#7: Michael Kohlhaas, by Heinrich von Kleist

Strangely, this novella turned up on a Halloween list of “Spooktacular” books by The American Scholar. Spooktacular? Not quite. Not at all. It is a tale of bloodthirsty revenge, but to me it reads almost like a fable, with the moral made explicit from page one:

Toward the middle of the sixteenth century, there lived on the banks of the Havel a horse dealer by the name of Michael Kohlhaas, the son of a schoolmaster, one of the most upright and at the same time one of the most terrible men of his day. Until his thirtieth year this extraordinary man would have been thought the very model of a good citizen. In a village that still bears his name, he owned a farm on which he quietly earned a living by his trade; the children with whom his wife presented him were brought up in the fear of God to be industrious and honest; there was not one of his neighbors who had not benefited from his benevolence or his fair-mindedness—the world, in short, would have had every reason to bless his memory, if he had not carried one virtue to excess. But his sense of justice turned him into a brigand and a murderer. 

So this is a tale of a search for justice taken too far; or, as the blurb describes it, “that of the honourable man forced to take the law into his own hands […] one of the most stirring tales ever written of the quest for justice”.

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#4: Bartleby the Scrivener, by Herman Melville

I haven’t read Moby Dick, and I sometimes wonder if I ever will. I hadn’t actually read any Herman Melville until now. From the large box of unread novellas, this slim volume caught my eye for the single quote placed on the back:

“I prefer not to,” he respectfully and slowly said, and mildly disappeared.

 

 

The blurb for the Melville House edition of the book states that “Academics hail it as the beginning of modernism”, and for some reason the phrase on the back cover had me expecting surrealism. Or absurdism. I expected that Bartleby would, in fact, disappear into thin air: something that I’ve wanted to do on more occasions than I could possibly recall.

But no, not quite. In fact not at all. Bartleby hangs around well past his welcome.

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