Thomas Mann's prose is a paradoxical combination of preciseness and verbosity. He can meander through a series of details, seemingly unnecessary as they are being read, which eventually piece together a comprehensive picture. I've noticed this particularly in his insightful, humorous and, occasionally, compassionate, descriptions of human behaviour, and in the descriptions of the ravages of disease on the human body. But there is much detail to wade through and I'm beginning to find the slow pace a little too slow. And the ramblings a little too rambly; being a philosophical novel, there are great swaths of character dialogue devoted to esoteric thinkings (Herr Settembrini especially - "Illness is a depravity" - is testing my patience, although, in fairness, he is also testing the patience of the novel's protagonist, Hans Castorp). Of course, The Brothers Karamazov also contained great rambly swaths, and I was able to manage those (albeit, at times, with great difficulty). But I was more tolerant of Karamazov (and Dostoyevsky). So why Karamazov and not Magic Mountain? There are a few possible reasons for this:
1) Karamazov and I have a long history; I bought the novel 12 years ago and had, at various times during those 12 years, attempted to read it - I certainly had strong motivation to finish it
2) Perhaps I connect intimately on some level with Dostoyevsky, something about him and/or his world view speaks to me
3) Starting a difficult novel so soon after finishing a difficult novel - especially one so significant to me - might have been asking too much of my brain capacity, and my endurance. I may have, inadvertently, cast Magic Mountain into the role of "rebound novel".
However, I do feel some spark with Magic Mountain; it has, at times, spoken to me - there is definitely potential. But I don't want to push things. I don't want the relationship to go sour because we got too serious too soon. So, I've decided Magic Mountain and I need more time and space, as novel and reader, to find our connection. I think we need to be just friends for awhile (NO benefits). We'll still be seeing each other, from time to time, but I'm not going to force things - I'll read it when I feel like reading it.
And, for anyone tempted to read The Magic Mountain, here is a philosophical-type excerpt to give you some idea what of to expect:
"What was life, really? It was warmth, the warmth produced by instability attempting to preserve form, a fever of matter that accompanies the ceaseless dissolution and renewal of protein molecules, themselves transient in their complex and intricate construction. It was the existence of what, in actuality, has no inherent ability to exist, but only balances with sweet, painful precariousness on one point of existence in the midst of this feverish, interwoven process of decay and repair." (pg 271)
I must now retire from this blog entry so I can attend to my very own "process of decay and repair".
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