La muerte en Venecia & Mario y el Mago

Por Thomas Mann

Este volumen reúne dos novelas breves vinculadas por su escenario, Venecia, especialmente significativo en el estilo de Mann por ser a menudo correlato de un mundo dominado por la belleza al borde de la decadencia.
En el caso de La muerte en Venecia, es uno de los relatos más célebres de Mann merced a la versión cinematográfica de Visconti, considerada uno de los más felices encuentros entre literatura y cine, y la presencia en él del amor homosexual y sobre todo el extraordinariamente sensible modo de exponerlo lo convierten en una de las obras más imperecederas del autor.
Mario y el mago, en cierto modo una parábola acerca del populismo y la credulidad, fue leída en su momento como una seria advertencia sobre el auge del régimen de Mussolini, pero que por su perfección formal y la vigencia del tema siguen siendo aún hoy muy apreciados.
Thomas Mann escribió este magistral y ambiguo relato en 1929, poco después de recibir el Premio Nobel.

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: EDHASA
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 9 ene 2017
• ISBN: 9788435046367

Thomas Mann

Thomas Mann was a German novelist, short story writer, social critic, philanthropist, and essayist. His highly symbolic and ironic epic novels and novellas are noted for their insight into the psychology of the artist and the intellectual. Mann won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1929.

Vista previa del libro

MUERTE EN VENECIA

THOMAS MANN

Traducción de Juan José del Solar

Título original: Der Tod in Venedig Mario und der Zauberer

Diseño de la cubierta: Edhasa

Primera edición impresa: julio de 2010

Primera edición en e-book: septiembre de 2016

© S. Fischer Verlag, Berlín 1913

© de la traducción de «Muerte en Venecia»:

Juan José del Solar y Edhasa

© de la presente edición: Edhasa, 2008, 2010

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ISBN: 978-84-3500-938-6

Producido en España

LA MUERTE EN VENECIA

MARIO Y EL MAGO

PRÓLOGO

Supongo que al pedírseme un prólogo como introducción a este volumen donde están reunidas dos admirables novelas de Thomas Mann se ha pensado que estoy especialmente calificado para hacerlo por razón de mi familiaridad con la obra de este gran escritor alemán. En efecto, hace ya muchos años traduje, y se publicaron en Buenos Aires, dos de sus obras: Carlota en Weimar (Lotte in Weimar) y Las cabezas trocadas (Die vertauschten Kopfe). Escribí por entonces un estudio acerca de él, y hace seis años, con ocasión del centenario de su nacimiento, volví a ocuparme públicamente de su excepcional personalidad en Madrid, Barcelona y Lisboa. Con todo, hasta ahora no había dedicado especial atención a una de las más conocidas, celebradas y –para mí– mejor logradas narraciones de Mann: La muerte en Venecia, que se ofrece aquí reunida con Mario y el mago (o encantador, o ilusionista, o como quiera verterse al castellano la palabra alemana Zauberer).

Aparte, claro está, de haber salido de la misma pluma, estas dos novelitas tienen en común el estar localizada la acción de ambas en Italia. Pero, aunque tal emplazamiento (y las experiencias y reacciones del autor frente al ambiente) acentúen su aire de familia, la orientación de una y otra difiere bastante. La muerte en Venecia fue publicada en 1912; Mario y el mago, en 1930.Y basta considerar por un momento los cambios ocasionados en la atmósfera espiritual de Europa por el curso de los acontecimientos históricos durante ese lapso de dieciocho años, y las repercusiones que esos cambios no pudieron dejar de haber tenido sobre las actitudes íntimas del escritor, para explicarse las diferencias que separan a una pieza de la otra, espléndidas obras de arte como son las dos, cada cual a su manera y en su propia ley.

En efecto, nuestro autor se vio muy afectado –y, hay que decirlo, penosamente afectado; en verdad, afligido– por las perturbaciones de un mundo cuya hostilidad a los valores que él apreciaba y por los que él vivía iba creciendo de continuo. En otro lugar me he ocupado con alguna amplitud de las dolorosas incomprensiones y estúpidos ataques que por fidelidad a esos valores debió sufrir, y no podría volver aquí sobre eso sino aludir a ello acaso en breve cifra; pues en cierto modo la presión de los acontecimientos históricos y la fidelidad que, en medio de la tempestad, mantuvo Thomas Mann a los delicados valores de la tradición cultural europea se encuentran cifrados en el contraste y, sin embargo, radical congruencia de estas dos novelas que el lector tiene entre las manos.

Cuando su autor escribió La muerte en Venecia, apenas transcurrida la primera década del siglo XX, se estaban apurando las postrimerías de la belle époque, y poco faltaba para que estallase la primera guerra mundial. En 1930, fecha de Mario y el mago, el fascismo –invento italiano que durante muchos años había sido un fenómeno y casi una ridicula curiosidad local– iba a explotar desquiciando el planeta, al surgir ahora, impetuoso y amenazador, en Alemania: las hordas de Hitler ganaban las elecciones al Reichstag. Hay que entender cada una de estas narraciones colocada en su momento y sazón: de la belle époque a una época cargada de angustiosas aprensiones.

Creo que, desde este punto de vista, la interpretación cinematográfica que Luchino Visconti hizo de La muerte en Venecia es atinada, y refleja bien, incluso exagerado, el sentimiento de madurez ya decadente que impregna las páginas del libro. No por casualidad había elegido el autor de éste la ciudad adriática como lugar para la acción de su novela.Ya desde el tiempo de su poderío político, para no hablar de su posterior decadencia, la república veneciana se había erigido en símbolo hermosísimo y atroz de muerte y de podredumbre; y quienquiera que la visite, hasta hoy, tiene que percibir, si es sensible, el hálito de esa irresistible belleza letal. (Yo mismo, en más de una viñeta literaria, he dado testimonio de tan inquietante impresión.) No me cuesta trabajo imaginar a Thomas Mann, el escritor reconocido, el aclamado novelista de Buddenbrooks, sumido en una crisis espiritual de conciencia y de creatividad como aquella en que presenta a su personaje, Aschenbach, huyendo imaginativamente hacia esa especie de muerte deliciosa que está en Venecia, que es Venecia. Pues si el modelo de Gustav Aschenbach fue el músico Gustav Mahler, no por eso representa menos al escritor mismo, al autor de la novela.

En toda obra literaria hay, como es obvio, inevitable y de todos sabido, un reflejo de la personalidad que la ha producido; y si la obra es de carácter narrativo ocurre con mucha frecuencia que el lector ingenuo interprete lo narrado en ella como si fuese un relato autobiográfico. Algo de autobiografía se da, de cualquier modo, en toda novela; pero el reflejo de la realidad personal del hombre que escribió el libro puede ser directo, o desviado por quién sabe cuántas refracciones; delatar y reproducir en algunos casos hechos concretos, externos y objetivos de su vida, o bien sus emociones íntimas, sus frustraciones, anhelos, temores, fantasías y ensueños. El protagonista de La muerte en Venecia es, al comienzo, un claro y deliberado trasunto, un autorretrato en sesgo irónico del escritor que «había aprendido a representar el papel de hombre importante» y que administraba su fama manteniendo una correspondencia con gentes selectas, es decir, del propio autor, tal cual se veía en el espejo de su imaginación creadora.

Los críticos han reconocido en efecto que los rasgos profesionales, sociales y familiares del personaje ficticio reproducen con sólo leves cambios, y muy deliberadamente, los del hombre que lo concibiera: este personaje, Aschenbach, es un escritor de nombre y prestigio ya establecidos (recuérdese que Buddenbrooks, publicado en 1901, había colocado a Mann en posición tal), hijo de un burgués alemán y de una madre de estirpe extranjera, y que padece luchas internas en el proceso creativo que, según aparecen expuestas en el texto, tienen el son inconfundible de una experiencia real trasladada al terreno de la ficción. Era práctica constante de nuestro novelista y –pudiéramos decir– constituía su técnica, la de apoyar el relato, que debía alcanzar un alto grado de complejidad simbólica, sobre hechos observados con fría y objetiva sobriedad, estableciendo así el tránsito desde el realismo que prevalecía aún al iniciarse él en las letras hacia las corrientes renovadoras que, por aquel entonces, estaban superando en todas partes ese realismo. Una vez trazado el retrato de Aschenbach a base de su propia imagen (con unos toques, si se quiere, de la figura de Mahler), lanzará al personaje en su fuga en pos de la muerte, que es sin duda una fuga del escritor, conducido por la fantasía, tras algún inconcreto deseo reprimido para alcanzar en el trayecto de este viaje imaginario, de este vuelo poético, la percepción de signos trascendentales que apuntan a una esfera superior del espíritu.

¿Cuáles son esos signos? Con esta pregunta ingresamos ya en el campo de la invención literaria, donde Tho. Vmas Mann es maestro. Un examen atento de la composición de su libro nos revela los recursos técnicos puestos por él en juego para infundir en nosotros el estado de ánimo que nos predisponga a acompañarle y entrar a su lado, o de su mano, en la dicha esfera de altas significaciones. Las intimaciones de muerte se hacen sentir desde muy pronto. El escritor reputado y respetado, «aburguesado», y ahora ennoblecido, que es Gustav von Aschenbach se ha detenido, durante un paseo, a esperar un tranvía junto al cementerio, todo lo cual no es sino cotidiano y corriente. Parecería serlo también, pero ya, sin embargo, con una nota de extrañeza, el que durante su distraída espera vea salir del pórtico del cementerio a un hombre en atuendo deportivo y aspecto extranjero que enseguida atrae su atención y le da una sensación fantasmal. Ese encuentro será el resorte que, por lo pronto, dispara al protagonista hacia lo ignoto de la aventura (una aventura moderada de momento, burguesa todavía, de excursión veraniega a una playa mediterránea). Pero durante el viaje, y cuando ya el veraneante ha decidido dirigirse a Vene. Vcia, una nueva aparición turbadora, molesta e igualmente fantasmal surge ante sus ojos: la del viejo verde que, a primera vista, confundió por sus movimientos, actitud y conducta con un joven entre otros, pero que enseguida muestra ser un anciano sin dignidad, vejestorio repugnante, maquillado, que zascandilea y termina por embriagarse. Esta figura, que desempeña, como la del viajero en el cementerio, un papel sólo accesorio, pues nunca más vuelve a aparecer en la narración, prefigura su propio destino, ya que más adelante, enamorado del adolescente polaco, Aschenbach se dejará teñir el pelo y maquillar la cara por un barbero oficioso. Son espejos perversos que distorsionan y exageran su fisonomía, no tanto física como moral, de igual manera que lo será, hacia el final, el director del grupo de músicos mendigos, caricatura viviente del artista con su azorante combinación de genialidad y vileza, de superior fascinación e invencible repulsa.

Junto a estos símbolos, son otros muchos los que usa Mann, siempre con la misma técnica de apoyarse en los objetos de la realidad más comprobable o, siquiera, probable. Así, por ejemplo, la góndola que, un poco en contra de su voluntad y bajo resignada protesta, lo transporta al Lido, «negra, como sólo pueden serlo, entre todas las cosas, los ataúdes», hace pensar al viajero en la noche sombría, en el ataúd y en el último viaje silencioso, y es clara referencia a la barca de Caronte bogando hacia la laguna Estigia. (Y no olvidemos por otra parte que el propio apellido de Aschenbach significa, literalmente, «arroyo de cenizas», alusión al destino postrero del hombre que en la corriente de su vida lleva anticipada ya la muerte infalible.) Vendrá luego la contaminación, la epidemia, el mal olor, la pesadilla que agotará sus fuerzas... Hasta esa fruta, demasiado madura y blanda, que va a transmitirle el germen mortífero puede valer como un símbolo de su caída. De esta manera, con meditado y calculado arte en el que oportunamente se hace entrar la cita de Platón en cuanto estímulo intelectual para una reflexión del artista acerca de la esencia del erotismo que le ha invadido, expresa en fin la obra el proceso dionisíaco desde lo razonable-burgués hasta la exaltación estética encarnada y convertida en transporte vital que, por paradoja, no tendrá otra salida que la de la muerte.

La lealtad de Thomas Mann a los valores más altos del espíritu se manifiesta en esta preciosa novela como compromiso con las tendencias literarias de su momento histórico, que era –dicho queda– el de unas prolongadas postrimerías de la belle époque. Pero la calma casi extática de ese momento, que tanto se prestaba al cultivo y florecimiento de una delicada, sensible y refinadísima melancolía, era preludio de la tormenta en ciernes. La primera guerra mundial desencadenaría enseguida fuerzas brutales que habían de atormentar al mundo y obnubilar muchos cerebros. El de nuestro escritor, tan lúcido, no dejó de percibir la presencia de esas fuerzas siniestras, ni su conciencia de intelectual, tan alerta, iba a permitirle desentenderse de su amenaza. La novelita Mario y el mago es –entre otros escritos suyos de diversa índole– un testimonio rendido en términos de creación poética.

Por su propia declaración sabemos que la escribió casi de un tirón en 1929 (el año, notémoslo, en que levantaba la cabeza el nazismo alemán), sirviéndose de las impresiones guardadas en su memoria de cierto incidente que durante unas vacaciones anteriores había presenciado en Forte di Marmi, cerca de Viareggio. Los críticos que se han ocupado de esta narración no han pasado de largo por las fuertes implicaciones políticas que contiene. Ahí, el mago, Cipolla –cuyo nombre tiene por lo pronto una inflexión cómica: la cebolla es una modesta hortaliza que puede hacernos llorar–, un «artista» que además de sus juegos de prestidigitación y trucos de baraja posee dotes extraordinarias de hipnotizador, actúa frente al público sometiéndolo a su voluntad, humillándolo y degradándolo, a la vez que le encanta.Tras domesticar a algunos espectadores recalcitrantes, ha comenzado con sencillos experimentos matemáticos y juegos de cartas para proceder enseguida a demostraciones más impresionantes de su poderío, tales como la de poner rígido a uno de los jóvenes espectadores con la cabeza apoyada sobre una silla y los pies en otra para sentarse sobre él como en un banco, hasta obligar en fin a varias personas a que bailen contra su voluntad sobre el tablado. Este mago de feria, que por dos veces ha alzado su mano derecha haciendo el saludo romano, y que por último sugestiona al inocente camarero Mario para que, entregado por entero a su albedrío, haga el ridículo en una patética y bufa transferencia de sentimientos, no hay duda de que representa a Mussolini, entonces en el apogeo de su gloria.Y toda la situación puede interpretarse sin dificultad alguna como una alegoría de la Italia sometida al fascismo, con la contradictoria mezcla de exaltación y repulsión que el público de Cipolla siente frente al sospechoso mago.

Pero el caso es que Thomas Mann, el autor del relato, no quería prestarse demasiado a tan obvia interpretación, o –mejor– no quería reducirse a ella, y creo poder imaginarme bien por qué. Reducir su obrita a una sátira del régimen fascista y su Duce, o incluso a un análisis esquemático de las fuerzas psicológicas y sociales en que se sustentaba, hubiera sido tanto como destacar un solo aspecto, el más ostensible, de su total estructura, vinculándolo a un fenómeno político en sí mismo transitorio;

esto es, hacer que la anécdota fingida en la novelita remitiera a otra anécdota –el régimen de Mussolini–, en lugar de remitir hacia una visión profunda de rasgos

Comentarios para La muerte en Venecia & Mario y el Mago

[fatimacastelao · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

It is a fantastic novella with a very sensitive plot. The author gives the characters complex psychological and philosophical elements. At the same time, it's an enjoyable story to read and share.

[davidroche_1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

My first foray into the work of Thomas Mann has been Death in Venice and other stories (Vintage Classics). I have been meaning to investigate since enjoying Colm Toíbín’s wonderful The Magician recently; this book of short stories seemed an accessible entry point and the translation from the original German by David Luke has been much lauded. Mann manages to paint lavish pictures with his extraordinary descriptive powers when not a lot may be happening in the tale he is telling. From the first short story, Little Herr Friedman to the almost novella length title story, the power of truly masterful writing is always evident. The growing obsession of Gustav von Aschenbach for the beautiful Polish boy, staying in the same hotel with his family, is disturbing in its ever-increasing intensity. I think I need a break before I dive into another Mann trap.

[doryfish-1 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

Another classic book I felt I should read... Well, I read it. And you can get the same emotional impact by reading the Wikipedia article.

[al9g · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

An interesting book rife with metaphors, this is a more cerebral read - meaning that there is not much dialogue or action. Much of the book explores von Aschenbach's thought processes and internal emotional struggles. Von Aschenbach is a successful writer who lives an ascetic lifestyle in Munich. He is a widower and his life is highly structured - a fact that he believes is essential to his success as a writer. But one day he has an epiphany and takes trip. He ends up in Venice where he finds himself attracted to a young boy, Tadzio. His attraction is an inspiration to his writing which begs the question does artistic creation flow from disciplined organization or passionate emotions? This is one of the main themes that intrigued me. The book is steeped in irony and perhaps the sublime irony is that while he never actually acts on his impulses they cause him to stay even when there is an outbreak of contagion (denied by many residents of the city even as the death toll mounts). Von Aschenbach eventually succumbs to the disease. While he finds inspiration watching Tadzio, he is too proper to act on his impulses and they go unfulfilled. A very deep book with lots of symbolism.

[roxiet-1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

I remember reading "Buddenbrooks" in high school and didn’t enjoy it. However, after reading "Death in Venice", I just may give Mann’s earlier work another try. I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Though there’s really not much to the storyline, I was intrigued by the main character. At times, Mann’s elongated prose, slowly inching the plot along, frustrated me. But, I couldn’t shake this pressing desire to learn of Gustav Aschenbach’s fate. Now looking back, the pages and pages of poetic “tension” only intensified my longing to read to the end. I was left remembering a Goodreads quote I saved years ago to my page: “We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love.”- Sigmund Freud

[japaul22 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

The two words that came to mind most often as I read this brief novella were "overwrought" and "self-indulgent". OK, I guess it wasn't that bad, but pretty close. Aschenbach, an aging writer, travels to Venice, sees a beautiful young boy who he becomes obsessed with (though never really interacts with, this is an internal obsession), and then dies. I struggled to see the point. I loved Mann's first novel, Buddenbrooks, that he wrote in his youth, but this just seemed like it was trying to hard. I will read The Magic Mountain someday, and I hope I like it more than this.

[etxgardener · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

I know this will mark me as a philistine, but here is my two sentence review of this book. There's no fool like an old fool. Thank God this novella is only 60 pages long

[kakadoo202 · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

Not my cup of tea at this time

[innahlovesyou · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

At first, it was quite boring. After that, it became interesting with all the details about Venice, it was like I was there again. I felt how every word of his is making my heart warmer. And then there was this love about that boy that I couldn't understand. Was it father-son love, or was it some kind of wrong love, if you know what I mean. The ending was expected and disappointing.

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

I must admit to a dose of uneasiness with the protagnist's creepy paiderastial stalking, but I put it down to a sign of the times much like one would with the stalker-story lyrics in Daddy Cool's "Come Back Again". But as Appelbaum (the translator) suggests in the notes, in basing the novel on an the author's personal experience, Mann "preserved his decorum and his wits, or we would never have had a story", so the reader need not get too morally involved in the details. At first glance some recurring grotesque characters belie the Dionysion versus Appolonian development of the plot as Aschenbach's infatuation takes over. The title, of course, does not hide the ending. Nonetheless, Mann's interweaving of Greek mythology in support of the central theme neatly presents German philosophy in this rather deep novella. I have started to watch the 1971 movie based on this novel but I must say I am glad (as always) at having read the book first - the mythological figures which one can re-imagine after my initial reading of the characters is most certainly lost in the opening scenes of the movie - but that should come as no surprise.

[pauntley · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Stars for Mann's novella are superfluous. It needs no recommendation. This new translation, by Michael Heim, does deserve the accolade of a five star rating. In his brief introduction Michael Cunninham makes the persuasive point that Heim presents a subtly new reading of the original in which Aschenbach, ageing disgracefully, achieves a perversely heroic status.

[kristelh_15 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

This book by Thomas Mann is a novella that can give the reader a taste of the author's style. Thomas Mann writes with beauty and depth. The story is of an older artist, author who is suffering from writer's block. He decides to travel. At first he goes one place but "it isn't right" or he still can't write, so off to Venice he goes. On the way, he is annoyed by an older man trying to look young and hang out with youth. In Venice, he again feels suffocated and thinks to leave but circumstances occur and he stays where is obsession with a adolescent youth takes away any sense, logic and replaces it with passion and poor judgement. Nothing ever occurs, yet this love affair of the mind, leads to decay and death. A short but powerful story.

[missizicks · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I appreciated the beauty of the writing. The descriptions at times were stunning, but the initial coolness in the writing meant I struggled to feel sympathy with the characters. Aschenbach is self centred and leaves no room for anyone else's emotions, but his descent into obsession and his surrender to passion was compelling and I ended by finding him very human. I thought Mann cleverly drew parallels between Ancient Greek society and that of early 20th century Europe, but it felt more like an intellectual exercise than a novel at times. The motifs of death, fate, obsession and trying to stir up passion in a regulated heart were interesting, but real feelings seldom broke through the cleverness, and only really succeeded towards the end. That kept me from loving the book.

[oel_3-1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

How I wish I discovered Mann earlier

[ted_newell-1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Strange desire for death, strange compulsion for beauty.

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

This edition was a collection of 7 of Mann's short stories, of which Death in Venice was the last. The others were 'Little Herr Freidemann', 'The Joker', 'The Road to the Churchyard', 'Gladius Dei', 'Tristan', and 'Tonio Kroeger'.I started off with very high hopes - I loved the first story 'Little Herr Friedemann', about a disabled young man whose unrequited love for the wife of the town's new lieutenant-colonel ends tragically. It was beautifully written and very compelling.Unfortunately, as I worked my way through the stories I grew more and more disenchanted with them. The majority of the stories felt like they were building up to a great twist which never happened. More often than not they ended with the inner turmoil and wrangling of the protagonist about either his own soul or that of society in general. Mann was heavily influenced by Freud and Neitzsche, and in many stories there was a lot of psychological introspection and classical allusions which grew tiring after a while.As 'Death in Venice' is the most well known of Mann's short stories, I expected that the best had been kept till last, but alas by the time I'd got to it I was worn down by the ever decreasing circles of the previous stories and found it over-hyped. His obsession with the young boy in Venice didn't engage me - I again felt there was too much psycho-babble which distracted from the story and the emotions of the protagonist.Perhaps if I'd read the story 'Death in Venice' in isolation I'd have enjoyed it more, but I just felt there was too much repetition of the same theme throughout most of the stories. I almost feel disappointed that this is my conclusion; there is no doubt that Mann can be an exquisite writer, and each story started with a fantastically imaginative setting. I just wish that he'd concentrated more on the plot and less on the philosophising.I can see how many would enjoy his work, but this just wasn't for me.

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

Not gay enough.
lol jk
I can see why people make comparisons about Death In Venice to Lolita (Tadzio is basically the male version of Lolita) but the themes are so different, so idk. It's not even really about erotic obsession. Will probably reread at some point when I'm more interested in the "dignity of the author" rather than the gheyness.
Oh yeah, and this? Totally autobiographical. You know Mann totally had a boner for some teenage Polish boy.

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

So this tale is brief, somewhere between a short story and a novella. The first portion introduces the main character and discusses his views on literature, some of which are striking and some of which are gobbledygook. The setting then changes to Venice, where the main character falls in love with a fourteen year-old boy. Though you could argue the love stems from the perspective of a lover of beauty, or the old pining for the virtues of the young, the clearest explanation is that the main character feels romantic love towards the young boy. This is by no means a death-stroke to a story; Lolita dealt with a similar premise, and the crowning achievement of that novel was that it made you sympathize with the main character even with his reprehensible behavior and views. Once you took the time to consider the situation in the abstract the main character's behavior became abhorrent, but before that occurred the narrative made you sympathize with a character who was engaged in some of the most terrible actions possible, forcing you to re-examine your sympathies and they ways that fiction and point-of-view can warp your perspective.

Here the narrative spurs no such higher-level analysis. Instead we are left with the narrative of an old man pining for the underage boy from afar, then meeting his fate. This makes for less than an appealing story, and the prose does not make up for this defect. This novella isn't horrible, but you're better-off rereading Lolita or reading anything with a character that is more dynamic. I will probably try another Thomas Mann work (likely The Magic Mountain), but this book has tempered my expectations.

[nosajeel · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A compact novella without a wasted word or image, Death in Venice is clearly the work of a master--but it is a master whose obsession with myth and "grand" themes leaves behind much of the particular, humor, quirkiness and irony that I would generally prefer to find in a book. So no particular judgment on the merits, really just a matter of not being entirely to my taste.

[pcb2nls · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Very good, but also very heavy stuff. It was an intelligent, very well written novella that I enjoyed reading. I recommend it to the philosophical thinker or someone in the mood for a more serious read. :)

[jmoncton_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Gustav von Aschenbach, a lonely German author, decides to take a long vacation in Venice, away from the drudgery of his normal life. In Venice he spies a young Polish boy, vacationing with his family. von Aschenbach becomes obsessed with this beautiful young boy trying to catch sight of him all over the city. Many people compare this to Lolita except von Aschenbach is a pedophile interested in young boys. Although he is definitely attracted to the boy, he never really approaches him, or crosses that line where he plots a seduction. For me, the story was just ok, but I really enjoyed the intro to this audiobook. Author Michael Cunningham who discusses the new translation of this German novella and all the nuances and little decisions involved in creating a good translation of a classic

[dk_atkinson · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

According to modern writing standards, the language can come off as contrived. I enjoyed the depth of writing and the use of imagery.

[pilgrimjess · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

This is a book which I really struggled to finish as on numerous occasions was so tempted to just pack it in. I was certainly grateful that it only ran to 64 pages. I found myself reading nearly every paragraph twice as each seemed so conveluted. I believe in free speech and not in censorship so have no real problem with the subject matter even if it does smack of paedophilia, which to every right-minded person should be abhorant. All the same I am amazed that a book like this was ever published but then perhaps paedophilia was not as well publized by the press as it is today. I believe that Mann himself struggled with his own sexuality so perhaps this book is a symbol of that inner struggle.I did not like the main character much and felt him conceited and self-centred. The writing style and plot was painfully slow. I am not too great on my Greek mythology so struggled to the relevance on more than one occasion and the ending seemed somewhat inadequate.On the whole not my type of book and not one that will live long in the memory. If truth be told it felt like a book written with the express aim of winning a literary prize, to satisfy the so called intelligenzia rather than for the pleasure of the general public but at least it was so short

[bakabaka84 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I actually liked this one more than I thought I was going to. At first I thought I was going to be turned off by the topic, an older man chasing after a young boy, which I will admit is somewhat creepy. However, once you get past that the you find that the book has many layers. To get the most out of the book one should have some passing knowledge of Nietzsche's Birth of Tragedy, as one of the central themes is how Aschemback goes from Appolonian restrained life to a Dionysian one of obsession once he meets Tadzio and how he struggles and is eventually doomed by this. There was also nice irony in that the inspiration for Ashenmack's urge to travel came from a personification of Death and that when he finally reaches Venice he's ferried across the lagoon by a representation of Charon who ironically says that you will pay. In fact Aschemback is visited many times throughout the book by personifications of Death each representing a point where he could turn back, yet as Aschemback slips deeper into the Dionysian mode he ignores the warnings. Overall if you can get past the creepy man stalking a young boy and look at it through its Greek & Nietzsche influences you will find a very enjoyable book.

[richardderus · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

The Book Report: I feel a complete fool providing a plot precis for this canonical work. Gustav von Ascherbach, literary lion in his sixties, wanders about his home town of Munich while struggling with a recalcitrant new story. His chance encounter with a weirdo, though no words are exchanged between them, ignites in Herr von Ascherbach the need to get out of town, to get himself to the delicious fleshpots of the South. An abortive stay in Illyria (now Bosnia or Montenegro or Croatia, no knowing which since we're not given much to go on) leads him to make his second journey to Venice. Arriving in the sin capital of the early modern world, and even in the early 20th century possessed of a louche reputation, brings him into contact with two life-changing things: A beautiful teenaged boy, and cholera. I think the title fills you in on the rest.My Review: I know this was written in 1911-1912, and is therefore to be judged by the standards of another era, but I am bone-weary of stories featuring men whose love for other males brings them to disaster and death. This is the story that started me on that path of dislike. Von Ascherbach realizes he's in love for the first time in his pinched, narrow life, and it's with a 14-year-old boy; his response is to make himself ridiculous, following the kid around, staying in his Venetian Garden of Eros despite knowing for sure there's a cholera epidemic, despite being warned of the dangers of staying, despite smelling decay and death and miasmic uccchiness all around, because he's in love. But with the wrong kind of person...a male. Therefore Mann makes him pay the ultimate price, he loses his life because he gives in and falls hopelessly, stupidly in love. With a male. Mann makes his judgment of this moral turpitude even more explicit by making it a chaste, though to modern eyes not unrequited, love between an old man and a boy. Explicit references to Classical culture aside, the entire atmosphere of the novel is quite evidently designed to point up the absurdity and the impossibility of such a love being rewarding or rewarded. It's not in the least mysterious what Mann's after: Denial, denial, denial! It's your only salvation, faggots! Deny yourself, don't let yourself feel anything rather than feel *that*!This book offends my sensibilities. Gorgeously built images and sonorously elegant sentences earn it all of its points.

[rizeandshine · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Death in Venice was well-written and kept my interest, but it was also creepy and depressing. II enjoyed the irony of how the main character, Gustav, changed in such a short time over the course of the book, due to his obsession. He began to look and act like those he had previously thought ridiculous. When he first reached Venice, I pictured Gustave a bit like Peter Ustinov in Evil Under the Sun. By the end, he was a sad caricature of his former self.

[pennyanne_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Another book that has been luking on my shelves for years. I did try to read this book when I first got it but could not get past the first chapter - I found it tedious and overblown. On trying for a second time I found myself enjoying the intellectual challenge of the writing although perhaps not the the central focus of the storyline - ageing German intellectual falls in love and starts stalking a Polish adolescent he encounters during a summer stay in the increasingly pestilential city of Venice. Some heavyhanded use of repeating motifs but overall worth the effort.

[knfmn · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

a 160 page celebration of a pederast and his target. I find it interesting that Mann is revered as an author, but most people would be hard-pressed to come up with 3 books that he wrote. I found this book unimaginative and prone to rambling. Not my idea of a good book.

[john257hopper · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

This one creeps up on you slowly throughout. It begins very slowly and frankly rather tediously, with the author spending a large number of words on very little. But the protagonist's obsessions, with the young boy he stalks, and with his fear of and longing for oblivion, gradually take over the narrative, and his mental decay mirrors the physical decay of Venice and the growing menace of the disease plaguing the city. Leave quite an emotional impact.

[jimmychanga · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

Though it had some really well-written passages, I couldn't really connect with it. I know the point isn't the minimal plot, but that the plot is more of a jumping off point for Mann's theories about beauty, youth, art and erotics. But this "point" somehow seems heavyhanded to me, and not very interesting, especially near the end."If you open a newspaper today, almost all you read about is Thomas Mann. He's been dead thirty years now, and again and again, endlessly, it's unbearable. Even though he was a petty-bourgeois writer, ghastly, uninspired, who only wrote for a petty-bourgeois readership. That could only interest the petty-bourgeois, the kind of milieu he describes, it's uninspired and stupid, some fiddle-playing professor who travels somewhere, or a family in Lübeck, how lovely, but it's nothing more than someone like Wilhelm Raabe. What rubbish Thomas Mann churned out about political matters, really. He was totally uptight and a typical German petty-bourgeois. With a greedy wife." -- Thomas Bernhard