Death in Venice and Seven Other Stories by Thomas Mann

A chore to get through

As an avid reader of literature both old and new, I like to give authors who have won the Nobel Prize in Literature a try (the prose writers at least; not so much the poets). I don’t think the Nobel laureates are necessarily the greatest writers who ever lived, but when I sample from that list of authors I can be reasonably sure that I’m going to get a good read, and I also get exposed to the literature and history of many different nations and cultures. Sometimes, however, the strategy doesn’t pay off, and I come across a laureate whose work I just don’t get or enjoy. Such is my first experience with German author Thomas Mann, winner of the 1929 Nobel.

Death in Venice and Seven Other Stories is a collection of Mann’s short fiction in English translation, first published in the U.S. in 1930. The title selection, “Death in Venice,” is probably Mann’s best known short story. In this 1911 work, an aging writer decides he needs a break from his routine, so he takes a vacation and ends up in Venice. There he becomes obsessed with a “beautiful” young Polish boy who is staying in his hotel. The writer proceeds to stalk this prepubescent boy, which makes for a very creepy read. At the same time, however, the creepiness is the only interesting aspect in an otherwise boring story. Mann was gay (though married with children), and it is admirable that he bravely introduced gay themes into his work. Pedophilia, on the other hand, is met with zero tolerance these days, so that unapologetic aspect of the story pretty much negates any of its positive qualities. Likewise, a story about an incestuous romance (“The Blood of the Walsungs”) is also difficult to engage with or defend.

The other stories in the book are not as offensive but equally as dull, if not more so. Although this is a collection of short stories, most of them are just shy of being long enough to be designated novellas. It’s hard to justify such lengthiness when these stories are comprised of so much description and so little plot. In just about every case, the first half of the story could be simply deleted, and it wouldn’t affect the end result much, other than to make each story less of a chore to slog through. The entry entitled “A Man and His Dog,” is simply that: a man describing his dog, ad nauseam. I don’t know if it’s fiction or nonfiction, but either way it is very tedious and pointless. Likewise, “Disorder and Early Sorrow” is a description of a party where almost nothing happens. The story may include social commentary, but it’s not enough to keep you awake.

There are a few selections here in which the characters aren’t totally off-putting, and Mann does offer a shoestring plot to weave amongst all the heaps of description. “Tristan,” “Tonio Kröger,” and “Felix Krull” are examples of stories that start out promising enough. Vague and inconclusive endings, however, pretty much render any satisfaction null and void. It’s almost as if Mann wants to disappoint readers. I guess this is what artsy types would call “challenging the reader,” but it’s just annoyingly pretentious. “Felix Krull,” in which a criminal recounts his gradual moral degradation, is the best entry in the collection, but that’s not saying much.

When I picked up this book, I was expecting something along the lines of Hermann Hesse, a German writer who was Mann’s contemporary and at least his acquaintance. Hesse, however, writes works that engage and inspire the reader, while Mann seems to do his best here to try readers’ patience and alienate them. For all I know, Mann may be one of the greatest novelists of all time, but I can’t say much for his short stories. There is nothing in this collection that makes me want to delve into one of his longer works like Buddenbrooks or The Magic Mountain.

Stories in this collection

Death in Venice

Tonio Kröger

Mario and the Magician

Disorder and Early Sorrow

A Man and His Dog

Blood of the Walsungs

Tristan

Felix Krull