Take a photo of a barcode or cover
4.15 AVERAGE
4.15 AVERAGE
Without concession to the lazy modern reader, Bernhard delivers a 180-page paragraph condemning the imbecility of the modern world and of Viennese artistic circles in particular. I loved ‘Old Masters’. ‘Woodcutters’ seemed to me more splendid still. I’ve read that this novel couldn’t be published at first due to legal actions brought by a number of Austrians who thought they recognised themselves in Bernhard’s savage depictions. Why anyone should wish to lay claim to being one of the originals from which Bernhard formed these grotesques is beyond my understanding. Woe betide any pretentious, intellectually lazy, artistic types who crossed paths with him in post-war Vienna… and that included the narrator/Bernhard himself.
In essence, the narrator is a fifty-something writer who has returned to Vienna from London and in a moment of weakness accepts an invitation from old acquaintances to an “artistic dinner”. The characters spend most of their evening awaiting the arrival of a veteran actor, who has been performing in a production of Ibsen’s ‘The Wild Duck,’ so that the dinner can be served. The narrator spends the majority of his time “sitting in the wing chair”, as he constantly reminds us, witheringly observing his fellow dinner guests. In the process, he tells us about his former relations with several of the guests and with an absent friend whose funeral some of them have attended earlier in the day.
Bernhard’s narratives possess a hypnotic musicality that makes them a joy to read. And ‘Woodcutters’ is often very funny. I did spend the first 170 pages wondering about the relevance of that title, but all eventually became clear. It relates to an idea expressed by the actor. Initially despised by the narrator, it is the actor who brings redemption of a sort, delivering a tirade against the pretentions of his fellow guests and winning the narrator’s admiration in the process.
In essence, the narrator is a fifty-something writer who has returned to Vienna from London and in a moment of weakness accepts an invitation from old acquaintances to an “artistic dinner”. The characters spend most of their evening awaiting the arrival of a veteran actor, who has been performing in a production of Ibsen’s ‘The Wild Duck,’ so that the dinner can be served. The narrator spends the majority of his time “sitting in the wing chair”, as he constantly reminds us, witheringly observing his fellow dinner guests. In the process, he tells us about his former relations with several of the guests and with an absent friend whose funeral some of them have attended earlier in the day.
Bernhard’s narratives possess a hypnotic musicality that makes them a joy to read. And ‘Woodcutters’ is often very funny. I did spend the first 170 pages wondering about the relevance of that title, but all eventually became clear. It relates to an idea expressed by the actor. Initially despised by the narrator, it is the actor who brings redemption of a sort, delivering a tirade against the pretentions of his fellow guests and winning the narrator’s admiration in the process.