| Summary: | <p>In the twentieth century several writers from Rilke onwards have written prose works which deal with various problems of personality in a manner far removed from that of the traditional 'linear' novel, where events appear more or less chronologically and there is a fairly consistent point of view. Both Max Frisch and Uwe Johnson, while recognizing that in this century the serious novelist may no longer be able to assume the omniscience of a Balzac, have disclaimed all connection with any particular school of literary or psychological theory. Both however write novels of apparently loose construction, like Rilke and Hesse before them; the critic must therefore seek to establish whether Frisch's and Johnson's claims to literary independence are justified by true originality in their novels, and above all whether their use of non- traditional form makes a valuable contribution to the significance of each of thair works, or whether this 'form' is after all simply a means of creating a spurious appearance of profundity and complexity.</p> <p>Frisch's early novels, <em>Jürg Reinhart</em> and <em>Die Schwierigen</em>, reveal signs of influence in their subject matter by Albin Zollinger and Gottfried Keller, and show no remarkable manipulation of form. In the former work, the construction is loose, a number of different individual problems being touched upon and either left undeveloped or summarily solved with unfounded optimism. It Is a youthful work of some charm but little depth or originality. The looseness of construction of <em>Die Schwierigen</em>, which is written in fragments of considerably varying length as opposed to the traditional chapter division, is more justified as an expression of the theme which embraces all the main characters: the theme of the vanity of the attempt to find absolute freedom, the drifting aimlessness of life with its autumnal atmosphere of beauty and decay, which contrasts well with the characters' mistaken efforts to achieve aims beyond their abilities. This is the first albeit slight indication in Frisch's prose writing that he has begun to make the manner of presentation convey to the reader some truth which the central figures do not fully perceive. It is the contrast between what the central figure knows of himself and what is revealed to the reader by the particular manner of presentation which characterises Frisch's next novel <em>Stiller</em>, written after an interval of ten years in which Frisch had given much thought to literary matters, including Brecht's theory of 'alienation', the forcing of reader or audience to think rather than respond emotionally.</p> <p>Frisch's central concern in the sphere of human relationships emerges in this period before <em>Stiller</em>. The disastrous effects of 'image-making' preoccupy him, of creating a set picture in one's mind of oneself and of others and behaving accordingly. This is the source of Stiller's guilt: in the past he has constricted his wife by his view of her, and in the 'present' he is trying to refashion his own identity because he cannot accept his own insignificance and weakness as final. But the fight against 'images' is carried also into the form of the work: the reader is not <em>told</em> Stiller's qualities, nor precisely what is happening to him. He is faced with a series of fragmentary notebook entries, and the gulf between Stiller's inflated view of himeelf and his basic weakness can be fully appreciated only by careful attention to the types of material Stiller includes in his notebooks, to their relative proportions, and to the frequency of their occurrence. There then emerges the picture of a man longing to impress, haunted by failure but basically wilfully blind about his own nature. The reader watches his gradual progression from confidence to humbler fear, and near despair, but is also able to detect the remnants of pride and ridiculous hope which he carries with him into his 'new' life as Stiller, in which the old difficulties then sadly recur. The overall theme of the danger of making set images of oneself and others emerges most clearly in the 'Nachwort', but as well as clarifying, it also carries on the theme, as it is written not by an anonymous narrator, but by a character already introduced whose vision is clearer than Stiller's although still limited. Absolute, active self-acceptance is seen to be an immensely difficult task, and perfect self-knowledge impossible, but there are degrees of honesty, and the reader is made to fight like the characters for depth of understanding through the fragmentation. </p> <p>In his next novel, <em>Homo Faber</em>, Frisch presents a different type of misunderstanding of self. Faber is a man whose practical, unemotional approach to life has been fostered by his job as a 'Techniker', and his image of himself is that of an eminently rational man, rationality and logic being his criteria of worth. But again the central figure is made - by the arrangement of the fragmentary material - to give himself away against his own knowledge and will. Having lived for years a somewhat selfish bachelor existence without regard for the feelings of others, Faber is shaken by the death of a young girl who attracted him and then proved tragically to be his daughter. He refuses to believe that the 'faults' of his nature - the excessive practicality - are responsible for this death, and yet is sufficiently disturbed to attempt to prove this on paper. There is indeed some doubt as to whether this accusation which would appear to be held against him really is justified. The work is also marred by indications that we are perhaps to understand the tragic events as retribution for <em>past</em> inadequacies in Faber: the question of the nature of Fate in the novel is an intricate one and suggests Frisch may not have clarified his purpose sufficiently. But the work can move the reader nevertheless. Faber is shaken into the discovery that in his own nature there was a sensitivity and emotional capacity he had denied, and that emotion, personal devotion to others can bring intense joy, which he has missed. But this recognition he long fights against, and it emerges primarily through the subjective unchronological ordering of his account of the tragedy: the depth of his attachment to Sabeth, for instance, is shown by his care to try to prove his unconcern, his reluctance to describe her death. The role of Fate since it cannot be accepted literally could be seen simply as an overall framework, to emphasise the seriousness of the events, and yet it is liable to antagonise the reader by its anachronism nevertheless. However, the reader is also justifiably challenged, as in <em>Stiller</em>, to participate in and thence to understand the painful process of a mind used to understanding but now fitting for clarity, yet fearing to reach it. We - like Faber - progress in understanding without ever reaching a complete 'image'.</p> <p><em>Mein Name sei Gantenbein</em>, however, can be accused with even more justification of lack of clarity. The fragmentariness no longer seems a means to provoke the reader to active thougfct, but rather to mystify him. Although the work's roost outstanding feature is humour, it is not unambiguously gay: there are serious moments which suggest a psychological crisis such as formed the basis of the two preceding novels, but no one aspect of the work dominates sufficiently for it to be seen as a 'Schelmenroman' or as the profound record of a struggle for new identity. It seems rather to be the product of unclear intention shielded by a form of apparent complexity - a confused, mystifying rather than stimulating work, whereas the preceding two novels both made use of 'mystery' as a structural element to capture attention initially for serious problems. We are not sure until near the end of each work what the fate of the central figure will be.</p> <p>Johnson has often been criticised for unnecessary complexity. In his <em>Mutmassungen über Jakob</em> however, the shifting viewpoint performs for the most part a very valuable function, although there are instances in which very little is achieved by our inability to grasp who is speaking. Generally the movement between the various characters and modes of presentation - conversation, monologue, narration - serves to bring out Johnson's central theme of the isolation of the individual in the modern world, which is intensified by a situation such as that in Germany. By movement from, for example, strictly factual third person narration to individual memory or comment, Johnson brings past moments vividly alive and makes them into highly personal experience. This process of course can also highlight the limitations of individual understanding, and the thoughts and discussions of each of the characters around the central problem of Jakob's death bring out the emotional, intellectual, political reasons which separate each from understanding of and fuller communication with the others. Gesine has left her country home for the big city and in the deepest sense has lost contact with her father. Jonas is intellectually dissatisfied with the East and university life there, but lacks the will to break away and so turns his critical faculties self-destructively against himself. Rohlfs is a dedicated Party official, able to understand minds and modes of thought other than his own to a noteworthy extent, but isolated ultimately by an inability to conceive of non-political motivation. Each of these has a particular view of Jakob - and yet, by means of brilliant 'cameo' pictures which capture gestures, physical attitudes, snatches of speech, we feel that Jakob existed in a very real sense beyond all that can be said of him. As a whole the work thus testifies to the view that individual people matter, that the loss of a man of Jakob's intense ordinariness is a tragedy which in appreciated only when it is too late, and this theme is opposed to the Communist view which would subordinate the individual to the State, interpret the past in terms of abstract laws, whereas its value is seen here to reside in individual experience, vivid roomsnts which may never be fully appreciated but are above all personal property, not part of historical necessity. But this is not primarily an anti-Sasti, pro-West novel. If the Communist conception of the rights and duties of man is implicitly rejected because at erleia points it demands suppression of all individual desires, in more general human terms man is also implicitly castigated for his lack of effort - even inability - to understand himself and others. The view that individuality and individual isolation are themes of great importance for Johnson is supported by a separately published series of short studies on aome of the figures of the novel.</p> <p><em>Das dritte Buch über Achim</em> deals much more specifically with Communism and its possible effects on the human personality, having a more limited range of characters, so that one issue is concentrated on, rather than a central theme with variations as in the previous novel. Achim the sportsman would seem to be a simple, understandable phenomenon, but the attempt by the Western journalist Karsch to describe him in a biography grows increasingly difficult. He discovers that Achim is nothing <em>but</em> a public figure, that - disconcertingly - he has no 'private life': a state unusual in the West for any sort of 'star', yet conceivable perhaps in a dedicated evangelist. But worst of all, Achim - and his Communist advisors - have tried to remodel his past in line with his present position to such an extent that it is unclear whether he is any longer aware of dishonesty. A change of heart is always permissible, but the past cannot be altered as a whole to suit the image of the present. The shock this attempt causes in Karsch, his puzzlement are brought out in the highly original form of the work. A typical westerner's inadequate misconceptions about East Germany emerge in the queries of an unidentified questioner, who has to push and provoke the narrator into a reluctant telling of his story, the reluctance and disorientation being shown both in a disinclination to elaborate points until specifically asked, and at times oven in antagonisation of the questioner - an ironic reversal of the basic epic situation of story-teller and enthralled listener. Once again Johnson has ahown his concern for individual personality and its integrity, but that this material is more pacifically political than that of <em>Mutmassungen über Jakob</em> and deals with very particular problems is suggested firstly by the character of Karin, who shows us what happens when a basically honest character attempts to fit into a preconceived political mould, and secondly by the associated tale <em>Eine Reise Wegwohin</em>, I960. Here Johnson elaborates the attitudes present in the questioner in the novel - notions about the East which reveal complacent self satisfaction, a too summary dismissal of the Communist State as wicked, and misguided. It may indeed have very serious faults in its attitude to the individual, but the West, it seems, does not look closely enough at the object of its criticisms. It is the cliches of East-West relations that Johnson has tried, in the Achim material, to undermine and upset.</p> <p>In <em>Zwei Ansichten</em> Johnson's purpose ie less clear, although the form of the work is very reach simpler than anything he had written before. He would seem to be avoiding any element of sensationalism, stressing that the Berlin situation affects very ordinary people and is monstrous because of this, but the characters - especially the West German - are not portrayed deeply enough to engage our interest or intelligence, and there is no other element to counteract this effect. The novel lacks even the unashamed - although not melodramatic - adventure quality of <em>Eine Kneipe geht verloren</em>, with its stress on the escape mechanism. The novel could be seen as an ironic modern version of the Romeo and Juliet situation, but nothing is done to gain our sympathy for the interrupted relationship. It is a curiously dispassionate and dull work about a situation which Johnson's several shorter prose works show to be of consuming interest and importance for him.</p> <p>It seems then that freedom of form can be exploited in many original ways in order to deal with problems of personality which are not necessarily unique to our age, but which conditions of life in the twentieth century have worsened by political division, the fast pace of existence and fierce competition. But free form can also degenerate into mystification, unnecessary complication, spurious profundity and 'modernity'. Modernity alone is not enough to guarantee interest,as the situation of <em>Zwei Ansichten</em> shows. If a thoughtful response is required of the reader he must be presented with something more than simple topicality. It is however equally unsatisfactory to mystify the reader without allowing him some degree of final insight into the meaning of the work, even if - as in Frisch's case - the theme <em>is</em> that we are too swift in our judgements of others. Yet at its best the novel of fragmentary form can stimulate and goad the reader into a hard won but full appreciation of how complex human personality is, and how understanding can never be complete, nor should ever be thought to be so.</p>
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