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A review by mafiabadgers
The Berlin Stories by Christopher Isherwood
dark
funny
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
First read 08/2024
There's someting about the doomed, reckless extravagance of Weimar-era Germany that I find oh so intriguing. Perhaps it's the roiling political conflict, the rampant cocaine usage, the shifting social norms (leading to increased emancipation of women and sexual minorities), the experimental spirit of contemporary art, the constantly unfurling economic disaster, or the inescapable knowledge that it's all about to go completely and utterly to shit.
Isherwood's The Berlin Stories have come to be seen as emblematic of Berlin in those days. I have to confess Mr Norris Changes Trains wasn't quite as saucy as I'd been hoping, but it was well-received by critics, so I suppose it couldn't be too lurid. There's something oddly, delicately charming about Norris, and it's easy to see why the narrator is so attached to him, but he's so obviously sketchy that the narrator's surprise and hurt later on seem rather startling. Nonetheless, it's easy to sympathise with him. Isherwood later described the book as 'heartless', and perhaps that's why it didn't entirely click with me; it feels a little divorced from its surroundings, or perhaps the narrator never experiences consequences of any sort. Still, it has its own remarkable appeal, somehow vapid and poignant. Four stars.
This appeal is only increased in Goodbye to Berlin. The narrator's insistence on his own objectivity is an intriguing sham which, I think, does the absolutely necessary work of undercutting what would otherwise tend toward an infuriating, detached superiority. It's the rise of fascism, Christopher. This is not the time for the faux neutrality practiced by English newspapers. I'm not convinced Isherwood should get any credit for critique it implies, but it's in the book and I think it's great. The character portraits are all fascinating. Sally Bowles puts me in mind of the narrator of The (Golden) Ass—they have such high opinions of themselves, and so little sense. I don't think there will ever be peace on earth, but such people will be with us always. This seems quite fair, and in some way I am almost glad of it. The world would be a sorrier place without human idiocy. A useful reminder to keep one's hand in. Five stars.
There's someting about the doomed, reckless extravagance of Weimar-era Germany that I find oh so intriguing. Perhaps it's the roiling political conflict, the rampant cocaine usage, the shifting social norms (leading to increased emancipation of women and sexual minorities), the experimental spirit of contemporary art, the constantly unfurling economic disaster, or the inescapable knowledge that it's all about to go completely and utterly to shit.
Isherwood's The Berlin Stories have come to be seen as emblematic of Berlin in those days. I have to confess Mr Norris Changes Trains wasn't quite as saucy as I'd been hoping, but it was well-received by critics, so I suppose it couldn't be too lurid. There's something oddly, delicately charming about Norris, and it's easy to see why the narrator is so attached to him, but he's so obviously sketchy that the narrator's surprise and hurt later on seem rather startling. Nonetheless, it's easy to sympathise with him. Isherwood later described the book as 'heartless', and perhaps that's why it didn't entirely click with me; it feels a little divorced from its surroundings, or perhaps the narrator never experiences consequences of any sort. Still, it has its own remarkable appeal, somehow vapid and poignant. Four stars.
This appeal is only increased in Goodbye to Berlin. The narrator's insistence on his own objectivity is an intriguing sham which, I think, does the absolutely necessary work of undercutting what would otherwise tend toward an infuriating, detached superiority. It's the rise of fascism, Christopher. This is not the time for the faux neutrality practiced by English newspapers. I'm not convinced Isherwood should get any credit for critique it implies, but it's in the book and I think it's great. The character portraits are all fascinating. Sally Bowles puts me in mind of the narrator of The (Golden) Ass—they have such high opinions of themselves, and so little sense. I don't think there will ever be peace on earth, but such people will be with us always. This seems quite fair, and in some way I am almost glad of it. The world would be a sorrier place without human idiocy. A useful reminder to keep one's hand in. Five stars.