BlackOxford's Reviews > Berlin Alexanderplatz
Berlin Alexanderplatz
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Digging Ourselves Out
It’s unlikely that any writer has been more described in terms of other writers - preceding and following - than Alfred Döblin. Joyce, Dostoevsky, Henry Miller, Bukowski, Martin Amis, Henry Fielding, Upton Sinclair, Céline, Burgess, Smollett, Isherwood, dos Passos, and Conrad among others have been mentioned frequently as influences or being influenced. It seems impossible to pin Döblin down to a definite style or technique. I find him an inspiration for William Gaddis’s JR, for example, in his ‘stream of conversation.�
Yet he is also unique in time and place. Weimar Germany is in social chaos. Work is hard to find, even before the Great Depression, especially for an ex-con. Pornography and the sex-trade in general are thriving, despite the Victorian (or more accurately the Wilheminic) era ‘blue laws.� The historical class structures are being undermined by the same residues of the Great War that are affecting Britain. Politics has yet to work out its disastrous compromises, although the omens of the future are clear. And in a perverse way Berlin, despite its status as a conquered capital city, is the centre of a new global culture.
Perhaps this is why Döblin is so difficult to categorise or characterise. In this one book is all of not just Western literature but also Western culture, a literary Mahler’s Ninth. Franz Biberkopf is the new Everyman, even more so than Leopold Bloom. Bloom was up against tedium, boredom, and oppressive religion but at least Dublin was what it always had been. Biberkopf’s Berlin had no historical continuity. It was the far side of the moon, waiting to be discovered by the rest of mankind.
This new world is non-traditional. It demands the abandonment of habits in order to survive. Because the mores of ‘good behaviour� have yet to be established, it feels like a prison in which a mis-step can have lethal consequences. Trial and error rather than best practice in everything from sex to career (the anticipation of Viagra is startling). So despite wanting to lead a life of stable conformity, such a thing is no longer possible:
This is the new man - the player, the scammer, the inside trader, the mobster, the exploiter of loopholes, the corporate boss. The entire foundation of social relations had been altered. Sociologists may not see that for decades, and even then not very clearly. But Döblin captured the whole event in Biberkopf as he caroms around the streets of Berlin. Almost a century later, it has become obvious to the rest of us how perceptive he was. After his release from prison Biberkopf realises that the world had changed in his absence. “I know I need to dig deeper,� he says. Indeed, don’t we all.
It’s unlikely that any writer has been more described in terms of other writers - preceding and following - than Alfred Döblin. Joyce, Dostoevsky, Henry Miller, Bukowski, Martin Amis, Henry Fielding, Upton Sinclair, Céline, Burgess, Smollett, Isherwood, dos Passos, and Conrad among others have been mentioned frequently as influences or being influenced. It seems impossible to pin Döblin down to a definite style or technique. I find him an inspiration for William Gaddis’s JR, for example, in his ‘stream of conversation.�
Yet he is also unique in time and place. Weimar Germany is in social chaos. Work is hard to find, even before the Great Depression, especially for an ex-con. Pornography and the sex-trade in general are thriving, despite the Victorian (or more accurately the Wilheminic) era ‘blue laws.� The historical class structures are being undermined by the same residues of the Great War that are affecting Britain. Politics has yet to work out its disastrous compromises, although the omens of the future are clear. And in a perverse way Berlin, despite its status as a conquered capital city, is the centre of a new global culture.
Perhaps this is why Döblin is so difficult to categorise or characterise. In this one book is all of not just Western literature but also Western culture, a literary Mahler’s Ninth. Franz Biberkopf is the new Everyman, even more so than Leopold Bloom. Bloom was up against tedium, boredom, and oppressive religion but at least Dublin was what it always had been. Biberkopf’s Berlin had no historical continuity. It was the far side of the moon, waiting to be discovered by the rest of mankind.
This new world is non-traditional. It demands the abandonment of habits in order to survive. Because the mores of ‘good behaviour� have yet to be established, it feels like a prison in which a mis-step can have lethal consequences. Trial and error rather than best practice in everything from sex to career (the anticipation of Viagra is startling). So despite wanting to lead a life of stable conformity, such a thing is no longer possible:
“He swore to all the world and to himself that he would remain decent. And as long as he had money, he remained decent. But then he ran out of money, which was a moment he had been waiting for, to show them all what he was made of.�
This is the new man - the player, the scammer, the inside trader, the mobster, the exploiter of loopholes, the corporate boss. The entire foundation of social relations had been altered. Sociologists may not see that for decades, and even then not very clearly. But Döblin captured the whole event in Biberkopf as he caroms around the streets of Berlin. Almost a century later, it has become obvious to the rest of us how perceptive he was. After his release from prison Biberkopf realises that the world had changed in his absence. “I know I need to dig deeper,� he says. Indeed, don’t we all.
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Reading Progress
February 25, 2018
– Shelved
February 25, 2018
– Shelved as:
to-read
November 9, 2019
–
Started Reading
November 9, 2019
– Shelved as:
german-language
November 13, 2019
– Shelved as:
aesthetics
November 13, 2019
– Shelved as:
sociology
November 13, 2019
–
Finished Reading
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Hanneke
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Nov 08, 2019 10:23PM

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OK then. Your (quite kind) challenge is accepted Hanneke. I shall make it a priority.


This is the new man - the player, the scammer, the inside trader, the mobster, the exploiter of loopholes. The entire foundation of social relations had been altered.
Thanks for the insights and the dedication, that is, the traditional hallmark of your reviews, BlackOxford.

Thanks to you for calling my attention to it. It really is unique and at the same time touches so many other diverse pieces. Incredible talent in the translator as well.

Thanks back P.E. It’s an incredible work.


You won’t regret the effort, Ray.

You’re right of course, Bonnie. This book is like a slow-burn time bomb detonating over generations in all sorts of unlikely places. Or, perhaps more apt, a funnel in time which collects so much of what exists and spews it out again, transformed. There’s got to be an appropriate metaphor somewhere.





Now you’re reminding me that Döblin also rivals Henry Green as a dialectition (the linguistic kind), especially his first novel Living which was published simultaneously with BA. Incredible, both the writer and the translator.

You’re on for this one then: A sort of Christopher Isherwood without the sophistication.

No need to apologise Nick. You know I’m a fan of Ligotti. Glum is good. It shows appropriate expectations.

And less well paid!

Thanks, Richard. I’ll check it out.

Thanks, Greta. Great book. Great writer. We should listen.


Excellent observation about Dickens. Perhaps enough to get me back into him!
