Death in Venice: A Review

I read The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann when I was in graduate school. It was over 700 pages and it took me a long time to slog through. Mann's prose is incredibly dense. And he crams all kinds of literary devices into his writing: symbolism, leitmotif, foreshadowing, on and on. I enjoyed the book, and the more I reflected on it, the more I appreciated it. But I can't help thinking I missed out on a lot of stuff that just went right over my head.

When I was in Europe in 2004, I traveled a few days with a friend from my hometown and her boyfriend. He had brought Death in Venice with him for reading. I'd brought a not especially good biography of J. R. R. Tolkien. Clearly, he made the better choice. But I never got around to reading Death until last week. I wish I had.

I picked it up a couple weeks ago while in a small bookstore in New London, NH for 2 bucks. I dived into it a few days later. Again, Mann's prose can be dense. His sentences are notorious for being unwieldingly long and complex. One can only imagine the herculean task of translating them from German to English. However, in Death, Mann intersperses these lengthy sentences with short, stacatto sentences. So while parts are tough to wade through, the book does move along pretty quickly. It also helps that it's only 60-some pages.

But boy does Mann get a lot into this short story. It's ostensibly the story of a 50-something aging German writer who travels to the title city for a little vacation before making his way to his winter home in the Bavarian countryside. While in Venice, our protagonist (Gustav von Aschenbach) becomes infatuated with a young teenage boy. While his love remains unrequited to the end, Aschenbach's emotions get the better of him and become his downfall.

But this is no morality play. Mann is not railing against homosexuality or pedophilia. In fact, there is not a single mention of any sexual feelings. Aschenbach's love, though incredibly strong, does not seem romantic. Instead, he loves the boy (named Tadzio) for his beauty. Time and again, Mann describes Tadzio in terms of a Greek statue; his hair is "golden" and his skin is "marble."

The Greek allusions don't end there, either. Mythological references abound, and indeed, the major problem of the story is Mann's musings on an ancient Greek dichotomy: Apollonian vs. Dionyssian worldviews. The Apollonian philosophy is one of a hard-won life: strict, stoic, rigidly logical and hard-working. But this is not to say unenjoyable. The Dionyssian, in contrast, is emotional: wild, loose, carefree, yet with an element of death and destruction perhaps hidden.

At the beginning of the story, we are told that Aschenbach has made a highly respectable career and name* for himself by following the Apollonian path. He follows a strict daily schedule, and forces himself to exert his energy for his work. Yet when he arrives in Venice, he throws off this rigidity and quickly abandons himself to his Dionyssian whims, which become entirely about watching and admiring Tadzio.

*Quite literally. In the story, a royal German ruler bestows nobility on Aschenbach -- hence the "von" before his surname.

As we move with Aschenbach toward his inevitable end, we see death creeping in from everywhere. There are several "death figures" throughout the story, including the gondolier who takes Aschenbach from his Mediterranean ship to his hotel landing. The similarities to the Ancient Greek ferryman on the River Styx are obvious. The first of the gondolier's few words are simple and ominous: "You will pay."

And during the last several scenes, we see Aschenbach desperately attempting to discover the secret which it seems is cleaning out the city: a plague has arrived and is being hidden from tourists by the city's fathers. Yet even when he is told what is really happening, Aschenbach is too far gone to force himself to real action: he won't leave Tadzio.

I really enjoyed this story. Mann's writing is masterful. The style mirrors the plot when it needs to. His prose can be highly stylized and descriptive, or simple and informative. His themes are human and relatable. If you're looking for something worthwhile and classic, I highly recommend Death in Venice. It's a pretty quick read, and definitely thought-provoking. You'll find yourself wishing you were in a literature class so you could discuss everything about it.

And just for fun, a few pics from my visit to Venice in 2004.