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A review by wmbogart
Go, Went, Gone by Jenny Erpenbeck
Go, Went, Gone is knowingly framed from the perspective of Richard, a concerned classics professor, rather than from the perspective of the asylum seekers themselves. Given Erpenbeck’s background, this is probably necessary. She uses the novel to interrogate the academic’s response and sense of guilt, and the response of German bystanders more broadly.
We see why Richard would get actively involved with the refugees as he comes to understand Germany’s disregard (if not outright disdain) for them. Obviously there’s some moral obligation there. But in fleshing out his backstory, we find other motivations. Loneliness for one, and a vague sense of identification relative to his own experience around German reunification.
The frequent questions he poses to the refugees, though well-intentioned, are initially sociological to an almost gross degree. His perspective and associations are rooted in an older academic canon that has little bearing on the lives these men lead.
We quickly see that perspective’s limits. His “understanding” of the broader situation and the individual refugees is filtered through his prior studies. He assigns new names to asylum seekers to better remember them. He often catches himself making untoward assumptions. The novel is critical of this, without outright condemning his character. We see this too in juxtapositions as the narrative progresses - the opulence of a catered meal or a party is implicitly compared to the harsh “living” conditions “provided” to these refugees as a stopgap for their eventual forced removal from Germany.
A more obvious didactic tone grows throughout the novel; these asylum seekers are mistreated, disregarded, and demonized. They are victims of imperialist aggression and the extraction of natural resources by European colonizers. As Richard grows and continues his research, the letter of the law in Germany (and elsewhere) is shown as a maze of bureaucratic excuses to “justify” an inhumane disregard for these people. This is hopefully obvious enough to the reader already, but a point worth making.
The novel is much more nuanced than a straightforward white savior narrative. Some other interesting ideas here too, related to the collective memory around reunification (as with Kairos), and how that memory is subtly present in objects, architecture, and behavior.
As always, there’s a focus to Erpenbeck’s writing that I really appreciate. Every passage dovetails cleanly and neatly into the novel’s larger themes. Don’t let the tonally bizarre cover fool you.
We see why Richard would get actively involved with the refugees as he comes to understand Germany’s disregard (if not outright disdain) for them. Obviously there’s some moral obligation there. But in fleshing out his backstory, we find other motivations. Loneliness for one, and a vague sense of identification relative to his own experience around German reunification.
The frequent questions he poses to the refugees, though well-intentioned, are initially sociological to an almost gross degree. His perspective and associations are rooted in an older academic canon that has little bearing on the lives these men lead.
We quickly see that perspective’s limits. His “understanding” of the broader situation and the individual refugees is filtered through his prior studies. He assigns new names to asylum seekers to better remember them. He often catches himself making untoward assumptions. The novel is critical of this, without outright condemning his character. We see this too in juxtapositions as the narrative progresses - the opulence of a catered meal or a party is implicitly compared to the harsh “living” conditions “provided” to these refugees as a stopgap for their eventual forced removal from Germany.
A more obvious didactic tone grows throughout the novel; these asylum seekers are mistreated, disregarded, and demonized. They are victims of imperialist aggression and the extraction of natural resources by European colonizers. As Richard grows and continues his research, the letter of the law in Germany (and elsewhere) is shown as a maze of bureaucratic excuses to “justify” an inhumane disregard for these people. This is hopefully obvious enough to the reader already, but a point worth making.
The novel is much more nuanced than a straightforward white savior narrative. Some other interesting ideas here too, related to the collective memory around reunification (as with Kairos), and how that memory is subtly present in objects, architecture, and behavior.
As always, there’s a focus to Erpenbeck’s writing that I really appreciate. Every passage dovetails cleanly and neatly into the novel’s larger themes. Don’t let the tonally bizarre cover fool you.