[.ca] The Tin Drum (ISBN 0679420339)

From Amazon.com:
Meet Oskar Matzerath, "the eternal three-year-old drummer." On the morning of his third birthday, dressed in a striped pullover and patent leather shoes, and clutching his drumsticks and his new tin drum, young Oskar makes an irrevocable decision: "It was then that I declared, resolved, and determined that I would never under any circumstances be a politician, much less a grocer; that I would stop right there, remain as I was--and so I did; for many years I not only stayed the same size but clung to the same attire." Here is a Peter Pan story with a vengeance. But instead of Never-Never Land, Günter Grass gives us Danzig, a contested city on the Polish-German border; instead of Captain Hook and his pirates, we have the Nazis. And in place of Peter himself is Oskar, a twisted puer aeternis with a scream that can shatter glass and a drum rather than a shadow. First published in 1959, The Tin Drum's depiction of the Nazi era created a furor in Germany, for the world of Grass's making is rife with corrupt politicians and brutal grocers in brown shirts: There was once a grocer who closed his store one day in November, because something was doing in town; taking his son Oskar by the hand, he boarded a Number 5 streetcar and rode to the Langasser Gate, because there as in Zoppot and Langfuhr the synagogue was on fire. The synagogue had almost burned down and the firemen were looking on, taking care that the flames should not spread to other buildings. Outside the wrecked synagogue, men in uniform and others in civilian clothes piled up books, ritual objects, and strange kinds of cloth. The mound was set on fire and the grocer took advantage of the opportunity to warm his fingers and his feelings over the public blaze. As Oskar grows older (though not taller), portents of war transform into the thing itself. Danzig is the first casualty when, in the summer of 1939, residents turn against each other in a pitched battle between Poles and Germans. In the years that follow, Oskar goes from one picaresque adventure to the next--he joins a troupe of traveling musicians; he becomes the leader of a group of anarchists; he falls in love; he becomes a recording artist--until some time after the war, he is convicted of murder and confined to a mental hospital. The Tin Drum uses savage comedy and a stiff dose of magical realism to capture not only the madness of war, but also the black cancer at the heart of humanity that allows such degradations to occur. Grass wields his humor like a knife--yes, he'll make you laugh, but he'll make you bleed, as well. There have been many novels written about World War II, but only a handful can truly be called great; The Tin Drum, without a doubt, is one. --Alix Wilber

Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital:
The Tin Drum is a crazy, anecdotal novel that chronicles the adventures of Oskar, who is a cross between Rumplestiltskin and Peter Pan. He identifies himself sometimes as Jesus, sometimes as Satan. At thirty, Oskar is an inmate of a mental hospital (as noted in the first sentence of the book) and is still pounding on the same model of drum he received when he was three. Through his perceptive eyes, we get an image of Germany in the 30s and 40s, its dissidents, its criminals, and its entertainers. Oskar is selective in what he tells us. For example, we know his alleged father can "turn feelings into soup", but we don't know his function in the Nazi party. We know about every nurse Oskar meets, but his encounters with the military are kept to a minimum. The pre and post-war situation is almost just a background, and Oskar rarely comes upfront and comments about the horror of the times. He expresses his feelings through his drum, interrupting party speeches and causing mayhem on the streets by breaking windows with his voice. The insanity of the world is not seen on a grand scale, but through the demise of individual characters. He has a great eye for catching all the little nuances of humanity, and the characters Oskar describes are unforgettable in their quirks. After reading the first paragraph about the saving grace of the four potato colored skirts, you won't be able to put it down. My favorite chapter is "On the Fibre Rug," but you'll have to make it to the end for that one. This book is a thoroughly enjoyable and witty read. No book has ever made me laugh so much, or writhe so much in discomfort. It's magical, it's real, it's perceptive, it's a must read.

what it is and what it is not:
There are some books you keep down with a sigh, marvelling at the scope of the work, its truth and its insight. There are some you finish with resignation without much feeling, except maybe relief at having concluded. The Tin Drum, unfortunately, for me atleast, falls in the second category. A purported narration of the rise and fall of the third reich, it is hardly that. The book could have been set in any other period of turmoil in history, for it is not so much about that period of time as it is about human nature under times of crisis, narrated through the eyes of a well characterized but unlikeable Oskar Matzerath/Bronski. There are episodes filled with some really upsetting imagery, from eels wriggling out of the head of a dead horse to the description of Klepp who makes his spaghetti in the same water till it becomes a thick glutinous un-reusable mess. Language is skillfully employed and the imagery is proficient but it is dark, like watching someone else's nightmare. This books is a collection of episodes stringed together to narrate the story of the insane Oskar, the drummer obssessed with tin drums, with red and white lacquered flames on the sides. It is not a history, and it does not spend much time on the Reich's atrocities, it mostly dwells on Oskar's personal problems, his dislike of his own father and his belief that his aunt's cousin and lover, the almost effete Jan Bronski, is his real father. It is not a book about politics, it is a book about Oskar's evil machinations, his perverted and failed sexual escapades, of his career as a muse for the students of an art academy and of his late financial success as a drummer. Gunter Grass is a Nobel Prize winner so there are probably nuances in the book I'm missing but I must admit I remain unimpressed. The book sparkles in parts but mostly it is unrewarding and difficult. By difficult I don't mean in meaning, rather, in purpose. Should you read it? I would say yes, get a copy from the library and read the first few chapters to see if it agrees with your tastes but I wouldn't buy this book or show it off on my bookshelf, for it does not quite make the grade.

The Banality of Evil and Its Consequences:
I have been meaning to read this book since it came out in 1959, but only did so now. My reason for delaying was that the reviews I had read of the book made it sound unappealing to me. Why did I want to read the unrealistic ramblings of an insane dwarf? Having been impressed with Mr. Grass's recent work, Crabwalk, I finally decided to give The Tin Drum a try. I'm glad I did. Let me explain why. In my studies of the Nazi era, I was always struck by comments that observers from that time made about how banal the evil of it all was. Yet much of the propaganda from that period (such as The Triumph of the Will) that we can see today makes the Nazis seem like mythic figures. What were the observers trying to say? I finally felt like I understood the point through reading The Tin Drum. Reading about distant battles while living in Germany before the bombing became great seems a lot like reading about attacks on coalition troops in Iraq now. Going to party meetings seems a lot like how people here go to lodge meetings now. In the first 100 pages, I kept wondering why Mr. Grass had chosen to write the novel in the form of an autobiography of an insane dwarf pretending to have a mental age of 3 who had been convicted of a murder he did not commit. Eventually, it hit me. He needed a narrator who could not be considered complicit in what the Nazis did, or we could not trust his voice. In addition, how can you portray banal evils as insane unless you see them through the eyes of an "insane" person who makes all too much sense? Once I accepted the brilliance (perhaps even the inevitability of his choice), I settled back and really began to enjoy the story. Then I began to realize that it is our childish instincts to want to control everything in our lives that leads to our separation from the richness that we can provide one another. So Mr. Grass was also sharing an important psychological point in choosing Oskar as his narrator. What made the book special for me was Mr. Grass's ability to continually show how our connections to one another are the potential for goodness, while our instincts to take advantage of one another are the evil we must overcome. Oskar Matzareth, the narrator, is a thinker . . . yet ultimately his point is that we must carefully examine what we think about. Otherwise, false ideas will lead to fatal consequences. I was very impressed by the way that the plot was constructed so that each time society acted in divided ways Oskar himself or someone close to him was harmed. What will stay with me the longest are the amazing descriptions of fictional people and events: His grandmother's skirts, the horse's head with the eels emerging from it, his "father's" death during the Soviet invasion, Jan Bronski's obsessive search for skat cards during the attack on the Polish post office and Oskar's reaction to the statue of Jesus coming to life will always be with me. I found myself wishing that I could read German like a native. The satirical humor is usually savage and quick to kill its object. I fully absorbed the lesson before the blood could even begin to emerge from the butt of the satire. As I read the book, I wondered how many times I missed compelling humor because it didn't translate well into English. At the end of the book, I found myself searching for a novel to compare The Tin Drum to . . . in order to help other readers decide if this book is for them. In the end I could find no one book. Instead, The Tin Drum can best be described as a combination of reverse sort of Gulliver's Travels, Candide and Don Quixote set in the context of German/Polish Danzig through the end of World War II and in West Germany thereafter. So there's a fundamental darkness to the book that is missing from the other three. I came away wondering how I can stay connected with others now while retaining the ability to see and act on the events around me as a detached, objective observer. Mr. Grass has raised quite a challenge for us all.

Discover a book:
Tought that this book is as someone said 'not for everyone" I suggest an open minded reading at the things that the character does and think, comparing them as what we often think but not do, I've never read such an introspective and entertaining book.

The strangest coming-of-age novel:
Western literature is full of what Germans call "bildungsroman", that is, the story of a young man's (or woman's)intellectual and emotional growth, often told from the main character's own voice. This kind of novel has adopted innumerable shapes and styles through history, and certainly this one is, so far for me, the strangest and one of the best. It is hard to summarize the plot, as it is mainly the diverse and extreme experiences of Oskar Matzerath's life. Born in 1924 in Danzig, itself a unique and troubled city, Oskar decides at age three not to grow up anymore. Or does he simply has an illness of the tyroid gland, as he hints at some point? It doesn't matter, precisely because that moment starts the style of the whole book: all the time, terrible things are happening to Oskar, to his family, to his city, to his nation and to his century, but we see everything only through the distorted glass of this unique character's view. First he tells us about his ancestors and the life they led in pre-war German Poland. Then we know the story of his parents, the infidelity of his mother and other disturbing and often sordid events. His community starts to fall apart as the Nazis rise to power. Then the Nazis come and destroy the city, phisically and spiritually. Oskar spends the whole war in Danzig as well as wandering through France and Belgium as part of a grotesque midget-troupée. After the war, they flee Poland for Düsseldorf, where he is employed in very different jobs: as a tomb engraver, painters' model, jazz drum player. The chapter which describes the journey by train is simply horrible and scaring, as the chapter on his emotional disappointing is sad. The end is strange, confusing but full of hope. There is abundant abnormal sex, vomit, dirt, misery, but also struggle, success, and much love. Oskar is not always nice, but he remains loyal to those he loves, and that is a great strength of a character you sometimes hate, but in the end you come to love. The book is full of metaphors, obscure symbolisms, grotesque and sordid events, and, above all, the human misery of our century, especially in Europe. It is a bittersweet book, often repulsive, just because that is how life is. It has moments of joy, of glorious triumph, of utter defeat. It is very very sad, because it is the story of a distorted but extremely sane person in an equally destorted but horribly insane world, but it is also a book about the joy of life, about how we have to keep going on even in the midst of tragedy and misery. If it has a message, it should be: fight on. It is said that great works of literature depend on character development, not so much on the plot and the story itself. Well, this is a case in point. The whole book is sustained by the central character of Oskar, a wicked, depressed, desperate man seeing how his world crumbles apart and he has to build a life for himslef. As another reviewer aptly put it, he is the lonely voice crying in the wilderness. Oskar is a very solitary man with a great disadvantage, one that by sheer willpower he turns every time into an advantage, a means for surviving in a careless, cold world. Oskar never gives up, never surrenders, he finds a way to survive after every setback, and terrifying setbacks he experiences. I think this book had to be written in the form of magical realism, because the pure realism would have been insufferable: the tragedies that occur are beyond telling them. Not an easy read, it is most rewarding, for it paints a wide picture of the human experience, precisely what great literature is about.