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Chris Middleton does such a proficient job in my introduction honing in on the mysterium, journal element, and subtle ribbing tone of Jakob, that for a moment I think I am left with nothing to say. Luckily,I am not one to succumb to silence even in those circumstances : or, to be perfectly precise, I seem to always have something to say even when I don’t. For better or worse.

This entire novel, then, is a study of contrast, and undercurrent. Seeming levity of tone belies a violent clash of dichotomous life forces: starting from Jakob himself, who embodies a relentless pursuit of ‘experiences�: : an outward momentum which accelerates unchecked, couples with a seemingly dissonant imperative of repressing the same, dulling and quashing all sense data, and finishing with the non too subtle juxtaposition between quotidian and otherworldly in place names (e.g. the monotonous and heterogenous atmosphere of the Benjamenta Institute for servants vs. the sumptuous, mysterious world of the ‘inner chambers�). And everything in between. Which in this case, is : a quintessential nothing. Jakob, having no plot, and unencumbered with background details, presents as an albedo scene: sparce on props, against which the klieglight carves out in microscopic details the dynamics of life through a narrative of character study.

Jakob is a duality juxtaposed in bilateral relations with other characters where yet another geodesic poses more duality; this time in the pair off between Jakob and another character. Thus are the scenes in this novel enacted: in a sequence of Siamese links between Jakob and AN Other. Jakob and Kraus. Jakob and hisbrother. Jakob and Herr Benjamenta. Jakob and fraulein Benjamenta: a rotational pairing of opposites, diametrically opposed. Throughout this Jakob is by no means a constant: a quintessential ‘everyman�, he subtly adapts to each pairings idiosyncrasies to fulfil the role of subservient or ‘lord it�. Thus in the unholy triefecta between the Cocteau an siblings and himself, he slithers between sub and dom with remarkable dexterity.

Walser explores ‘coupledom� thus as a technique to illustrate the multi-layers of the human condition: each pairing speaks to life’s permutations: whether friendship, love (homoerotic love), duty, or even death. Each relationship is a refractory thread which opens up a new window of waltenshuung.

How does this feel? Like the universe has been stretched out from pole to pole, wrenched out of its non euclydic slumber and prostrated, belly up, on the examining table for the mother of all post-mortems. If there is mysterium, it is unabashedly eviscerated and the contents strewn out for our ‘gaze�: no less mysterious, but a hell of a lot more accessible.

How is this done? Through torrents of undercurrents. Nothing but nothing is explicit: yet the accretion of sequence after sequence creates a cumulative atmosphere of uninhibited wondrousness and marble cake layers of richness, potent in sensuality and promises.