return to Italy from San Francisco, which is, for me, a yearly process, and often I'm just too fuzzy in that re-adjustment period to get my thoughts in order and say something brilliant.

At first I thought this novel was setting up the terrain from which Nazism grew--although I see now that it was written really a bit too soon to explicitly be that. Even so, it resonated a lot with me in this new surge of Nazi-like "populism" in Hungry, Turkey, Brazil, Italy, and particularly the USA. The second of the three inter-connected novels that make up The Sleepwalkers focuses on a middle class character I felt while reading could easily represent that mindset of economic frustration and the urge to manufacture justice through violent upheaval that's behind most of these authoritarian movements. It's a combination of outrage, egotism, and an urge to scapegoat (usually immigrants or an "alien" race, but here more pointedly, a rich homosexual) that fuels these narcissistic "patriots" to emulate the righteous rebels of the past in the name of greater and greater social control by the state which they alternately idolize and despise. They rebel against themselves and seek their own and others' social repression always in the name of purity and some sort of vague nostalgia for their nation's past glories.

Beyond the politics that, to me, inspired the panorama of characters of the three connected narratives (a nobleman, a middle class terrorist, and finally an opportunistic capitalist), the prose here, the patience, the long narrative game that this novel plays is just stunning--a real literary triumph. I feel like I need to read it again to unlock even half of its wisdom. I highly recommend it, but only if you have the leisure to enjoy a good long, and very dense read.

[Markus]

„Zwei Seelen wohnen, ach, in meiner Brust“ - Zwiespältig ist mein Blick auf diesen Roman: ein einzigartiges Kunstwerk und zugleich ein metaphysisch verbrämtes Hirngespinst. Zu meinem Trost sind die Seelen der Hauptdarsteller genauso entzweit. Dass der Mensch mit dem Kopf in den Wolken und mit den Füßen im Pfuhle weilt, ist bei Altmeister Goethe ausgemachte Sache. Nicht umsonst findet man auch bei Broch einschlägige Referenzen.

Auch die Schlafwandlerei ist ein zwiespältiges Phänomen. Der Geist schläft und der Körper ist wach und unterwegs, was nicht ungefährlich sein kann. Aber auch im Alltag sind wir oft genug mit dem Kopf irgendwo, während Bruder Esel im Autopilotenmodus agiert. Der Mensch ist auch nicht dieses vernunftgesteuerte Wesen, wie man gerne hätte und lange glaubte, sondern wird in weit größerem Ausmaß vom Unbewussten, von Trieben, Gefühlen und Veranlagungen bewegt, was Psychologie und Kognitionswissenschaften immer mehr bestätigen. Das Denken erfüllt dabei häufig den Zweck, unser Handeln rückwirkend als bewussten Akt der Vernunft umzudeuten. Manche Biologen und Physiker bezweifeln überhaupt einen freien Willen. Dass diese Mechanismen das ganze menschliche Sozialgefüge bestimmen, liegt auf der Hand und um all dies geht es in Brochs monumentaler Trilogie.

Im ersten Teil wird Leutnant v. Pasenow, wie einst Faust, zwischen Geist und Leben, Pflicht und Begehren aufgerieben. Er liebt die militärische Ordnung, hält aber gleichzeitig an einer träumerisch-romantischen Innerlichkeit fest. Wir schreiben 1888 und der Ton erinnert an die realistischen Romane Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts.
Fünfzehn Jahre später treffen wir auf den Buchhalter August Esch, vielleicht ein Vorläufer des modernen Wutbürgers. Auch er hat Ideale im Kopf, träumt von einer absoluten Ordnung, nur das Fleisch ist schwach und die ganze Welt Anarchie. Der Stil ist noch realistisch, aber viel moderner und bildet die Unordnung durch unkontrollierte Stimmungswechsel ab.
Im dritten Teil, 1918 liegt der Krieg in den letzten Zügen und die alte Werteordnung zerfällt endgültig. Die neue Sachlichkeit beginnt sich durchzusetzen. Wilhelm Huguenau, ein skrupelloser Opportunist trifft auf die Figuren der ersten beiden Teile. Sein innerer Maßstab ist das Geschäft und nur pekuniäre Werte sind von Relevanz. So wie sich die Welt auflöst, bricht Broch jetzt alle traditionellen Formen auf und der Text präsentiert sich modernistisch in zahlreichen parallel laufenden Handlungsfäden, zerlegt in kurze Fragmente, lyrische Passagen und philosophische Essays.

Beeindruckend ist die vielschichtige und komplexe Architektur des Romans. Die Zerfallserscheinungen der Epoche werden nicht nur beschrieben, sondern auch in der Form abgebildet. Großartig auch die subtile psychologische Ausgestaltung und Entwicklung der Figuren mit ihren Motiven, Gefühlen und unbewussten Regungen. Überall stößt man auf die Diskrepanz zwischen Denken und Fühlen, zwischen Wünschen, Vorstellung, Wahrnehmung und der Wirklichkeit - ein Abbild des menschlichen Daseins in seiner ganzen Irrationalität. Schlafwandler, die durch die Welt taumeln, halb im Traum und halb wach.

Vordergründig erscheint das Werk als groß angelegte Dokumentation der Zeitenwende um 1900, des Wandels im Denken, des Werteverfalls und des Niedergangs altgedienter gesellschaftlicher Strukturen. Bei näherer Betrachtung ist es zeitlos. Spätestens mit dem Ende des Mittelalters ist die Eindeutigkeit des Weltgefüges verloren und der Zweifel gesät. Faust beklagte die Sinnkrise der Moderne: Wissen genügt nicht mehr, der Glaube wankt. Nach dem zweiten Weltkrieg stellt Hannah Arendt eine ähnliche Diagnose, die Atomisierung der Gesellschaft: Der Zerfall traditioneller Bindungen und die Entstehung eines leeren, orientierungslosen, manipulierbaren Subjekts in der Moderne, das den Humus für Totalitarismus jeder Spielart bildet. Die Begriffe „Werteverfall“ und „Atomisierung“ bezeichnen zwei Seiten derselben Krise: Verlust von Sinn und Verlust von Gemeinschaft führen zum Verlust von Wirklichkeit.

Heute trifft man an allen Ecken und Enden Schlafwandler, die auf ihre Bildschirme starren, kontrolliert von digitalen Reizen, hypervernetzt, aber innerlich fragmentiert, gleichgültig und sinnentleert, nur an sich selbst interessiert und allenfalls den Kursen ihrer ETFs. Und sie stellen sich als ferngesteuerte Agenten in den Dienst allerorts aus den Löchern kriechender Demagogen, die vorgeben, das Land wieder groß zu machen und diejenigen zu vertreiben, die unsere Haustiere verspeisen. Es scheint absurd: je mehr die Welt äußerlich rationalisiert wird, um so irrationaler das Ergebnis. Diesen Zusammenhang hat Broch schon damals erkannt und vereint so eine treffsichere Zeitdiagnose mit zeitloser Hellsichtigkeit. Was hätte er wohl über die heutige Zeit und ihre digitale Werteordnung von 👎und 👍geschrieben?

„So sind auch ihre Fußspitzen sorgsam nach vorne gerichtet und deuten auf die zu verfolgenden Geschäfte. Denn in den Geschäften, die sie betreiben, liegt ihre Gemeinschaft. Eine Gemeinschaft ohne Kraft, doch voller Unsicherheit und bösen Willens.“

Aber nun zu meiner anderen Seele: Die Sprache ist sehr elaboriert und entwickelt sich gemäß der Zeit vom Altmodischen ins Moderne, aber sie neigt im Ganzen gesehen zum Pathos, wirkt schwer, unlocker und recht humorlos (in diesem Sinne gar nicht österreichisch). Es ist nicht nur der bedeutungsgeladene Ton, der mich stört: So stimmig der Befund, kann ich bei der Therapie nicht mit. Zu viel ist mir von Höherem die Rede, vom Ewigen und Göttlichen, dem Absoluten. Da wird eine Erlösung durch Transzendenz, Wahrheit und Erkenntnis angedeutet, die Vorstellung einer überirdischen Werteordnung, die wie der Phönix aus der Asche steigt. Dann weist Broch auf das Unerreichbare hin, nach dem ewig zu streben wäre … das alles ist mir suspekt, zu abstrakt und zu esoterisch (im tatsächlichen Wortsinn, ohne Räucherstäbchen). Wenn ich mich recht erinnere, habe ich das schon bei „Der Tod des Vergil“ bemängelt.

Broch wollte auch den Zweck des Romans erneuern; er sprach vom epischen Erkenntnisroman und in einem Brief schrieb er: „Dichtung darf nicht mehr Kunst sein – sie muss Erkenntnis sein.“ Der Schriftsteller wird zum Seher, zum Vermittler dieser höheren Ordnung, die jenseits der zerfallenden Werte liegt. Der Roman als philosophisches Manifest. Das muss ich nicht haben und ich gestehe, dass mich die essayistischen Abschnitte im dritten Teil gelangweilt haben. Erstens weil ich einen Roman lesen wollte und zweitens, weil ich mit Brochs Vision einer transzendenten Sinnordnung wenig anfangen kann und - da bin ich eher bei Arendt - zu einer pragmatischen, weltlichen Sicht der Dinge neige. So war ich jedesmal froh, wenn nach einer ideengeschichtlichen Abhandlung wieder vom Landwehrmann Gödicke oder dem Uhrmacher Samwald erzählt wurde. Die einfachen, bodenständigen Nebenfäden der Geschichte, waren für mich die eindringlicheren und schönsten Teile der Trilogie.

[Eshraq]

بیاید با این سوال شروع کنیم:
آیا خوابگردهای هرمان بروخ کتاب مناسبی برای هدیه دادنه؟
ابدا! مگر اینکه خواننده صبور باشه یا علاقه‌مند به مطالعات تاریخی و فلسفی، چون حتا نمیشه گفت که فقط یه رمان طولانیه.

خوندنش برای من حدودا یکسال طول کشید، از همون مقدمه‌ی کتاب فهمیدم که اصلا نباید عجله کنم و به فکر این باشم که اول این کتاب رو بخونم و بعد برم سراغ بقیه‌ی کتابام‌. در واقع یه جور تمرین صبر بود برام.

کتاب فوق‌العاده‌ایه، واقعا هست. هر چقدر هم خوندنش، خصوصا بخش سوم کتاب، سخت باشه و بعضا حوصله‌سربر، همچنان فوق‌العاده‌س و ارزشمند.

هرمان بروخ حقیقتا موشکافانه و ظریف شخصیت‌پردازی کرده و اثرش فضاسازی قوی و دقیقی داره. برای همین هرچقدر هم که خوانش این روایت دراز از این بازه زمانی طولانی رو کش بدید داستان از دستتون در نمیره.
پس اگه قصد خوندنش رو دارید بدونید بعضا لازمه به خودتون فضا و زمان بدید که ازش بدتون نیاد. :دی

اما چرا انقدر سخت‌خوانه؟ نمیدونم شاید چون ایشون دوست خانم آرنت بوده و خود آرنت هم سخت می‌نوشته. واقعا می‌خوام بدونم متن نامه‌های اینا چجوریه با این اوضاع...
در واقع خوندن قسمت اول و دوم کتاب چندان سخت نیست، خواننده با شخصیت‌ها همراه میشه، با هر روزشون، هر لحظه‌شون؛ آدم‌های هر بخش پاشون به بخش دیگه هم باز میشه و به خودت میای و میبینی که داری همراهشون خوابگردی میکنی. اما قسمت سوم علاوه بر ویژگی‌های دو بخش دیگه، شامل داستان‌های موازی از شخصیت‌‌های جدید و برخوردشون با قبلیا هم هست، با این تفاوت که حالا نویسنده برامون میفلاسفه، زیاد و به زبان سخت.
من واسه فهمیدن سطحی خیلی جاهاش مجبور بودم کلی سرچ کنم، اما واقعا جالب بود، انگار یه راوی بداخلاق نشسته و هر چند وقت پاز می‌کنه تا توضیح بده که چرا؟ از کجا؟ و با کدام دیدگاه؟ اما نه آسون.

[Torsten · Rating 5 out of 5]

I - ფონ პაზენოვი - რომანტიკა
II - ეში - ანარქია
III - ჰუგუენაუ - საქმოსნობა

სარჩევის გადახედვისთანავე გამიჩნდა აზრი, რომ საქმე თავისებურად ნიცშეანურ წიგნთან გვქონდა და ეს ხედვა ბოლოს უფრო განმიმტკიცდა, ოღონდ ერთი გამონაკლისით. ფონ პაზენოვი აქლემის მდგომარეობას ასახავს. ტრადიცია, სამხედრო უნიფორმა, რომელიც მისთვის ჯავშანია და იცავს, უბრალო, მაგრამ მტკიცე რელიგიური ხედვა, რომელიც მასში თანდათან უფრო ღრმავდება. მას ჰქონდა შანსი გათავისუფლების, მაგრამ ვერ ან არ გამოიყენა. თავისუფლებას, მისგან გამოწვეულ ტრაგიზმს ამ წიგნში ბერტრანდი განასახიერებს. იგი იზიდავს და ამავდროულად აშინებს კიდეც ფონ პაზენოვს. მასში ხედავს რაღაც დესტრუქციულს, მშვიდი, ტრადიციული ყოფის დამანგრეველს. ბერტრანდი მარცხდება, თავს იკლავს. თუმცა ეს მერე... ეში ანარქიას წარმოადგენს. იგი ლომია, ქაოსი, გაურკვევლობა, მრისხანება. იქცევა ისე, როგორც სურს, იქამდე ვიდრე ერთგვარი მოთვინიერება არ ხდება . მაგრამ აქ ვერსად ვნახ���ვთ ბავშვს. რომანტიზმის ნგრევამ, ანარქიის უუნარობამ სხვა საფეხურზე გადანაცვლებისა და პირველმა მსოფლიო ომმა, შვა არა ზეკაცი, არამედ უკანასკნელი ადამიანი, საშუალო ადამიანი, საქმოსანი - ჰუგუენაუ. იგი არც გერმანელია, არც ფრანგია, არც კომუნისტია, არც ანარქისტი და ამავდროულად ყველა და ყველაფერია. დეზერტირი, გაზეთის გამომცემელი და ა.შ. მას აქვს თავისი ღირებულებები, კომერციული სამართალი.
ამ სამი პიროვნების გზები იკვეთება და მათ ფონზე ბროხი საოცარი ოსტატობით აღწერს იმას, რომ ხსნა აღარ არსებობს, რომ "მე" გადაგდებულია და არაფერი ეშველება, რომ ახლა ვცხოვრობთ ეპოქაში, სადაც ფილოსოფოსობა უსაზრისოა, ხოლო ჰუგუენაუს მოდგმა "შეუმუსრავია, ვით მოდგმა მიწის რწყილისა".

[Alejandro Teruel · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an extraordinary trilogy of novels written between 1928 and 1932 set in 1888 (“The Romantic”, 1903 (“The Anarchist”) and 1918 (“The Realist”). The trilogy is a profound and disquieting reflection on the dis-integration of values that ushers in the peculiarly logical but ultimately irrational and ferocious twentieth century value-systems. As the trilogy progresses it becomes increasingly complex and the third novel, with its trans-genre pastiche of fiction and philosophical essay, and to an unsuccessful and lesser degree poetry and theater, and its use of irony is not only thoroughly modernist but even clearly -albeit despairingly- points the way forwards to postmodernism.

It is hard to do the trilogy justice in a review, precisely because it is so rich, so layered, so polytonal; so many events and characters echo others yet most story lines remain maddeningly parallel, since their main characters live their lives like the sleepwalkers they are, encapsulated in their separate dream worlds. Thus, I prefer to refer the reader to four outstanding writings on this trilogy:

(1) Stephen Spender´s 1948 review Nightmare and redemption in Commentary Magazine (https://www.commentarymagazine.com/ar...

(2) Jean-Michel Rabaté´s brilliant essay Joyce and Broch: Or, Who was the Crocodile? (Comparative Literature Studies, Summer 1982), which can be read online at Jstor;

(3) The New York Times Book Reviews 1985 review “In search of the absolute novel” by Theodore Ziolkowski (http://www.williamgaddis.org/jr/broch...) one of whose key perceptive insights is:

According to Broch, sleepwalkers are people living between vanishing and emerging ethical systems, just as the somnambulist exists in a state between sleeping and walking

(4) The 2012 essay by Miguel (St. Oberose) at http://storberose.blogspot.com/2012/1...

For the time being I will merely add some makeshift notes on some aspects of the trilogy and its relation to other works.

Note 1: From Kundera and Musil to Broch -or is it the other way around?....

To understand the trilogy, I would recommend coming to it only after reading and enjoying at the very least Kundera´s Laughable Loves and Musil´s The Man without Qualities. Kundera devotes a complete chapter of his Art of the Novel to The Sleepwalkers and clearly admires Broch. Even though Kundera´s writings flow and apparently effortless ease, and Broch is much more of an ordeal, yet Broch pulls off Kundera´s exact same tone when he writes about Lieutenant Jaretzki and Surgeon-General Kühlenbeck which seem role models for the insatiable Dr. Havel in Laughable Loves. For example here is the one-armed, irreverent and tipsy Jaretzki briefly explaining how he feels impelled to drink:

“...but I tell you this, Flurschütz, and I say it in all seriousness: give me some some other, some new drunkenness, it doesn´t matter what as far as I´m concerned, morphia or patriotism or communism or anything else that makes a man drunk...give me something to make me feel we´re all comrades again, and I´ll give up drinking... to-morrow.”

Musil´s The Man without Qualities and the exactly contemporaneous The Sleepwalkers, eerily echo each other to the point where characters like Musil´s condemned murderer Moosbrugger seems to be the dream counter-self of Broch´s risen from the dead Ludwig Gödicke -or vice versa...

Note 2: The curious case of three engineers turned novelists...

Kafka, Musil and Broch form a most curious trio of Austro-Hungarian engineers turned novelists, who in some sense sense and explore the absurdities of modern-life logic and the rise of twentieth century anti-values out of the ashes of nineteenth century petty moralism and overoptimistic reliance on the inexorable march of progress. Musil makes his protagonist Ulrich bitingly wonder what exactly what the newspapers mean when they write about a “racehorse of genius”, while Broch writes:

The unreal is the illogical. And this age seems to have a capacity for surpassing even the acme of illogicality, of anti-logicality; it is as if the monstrous reality of the war had blotted out the reality of the world. Fantasy had become logical reality, but reality evolves the most a-logical phantasmagoria. An age that is softer and more cowardly than any preceding age suffocates in waves of blood and poison gas; nations of bank clerks and profiteers hurl themselves on barbed wire; a well organized humanitarianism avails to hinder nothing, but calls itself the Red Cross and prepares artificial limbs for the victims; towns starve and coin money out of their own hunger; spectacled school-teachers lead storm-troops; city dweller live in caves; factory hands and other civilians crawl out on reconnoitering duty, and in the end, once they are back in safety, apply their artificial limbs once more to the making of profits. Amid a blurring of all forms, in a twilight of apathetic uncertainty brooding over a ghostly world, man like a lost child gropes his way by the help of a small frail thread of logic through a dream landscape that he calls reality and that is nothing but a nightmare to him.

Small wonder that he exclaims, in the same kind of paradoxical terms applied by the entranced surrealists or worthy of the theater of the absurd:

Are we, then, insane because we have not gone mad?

But Broch goes further than this, he sees the modern world as a world single-mindedly, logically and insanely bent on pursuing disconnected, splintered, narrow value-systems:

...the logic of the businessman demands that all commercial resources shall be exploited with the utmost rigour and efficiency to bring about the destruction of all competition and the sole domination of his own business, whether that be a trading house or a factory or a company or other economic body:

the logic of the painter demands that the principles of painting shall be followed to their conclusions with the utmost rigour and thoroughness, at the peril of producing pictures which are completely esoteric, and comprehensible only by those who produce them:

the logic of the revolutionist demands that the revolutionary impulse shall be pursued with the utmost rigour and thoroughness for the achievement of a revolution as an end in itself, as, indeed, the logic of politicians in general demands that they shall obtain an absolute dictatorship for their political aims:

the logic of the bourgeois climber demands that the watchword “enrichessez-vous” shall be followed with the most absolute and uncompromising rigour:

in this fashion, in this absolute devotion to logical rigour, the Western world has won its achievements, -and with the same thoroughness, the absolute thoroughness that abrogates itself, must it eventually advance ad absurdum:

war is war, l´art pour l´art, in politics there´s no room for compunction, business is business, -all these signify the same thing, all these appertain to the same aggressive and radical spirit, informed by that uncanny, I might also say that metaphysical, lack of consideration for consequences, that ruthless logic directed on the object and on the object alone, which looks neither to the right nor to the left; and this, all this, is the style of thinking that characterizes our age.

[...The single value systems] have separated from one other, now run parallel to each other, and, since they can no longer combine in the service of a supreme value, claim equality with the other: like strangers they exist side by side, an economic value-system of “good business” next to an aesthetic one one of l´art pour l´art, a military code of values side by side with a technical or an athletic, each autonomous, each “in and for itself”, each “unfettered” in its autonomy, each resolved to push home with radical thoroughness the final conclusions of its logic and to break its own record. And woe to the others, if in this conflict of systems that precariously maintain an equilibrium one should gain the preponderance and overtop all the rest, as the military system does in war, or as the economic system is now doing, a system to which even war is subordinate, -woe to the others! For the triumphant system will embrace the whole of the world, it will overwhelm all other values and exterminate them as a cloud of locusts lays waste a field.

But man, who was once the image of God, the mirror of a universal value created by himself [...] is helplessly caught in the mechanism of the autonomous value-systems, and can do nothing but submit to the particular value that has become his profession, he can do nothing but become a function of that value -a specialist, eaten up by the radical logic of the value into whose jaws he has fallen.

Note 3: Insanity and irrationality in The Sleepwalkers

A great many characters either become insane, are borderline insane or have psychotic episodes in the trilogy, starting with the first character who appears in the book, Herr Helmuth von Pasenow, Joachim´s father for whom people “...felt an extraordinary and inexplicable repulsion when they saw him coming at them in their streets of Berlin. Joachim´s acquaintance Bertrand, is in fact appears to be the unwitting but historically logical catalyst for insanity throughout the first two novels, since Joachim´s father and his mistress Ruzena who clearly mistrusts Bertrand and considers him in her poor German a “bad friend” to Joachim, become insane after dealing with Bertrand, not to mention Joachim himself whose alienation under his tightly buttoned up army uniform becomes increasingly clear as the first novel progresses. Esch´s paranoid irascibility and resentment bursts into the trilogy from the second novel´s first page rises in crescendo in his lurching and winding road from book-keeper to female wrestling impresario until his final hallucinatory attempt on the source of all evil that the aged and dying Bertrand represents for him. In the third novel, insanity and irrationality is rife as Esch turns up, as irascible as always, metamorphosed into a newspaper printer, editor and free thinker who suddenly “catches” religion from that most unlikely of sources, Joachim von Pasenow now a major and the town army commandant ends up echoing his father´s senility, just as alienated Hanna Wendling last typhoid or influenza fever hallucinations echo Esch´s hallucinatory stream of consciousness episode towards end of the second novel. Ironically Esch the suspicious paranoid is swindled by one of his female wrestling partners at the end of the second novel and by that ferociously cold-blooded epitome of a business man, Huguenau, who ends up by quite literally taking everything away from Esch at the apocalyptic end of war. There are further strands of insanity and irrationality in the narrator of the story of the Salvation Army girl in Berlin and the soldiers being treated for gas poisoning in the town hospital. All this irrationality is, for Broch, the logical consequence of arbitrarily delimited value-systems

Huguenau did not think of what he had done, and still less did he recognize the irrationality that had pervaded his actions [...] a man never knows anything about the irrationality that informs his wordless actions [...] he cannot know anything about it, since at every moment he is ruled by some system of values that has no other aim but to conceal and control all the irrationality on which his earthbound empirical life is based.[...] irrationality not only supports every value-system -for the spontaneous act of positing a value, on which the value-system is based is an irrational act -but it informs the whole general feeling of every age, the feeling which assures the prevalence of the value-system, and which both in its origin and in its nature is insusceptible to rational evidence.

In short, a great but difficult twentieth century pessimistic masterpiece, not be taken up lightly which will reward close rereading.

[Liam O'Leary]

Avoid.
Here's a 1-2* rant review of why I DNF'ed at page 24 (it starts on page 9, so really page 15).

The story's foundation is soiled. You absolutely cannot base a character's origin on an unrealistic portrayal of good vs. evil.

The story begins by introducing a characteristically short man who has spider-like movements with his cane — a truly repugnant father — who disrespects and ignores his wife. He takes his son to the casino, which is really more of a strip club, and decides, in front of military soldiers who also happen to be there, that he and his son should take two prostitutes together, and insinuates that maybe his son should have a serious relationship with one of them (marriage?). Clearly the son, and everyone, despises the father.

Now it's well-written and these sentences flow well together and are complex. But I forsee the next 600+ pages, three novellas in a trilogy, together, being about the son retaliating against this fabrication of an evil father.

The foundation is flawed — no married man, not even the most damned married man, would ever take his young son to a stripper.

It just seems like a bad thing for Hermann Broch to even suggest as an author. He's playing on a trope of what bad men should do, but twisting it to unrealistic extremes. It makes me distrust the realism of whatever he wants to tell us as readers, perhaps about the son growing into a better man as a counterpoint to this fabrication. He's exaggerating already unhealthy stereotypes.

My personal gripe was the suggestion that the father's depravity is characteristic of short men, right from the first page.

"who could not comprehend how any woman could ever have looked upon him or embraced him with desire in her eyes; and at most they would allow him only the Polish maids on his estate, and held that even these he must have got round by that slightly hysterical and yet arrogant aggressiveness which is often characteristic of small men."

"For nobody who had a serious end in view could walk like that [...] and one was terrified by the intuition that it was a devil's walk [...]"

I don't like that he equates evil with ugliness, and judges so heavily and immediately on outward characteristics. It's petty to discriminate so dispassionately against those less fortunately endowed.
It'd be like a book that mocks a girl for being too tall, or anyone for being too fat, or a certain skin colour... if it's ever going to be done, it needs to have the right tone or intention. This seemingly impartial narrator has all the immediacy and hastiness in judgement as any vocal component of hate speech. I don't want to be told about love and life from the same voice which casts such a monstrous character into existence without fair judgement — it is a lazy counterpoint for the character development that I'm sure makes up the rest of this journey.

And I was beginning to see the son's retaliation in clothing, how unlike all the other officers who wore sloppy uniform he kept it smart. I thought how trite a metaphor for morality after that waste of an introduction — and if the son truly felt at odds with a corrupt society would he at his lowest military rank immediately retaliate openly against the enemy? Where is the sense in that? To destroy a bad system you need to infiltrate, to build a secret union or a public rank, before you can begin signalling opposition. Otherwise you will be smited before your time — perhaps that was the next plot event. Even if it wasn't, by this point, I didn't care to know.

I'll bet most readers who love this book immediately forget the basis for this story. They let it slide and follow along with the story. They sit and watch this character grow for 600 pages and think what a lifetime of development they have witnessed. How marvelous. They forget that it began and was initiated by this mistake of a reality. Broch makes this character origin story short, and speeds past it to hope readers forget how stupid a portrayal of corruption it was.

But, as a reader, I don't forget. And so, I choose to walk away from this.

—
Other smaller factors for DNF:
-I can't not read Joachim as 'Joe-a-Kim'. Try as I might, my brain always says that, and it's irritating!
-The prostitute had the same name as my most recent ex-girlfriend. I didn't want 600+ pages of that.
-I'd have to read this in a week, 70+ pages a day, based on my non-renewable library loan. It'd be asking a lot.
-I have better books I'd rather read, both of which are ARC reviews, so I have higher priorities.
-I'm tired of Chaotic Age literature from Germany. I think I 'get it' now. I'll come back for Grass, Musil and Mann later in my life, but for now, I don't care for it.
-This is my first piece of evidence that Michael Orthofer has no idea what he is talking about. This book cannot be the gold standard of literature with such a flawed introduction. It could still well be a 4* story, but the introduction is irredeemably imperfect.

[KONSTANTINOS ANASTASILAKIS · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 αστερια. Βιβλίο το οποίο κατά την ανάγνωση του, ισόποσα, το θαύμαζα και το μισούσα. Γιατί ο λόγος του είναι εκπληκτικός ( τόσο που ώρες ώρες σε αφήνει άναυδο), οι συμβολισμοί εύστοχοι, οι σκέψεις , οι αγωνίες, τα διλήμματα και τα συναισθήματα των ηρώων του ανάγλυφα. Κι από την άλλη οι παρεμβαλλομενες, ατέρμονες και κυκλικά επαναλαμβανομενες φιλοσοφικές θεωρήσεις του φέρνουν κόπωση. Και οι αγκυλώσεις, οι παλινωδίες, τα μεσσιανικα σύνδρομα και η πεισιθανατος διάθεση των ηρώων του μου προκάλεσαν δυσφορία. Οπότε, αντιλαμβάνομαι μεν γιατί θεωρείται μνημειώδες έργο, αλλά το βρήκα πολύ φιλοσοφικό για τις προτιμήσεις μου. Και θα δυσκολευτώ πολύ να το προτείνω σε οποιονδήποτε. Εισερχεσθε με δική σας ευθύνη!

[Fede La Lettrice · Rating 5 out of 5]

• Quando Broch scrive I sonnambuli (1931-1932) non intende offrire una semplice trilogia narrativa ma un esperimento morale. È la cronaca del dissolvimento dei valori, la diagnosi spirituale di un’epoca che dal 1888 al 1918 attraversa un processo di decomposizione della coscienza europea.

• L’idea di "sonnambulismo" non è casuale: l’uomo moderno procede come un sonnambulo con gli occhi aperti ma addormentato dentro. Vive, agisce, ama, combatte ma senza un principio che lo orienti.

• Il primo volume, Pasenow o il romanticismo (1888), è il punto d’origine di questa degenerazione. Racconta il crepuscolo morale di un'epoca, il tramonto della società aristocratica prussiana e dell’idea stessa di onore, forma e decoro che la sosteneva.

• Questo primo romanzo segue Joachim von Pasenow, giovane ufficiale prussiano cresciuto nel culto della disciplina, della fede, dell’uniforme come seconda pelle. È un uomo anacronistico intrappolato tra due mondi cioè quello morente dell’ordine patriarcale e quello nuovo, borghese e industriale, incarnato dal suo amico Bertrand, affarista moderno e cinico.

• L’amore di Joachim per Ruzena, ragazza di modesta estrazione e dai costumi liberi, rappresenta la sua crisi interiore, la tensione fra il desiderio e la forma, fra il corpo e la legge. Alla fine, come un sonnambulo, sceglierà la forma abbandonando Ruzena e sposando Elisabeth, simbolo di purezza e convenienza sociale.

• Broch non usa "romanticismo" nel senso estetico ma morale. Il romanticismo di Pasenow è una fuga dalla realtà nel segno della forma. Egli non crede più in Dio ma nel "decoro del credere", non ama Elisabeth ma la figura della moglie ideale, non indossa l’uniforme per servire ma per esistere.

• È un romanzo di passaggio per cui la forma borghese del romanzo ottocentesco si incrina ma non è ancora sostituita. La lingua di Broch è riflessiva, quasi ossessiva, ricalcando il ritmo interiore del protagonista, prigioniero dei propri rituali.

• La crisi dei valori tradizionali genera un vuoto riempito da simulacri: l’uniforme, il denaro, la tecnica.
Il sonnambulo segue le regole senza crederci più.

[Nick · Rating 2 out of 5]

Hermann Broch was evidently a writer for the literary philosophers or philosophical literati of Central Europe. Hannah Arendt wrote an introduction for the translation I read, and Milan Kundera wrote an essay about him. "The Sleepwalkers" takes on the fragmentation of German culture between 1888 and 1918, with an middle act in 1903. The period is suspiciously close to the period of modern German monarchy, engineered by Bismarck in 1881 and dismantled by revolution in 1918 (Broch wrote the book between 1928 and 1932). Act I, in 1888, narrates in the literary style of the late 19th century, the tribulations of the military aristocrat Joachim von Pasenow who grapples with his dictatorial father, his manipulative friend Bertrand, and his superior older brother, conveniently dead in battle. It is so 19th century that it has the feel of the misogyny of Tolstoy's shorter works--how the lusty peasant girl (in von Pasenow's case a Czech music hall girl) lures the hero away from the decidedly cooler charms of his eligible female peers. Act II belongs to the sneaky August Esch, who is that most incredible of all things, an accountant with revolutionary leanings. All the talk comes to nothing; the most revolutionary things he does are to walk out on unsatisfactory jobs, start a "theater" that features a knife-throwing act, and seduce his affianced landlady. Act III takes place as the defeated German monarchy descends into chaos, uniting von Pasenow, now a comfortable bourgeois, and Esch, who runs a newspaper, as they confront someone even less appealing, the murderous, larcenous deserter Hugeneau, who bests both of them. In the third section, Broch flaunts his experimental side as a contemporary of Joyce, Faulkner, Musil and others--Hugeneau's story alternates with the stories of yet another character (at least this time a woman), poetry about a Salvation Army girl, and dreary essays on the decline of values. If "Ulysses" and "The Sound and the Fury", for all their self-conscious virtuosity, show what the multi-voiced, multi-genre novel can achieve, Broch in "The Sleepwalkers" demonstrates its limits.

[Freca - Narrazioni da Divano · Rating 5 out of 5]

Questa trilogia entra a gamba tesa fra le migliori letture dell'anno senza sé e senza ma, di Broch mi sono innamorata e leggerò sicuramente altro a partire da 'La morte di Virgilio'.
È un libro complesso, che intreccia diversi piani e alterna diverse storie ma sempre con un obbiettivo ben chiaro in mente: analizzare la disgregazione dei valori e lo fa seguendo tre protagonisti, che ogni tanto si sovrappongono sconfinando nel tomo successivo, in tre epoche diverse (1888-1903-1918) distanti ma non troppo e emblematici di tre filosofie (romanticismo-anarchia-realismo) che affrontano la problematica quindi in modo differente anche se sempre destabilizzante o distruttiva rispetto allo status quo, rimanendone escluso o creandone uno nuovo. Una visione disincantata e critica, affiancata, soprattutto nel terzo volume, da poesie, storie collaterali e parti saggistiche storiche a sostegno della tesi. L'uomo e non la storia diventa protagonista, non una saga familiare che vuole raccontare l'impero guglielmino ma la storia come fucina di sfide per la persona, che declinata nei vari personaggi offre risposte diverse.
Lo stile ben regge per complessità e cura i voli di pensiero e segue adeguatamente i cambi di passo.
Il tutto con uno strepitoso saggio introduttivo di Kundera che mette ben a fuoco il nocciolo della questione e ci regala anche un po' di sé, e una conclusione molto interessante di Fuentes.

[Tamar Nagel · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book had all the signs of being one I would like.. Austrian author with a background in math/science, intellectual, a bit dense, titled "Great European Novel," etc... I was disappointed not because of my high expectations but because the book was alienating to me in a way that the writing of Musil, Bernhard, Zweig, or either one of the Mann brothers is not. This is a bit crude, but essentially it felt like a book written by a dude for dudes about dudes. It was trying too hard, and the deep philosophizing bits just annoyed me and fell flat. It was the kind of book that I felt like an "intellectual" guy would use to show me that he "understands" and "appreciates" literature. Still, it was much better than say, Infinite Jest, which to me is the pinnacle of the aforementioned male intellectual literature-ego.

I did appreciate the structure of the novel; and like all Austrian novels of this type, it does a wonderful job describing the transition into the modern world and in many ways it explains the splintering of Europe over the course of the 20th century.

Basically the last 50 pages were really good and I almost gave this 4 stars because of that. It is definitely worth a read and I'll be reading more of Broch, but first I think I'll take a break from the dude stuff and read Eudora Welty instead.

[Kiran Bhat · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Sleepwalkers is a unique trilogy of novellas written by Hermann Broch. The language is dense and sometimes difficult to plow through, as Broch’s descriptions (translated also from German) tend to go on for far too long for a modern English-language reader. That being said, Broch’s writing is vital to the development of literary modernism. His writing demands a lot of work to read but one also feels like he is trying to get to something important. Of the three novellas, I appreciated the first the most. Broch really gets into the complexities of love and human relations, particularly between the sexes.


I wouldn’t recommend read Broch as a light read. He is someone who you have to choose to read knowing your mind will have to do work. I also don’t know if I would say his work is compelling or has a gravitas.

That being said, I would recommend reading his work simply to discover an underrated modernist writer. I will certainly come back to his writing over the years. The Sleepwalkers has a lot of depth. There’s still a lot for me to learn in these pages.

[Temz · Rating 5 out of 5]

,,Сомнамбулите‘‘ на Херман Брох ил преждевременното ми екстрадиране към безкрайността


Казват, че каквото сам си направиш, никой друг не може да ти го направи. И (за пръв път от много време) при последващ случай ще гласувам доверие на хората, макар и да не ми се случва често.
Преди една седмица по време на приятелска вечер с Милена от ,,Жанет 45‘‘ и Христо просто откраднах една книга. Точно това се случи – подадена от Милена към Христо, ,,Сомнамбулите‘‘ на Херман Брох, с адски добре издържана корица, ��росто се оказа в моите невръстни 21-годишни длани. „Искам, искам, искам‘‘ и обещанието – дадено.
Но сега, точно 5 минути след като съм затворила последната страница, вероятно наистина приличам на човек, ударен с тухла по главата. Състоянието ми варира от лека отнесеност, пролетна замечтаност, до абсолютна обърканост и мрак. Толкова много искам да споделя, а вероятно ще успея да кажа толкова малко.
Директно ще си призная – книга от този ранг не съм подхващала от „Братя Карамазови“ насам. Но с изказването си съвсем не искам да ви уплаша, даже напротив. Предизвиквам ви!
Предизвиквам ви да преживеете това, което аз преживях при сблъсъка ми или по-скоро по пътя ми редом с австрийски писател. Напред към сомнамбулството. Напред към междинността на две епохи, на иреалното и свръхрационалното.
‎''...сомнамбулството на безкрайността я е взело във властта си и вече никога няма да я пусне.''
Цикълът от три взаимосвързани романа (макар че за връзката между тях човек разбира едва при прочит на третата част) представлява своебразно пътуване от 1888-а, през 1903-а, до 1918-а, а именно през онези периоди, в които се осъществява преходът от отшумяващия романтизъм в края на XIX век към ,,деловитостта‘‘ на съвременната епоха. Разпадането на старата ценностна система и подмяната й с нова се загатва още в заглавията на трите части – ,,1888. Пазенов, или Романтиката‘‘, ,,1903. Еш, или Анархията‘‘, ,,1918. Хюгуно, или Деловитостта‘‘. Ще ви спестя анализите в стил съчинение разсъждение, но ще ви подготвя за огромен шок. Такава богата палитра от политически, исторически ,естетически и философски познания може да бъде намерена в малко автори. При опитите за сравнение неуморно се люлеех между Т.Ман, Х. Л. Борхес и Дж. Джойс. Само че тази творба е доста далеч от нещо познато.
Първата част е рамкирана като ‚,безобидно повествование‘‘, темпото е равномерно и плавно. Хаосът започва с част втора, когато наистина се потъва в дебрите на непознатия мрак, на ираеалното, на усещането за промяна, на отприщването на един луд ритъм, на една динамика на човекопреобразяване, която аз едва ли ще мога да ви предам максимално реалистично. При третата част есеистичните моменти безкомпромисно хвърлят читателя в бездната на свободата от ценности през новата епоха. Главите, обобщаващи разпадането на ценностите, въвеждат в света на познанието на писателя. Дообесняват, представляват истинско философско удоволствие, оставящо усещането ,че в света не съществуват изолирани явления. Протагонистите Пазенов, Еш, Хюгуно, както и пасивно присъстващият през цялото време Бертранд са своебразен отговор на въпросите, стоящи отвъд пределите на науката. Като олицетворение на поетическото те са носители на тази човешка нетърпеливост на познанието, на изпреварването на рационалното, на прокарване на път чрез емоционалното и постепенното ново очовечаване на обезчовеченото човечество (и настана тафтологията :D ).
Няма да ви лъжа, книгата на моменти дотяга, действието се провлачва, не е спестен немският похват на писане в стил изречение, разпростряно на 10 реда (тук е моментът да изкажа своите почитания към преводача Любомир Илиев, поел тази нелека задача). Но! Аз наистина ви предизвиквам да бъдете сомнамбули. Предизвиквам ви да достигнете третата част, при което буквално ще искате да останете при това познание, да стоите и да слушате сънищата си. И хем ще го искате, хем няма да имате търпение да се свърши. Не мога да рекламирам, мога само да изразя искреното си объркване и усещане за стремеж след тази книга да прочета още, да знам повече, защото явно наистина нищо не знам. Смесицата от философия, поезия, естетика и история е стряскаща, но надграждаща. Надскочи ме и ми остави усещането, че...
трудно ме побира този свят.
А и той във мен не се събира.
Ще си остана (спящо)будна, защото ,,никоя цел не носи нищо, остава само безкрайността‘‘. А човешкият живот е кратък. Така че...направете си го интересен. Предизвиквам ви.

[Cooper Renner · Rating 4 out of 5]

Closer to 3.5 stars. I can't claim to have read every word of this lengthy three-part novel, but certainly I read almost all of it. In the third and longest section, Broch interweaves a series of chapters which are at heart theoretical philosophical discussions--the kind of thing that some readers love and which leaves me absolutely unable to keep my eyes on the page. Otherwise, book 3 is far and away the most direct and interesting part of the novel, a careful symphony of characters and lives reflecting in some way the concept of people sleepwalking through the world. The first two books are heavy going, "realistic" narratives completely laden down with internalized explications and motivations: again, something that many readers love, but which impresses me as woefully overdone. Allegedly much (all?) of this is parody of 19th century naturalism, but if so, the parody is much too long. Even so, what is good here is very very good indeed. Overwrought (books 1 and 2) or lean (book 3), these are smart investigations of life in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in the German-speaking world.

[Michael David · Rating 5 out of 5]

‘Amid a blurring of all forms, in a twilight of apathetic uncertainty brooding over a ghostly world, man like a lost child gropes his way by the help of a small frail thread of logic through a dream landscape that he calls reality and that is nothing but a nightmare to him.’ (p. 373)

I read Joyce’s Ulysses a few years ago.

I was glad that I finished the damn thing, but was quite unimpressed. Was the towering novel of the modernist movement just about utter crap? I’ve read analyses of the novel, and my impression that it was really just one big fart joke cloaked in stylish linguistic experimentation remains the same.

I think this stems from the belief that novels are, first and foremost, written to tell a good story: I don’t think one day of sex escapades among the major characters qualifies as a good story.

This is where Broch’s Sleepwalkers differs. To paraphrase The Dark Knight, The Sleepwalkers is the novel that modernism deserves, but Ulysses was the one it needed. The Sleepwalkers is a silent guardian: most people nowadays remain unfamiliar with Broch or his works. I myself just stumbled upon this novel in a second-hand bookstore, and decided to purchase it because Hannah Arendt introduced the novel. When such a lucid theorist decides to write praises about a novel, it is highly likely that the novel is great.

And I absolutely have no regrets: I just think it’s sad that I’ve read a masterpiece so early in the year, because it will be inevitable for me to compare other works by what this novel had achieved for me.

The Sleepwalkers is divided into three novels: it’s actually a novel trilogy. Each of the novels illustrate Broch’s ability: the first novel, The Romantic, was written in the tone and mood of tragic romances that appear near the end of the 19th century. It features a romantic, Joachim von Pasenow, who desperately tries to do well despite his own shortcomings. The tragedy in this volume is that while he is physically and passionately in love with a lady below his social standing (Ruzena), circumstances force them to separate because he has to maintain his family honor and accidents disallow them from realizing their love. He marries within his social circle and it is implied through his impotent honeymoon night that it was more of a marriage of convenience than love. Throughout the novel, von Pasenow nevertheless aims to be honorable and chivalrous in his actions.

The second novel, The Anarchist, features a book-keeper excellent at book-keeping but is disillusioned with the world. His name is Esch. To illustrate the turmoil and confusion in fin-de-siecle-ish Germany, Broch paints Esch with less consistent values than von Pasenow. Esch is painted as somewhat of a ‘borderline personality:’ there is only good and bad, and there cannot be otherwise. He eschews authority and is amoral, but puts praise in God and also believes in rescuing women from exploitation. He is confused with the values of the world but can still differentiate between good and evil. He renounces Bertrand because Bertrand was a sodomite, and was also the chairman of the firm he was under (thus the title). As he slowly discovers faith in the Christian God, he understands the evil of sodomy and so finally enacts a plan that overthrew Bertrand. Despite much financial loss in his other exploits, he is hired as a head book-keeper in another firm and finally realizes his love for the widow Hentjen.

Finally, the third novel, The Realist, manifests an even increasing fragmentation. The chapters are short, and a number of stories are being told with each chapter. Some chapters feature poetry; one features a play; and some chapters are a breakdown of an essay entitled ‘Disintegration of Values.’ (Yes, Broch's humor is very subtle.) The novel also culminates in the destruction through death and dishonor of the novel trilogy’s first two heroes: only the one who was grounded in the grayness of reality and the present could survive in the Germany of the 1910s.

The only one who survives, Huguenau, is the one who divests himself of all faith in anything external to him. Esch, who had discovered faith in God through Protestantism, and von Pasenow, who tried to uphold chivalry and honor, are debased and murdered by the man who knew what he wanted and sought it without regard to anything except his own selfishness: the novel prefigures the arrival of the Nazi, and does so excellently.

Here’s a quote that shows Broch’s clairvoyance of it:

‘… the average man, whose life moves between his table and his bed, has no ideas whatever, and therefore falls an easy prey to the ideology of hatred -- … and that such narrow lives were bound to be subsumed in the service of any superpersonal idea, even a destructive one, provided that it could masquerade as socially valuable.'

The Sleepwalkers is a smorgasbord of philosophy, wisdom, and poetry. More importantly, however, it tells a wonderful and creative story about Germany’s descent into uninformed darkness. To me, it ranks with Absalom, Absalom! and Petersburg as one of the greatest modernist novels of the 20th century.

A novel can be complex without being absurd: The Sleepwalkers manages to be intelligent without being conceited, and that is why it is so much better than Ulysses. It even described my perspective as a quasi-romantic:

‘The lonelier a man becomes, the more detached he is from the value-system in which he lives, the more obviously are his actions determined by the irrational. But the romantic, clinging to the framework of an alien and dogmatic system, is – it seems incredible – completely rational and unchildlike.’

The Sleepwalkers is absolutely brilliant.

[ReemK10 (Paper Pills) · Rating 4 out of 5]

In lieu of a review check out #Broch23 #TheSleepwalkers

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[Tim Pendry · Rating 4 out of 5]

'The Sleepwalkers' has proved one of the hardest books I have tried to review on Goodreads. It is over 640 pages long (in translation) and is actually not one novel but three written sequentially by Austrian novelist Hermann Broch in 1930, 1931 and 1932.

The books are in completely different styles and the final work ('The Realist') is in at least five different styles in its own right including a single burst of highly effective drama, some undistinguished and rather dull poems and didactic philosophy of which more in due course.

This is modernist experimentation and it helps to know something about Broch himself. First he was an Austrian writing about Germany (West Prussia and the Rhineland), partly historically - the first book is set before he was born and the second when he would have been a teenager.

It would be as if a forty something Irishman writing today (2022) living in Manchester had a sequence of novels set in rural East Anglia and London and then in the Home Counties, in, say, 1978, 1993 and 2008 and trying to find the causes of the decline of the West in that sequence.

Broch himself is a complex character. He was from the Jewish bourgeoisie (the novels contain a full understanding of business mentalities) but he converted to Catholicism when he was in his early twenties. This did not stop him divorcing his wife eventually yet religion is central to the cycle.

In what we might consider a mid-life crisis around 40, he sold off his inherited textiles business (for which he had been more than adequately trained) to study mathematics, philosophy and psychology at the University of Vienna in a somewhat Wittgensteinian trajectory.

His literary ambitions appeared at about the same time. The three books underpinning the Sleepwalkers trilogy were published in Munich just before the Nazis came to power and his university studies are integral to at least the third book.

Unfortunately, he was part of an intellectual and liberal international set. Well, fortunately, because it almost certainly saved his life by helping him to emigrate in good time. If he had not done so, he would almost certainly have ended up in the maw of the Shoah regardless of his religion.

Unfortunately that old liberal trick of appropriating a work for a-historical 'predictions' of Nazi horrors may have coloured an objective appreciation of what is very much a democratic conservative assessment that stands on its own merit regardless of what happened later.

It predicts nothing. It describes albeit in a roundabout modernist way. If you get past some literary pretentiousness, there is a great deal of superb evocation (or imagining) of life under the Empire right up to its moment of dissolution in November 1918.

When it is good, the book is a work of genius. When it is bad, it is excruciatingly dull and obscure. By the end, I dreaded the philosophical passages and skipped the 'poetry' even though what he was trying to say in the first was potentially very interesting indeed - just turgidly expressed.

There are other flaws in psychological presentation as Broch tries to be the literary experimenter par excellence but the flaws arise from literary ambition. He is quite capable of acute psychological observation whenever he is ready to tell his story straight.

For example, the protagonists of the first two novels appear in the last. It is to Broch's credit that they are credibly the same people after a gap of 30 years and 15 years respectively.

I say the same people (Joachim von Pasenow, minor West Prussian aristocrat) and August Esch ( lower middle class clerical) but what I mean is that whoever they are supposed to be in their first books, they still change credibly over the intervening time to become what they are in the last.

The first novel ('The Romantic') portrays von Pasenow as a more than slightly paranoid and confused young officer who has the basically decent values of Prussian Protestant conservatism which are eventually going to get unravelled by history.

The style is of the nineteenth century 'realist' novel with the foil of a friend who has abandoned traditionalism for business and expresses the 'God is Dead' alienation of the new bourgeois who is moving on from aristocratic expectations and values.

The modernism lies in the interplay of the philosophical narrator (present throughout the series and clearly Broch expressing himself and only himself) and what the narrator says his protagonists are thinking. Sometimes those thoughts are incoherent beyond credibility to the point of unhinged.

In fact, when Broch ceases his sometimes tiresome modernist experimentation, what is left is a stunning novel of love and the best and most honest amd sensitive version of the classic virgin-whore problem faced by the traditional male in a closed society. Yet there are no cliches here.

The dynamic between Pasenow, Bertrand (the businessman who will appear tragically later), the unstable and fiery Czech Rusena and the noble, accomplished and beautiful Elizabeth and the households of the aristocrats really does express things that are not usually expressible.

He may be satirising the realist novel of the nineteenth century but he is also excelling at its production. And, in this particular book, some of the experimentation truly enhances our understanding of the characters and their situation.

The experimentation ratchets up in the second novel ('The Anarchist') where Bertrand distantly appears but not von Pasenow. The problem of the first novel intensifies ... a young clerk's unhinged search for love is made less credible because the unhingedness is not always credible.

Yet even here we have moments of genius - that expressing the inexpressible - embedded in something that can occasionally be like swimming in literary molasses although no doubt it is precisely the sort of thing that the mid-twentieth century intellectual class would like to swim in.

The third novel ('The Realist') at least has the virtue of separating the molasses into separate short chapters. The actual 'novel' again shows the same genius for expressing the hard to express in a recognisable social context - a small town suffering the final stage of a world war.

I appreciated the off-handed unhysterical normality of references to (say) the 1918 flu epidemic and the confusion of the collapse of law and order in the days just before the armistice. This feels as if it is what would have been experienced by our characters.

If Broch sometimes under-explains internal psychologies, he does not fall into the trap of over-explaining external events. His didacticism lies in being philosophical and not historical

It does all come together at the end if in a slightly schizophrenic way. Broch tells us his concerns through fiction and then tells us them again through didactic tract which reaches a sort of crescendo in the last chapter.

You come away from the book with mixed impressions - treasuring those moments of fictional genius and the remarkable achievement of making one feel as if one was close to getting to know what it must have been like to be German at certain points in history.

This 'what is it like to be a German under the Kaiser' (related to Nagel's question of what is it like to be a bat) can never be authentically experienced in absolute terms but Broch got me closer to it than any reading of the history of the period or more conventional literature.

In achieving this, I feel ironically, Broch really did not need to dabble in modernist experimentation at all, Just a dash here and there perhaps and sometimes it works to great effect in particular character portraits but it is when he is being most 'conventional' that his genius shows.

Much to his chagrin no doubt if he had lived to read this, I would say that it is his philosophy that is transient and that he has done us a far greater service in the many moments of literary realism that he seems so eager to remove himself from.

It is as if we recognise the people he writes about as humans (and he does get better with each novel) when he allows them to be humans and to speak for themselves rather than intrude his authorial voice over and above them 'for effect'.

So what does it all mean beyond a subtle account of life under the German Empire with many insights. Well, the running thread of the authorial voice is religion or rather a philosophy of religion that is conservative, catholic and very very platonic.

Broch is interested in something that very few people may be interested in nowadays unless they are conservative-minded Christians (it has to be emphasised that Broch was not a far right-winger but a democrat closest to the Zentrum Party perhaps or modern Christian or Social Democracy).

This primary interest is the 'Fall of Man'. He sees this (the philosophical explanations were turgid as only German philosophers can make them turgid) as a process of sectarianism and fragmentation emerging from the Protestant revolt that defines the German national spirit.

This is not, however, a polemic. Debates about God and meaning, about Catholic traditionalism, about Protestant duty, about Jewish identity and about sectarianism (represented by the Salvation Army) are allowed to run without any attempt to skew them in the author's favour.

Everyone gets to speak and with great sympathy. The 'Fall of Man' is a process involving all the protagonists and others around them 'sleepwalking' towards fragmentation and loss of humanity (exemplified in both the war itself, criminality, bad faith and a private murder).

Others are just 'sleepwalking' within value systems constructed to deal with fragmentation - whether it is the duty of the uniform, bookkeeping integrity or even the 'sauve-qui-peut' of the disrupted small town business man who treats war as a sort of holiday from convention.

If the novel is about anything, it is about alienation compounding itself from an original sin that appears to be based on the departure of Germany and Germans from the unity of Catholicism into ever more broken idealisms and beliefs, all held with total sincerity even when self-delusive.

The impression left is one of literature as a massive exercise in personal psychotherapy by a conflicted and intense (and highly intelligent) man who could exercise an instinctive genius when he got off his philosophical high horse and just dealt with flawed humanity and its actions.

If he wanted to demonstrate his technical skill in reproducing various styles, then he succeeds admirably in this trilogy but one has the uncharitable feeling that his technical facility is masking some form of 'angst' that he cannot express directly but only elliptically.

I mentioned the Nazi aspect and, at the very end, there is a short passage where he writes in an impassioned way about the desire of fragmented people for a Leader 'to set things in order and show (them) the way' so he cannot have been oblivious of his situation.

The way he handles the Jews in his third novel (the throwaway character prejudices earlier merely describe attitudes at the time) is subtle and sensitive and perhaps designed deliberately to restore their humanity without privileging them.

Later he would share Canetti's and Arendt's interest in mass psychology and he worked on this during his American exile which he made permanent. He continued his mission to argue for 'irreducible ethical absolutes' along German idealist lines, looking backwards to Kant.

But this was not a man predicting events by any means. This was an intellectual struggling to describe a crisis in German society which was being extended into one that was becoming a crisis for humanity itself. His achievement lies not in the theory though but in the description.

To his credit, while he has his core values, and the philosophy is didactic when it appears, Broch makes sure it is expressed in contained and easily demarcated chapters. He is not trying to manipulate us into belief. He presents things as they are and then adds his opinion.

Personally I am not persuaded by Neo-Kantian universalism as a solution to the 'problem' but I do think he identified a problem that is only a variant (though he might have resisted this) of the problem given us by the 'fact' of God's slow death in a society of habit and expectation.

This was a vital and terrifying question in the early 1930s well before Adolf came to power. The First World War shattered stability and it allowed what was to happen to happen but the crisis predated it. We are going through a similar period of fragmentation but with a less clear trigger.

Going back to a faith-based or essentialist moral absolutism might be the way of some intellectuals even today but most people are not intellectuals (one of the virtues of the three novels is that it attempts to show us minds that are far from intellectuals) so that particular boat long since sailed.

The problem is not the lack of an abstract moral core to society but the fragmentation whatever its cause - and, in fact, that old catholic world was far more fragmented than sympathetic intellectuals allow themselves to believe.

Its unity was a construction of the Counter-Reformation in reaction to Protestantism which (if I have interpreted obscurity correctly) Broch appears to concede. It might have been reasonable in 1930 to think that order could be restored - it is almost certainly delusory in the West today.

[Emma Charala · Rating 4 out of 5]

4,5 αστεράκια.
Η παρακμή ως αστική υπνοβασία με βλέμμα στραμμένο στο κενό της ελευθερίας

Αν ο Τόμας Μαν είχε πιει λίγο παραπάνω κρασί με τον Μαρξ και τον Νίτσε πριν αρχίσει να γράφει, πιθανόν να είχαμε νωρίτερα τους Υπνοβάτες του Χέρμαν Μπροχ. Όχι όμως με τη συστηματικότητα ενός ιστορικού, αλλά με την απελπισμένη ειρωνεία κάποιου που βλέπει την κατάρρευση εκ των έσω, σαν αρχιτέκτονας που κατοικεί μέσα στο ίδιο το ερείπιο που μελέτησε.
Η τριλογία του Μπροχ (Pasenow ή ο Ρομαντισμός, Esch ή η Αναρχία, Huguenau ή ο Ρεαλισμός) διατρέχει τη γερμανική εικοσαετία 1888-1918 σαν νεκροψία ενός πολιτισμού.
Στο πρώτο μέρος, ο Pasenow ψάχνει να πιαστεί από τα φαντάσματα του ρομαντισμού φορώντας πανοπλία σε ένα κόσμο που φοράει πλέον πολιτικά. Σαν να διαβάζεις τον Δον Κιχώτη χωρίς αέρα, μονάχα με την ασφυξία της τιμής και της φόρμας. Ενδιαφέρον, ναι· αλλά σαν να προθερμαίνεσαι σε κρύο δωμάτιο.
Όταν όμως φτάνουμε στον Esch, τα πράγματα γίνονται πιο σκοτεινά, πιο υπαρξιακά. Εδώ, ο Μπροχ αφήνει τα κοστούμια και πιάνει την ουσία: μια ψευδαίσθηση πολιτικής και ηθικής αναζήτησης, ντυμένη με μικροαστικό λούστρο. Ο Esch δεν είναι ρομαντικός· είναι πιο επικίνδυνος, γιατί πιστεύει ότι κάπου πάει, ενώ βυθίζεται. Είναι ο Κάφκα του συνδικάτου.
Και μετά έρχεται το μεγάλο χτύπημα: ο Huguenau, ο άνθρωπος χωρίς βάθος, αλλά με απόλυτη λειτουργικότητα. Εδώ, ο Μπροχ παίρνει φόρα και γράφει σαν φιλόσοφος που ξέχασε να διδάξει και έγινε μυθιστοριογράφος. Η αφήγηση γίνεται πολυφωνική, αποδομείται, εκρήγνυται με εμβόλιμες θεωρίες περί παρακμής, ηθικής, γλώσσας. Αν ο Joyce έκλεινε το μάτι στον Μπαρτ, θα έγραφε κάτι παρόμοιο. Είναι κουραστικό, ναι. Είναι και σπουδαίο.
Αυτό που ενώνει τους Υπνοβάτες δεν είναι η πλοκή –ποτέ δεν ήταν– αλλά η εσωτερική αίσθηση μιας κοινωνίας που έχει χάσει το νόημα και προχωράει υπνωτισμένη, από συνήθεια, από καθήκον, από φόβο. Ανήκει στην ίδια λογοτεχνική συγγένεια με τους Δαίμονες του Ντοστογιέφσκι και Το Μαγεμένο Βουνό, αλλά χωρίς τη λύτρωση που ενίοτε υπόσχονται εκείνα. Ο Μπροχ είναι πιο ριζικός: ο κόσμος πέφτει χωρίς σάλπισμα.
Αν έπρεπε να του προσάψω κάτι, είναι η απόσταση. Υπάρχει μια ψυχρότητα στον Μπροχ, μια σχεδόν στυγνή εγκεφαλικότητα. Αλλά ίσως έτσι πρέπει να είναι ένα βιβλίο για τον εκφυλισμό της πίστης: σαν επιμνημόσυνη δέηση με υποσημειώσεις.
Κι όμως, παρά τη σκοτεινιά του, δεν πρόκειται για ένα απαισιόδοξο έργο. Αντίθετα, κρύβει μέσα του μια ρομαντική ελπίδα: ότι κάποιος κάποτε μπορεί και να ξυπνήσει.

[Luke · Rating 2 out of 5]

Reading's a tricky business. One minute you're expanding your boundaries, the next you're mired in the gunk folks use to create theocracies. In all seriousness though, this is yet another example of Dostoevsky's Demons: enough legitimate meat on its well-educated skeleton to give one pause, but ultimately too frightened of losing its position to make true gains. You lose a war, hear tell of revolutions in the East, witness the cannibalization of ethical codes by statistical numbers in service to the military industrial complex, observe the shifts of religion and gender as life becomes more about living and less about the afterlife, and then think, ah: the issue does not lie with those who have been allowed to speak and rule and subjugate until now, but those who said, enough is enough. Of course, Broch uses much fancier words, but the summation is essentially "At one point a sect of Catholicism broke off and became Protestantism, which turned the full brunt of capitalism onto the aristocrats and the philosophers and others much too valuable to generate good metrics in order to 'make a living', and humanity has suffered ever since." It's a nasty ideology that I myself rail against (in a qualified fashion) in the modern day, but I'm not so cavalierly violent about women or weirdly objectifying of Judaism in the process (yeah, I know about Broch's background, but just read it yourself), or so confident that I can declare every revolution that has or ever will happen as just another "evil against evil" that can only be remedied by full subservience to god/the Church (you mean the one with all the settler states and enslavement and genocide, who ran rampage overseas and denied literacy and economic self sufficiency at home? give me a break). If that wasn't the author's intent, great! But it sure seduced the usual "thinkers" who tend to run along exactly those lines, and at 600-900 pages, you'd think the author had enough time to properly explain himself.

TL&DR: This is no The Arcades Project, and it suffers for it.