THOMAS MANN by Thomas Mann; trans. by Damion Searls

stops getting work by the 1970s, he admits to himself, “because nobody, at least nobody that knew him, liked him.” Dick’s personality is skin-crawlingly plausible, but that makes it hard to feel sorry for him, even as Mallon acidly limns the ridiculous games gay actors were forced to play—dates with “beards,” fake engagements—in those pre-Stonewall days. The novel’s tone is generally sour and sometimes nasty. That may be why Dick’s unrequited love for Kenneth Nelson, clearly intended to be a poignant leitmotif, never rings wholly true.

Readable and intelligent, like all Mallon’s work, but overall a disappointment.

THOMAS MANN New Selected Stories

Mann, Thomas Trans. by Damion Searls Liveright/Norton (256 pp.) $30.00 | Feb. 28, 2023 978-1-631-49848-0

A fresh, revealing translation of some of the German writer’s now-canonical stories. In this vigorous new version, Searls emphasizes aspects of Mann’s life and work that have not been well aired outside of the scholarly literature. One is Mann’s mixed-race background, including Indigenous and African ancestry through his Brazilian mother, little known to general readers but certainly known to the Nazis who drove him out of Germany. Among other things, Searls holds, this background lent a personal touch to Mann’s insistence that German culture was connected as much to the Mediterranean as to the North Sea. Mann was also unafraid to explore sexuality—and homosexuality—in his works, which drew the wrath of the censors. Finally, Searls argues that Mann is often funny, a fact obscured by rather musty earlier translations, with his humor “far more than the supercilious ‘irony’ he is generally credited with.” Searls takes pains to bring Mann’s decades-old prose to life without anachronism or false breeziness, and where the language is sometimes not quite idiomatic, as when Felix Krull stands alongside his dead father in “Confessions of a Con Artist, by Felix Krull,” it is to point out the German love of abstraction and distance: “I stood at the husk of my progenitor as it grew colder, holding my hand over my eyes, and paid him the copious tribute of my tears.” Krull’s father isn’t quite the scamp his son is, but Krull’s indeed humorous story has Papa selling rotgut champagne, arguing, “I give the people what they believe in.” One character longs to be “a dancer or a cabaret reciter,” tossing out bourgeois convention, while another, decidedly not “a woman of good morals,” is revealed to be canoodling with a young musician. Then, of course, there’s “Death in Venice,” arguably Mann’s most perfectly realized story, with its intimations of mortality on every page, as when its professorial protagonist steps into a gondola “so singularly black, black as otherwise only coffins are.”

A well-chosen, confidently translated gathering of stories that casts new light on its author.