El lector

Por Bernhard Schlink

Un adolescente conoce a una mujer madura con la que inicia una relación amorosa. Antes de acostarse juntos, ella siempre le pide que le lea fragmentos de Goethe, Schiller& hasta que un día ella desaparece. Siete años después, el joven, que estudia derecho, acude al juicio de cinco mujeres acusadas de crímenes nazis y descubre que una de ellas es su antigua amante. Una deslumbrante novela sobre el amor, la culpa, el horror y la piedad.

Michael Berg tiene quince años. Un día, regresando a casa del colegio, empieza a encontrarse mal y una mujer acude en su ayuda. La mujer se llama Hanna y tiene treinta y seis años. Unas semanas después, el muchacho, agradecido, le lleva a su casa un ramo de flores. Éste será el principio de una relación erótica en la que, antes de amarse, ella siempre le pide a Michael que le lea en voz alta fragmentos de Schiller, Goethe, Tolstói, Dickens... El ritual se repite durante varios meses, hasta que un día Hanna desaparece sin dejar rastro. Siete años después, Michael, estudiante de Derecho, acude al juicio contra cinco mujeres acusadas de criminales de guerra nazis y de ser las responsables de la muerte de varias personas en el campo de concentración del que eran guardianas. Una de las acusadas es Hanna. Y Michael se debate entre los gratos recuerdos y la sed de justicia, trata de comprender qué llevó a Hanna a cometer esas atrocidades, trata de descubrir quién es en realidad la mujer a la que amó... Bernhard Schlink ha escrito una deslumbrante novela sobre el amor, el horro y la piedad; sobre las heridas abiertas de la historia; sobre una generación de alemanes perseguida por un pasado que no vivieron directamente, pero cuyas sombras se ciernen sobre ellos.

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: Editorial Anagrama
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 1 sept 1997
• ISBN: 9788433933751

Bernhard Schlink

Bernhard Schlink was born in Germany in 1944. A professor emeritus of law at Humboldt University, Berlin, and Cardozo Law School, New York, he is the author of the The Reader, which became a multi-million copy international bestseller and an Oscar-winning film starring Kate Winslet and Ralph Fiennes, and The Woman on the Stairs. He lives in Berlin and New York.

Vista previa del libro

Índice

Portada

Primera parte

Segunda parte

Tercera parte

Notas

Créditos

Primera parte

1

A los quince años tuve hepatitis. La enfermedad empezó en otoño y acabó en primavera. Cuanto más fríos y oscuros se hacían los días, más débil me encontraba. Pero con el año nuevo las cosas cambiaron. El mes de enero fue templado, hasta el punto de que mi madre me instaló la cama en el balcón. Veía el cielo, el sol y las nubes, y oía a los niños jugar en el patio. Una tarde de febrero oí cantar un mirlo.

Vivíamos en el segundo piso de una espaciosa casa de finales del siglo pasado, en la Blumenstrasse. La primera vez que salí después de la enfermedad fue para dirigirme a la Bahnhofstrasse. Fue allí donde, un lunes de octubre, volviendo del colegio a casa, me puse a vomitar. Ya hacía días que me sentía débil, más débil que nunca en mi vida. Cada paso me costaba esfuerzo. Cuando subía escaleras en casa o en el colegio, las piernas casi no me sostenían. Tampoco tenía ganas de comer. A veces me sentaba a la mesa con apetito, pero enseguida me vencía el asco a la comida. Por la mañana me levantaba con la boca seca y la sensación de que mis órganos internos pesaban más de lo normal y estaban fuera de su lugar habitual en el cuerpo. Me avergonzaba de sentirme tan débil. Y me avergoncé especialmente cuando vomité. Eso tampoco me había pasado nunca en la vida. De repente, la boca se me llenó de vómito; intenté tragar, apreté los labios y me tapé la boca con la mano, pero el vómito se me salió a través de los dedos. Luego me apoyé en una pared, miré el charco de vómito y arrojé una papilla clara.

Una mujer acudió en mi ayuda, casi con rudeza. Me cogió del brazo y me condujo hasta un patio, a través de un oscuro pasillo. Arriba había tendederos colgados de ventana a ventana, con ropa tendida. En el patio había madera almacenada; en un taller con la puerta abierta chirriaba una sierra y volaban virutas. Junto a la puerta del patio había un grifo. La mujer lo abrió, me lavó la mano sucia y luego ahuecó las manos, recogió agua y me la echó en la cara. Me sequé con un pañuelo.

–¡Coge el otro!

Junto al grifo había dos cubos; ella cogió uno y lo llenó. Yo cogí y llené el otro y la seguí por el pasillo. La mujer tomó impulso, y el agua cayó sobre la acera y arrastró el vómito por encima del bordillo. Luego me quitó el cubo de las manos y arrojó otra oleada de agua sobre la acera.

Al incorporarse me vio llorar. «Ay, chiquillo, chiquillo», dijo sorprendida. Me abrazó. Yo era apenas un poco más alto que ella, sentí sus pechos contra mi pecho, olí en la estrechez del abrazo mi aliento fétido y su sudor fresco y no supe qué hacer con los brazos. Dejé de llorar.

Me preguntó dónde vivía, dejó los cubos en el pasillo y me acompañó a casa. Caminaba a mi lado, con mi macuto en una mano y mi mano en la otra. La Bahnhofstrasse está cerca de la Blumenstrasse. La mujer andaba deprisa, y tan decididamente que yo la seguía sin titubear. Se despidió delante de mi casa.

Aquel mismo día, mi madre llamó al médico, que me diagnosticó hepatitis. En algún momento le hablé a mi madre de aquella mujer. De no haber sido así, no creo que hubiera vuelto a verla. Pero mi madre insistía en que, en cuanto pudiera valerme por mí mismo, comprara con mi dinero de bolsillo un ramo de flores y me presentara en casa de aquella mujer para darle las gracias. En fin: un día de finales de febrero me dirigí a la Bahnhofstrasse.

2

La casa de la Bahnhofstrasse ya no existe. No sé cuándo la derribaron ni por qué. He estado muchos años fuera de mi ciudad. El nuevo edificio, construido en los años setenta u ochenta, tiene cinco pisos y un ático bastante grande, y una fachada lisa con revestimiento claro, sin balcones ni miradores. Hay muchos apartamentos pequeños, cada uno con su timbre. Apartamentos donde la gente se instala y que al cabo de un tiempo abandona, igual que se coge y se deja un coche alquilado. Ahora en la planta baja hay una tienda de aparatos de informática; antes hubo una droguería, un supermercado y un videoclub.

La casa antigua era igual de alta pero sólo tenía cuatro pisos: una planta baja de piedra labrada y tres pisos con fachada de ladrillos y los miradores, balcones descubiertos y marcos de las ventanas también de piedra. A la planta baja y al vestíbulo se accedía por una pequeña escalera que se estrechaba a partir del primer piso, enmarcada a ambos lados por un zócalo del que partía una barandilla metálica que acababa en un ornamento en forma de caracol. La puerta estaba flanqueada por dos columnas, y desde lo alto de sus arquitrabes dos leones contemplaban la Bahnhofstrasse, cada uno hacia un lado. El pasillo por el que la mujer me había conducido hasta el grifo del patio era la entrada de servicio.

La casa me había llamado la atención ya desde pequeño. Dominaba toda la hilera de fachadas. A veces tenía la sensación de que iba a hacerse aún más gruesa y ancha, y las casas contiguas tendrían que echarse a un lado para dejarle sitio. En el interior me imaginaba unas escaleras con paredes estucadas, espejos y una alfombra con motivos orientales, fijada a los escalones mediante brillantes tiras transversales de latón. Suponía que en una casa tan señorial debía de vivir gente igual de señorial. Pero como estaba ennegrecida por los años y el humo de las chimeneas, también me imaginaba a los señoriales inquilinos algo sombríos, extravagantes, quizá sordos o mudos, jorobados o cojos.

Años más tarde soñé muchas veces con aquella casa. Los sueños siempre eran parecidos, variaciones de un mismo sueño y un mismo tema. Andando por una ciudad extraña, veo la casa. Está en una calle de un barrio que no conozco. Sigo caminando, desconcertado, porque conozco la casa pero no el barrio. Luego me doy cuenta de que ya he visto esa casa alguna vez. Pero no pienso en la Bahnhofstrasse de mi ciudad, sino en otra ciudad u otro país. En el sueño estoy, por ejemplo, en Roma, veo la casa allí y me acuerdo de haberla visto antes en Berna. Ese recuerdo soñado me tranquiliza; volver a ver la casa en otro entorno no me parece más extraño que el encuentro casual con un viejo amigo en un lugar ajeno. Doy media vuelta, regreso a la casa y subo los escalones. Voy a entrar. Acciono el tirador de la puerta.

A veces veo la casa en el campo; entonces el sueño es más largo, o quizá lo que pasa es que luego me acuerdo mejor de los detalles. Voy en coche. Veo la casa a mano derecha y sigo conduciendo, al principio desconcertado sólo por el hecho de ver en medio del campo una casa cuyo lugar evidentemente está en una calle en plena ciudad. Luego me doy cuenta de que ya la he visto alguna vez, y mi desconcierto se redobla. Cuando recuerdo el lugar en que la vi por primera vez, doy la vuelta y regreso a ella. En el sueño, la carretera está siempre vacía, puedo dar la vuelta derrapando y desandar el camino a toda velocidad. Temo llegar tarde y acelero. Entonces la veo. Está rodeada de campos: nabos o trigo, viñas si es en la zona del Rin, o espliego si es en Provenza. El terreno es plano, o como mucho suavemente ondulado. No hay árboles. El día es claro, brilla el sol, el aire reverbera, y la carretera reluce por efecto del calor. Las paredes medianeras al desnudo hacen que la casa parezca cortada, incompleta. Podrían ser las paredes de una casa cualquiera. No parece más sombría que en la Bahnhofstrasse. Pero las ventanas están cubiertas de una capa de polvo que no deja ver el interior de las habitaciones, ni siquiera los visillos. La casa es ciega.

Me detengo en el arcén y cruzo la carretera en dirección a la puerta. No se ve a nadie, no se oye nada, ni siquiera el ruido lejano de un motor, ni el viento, ni un pájaro. El mundo está muerto. Subo los escalones de la planta baja y cojo el tirador de la puerta.

Pero no la abro. Me despierto y sólo sé que he cogido el tirador y he tirado de él. Y a continuación me acuerdo de todo el sueño, y también de que ya lo he tenido otras veces.

3

No sabía cómo se llamaba aquella mujer. Me quedé parado delante de la puerta, mirando los timbres indeciso y con el ramo de flores en la mano. Me daban ganas de dar media vuelta y marcharme. Pero entonces salió de la casa un hombre, me preguntó a qué piso iba y me mandó al tercero, a casa de Frau Schmitz.

Ni estuco, ni espejos, ni alfombra. Toda la modesta belleza de la escalera, muy inferior a la de la fachada, había desaparecido hacía tiempo. La pintura roja de los escalones había saltado en el centro, el linóleo verde grabado que cubría las paredes hasta la altura del hombro estaba gastado, y los barrotes que faltaban en la barandilla habían sido sustituidos por cordones. Olía a productos de limpieza. Aunque puede ser que no me fijara en todo eso hasta más adelante. La escalera siempre estaba igual de dejada e igual de limpia, y siempre reinaba el mismo olor a productos de limpieza, a veces mezclado con olor a carbón o a judías, a carne asada o a ropa lavada en agua caliente. De los demás inquilinos de la casa nunca conocí más que esos olores, las marcas de los pies delante de las puertas de los pisos y las placas debajo de los timbres. No recuerdo haberme encontrado nunca con nadie en la escalera.

Tampoco recuerdo cómo saludé a Frau Schmitz. Seguramente le recité dos o tres frases que llevaría preparadas, aludiendo a mi enfermedad, a su amabilidad y a mi agradecimiento. Ella me condujo a la cocina.

Era la habitación más grande del piso. En ella estaban la cocina y el fregadero, una bañera y un calentador, una mesa y dos sillas, un armario, un ropero y un sofá. El sofá estaba cubierto con una manta roja de terciopelo. No había ventana. Entraba luz por la vidriera de la puerta que daba al balcón. No mucha luz; la cocina sólo se iluminaba cuando se abría la puerta. Entonces se oía el chirrido de la carpintería del patio y olía a madera.

El piso tenía también una sala de estar pequeña y angosta, con un aparador, una mesa, cuatro sillas, un sillón de orejas y una estufa. En esa habitación no había calefacción, así que en invierno casi siempre estaba vacía, y de hecho en verano también. La ventana daba a la Bahnhofstrasse, y desde ella se veían los terrenos de la antigua estación, removidos a fondo por las excavadoras mientras se empezaban a colocar ya aquí y allá los cimientos de nuevos edificios judiciales y administrativos. Finalmente, el piso tenía también un retrete sin ventana. Cuando el retrete olía mal, el olor invadía también el pasillo.

Tampoco recuerdo de qué hablamos en la cocina. Frau Schmitz estaba planchando; había extendido sobre la mesa una manta de lana y un lienzo e iba sacando prendas de un cesto, planchándolas, doblándolas y dejándolas encima de una de las sillas. En la otra silla estaba yo sentado. También planchó su ropa interior; no pude evitar mirar, a pesar de que intentaba apartar la vista. Llevaba un delantal azul con pálidas florecitas rojas. Tenía el pelo rubio y largo sujeto en un moño sobre la nuca. Sus brazos desnudos eran pálidos. Los gestos con que cogía la plancha, la guiaba y la volvía a dejar, y luego doblaba y apartaba las prendas, eran lentos y concentrados, y se movía, se encorvaba y se incorporaba con la misma lentitud y concentración. Sobre su rostro de entonces se han ido depositando en mi imaginación sus rostros ulteriores. Cuando la evoco tal como era entonces, la veo sin rostro. Tengo que reconstruírselo. Frente alta, pómulos altos, ojos azul pálido, labios gruesos y de contorno suave, sin arco en el labio superior, mentón enérgico. Un rostro ancho, áspero, de mujer adulta. Sé que me pareció hermosa. Pero no consigo evocar su hermosura.

4

–Espera un momento –dijo cuando me levanté para irme–. Yo también tengo que salir, te acompaño un trozo.

Esperé en el recibidor. Ella se quedó en la cocina para cambiarse. La puerta estaba entornada. Se quitó el delantal y se quedó sólo con una combinación verde claro. Sobre el respaldo de la silla colgaban dos medias. Cogió una y la enrolló con rápidos movimientos de las dos manos. Se puso en equilibrio sobre una pierna, apoyó sobre la rodilla la punta del pie de la otra, se echó hacia adelante, metió la punta del pie en la media enrollada, la apoyó sobre la silla, se subió la media por la pantorrilla, la rodilla y el muslo, se inclinó a un lado y sujetó la media con el liguero. Se incorporó, quitó el pie de la silla y cogió la otra media.

Yo no podía apartar la vista de ella. De su nuca y de sus hombros, de sus pechos, que la combinación realzaba más que ocultaba, de sus nalgas, que se apretaron contra la combinación cuando ella apoyó el pie sobre la rodilla y lo puso sobre la silla, de su pierna, primero desnuda y pálida y luego envuelta en el brillo sedoso

Comentarios para El lector

[booklover3258 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

I really can't believe I read this book in one day. What an amazing story and an amazing writer. I loved it from beginning to end. It's a story about a young boy having a relationship with a much older woman. Later on when he sees her again, she is on trial in court. The ending suprised me and I did not see it coming. Excellent story and a must read.

[danielstj · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

This was an amazing novel. From beginning to end, I was completely spell-bound by the story and the lens that Schlink weaves--to explore the world, his characters, and himself. It is a fine achievement and I think this is one of the best pieces of German literature that I have read in some time. The characters were instantly remarkable and each set scene had burdened tension, rife istability, and altering character arcs.Tremendous novel. Two thumbs up: recommended!

[thoughtsofjoylibrary · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

As an adult, Michael recounts and reflects upon his relationship with Hanna, a 40-year-old woman, when he was a mere 15. His memories include the surprising discovery of when she was on trial for her past involvement with the Nazi Party.I was absorbed in Michael's story from the first word until the very last. There was romance, philosophy, law and compelling writing that brought about many thoughts and questions. It's a memorable read. (4.25/5)Originally posted on: Thoughts of Joy

[jonfaith · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

Aside form the film adaptation, I only recall this one because for a while it was the worst book I had ever completed. I am unsure whether it still mantains that distinction

[sometimeunderwater · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Extremely compelling basis for a novel - I only wish that it had been written by a more skilled author, who could have made this a masterpiece. As it is, it was a little clumsy, getting worse towards the end. Schlink is a "tell don't show" writer - which would have worked well with a lovelier writing style. Instead it's very plain and declarative - perhaps as an effect of the original German (or the translation). Think of the difference between Marquez and Coetzee: one writes subtly of plain things, the other writes plainly of subtle things. Schlink writes plainly of things which should have been subtler. What ambiguity remains is actually more frustrating than enticing. Like the fact that the narrator never clarifies the date of the first sequence, or that he never confirms whether he told the judge the truth or not. Both have clear answers which one can infer (1958; no he didn't) and on which the plot depends. It doesn't aid the novel in any way for those questions to be kept open, so it just feels like a case of clumsy exposition. With all that said - it was a short page-turner with a fundamentally fascinating premise. I only wish it could have been more.

[justagirlwithabook · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

This book, it seemed to me, was a book of questions, none of which are really answered by protagonist or reader or author. It left me feeling sorry. For who and for what? I'm not quite sure. But I felt sorry and empty and full of questions that will inevitably just sit and go nowhere. It's a thinking book, a questioning book, and if you're okay with both of those, then by all means read it.

[theeclecticreview · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

It is a tragic story of lost innocence, guilt, and regret. Hanna is a mysterious older woman who becomes involved with a young, 15-year old boy named Michael. Michael is drawn in by Hanna's mystery and enjoys reading to her during their meetings. When Hanna appears again a few years later--to Michael's horror and surprise--she is not who he thought she was. Or was she? I miss this kind of story where the characters are mysterious and secretive and they never truly reveal their feelings throughout the story.

[maxim9wilson · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

loved it. absorbing

[sarahzilkastarke · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

I somehow think this book is Fahrenheit 451 with Nazis. It tells the story of 15 year old Michael and his paramour Hanna. The twist Hanna can't read (not really a surprise). Hanna enjoys it when Michael reads to her. But wait she's a former Nazi guard. What do the two plot lines have to do with each other. . . not much except Hanna does not want people to know she cannot read. It was fairly obvious Hanna was going to be a former Nazi. It seems any book with a German character of the correct age always turns out to be a member of the SS. The romance seems forced at times but that may have been intentional. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. There is no need to say more.

[cestovatela · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A book that appealed to me strongly even though I couldn't put my finger on exactly why. The "secret" isn't hard to guess, but I liked the way the book handles it, especially the shock of the protagonist at coming into contact with a historical event that seemed unconnected to his life. The book is fairly thoughtful about concepts of guilt and forgiveness.

[pilgrimjess · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

The book tells of the affair between a fifteen year old boy, Michael Berg, and an older woman, Hanna Schmitz, in post WWII Germany. But for Michael it is an unrequited love what Hanna really enjoys is hearing him read to her.One day Hanna just up sticks and disappears, Michael goes back to his former life but later finds out that Hanna was a concentration camp guard during the conflict and is to stand trial for her actions during that time. Hanna has another secret that she is willing to keep hidden from anyone at all costs, she is iliterate.On first impressions this seems like any young man's fantasy coming true, an affair with an older more experienced woman but later Michael learns that there is a price to pay for it in his future life and relationships. The author,Berhard Sclink, is a German law professor but at all times he keeps the language simple and accessible. At times it is childlike at others erotic without being salacious. However, this is a tale with many layers including guilt, betrayal and responsibilty. Prominent is the focus on the difference between the two generations. Just how much how should post WWII children view the actions of German non-combatants during the conflict. In particular were they blameless as to the terrible deeds perpetrated at the concentration camps or were they by omission equally guilty?How do the actions of the past affect those of the future and who should sit in judgment if all are equally guilty? This question was brought in sharp relief for me by the words of the car driver who gives Michael a lift when he asks whether be believed that the prison guards were cruel in their deeds or merely concientious of doing a good job?Personally I felt that it was a very thought provoking book but a had a few problems with it. Firstly the books that Michael chose to read to Hanna seemed far too mature for a fifteen year old boy and I was left unimpressed with the court portion. In particular I found it hard to rationalize that a person would rather be seen as guilty of war crimes rather than to admit to being iliterate. That said I did find it enjoyable and may even go and watch the movie adaptation. Something that I have tried to avoid in the past.

[kelawrence · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

After reading this (I never saw the movie) I couldn't understand what all the hub-bub was about over this story . . . much less why anyone would make it into a movie . . . wouldn't necessarily search this author out again.

[rachelmeehan-1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I wanted to like this book. However I found both Michael, the narrator and Hanna, the object of his obsession, both difficult to be that interested in. The book was well written with some beautiful descriptive passages but it was as if everything was seen through Michael's memories which seemed somewhat naive.Not one I would particularly recommend.

[camethyste_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I started reading this with the thought that I wasn't going to like it, that it would bore me. It did interest me and held my attention. My feeling on finishing it is one of sadness. I really didn't like how it ended. Such a waste of a life. Definitely a thought-provoking story.

[sparemethecensor · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

It seems like there's a lot packed into this short novel. It raises very important philosophical questions that Schlink's generation -- children of Nazis, Nazi sympathizers, and compatriots who looked the other way -- in Germany had to grapple with. What do they owe the outside world? What responsibility do they bear? How do they reconcile the parents they love with the crimes they committed? What reckoning is required in the courts and just as importantly in the cultural consciousness?But the novel doesn't answer any. If this had been a novel about emotional conflict, it would have been effective: here are these questions, here are the reasons I'm conflicted. But instead it's just ambivalent. It raises the questions only to give them little consideration and certainly no resolution or meaningful thought. It doesn't say anything. Or at least I could not determine what Schlink meant to say. There's one throwaway line about Hanna being "brutal" that you might think means something, but there are also numerous instances of him wanting to wipe away her crimes and culpability because she was illiterate (which is so dumb I can't even interact with that idea, honestly). You could see what you want to see in this novel (for instance, pedophiles who think Lolita glorifies the crime or teenagers who admire Patrick Bateman) but I could not see what Schlink meant except for ambivalence. It's an interesting book for readers to consider, but it isn't a meeting of the minds with the author, and that disappointed me.

[matlock8sarah · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

I didn't read the back of this book, so I experienced it along with the narrator. It was beautiful and simple and a profound story. Of course, the sadness is part of the beauty.

[marcush_42 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

This is really a powerful, yet graphic book about Nazi Germany and the maturation process of a young boy. Michael, the protagonist, has an affair with a much older woman who eventually disappears from his life. As an adult, Michael comes face to face with the abandonment he faced as a child when the woman is put on trial for crimes she committed as Nazi concentration camp guard. The novel is a bit slow, but very well written.

[running501 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

This story is from the vantage point of Michael, as he meets and become enthralled in an older woman, Hanna, and later, the discovery of what became of her and that everything was not as it had seemed. I can't imagine that Schlink's vivid descriptions and Michael's in-depth analyzing translated as well in the movie (though I haven't seen it, I can't imagine it being quite as good as the book). The style of writing, and perhaps the plot, to some small extent, remind me of Ian McEwan's Atonement.

[deebee1_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

A story about a 15-year old boy's brief, secret and intense affair with a much older woman, which marked him for life. What started out as a purely physical and obsessive daily encounter goes beyond the animal encounter of possession and subjugation and even acquires an element of romance when the boy begins to read literature to her. They do not share anything but these couple of blissful hours everyday, they do not share each other's stories. But the boy is 15, and there were other things in life which started to interest him. Yet he clings to her. Then one day she disappears. Devastation and guilt of his "denial" of her haunt him, and her memory relentlessly follows him.They meet again, many years after, he a student lawyer attending a trial, and she, a defendant. He finds out she was an SS guard, guilty of monstrous deeds. The story is fascinating and is written in lucid almost unfeeling prose, but i did not find it profound or compelling as many do. There was lack of character development -- one never gets into the skin or the mind of any of them. Also, I would have preferred if the author had explored the "secondary" theme of how the generation of Germans born after the Holocaust "dealt" with the generation of their parents and their collective guilt. There is also some disconnect in the story, such as why the woman would think the "shame" of her being found out to be illiterate justifies her self-destructive behavior. A so-so read for me.

[melydia_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Though it purports to be about a teenaged boy and his romance with a complicated older woman, this book is more about how the succeeding generations of Germans deal with the horrors of their Third Reich parents and grandparents. Michael Berg is a thoroughly introspective narrator, creating the feel of a memoir more than a novel. I found myself thinking about the characters and their choices long after finishing the last page. Recommended for those looking for a thought-provoking read.

[sarah0rouse87 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

Not quite sure why I started this one, but I did enjoy it for the most part. It, at time, was difficult to understand-I would get a bit lost. But overall, I did care for it.

[jodes101 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I enjoyed this story but I am getting a bit tired of coming of age stories. Not sure why I suddenly seemed to be reading them it was definately not intentional. Well written.

[kunstneren_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I can understand CarolsNotebooks view about not connecting to either of the characters, but I really connected to the Hanna character myself. When she left Michael, I really missed her - just like he did. I've never read a book that triggered the same emotional responses that this one did. A great read for me.

[gwendydd · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Spoilers!This was a quick and enjoyable read. The narrator was likeable, if not always understandable. The story was engaging, and the characters' reactions were interesting. A lot of big issues come up - this would be a great book for a discussion group.I was rather disappointed with the role of the Holocaust in the novel. There is a ton of literature about the Holocaust, but very little (at least in English) about how Germans deal with the legacy of the Holocaust. I was hoping that this novel would give me some insight into how Germans deal with the Holocaust, but the issue is dodged. In fact, if you changed Hanna's crime, it wouldn't change the novel much. The narrator describes at length how numb he is when contemplating the Holocaust, so he never really deals with it. The novel ends up being much more about Hanna's illiteracy than about her guilt in the Holocaust.

[anbarrineau · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

I had a lot of trouble with the style of writing. I just couldn't get into the story or the character. I felt very disconnected from the characters. It seems like a good book, it is translated from German and so I have to give some credit to the fact that things can be lost in translation and consider what I am losing by reading it in English.

[karima29 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Ooh, I enjoyed this one. Read it in one very comfy sitting.It's about a 15yr old boy who has a sensual, exploratory and secret relationship with a 35yr old woman. So the first part of the book deals with their relationship, his trusting naivety, her mystery... Then she just up and vanishes one day, leaving him numb and unable to really get close to another person after that, protecting himself from hurt.The second part of the book is when she suddenly reappears in his life when he's a law student and she's on trial for Nazi war crimes. He is intrigued by her not defending herself, and is amazed when he finds out what her secret is, that she is willing to go to prison before she is exposed, and how this now changes his memory of events, of how he saw their relationship when he was younger.The third part of the book is sort of a healing conclusion to the other two, with some startling, heartbreaking and beautiful interactions between the two of them. What stands out for me immediately is just how we never really "get over" people. Even though the immediate pain may get less, we inevitably carry with us the 'lessons' we've learned from the relationship, in that it moulds us, and becomes a point of reference in the reasoning behind our future behaviour. And sometimes unfortunately, it's not for the better...

[llasram_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Several critics seem to have read /The Reader/ as something of an apology for low-level "illiterates" who participated in the Nazi atrocities, but I don't see any such absolution. It poses and explores hard moral questions and avoids anything like easy answers. The novel examines what it means to be a person over time, to attempt to integrate the past of both oneself and others with the present. The translation (or perhaps original writing) did seem a bit stilted and distant -- Hanna calling Michael "kid" rang an especially false note to my ear. Overall though, I found this to be a moving and compelling work.

[john257hopper · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

A very moving and, at least for a British reader, unusual novel. It is very hard not to feel some sympathy for Hanna Schmitz despite her wartime activities as a camp guard. It is a novel of contradictions and with an absence of the clear moralising that would probably be a feature if it was written by a British or American author. I think this reflects the confusion of the post-war German generation, angry and baffled by the failure of their parents and grandparents to stand up to the Nazis.

[soniaandree_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

The novel is easy to read, chapters are short and the plot is intriguing. I enjoyed reading it and the main character of Michael Berg is well portrayed. I also found the character of Hanna as lacking in characterisation somewhat, because she is kept in the background, rather than being on the foreground with Michael. This, as such, diminishes the impact of her big 'secret' when revealed to readers.This is a good book to read nonetheless, but I don't dwell on it because of the peculiar way the author emphasised one character at the expense of another, when the other is actually the focal point of the plot. The first person narrative is all very well, but I found it difficult to have empathy with Michael Berg, when the character just seems to be selfish and centrered on his obsession, rather than acting on improving things for Hanna.The light tone of the narrative and the major 'issue' with Hanna which is discovered are contrasted and too far apart to be logical, this is why I don't give more than 3.5 points in my rating. Maybe I'll enjoy it more in a few years' time, in which case this review will be revised then.

[hlselz · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

This is an Oprahs book club book, and it was ok. It is about a man's life, beginning with his childhood. He falls in love with an older woman, and they start having an affair. She eventually leaves town, and he only sees her again years later while he is in college, and she is on trial for being in the SS. The ending is quite dramatic, as we learn the secrets of this woman's life. Overall, this book was pretty good, but I couldn't get into that much. Perhaps because of the setting (post WWII Germany) which I find rather boring?