A review by savaging
The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann

5.0

I came to this book with my eyes already rolling. One of these high-brow tomes that people like to 'have read' more than they actually enjoy reading. 850+ small-print pages where nothing happens. Who convinced me to put this on my reading list?

And yet, and yet. After a month with this book I found myself in love.

Let me concede that all of these critiques are true:
-The 'plot' is completely limp. It feels more like some kind of Cannery Row format except with less interesting hijinks.
-There are way too many arguments between intellectual blowhards.
-In all its 854 pages, the book doesn't pass the Bechdel test.

But also this is true:
-I was so moved by this book.
-Even a century on, Mann remains a friendly and clear-eyed companion for readers.
-Hans Castorp, the protagonist, is weirdly lovable, despite it all. His confused ideas and general curiosity are far more compelling than anything the intellectuals around him espouse.
-It's a comedy! I laughed out loud!
-It's also endlessly eery. A good going-crazy-in-quarantine read.
-The ending made me shudder and almost weep, to feel this gentle narrative suddenly wrenched away into trench warfare.

Would I actively recommend this book to anyone? No - how could I? But if you're the sort of masochist who already enjoys reading The Classics, then just know that there really is something here for you.