#GermanLitMonth and #NovNov: Irmgard Keun

Irmgard Keun: Child of All Nations, transl. Michael Hofmann

I had read about Irmgard Keun in the really quite wonderful book about women under the national socialist regime in Germany by Edda Ziegler, but I hadn’t actually read anything by her. However, a lot of my bookblogging friends seemed to really enjoy her work. This one caught my eye in the bookshop and, as a child of all nations myself (raising even more international children), I couldn’t resist it, even though I prefer reading German books in the original if I possibly can.

After reading The Passenger so recently, it struck me how similar the subject matter is, but seen from a child’s perspective. Written in 1938, before the full horrors of the war would grip all of Europe, it is prescient and claustrophobic, just like The Passenger, but because it is told by a child narrator, it does not quite have the despair and airless sensation of Anna Segher’s Transit – nor its power, I thought.

Child narrators are notoriously difficult to pull off. Ten-year-old Kully is a curious mix of naivety and street smarts. Shunted from country to country, learning to beg and trick and bribe while living in a constant fear of being kicked out of hotels and friends’ houses, she has had to grow up far beyond her years. School is too dull for her, because she already knows far more of real life, geography and languages than what she is taught there., ‘all the things she needed to know in her life, there was not one she had learned at school.’ But at other times she comes out with startling statements about the relationship between men and women in particular which sound far too childish – or perhaps show that she has not spent enough time with both parents to have this kind of conversations with them:

It seems a Maharaha has several wives, which I think is a good thing. That way when he has to leave, I won’t be alone but will be able to turn to the other wives for comfort. I don’t know whether it’s allowed to marry several Maharajas. Obviously that would be the best. Then, if a couple of them had to travel to Poland, I’d still have a few more to hand. My mother is a great example of how diffiult it is for a woman who has to get by on just one man.

Some of the smart-aleck observations are more successful than others, and often Kully has too advanced overtly political thoughts (although they are often quoted as her father’s thoughts):

Everything that’s wrong with the world begins with fear… All that mess in Germany could only result because the people there have lived in fear for ever…. the people are so crippled and warped by fear that they elect a government that they can serve in fear. Not content with that, when they see other people who are not set on living in fear, they get angry, and try in their turn to make them afraid.

The bills mount up, the father keeps travelling around trying to sell his writing, while Kully and her mother have to deal with the fallout. Along the way, she encounters (even if she doesn’t always understand it) mental breakdown, infidelity, rejection, suicide, death and alcohol. She often has to be more of a grown-up, more sensible than her parents. She is, in essence, robbed of a proper, carefree childhood, even when she plays with other children, she is cynically copying their gestures and manipulating things so she can fit in.

There is a brief moment of joy in the milder climes of Italy with her mother and grandmother, as well as an interlude of hope when she and her father make it out on the ship to America. But Italy has its own dictator, and the promised land across the ocean does not offer as much of a welcome as they were hoping for, plus their mother got left behind in Europe by accident. So Kully returns to Europe, just as Keun herself almost inexplicably did in 1938, condemning herself to inner exile, anonymity, living under a false name and losing her voice.

I can’t quite put my finger on why I didn’t quite enjoy the book as much as I expected to: maybe the rumours that the difficult, somewhat feckless father is modelled on Joseph Roth, maybe the inconsistent child narrator voice, maybe the rather unbelievable ‘temporarily happy’ ending (of course we know that any happiness or togetherness was bound to be short-lived in Amsterdam at the time). I think her earlier, more optimistic novels such as Gilgi or The Artificial Silk Girl, with indomitable, independent, fearless young women trying to make their way in the world, might have been a better place to start. In this book, I could detect the bitterness of defeat.

Nevertheless, I am glad I managed to sneak this one into my German Literature Month reviews and Novellas in November. It has been a fantastic month of reading – novellas really are often more powerful than novels, perhaps because they have to convey so much in so little space!

19 thoughts on “#GermanLitMonth and #NovNov: Irmgard Keun”

  1. Loved your review, Marina! I haven’t read an Irmgard Keun book yet. I remember reading a book about a summer in Ostend during which Irmgard Keun and Joseph Roth and Stefan Zweig spend some pleasant time together before the horror starts. Sorry to know that you didn’t like this book as much as you had hoped. Hope your like your next Irmgard Keun book more. Thanks for sharing your thoughts 😊

  2. Most of these, of course, aren’t available in my library, but I’ve just put i na reservation for the Ulrich Alexander Boschwitz, which I somehow didn’t do when you first reviewed it. You’ve ( as usual) reviewed some thought provoking stuff in this month’s haul!

  3. I think you’re quite right, Marina Sofia, about child narrators. It’s very hard to do them well. It doesn’t help matters that children can be inconsistent (as we all can). I give her credit for using that voice, because it is so hard. That said, I’m sorry to hear this one wasn’t quite up to your expectations. Still, it sounds as though there are things to like about it, too.

  4. I love Keun’s writing, and I’ve read a number of her books. I think I liked this one more than you, though it isn’t my favourite – After Midnight probably is. If you’re going to give her another go, I would recommend that one.

    1. I will probably give her another go – and might try reading her in the original too. I’ve heard good things about this one – which is also of novella length, right?

  5. I think liked this more than you. I enjoyed the child narrator, though I agree they are hard to get right. I thought Kully was a strange mix of naivety and knowingness, quite precocious probably as a result of being only ever with adults. I definitely want to read more by Keun.

  6. I know mean you mean about child narrators and how tricky they can be to get right. Nevertheless, I’m still curious to read this at some point, but with moderate expectations. May I put in a word for Keun’s evocative novella The Artificial Silk Girl? I actually preferred it to the arguably more complex After Midnight, partly because it reminded me of Christopher Isherwood’s Berlin novels, with a dash of Jean Rhys for good measure.

  7. As I said in my Keun review, I think this is a writer I wanted to like, but who isn’t quite as good as some make out. She certainly sounds like an intriguing person, though…

  8. This was the first of her novels I read and it certainly didn’t make the make the saem impression as her others. However, I admire the way she decided to use a child narrator when she could easily have used her own autobiographical perspective. Interesting that the recently translated Ferdinand has a male narrator as if she were keen to experiment (I say this as her female narrators are among the best).

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