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222 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2009
"the complexity of his language serves as a respite for the reader from the tension created by the intricate plotting. Once the reader settles into his prose, the language laden sentences that seemingly turn themselves inside out mesmerize us into a leisurely pace that is comforting in its cadence."What strikes me about his stories in general is how he tends to put his otherwise rather normal characters in these extremely tumultuous situations, and he shows you how they are almost moved by larger forces into becoming either monsters or angels. Many times his characters acted with such mercilessness and violence that it was hard to stomach, but also hard to turn away from.
"We see that in the organic world, to the same degree that reflection gets darker and weaker, grace grows ever more radiant and dominant. But just as two lines intersect on one side of a point, and after passing through infinity, suddenly come together again on the other side; or the image in a concave mirror suddenly reappears before us after drawing away into the infinite distance, so too, does grace return once perception, as it were, has traversed the infinite--such that it simultaneously appears the purest in human bodily structures that are either devoid of consciousness or which possess an infinite consciousness, such as in the jointed manikin or the god"
"The truth is…that I find what I imagine to be beautiful, not what I actually produce. Were I able to engage in any other useful pursuit, I would gladly do so: I only write because I can't do anything else." (278)Poor Kleist. We should be thankful, though, that he did write; and what do we care, or would we have cared, if he ended up a general – like 18 others in his family's lineage? Anyway, after being initially somewhat underwhelmed by the stories – no doubt in part due to high expectations – I was overall impressed when I put down the collection. There is an immense undercurrent to Kleist's writing, a frantic kind of power that derives from the language itself as much as from the direct and unwavering way he has of telling a story.
On the burial day, the body lay white as snow in an open casket in a hall whose walls were covered with black cloth. The priest had just concluded a stirring sermon beside her bier when he received the Elector's resolution in answer to the appeal presented by the deceased, which said, in sum: that he should go fetch his horses from Tronkenburg Castle, and at the risk of imprisonment, cease and desist from any future petitions in this matter. Kohlhaas put the letter in his pocket and had the casket brought to the hearse. As soon as the grave had been covered back up, the cross had been planted in it and the guests who'd been present at the funeral had departed, he threw himself one last time before her now empty bed, and promptly turned to the business of revenge. [169]