Thomas Mann
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Subjects -> Literature & Fiction -> Authors, A-Z -> ( M ) -> Mann, Thomas
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Customer Reviews:
Total reviews: 85
Average rating: 4.0 of 5
Al Gore, Yassar Arafat, and Magic Mountain... 1 out of 5 stars.
7 of 18 people found this review helpful.
...What are three reasons why the Nobel Prize is utterly meaningless Alex!
Holy crud, I just finished reading Magic Mountain about 5 minutes ago and want to get this review out while I still have the taste in my mouth. There's some great 1-star reviews for this book that I doubt I'll ever be able to top...but I'll try anyways.
What the book lacks in character development, ideas, and psychological analysis it more than makes up for in utter pointlessness. A more unfeeling, disinterested, atomized novel you will not find. Mann writes like a man detached from the world; he's incapable of giving a cohesive structure to multiple ideas and moving them in a single direction. In a word, it's a novel without purpose, more or less a collection of seemingly random, meaningless events that occur over a seven year period within a sanatarium high in the German Alps.
Maybe this disjointed style of narrative was somehow meant to be just an avenue through which Mann could pretentiously lecture the reader about the nature of time. Sure! I mean, time is such an easily definable concept that it certainly can be casually woven into what allegedly is an already highly complex storyline - and of course Mann possesed the Astrophysics Ph.D to make any of this time talk relevant, right? Not a chance.
Nothing it seems is able to pry the protagonist Hans Castorp away from his life as a spineless worm. Even the more notable events enjoy just a short twilight before they fizzle out, leaving Hans Castorp the same detached, unthinking, and cowardly individual on DAY 1 as he is in YEAR 7. Is this a true portrait of the character and psychology of a human being? Maybe in this mood equalizer culture of ours it is, which is probably at least part of the reason for the novel's popularity in the Anglo-American world.
Outside of that it's difficult to imagine an individual (or if one did indeed exist why such a wretched existence should be made the focus of a lengthy novel) who - could continuously witness death first-hand, go through a series of near death experiences himself, have intimate relationships with intellectuals (though admittedly the Settembrini-Naphta dialogues are just dramatized pseudo-philosophical ramblings) - without every experiencing any notable change in his psychology or behavior. How would Mann justify this ridiculously unrealistic, unfeeling outlook on the development of what is commonly known as character, spirit, or soul? Assuming we were able to actually locate someone like Hans Castorp would there be any purpose in digging beneath the surface of a man who is so fundamentally disinterested in anything that isn't completely about him?
I think what happened here was that Mann looked at mankind's desire for comfort, then jumped a whole bunch of steps and concluded that the man who simply wants to "stay warm" would be able to easily insulate himself from ideas and withdraw himself from society. That just isn't the case though. I don't deny that modernity can create a sense of detachment and social isolation in many individuals, but these feelings are not at all easily accepted by those same people. Indeed, even the people who personally decide to isolate themselves either do so because of, or cannot do so without severe emotional trauma and despair. Thus, if Hans Castorp is indeed supposed to be representative of this sort of Nietzchean "herd animal" than he is able to live this way with a stunning and completely unrealistic sense of ease.
Finally, what was up with the ending? Out with a whimper indeed! What an incredibly sick view of life this book expresses. Not only was this nearly the most worthless thing I've ever read, but I also have an added sense of shame at having initially given this book to someone as a birthday gift! It's little wonder they never bothered to read it. Run far, far away from this lifeless pseudo-philosophic nonsense.
Worst Novel of the 20th Century.
Editorial Review:
In this dizzyingly rich novel of ideas, Mann uses a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps--a community devoted exclusively to sickness--as a microcosm for Europe, which in the years before 1914 was already exhibiting the first symptoms of its own terminal irrationality. The Magic Mountain is a monumental work of erudition and irony, sexual tension and intellectual ferment, a book that pulses with life in the midst of death.