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marie_90's review against another edition
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
josisreading's review against another edition
dark
emotional
reflective
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
danabradford23's review against another edition
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
kathrinpassig's review against another edition
4.0
Am Anfang war ich von jedem Satz begeistert. Danach fand ich es dann nicht mehr ganz so gut, und ich glaube, das lag nicht nur an Gewöhnung an die großartigen Sätze. Aber der Anfang!
CN: Zweimal N-Wort, wobei Seghers an anderen Stellen des Buchs mit dem Thema elegant umgeht, jedenfalls kam es mir so vor. Am Rande ein bisschen Fatshaming.
CN: Zweimal N-Wort, wobei Seghers an anderen Stellen des Buchs mit dem Thema elegant umgeht, jedenfalls kam es mir so vor. Am Rande ein bisschen Fatshaming.
avera's review against another edition
adventurous
emotional
informative
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
platanus's review against another edition
5.0
One of those books you read through while fighting the urge to stop and quote sentences or whole paragraphs almost every page, Anna Segher's masterpiece has not earned a name among German exile literature without an abundance of good reasons. If you do not know German, I hope you can find a good translation - the book was first published in Spanish, so Spanish speakers have that problem solved - because the flow of the narration brings you awfully close to the protagonist.
With all that is going on in the world right now, and being portrayed in the media, it might be the best and the worst time for my generation to read this book.
With all that is going on in the world right now, and being portrayed in the media, it might be the best and the worst time for my generation to read this book.
nrossi23's review against another edition
5.0
dude that was so good. it makes me want to read catcher in the rye because the two feel like SUCH spiritual mates of one another. nothing happens in this book and it feels so intriguing to read!
neilrcoulter's review against another edition
4.0
I had never heard of Anna Seghers or her 1944 novel, Transit, but then last month, before the brilliant Cold War, we saw a trailer for the new movie based on Transit. That trailer included a critic quote that says, “Like Casablanca as written by Kafka,” and it had my attention. I was thrilled to learn that the movie is based on a book, and I checked it out of the library.
Before talking about the book, though, I want to take a moment to revel in the copy of the book that the Dallas Public Library sent to me (in fact, the only copy of the book in the entire system). It’s old—a first edition (in English), from 1944. And when I picked it up from the library, I instantly traveled back to memories of libraries and books from when I was a kid. Somehow, reading this older copy made me think about how when I was younger, I used to read a lot of books that were about this age; school libraries in particular were just full of books like this. Now I find I’m mostly reading newer copies even of older titles—and those have their own specialness, but this copy of Transit brought back particular qualities of paper, binding, weight, and overall reading experience (even just the envelope in the back cover, that once held the checkout card!) that I hadn’t thought about (or even known I’d missed) for a long, long time.
And now for what’s inside the book. The “Casablanca as written by Kafka” comment is apt, though I now know that the film is that way because the book it’s based on is itself very Kafkaesque. The story takes place in France during World War II, and Seidler, the protagonist—introduced in a frame structure as he tells his story (strangely cautious about being boring) to the reader who joins him in a café in Marseilles—is a refugee. He has escaped two concentration camps, fled Paris just as the Germans arrived to occupy, and ends up in Marseilles, together with a motley collection of other war refugees, all desperately seeking passage away from Europe any way they can manage it. Seidler is a blasé, aimless observer, very much at home with the likes of Nick Carraway, Holly Martins, and so many other twentieth-century roamers. Unique among the many people around him, Seidler would actually be perfectly content to remain in Marseilles—but therein lies his difficulty. This man who has no desire to go anywhere is being forced by circumstances to move. Seidler’s problem is part of the Catch-22 that Seghers sets up to torment everyone in the novel: the only way you can obtain permanent residency in Marseilles is to prove that you are actually leaving the city as soon as you can. But getting passage on any ship away from Marseilles requires navigating an impossible labyrinth of getting exit visa, steamship ticket, and transit visa, all in the right order. This is impossible because in the time it takes to get any one of these documents, the other documents you have will have expired, or the ship you have a ticket for never leaves, and so you have to start all over at the beginning. This numbingly endless and self-contradictory routine reminds me of the bureaucracy that Josef K. faces throughout The Trial.
The result of all of this paperwork and visits to consulates is waiting. The people all around Seidler are just waiting, day after day, in varying stages of hopefulness that they'll ever get out, and that if they do somehow get out, whatever country they end up in will be better than where they are now. A few people succeed in their quest (to flee Marseilles, at least); others give up in despair, as this acquaintance of Seidler's:
This all makes the plot sound terrifically thrilling and twisty. And it sort of is, but it mostly is a story in which not much happens, and what does happen moves very, very slowly. It makes me really curious to see how the filmmakers have translated this story into a movie—and into the present day, rather than about WWII refugees. It doesn’t seem like the smoothest transition for this novel, but I’m intrigued. The movie opens in Dallas this week, and I hope to check it out soon. Whatever happens with the movie, though, I’m glad to have found another twentieth-century writer who struggles with themes that challenged so many other writers during that century. I like the world and characters Seghers created in Transit.
Before talking about the book, though, I want to take a moment to revel in the copy of the book that the Dallas Public Library sent to me (in fact, the only copy of the book in the entire system). It’s old—a first edition (in English), from 1944. And when I picked it up from the library, I instantly traveled back to memories of libraries and books from when I was a kid. Somehow, reading this older copy made me think about how when I was younger, I used to read a lot of books that were about this age; school libraries in particular were just full of books like this. Now I find I’m mostly reading newer copies even of older titles—and those have their own specialness, but this copy of Transit brought back particular qualities of paper, binding, weight, and overall reading experience (even just the envelope in the back cover, that once held the checkout card!) that I hadn’t thought about (or even known I’d missed) for a long, long time.
And now for what’s inside the book. The “Casablanca as written by Kafka” comment is apt, though I now know that the film is that way because the book it’s based on is itself very Kafkaesque. The story takes place in France during World War II, and Seidler, the protagonist—introduced in a frame structure as he tells his story (strangely cautious about being boring) to the reader who joins him in a café in Marseilles—is a refugee. He has escaped two concentration camps, fled Paris just as the Germans arrived to occupy, and ends up in Marseilles, together with a motley collection of other war refugees, all desperately seeking passage away from Europe any way they can manage it. Seidler is a blasé, aimless observer, very much at home with the likes of Nick Carraway, Holly Martins, and so many other twentieth-century roamers. Unique among the many people around him, Seidler would actually be perfectly content to remain in Marseilles—but therein lies his difficulty. This man who has no desire to go anywhere is being forced by circumstances to move. Seidler’s problem is part of the Catch-22 that Seghers sets up to torment everyone in the novel: the only way you can obtain permanent residency in Marseilles is to prove that you are actually leaving the city as soon as you can. But getting passage on any ship away from Marseilles requires navigating an impossible labyrinth of getting exit visa, steamship ticket, and transit visa, all in the right order. This is impossible because in the time it takes to get any one of these documents, the other documents you have will have expired, or the ship you have a ticket for never leaves, and so you have to start all over at the beginning. This numbingly endless and self-contradictory routine reminds me of the bureaucracy that Josef K. faces throughout The Trial.
The result of all of this paperwork and visits to consulates is waiting. The people all around Seidler are just waiting, day after day, in varying stages of hopefulness that they'll ever get out, and that if they do somehow get out, whatever country they end up in will be better than where they are now. A few people succeed in their quest (to flee Marseilles, at least); others give up in despair, as this acquaintance of Seidler's:
“I suppose you know the story about the dead man who waited to learn what the Lord had decided to do about him. He waited and waited—one year, ten years, a hundred years. Then he pleaded to be told the verdict, for he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. His answer was: ‘What are you waiting for, anyway? You’ve been in hell all this time.’ That’s what it was—hell, an insane waiting for nothing. What could be more fiendish? War? It’ll follow you across the ocean and catch up with you there. I’ve had enough of it all. I want to go home.” (231)The unusual detail that works its way into the narrative in different ways is that while in Paris, Seidler came into possession of a suitcase belonging to a writer named Weidel—who committed suicide before the German invasion, but no one who knows Weidel personally knows that he is dead. Some paperwork is already completed in Weidel’s name, so Seidler must decide how much to take on Weidel’s identity in order to get out of Marseilles (which, again, he actually doesn’t want to do). Then Seidler is attracted to a woman he sees in Marseilles, who turns out to be Weidel’s wife, but who is halfheartedly trying to leave Marseilles with another man, while also trying to find Weidel, if possible.
This all makes the plot sound terrifically thrilling and twisty. And it sort of is, but it mostly is a story in which not much happens, and what does happen moves very, very slowly. It makes me really curious to see how the filmmakers have translated this story into a movie—and into the present day, rather than about WWII refugees. It doesn’t seem like the smoothest transition for this novel, but I’m intrigued. The movie opens in Dallas this week, and I hope to check it out soon. Whatever happens with the movie, though, I’m glad to have found another twentieth-century writer who struggles with themes that challenged so many other writers during that century. I like the world and characters Seghers created in Transit.