Günter, ein fünfzehn oder sechzehn Jahre alter Junge, ist von zu Hause durchgebrannt und trifft mit dem Nachmittagszug am Stettiner Bahnhof in Berlin ein. Was er in der Großstadt sucht, ahnt er noch nicht einmal. Neugierig und voller Erwartung stürzt er sich in das Leben der Metropole. Zur selben Zeit kommt auch Hermann Graff an. Er ist Anfang zwanzig und hat recht genaue Vorstellungen davon, was ihn in die Großstadt treibt. Berlin in den „goldenen zwanziger Jahren“: So wie der Autor seine beiden Protagonisten zur selben Stunde im Eldorado der Homosexuellen eintreffen lässt, so führt er sie zusammen. Doch was seiner Utopie folgend sicher eine wenn auch ungewöhnliche Liebesgeschichte hätte werden sollen, entwickelt sich zu einem realistisch und einfühlsam geschriebenen Drama.
John Henry Mackay grew up in Germany with his German mother after the early death of his Scottish father. His long literary career included writings in a variety of forms, though he was best known as a lyric poet and anarchist. His biography of Max Stirner revived interest in that 19th century philosopher of egoism.
This novel depicts the world best-known through Christopher Isherwood's Berlin stories. Indeed, it is blurbed by Isherwood, who loves the book "despite and even because of its occasional sentimental absurdities."
Published in the 1920s the book is certainly unique. However, as a novel it does drag through the middle when we get bogged down in the sentimental absurdity — Hermann falls in love and can imagine no other. Perhaps to believe this world we also have to accept how isolated and ignorant Hermann is. Perhaps in a freer and more evolved society, Hermann's desires would also have matured.
Also take a moment to consider that Isherwood felt the very notion of falling in love was a sentimental absurdity.
This novel is perhaps best seen as an historical document, and slightly didactic. Mackay has an axe to grind.
Estoy absolutamente impactado con este libro. Tanto que me faltan palabras para expresar cuánto me ha gustado. Y, a la vez, muy contento por haber encontrado esta GRANDIOSA historia de amor de la literatura gay; y muy triste por que sea una novela perdida, desconocida, olvidada. Estamos hablando del Berlín de justo antes de los nazis, cuando ya empiezan a intuírse. Estamos hablando de una historia de amor (explícita, hermosísima) entre un joven profesional y un pilluelo que sobrevive como puede en las calles. Estamos hablando de una historia de amor que supera barreras, dificultades, tabúes. Y es universal (el amor, los tabúes, las falsas esperanzas, la supervivencia), y a la vez muy específica y abiertamente gay (contando una historia como otras mil de dentro del colectivo). Y esta JOYA estaba inédita en España hasta que, hace cuatro tardes, una editorial minúscula y maravillosa que recupera tesoros de la literatura LGTB de los siglos XIX y XX, editó 150 ejemplares (que aún no han terminado de vender). En fin, como digo, muy feliz por haberla encontrado, muy triste porque no sea una novela conocida y amada por todos.
Published in 1926, this is possibly one of the earliest novels explicitly centering a same-sex relationship, albeit one of a specific type, one as frowned-upon now as it was at the time: that of a man (Herman, 22/23, the true "hero") and a 15/16 year old boy (Gunther).
Both characters, impossibly naive and inward-looking, find themselves, over a year, on a stiff learning curve about the world and about who they are. Of course this does not end well, but certainly not as badly as could be expected.
Although a novel of clear literary merit, it is also, as historic novels on this sort of subject need and tend to be, a work of proselytism that tries to make a perhaps unsympathetic reader understand its protagonists as well as the difficulties heaped unto them by social mores.
Mackay was a life-long activist, advocate of individualist anarchism. Beyond being an indirect plea for acceptance of sexual deviance, the book is also a wider denunciation of society's thwarting effect on the individual.
And this is possibly the problem with it. While the politics are not overdone and the book is by no means not as preachy as could be expected, it tends to focus on and linger exclusively on those difficulties, seen from the individual's point of view. In doing so, it leaves out other potentially interesting aspects of the characters' personalities and experiences that could have been covered given a wider range and more perspective.
Notably, and to further his militant aims, Mackay favours a hyper-realist approach, and gives a vivid prominence to the early 1920s Berlin demi-monde of male teen prostitution, to the point of turning the book into an authentic and historical document as well as a novel.
Despite at times verging on excessive pathos, this remains a solid piece of literature, though, that should possibly be looked upon as more than a mere historic curio.
Historically important German novel from the 1920s. Hermann, a lonely office clerk, falls in love from afar with Gunther, a teenage hustler. Their story does not end happily, though it's not tragic, either. Hermann's feelings aren't really love as much as, as Natalia Landauer puts it in Cabaret, an infatuation of the body, and his feelings never grow beyond that. Gunther is a lost little boy who is treated badly by everyone around him, even (perhaps especially) by his so-called friends, and it's frustrating not to feel more sympathy for him, given his total lack of interest in anything at all, even sex, and the bad behavioral choices he constantly makes.
Hermann isn't much more interesting. His obsession with Gunther, who for most of the book treats Hermann as badly as he is treated by those around him, is inexplicable. Though we get inside Hermann's head, he never comes off as a fully thought-out character. The real reason to stick with the book is the glimpse we get into the lives of these young prostitutes--the scenes in the middle which show Gunther interacting with his fellow hustlers really come alive. Don't pick this up as porn--there are no descriptions of sex, aside from some cuddling and kissing--and there is only rarely any real erotic frisson present.
Set in 1924 Berlin. What is amazing is that this was written in 1926 Berlin. The fact that the book treats a gay love story in a matter-of-fact way is pretty amazing. Since it was actually written in that period, the story is a bit quaint and I found it dragged in parts. But as a historical document, I think it's pretty invaluable. Christopher Isherwood said "It gives a picture of the Berlin sexual underworld early in this century which I know, from my own experience, to be authentic."
An outstanding book, if not for an historical perspective alone, Hubert Kennedy spent years crafting a translation from the original writings of John Henry Mackay. If you like a good love story with a tragic end, and the best ones do, this is the book for you. I would recommend it to anyone interested in queer theory or gay and lesbian history, but I'd also recommend it as a great page turner at the beach.
Ya se aconseja en el prólogo, que no hay que hacer mucho caso del melodrama central de la historia, ¡y es que tela! Bastante más infantil H. que G., en mi opinión, y desde luego en cuanto a las expectativas de su relación fracasada. Si uno obvia cómo el autor pretende validar un amor a todas luces pedófilo, esta novela es un testamento muy rico de la subcultura gay del Berlín de entreguerras, esa meca progresista con un final tan macabro. Por un lado, nunca he leído una descripción tan realista del hambre acuciante. Y es revelador cómo en aquella época y en ese contexto particular, las relaciones entre hombres no estaban limitadas por etiquetas como la orientación sexual. Sin embargo, se enmarcan como relaciones siempre desiguales en cuanto a edad y poder, transaccionales en esencia y, finalmente, limitadas en el tiempo. Las notas al pie del traductor son relevantes pero en esta edición en castellano, hay algunos errores tipográficos. Gracias a esta casa editorial por rescatar estas pequeñas joyas olvidadas.
It’s quite extraordinary that this novel was published in the 1920’s. While never explicit, it is a candid story of a gay love affair between an office worker in his 20’s and a teenage hustler in Weimar Berlin. I found the lovers' imbalance in ages and power a bit disturbing, but the love story itself is well done--a frank normalization of love between two men and the condemnation of a society that is determined to destroy it. While that book perhaps works better as a sociological piece than as literature (it’s a bit long and overly sentimental), it is a much-appreciated look at a hidden history.
In der Roman, 1926 erschienen, wird die homosexuelle Liebe als etwas normales geschildert. Zwar wird diese Liebe nicht von der Gesellschaft geduldet, aber unter sich wird das Leben von den Homosexuellen genossen. Der Roman gibt ein gutes Bild von das Leben junger Stricher in der Großstadt Berlin.
Für moderne Leser sind die Seelenbewegungen der Hauptpersonen vielleicht zu umfangreich beschrieben. Ich habe diese Beschreibungen aber geliebt.
Ich finde dieses buch sehr gut. Es hat einen wunderschönen schreibstil. Man merkt einfach das diese Buch von einem Dichter geschrieben wurde. Die Wörter umschmeicheln die Geschichte und man kann sich die Szenerie bildlich vorstellen. Allerdings ich weiß nicht was genau es war aber ich hatte das Gefühl das ich jemanden zuschaue wie er in Zeitlupe hinfällt
While I wasn't comfortable at all with the subject matter here, it was an interesting glimpse at queer Weimar Berlin, as well as a burgeoning queer rights sentiment--if not movement.
Sad and rivetting, Gunther and Hermann's difficulties in turn of the century Berlin play out like a gritty Fassbinder film in this novel. Couldn't put it down- read it in a couple days after an aside in the first chapter of Alex Ross' "The Rest Is Noise." Wish that it was a bit longer is all.
Übrigens könnte man den Roman vom heutigen Zeitgeist her auch gut niedermachen. Vor allem ist er natürlich so was von sentimental, weil er der verlorenen Liebe eines älteren (mittelalten) Schwulen zu einem Jungen nachtrauert, der so was von herrlich gewesen sein soll, bevor ihn sich die provinzielle Kleinbürgerschaft wieder zurückholte. Und von wegen "Junge", da geht das politisch Unkorrekte nämlich los: Der Knabe ist ein Halbwüchsiger, der auf Berlins Straßen anschaffen geht, dem Alkohol zuneigt, und von einem sehr gebildeten Wohlstandsbürger (Doktor der Geisteswissenschaften) "gerettet" wird. Heutige Queere könnten dieses auch sexuellen Missbrauch von Minderjährigen, paternalistischen Humanismus von oben herunter und Ausnützen von gehetzten Sexarbeitern nennen. Aber man lässt es einstweilen dabei, den echten Berliner Straßenjungen mit Herz, wie ihn Christopher Isherwood geliebt hat, darin zu lesen.
Mackay war aus Schottland gekommen, schrieb in deutscher Sprache, musste sich nie Geldsorgen machen und hatte schon vor dem Ersten Weltkrieg mit einer Abfolge von Lyrik-, Prosa- und Theoriebüchern begonnen, in denen er die gleichberechtigte Anerkennung der pädagogisch gesinnten Jünglingsliebe propagierte. In dieselbe ordnete er das hier, seinen besten, zu großen Teilen unverkennbar selbst erlebten Roman, dann ein.
Ich würd jetzt nicht alles glauben. Aber ist doch mal nett, fast daran zu glauben, dass die Liebe zwischen großstädtischen Geldbürgern und ungebildeten Proleten, zwischen erfahrenen, fast schon resignierten Männern und verdorbenen Minderjährigen wirklich für längere Zeit klappen und für beide Teile zu was gut sein kann.