Berlin Alexanderplatz

De: Michael Hofmann - Translated by, Michael Hofmann - Afterword by, Alfred Döblin

Narrado por: Julian Elfer

Berlin Alexanderplatz, the great novel of Berlin and the doomed Weimar Republic, is one of the great books of the 20th century, gruesome, farcical, and appalling, word drunk, pitchdark. In Michael Hofmann's extraordinary new translation, Alfred Döblin's masterpiece lives in English for the first time.

As Döblin writes:

The subject of this book is the life of the former cement worker and haulier Franz Biberkopf in Berlin. As our story begins, he has just been released from prison, where he did time for some stupid stuff; now he is back in Berlin, determined to go straight.

To begin with, he succeeds. But then, though doing all right for himself financially, he gets involved in a set-to with an unpredictable external agency that looks an awful lot like fate.

Three times the force attacks him and disrupts his scheme. The first time it comes at him with dishonesty and deception. Our man is able to get to his feet, he is still good to stand.

Then it strikes him a low blow. He has trouble getting up from that, he is almost counted out. And finally it hits him with monstrous and extreme violence.

©2008 S. Fischer Verlag GmbH; Translation copyright 2018 by Michael Hofmann; Afterword copyright 2018 by Michael Hofmann (P)2019 Tantor

Quite possibly the greatest book I’ve ever read

When exactly do you know that the book you are reading is so exquisite that it transfigures all your previous literary experiences into mere cobblestones on the path to its summit? For me, this feeling was immediate. This amused me greatly, as I was sure it couldn’t possibly last. Then, section-by-section and chapter-by-chapter the feeling wouldn’t quit me, to my great pleasure and astonishment.

I hope you don’t mind my hyperbole. I do not wish to intimate that this is the best book ever written. Rather, that this book is a kindred spirit to my soul.

It’s a that book possessed of all the satirical humor of Voltaire’s Candide, the psychological and existential incisiveness of a Dostoevsky book, and with the pacing, plotting, poetry, and style of a master storyteller. I was always enthralled, always engaged, always amused, and always intellectually and spiritually roused. 

I could tell you about its story, about its titular character Franz Biberkopf, about its author who was writing about Berlin in the pre-WW2 era. I could explain how it weaves words of biblical proportions, intriguing metaphors, hilarious asides, and grungy anecdotes together into a tapestry of raw expressive power. It’ll all fall short of describing the mad wonder of this work.

The narrator is excellent. He gets the subject matter, even though this is a dense and complex work both thematically and linguistically. He pronounces all the German names with a perfect accent but utilizes a slangish vocal style to get across the grungy mood of the characters and story. The prose of the story bristles and thrums with such vitality, and the reader never disappoints.

I can’t recommend this book highly enough. It’s an awe-inspiring work.

Stephen Dadelus Has Nothing on Franz Biberkopf

An absolute romp of a book with some wonderful sensory language, populated with a vast assortment of humanity to spy upon—a testament and tapestry of Weimar life. (The only thing that comes remotely close, and we are talking a distant, distant second, is Isherwood’s Berlin Stories.

Don’t listen to the haters: read books that attack you. This one goes for your ear, eyes, and throat and doesn’t let go.

As for the comparison to Ulysses, it’s there but Joyce’s day-in-the-life pales in comparison to this gem of a Bildungsroman, and what Walter Benjamin himself called the sentimental education of the petty thief. Doblin has written, in my poor opinion, the greatest high modernist novel of the twentieth century.

If you've liked The Miniseries by Fassbinder...

You'll love the book. It's much better than the film adaptations. Watch The Miniseries first and then read the book.

Irritating narrator

The translation is written in mid-20th c. London
working class slang. The narrator reads in a relentlessly jocular Cockney (I guess) accent that gets really grating, like a bad imitation of a Monty Python sketch that doesn't end. Dialog is hard to follow as he uses the same tone, pitch and pace for every character. I hate to throw away a credit, but I had to bail about 1/3 in. I'll try and pick up the book some day.

Unable to capture interest

Ponderous. Absolutely unable to make me care about the protagonist. Too remote. This did not make the cut.