The book is written in Germany of 1932. One year before Hitler came to power.I first read this in Swedish a few years ago. The Swedish title, What'll Become Of The Pinnebergs? is a bit cheesy; it sounds a bit like a 30s comedy, which of course it is in a way, but it doesn't seem to have the weight of the original's Little Man, What Now? At the same time I can't help but like the title, as if it's setting us up less to see a warning (which it is) and more to see the people in it, as a (which it also is) nice, low-intensity but increasingly desperate story about a young family just trying to get along.Start from the beginning: Johannes Pinneberg marries Emma "Lämmchen" ("Little lamb") Mörschel. They hadn't really planned to get there this quickly, but they're young, they forget about contraception, and whoops. No big, these are modern times and it's not that much of a moral issue. They're well into their 20s, they already have jobs (though of course she'll have to quit hers), they were going to end up here anyway, now they just have just under 9 months to get their proper adult married lives in order before the little one arrives. They're in love, they're willing to work hard, they don't demand any luxury... What could possibly go wrong?Well, there's the bit about getting started. If you want to feed three mouths on one salary, you need to save money. To save money, you need to have money. If you can't afford to buy your own place, you need to rent expensive furnished rooms, and they don't want squalling newborns. You need a fixed income, but the economy is hurting and if you don't like the deal, there are thousands of others who want your job, and...(...and there's political unrest brewing in the background, communists and Nazis fighting in the streets, and say what you want about the Nazis, they may be violent thugs but at least they're OUR violent thugs, good German boys who are bound to grow up if we just show them some respect, and let's be honest, nobody likes the Jews, so we'll see after the election...)The book is written in Germany of 1932. One year before Hitler came to power.And Pinneberg works and toils but he can't get ahead, he clings to any job he can get by his fingernails, locked in competition with his co-workers. They're in a recession, and you know the business owners are hurting too, what with the taxes and all, and they'd love to offer better wages but &c. Don't cause any trouble, keep your head down, don't come across as political by demanding more than what we say is your share, you'll get pie in the sky when you die. Emma's class-conscious worker parents sneer at her for "marrying up", Johannes' aging madam of a mother can't understand why they're so hung up on something as hopelessly common as money. All Johannes and Emma ask is to love and earn their keep, but anything they can say or do is turned against them. Pride fucks with ya; nobody likes a beggar, but what to do when you're reduced to asking for mercy? The harder society becomes, the more we hate the weak, the weakness in ourselves. Down the slippery slope, sunk without trace, utterly destroyed. Order and cleanliness, gone; work, material security, gone; making progress and hope, gone. Poverty is not just misery, poverty is an offence, poverty is a stain, poverty is suspect.And yet Fallada describes them with such warmth and wide-eyed optimism, as if he can't bear the thought that it's hopeless even as he piles on the misfortune and they increasingly lose their grip on that steep, slippery slope. He describes their lives so simply, so matter-of-factly that he never lets us forget that this is happening NOW - in the 30s, sure, but that wasn't long ago, this isn't some weird mediaeval Dickens world, these are two young people in 20th century Europe. They're in love. They have no money. They're slipping, and they can't hold on. And they're not alone, and fear and paranoia is spreading, and SOMETHING is going to happen to society very soon. And it breaks my heart, and leaves me fucking furious that I know what'll become of the Pinnebergs. Whatever they ended up doing over the next 15 years, they became part of that thing that we've been so busy arguing that it can never happen again that we completely ignore any hint that it can, as if "Never Again" were some magical formula. Nobody saw it coming that time, so common wisdom states... Except for Fallada and other writers, obviously... So clearly we'll see it coming next time, right? Increasing inequality, rising unemployment, fear, xenophobia, more people running to extremist parties, that's all stuff that just kind of happens in 2014. Germany of 1932 was long ago.And yet I read this book and I love it, I can almost forget what I know, I can read it and see that question mark at the end of the title. The book is so now, and the Pinnebergs so multi-faceted and so trusting in each other and believing that somehow it has to work out, there's simply no other option, that I want to believe it. Fallada didn't know; he could suspect, but he could hope. He could be as naive as Johannes and Emma are at the start. Because really, what else is there? The book is written in Germany of 1932. It sold massively, was serialized all over Europe, became the 1930s version of Orange Is The New Black, was discussed everywhere. Then Hitler took over anyway. The pen didn't stand a chance against the sword.Little man... what now?
Avrete sperimentato tutti la piccolezza. Quella condizione dell'essere che ti prende e ti trasferisce direttamente in un film che mai sarà (o forse sarà, oppure ne troverete qualche scena qua e là, se saprete cercare bene), del tuo occhio fa una soggettiva e dell'oggetto del tuo sguardo un gigante. Inquadratura dal basso verso l'alto, luce che si dirama in mille piccoli raggi, la cui fonte è nascosta dall'enormità del tuo interlocutore. Tu, un minuscolo microbo, lui, un sacro totem. Voce roboante che manco nei film in cui Dio parlava dai cespugli in fiamme. Tu che cerchi di rispondere e sei solo un desolante cumulo di punti di sospensione.Se non l'avete sperimentato, mentite. Tendiamo sempre a negare di esser piccoli. Nasciamo piccoli, cresciamo piccoli e moriamo piccoli, eppure la maggior parte della gente è tesa in una celebrazione continua di se stessa. Oppure, comoda alternativa, si mette a stender panegirici su persone vicine e conoscenti, che è un modo come un altro per ritornare al via e darsi una bella pacca sulla spalla, come per dire: eh, se son così fichi loro, io devo essere proprio un bel tipo. (Io parlo per me, se voi siete persone migliori, vi invidio.)Chissà perché lo facciamo. Forse ci sembra di trovare un senso alla nostra esistenza, finché ancora abbiamo il tempo di cercarcelo addosso.Ecco che, però, con gli esterni la questione non vale più. Prendiamo uno sconosciuto, un chi-lo-conosce, uno di quelli che magari vediamo ogni giorno e ci è totalmente indifferente (e lui a noi). Uno in fila davanti a noi. Chi se ne frega di quello che fa, dei successi che raggranella, delle paure che lo attanagliano? Al massimo gli guardiamo le scarpe, al massimo gliele invidiamo. Se non ci piacciono, torniamo nuovamente al "via!" del panegirico: meno male che io ho buon gusto, mica mi concio così. Poi, quando sorprendiamo un commento sarcastico sul nostro abbigliamento, ci girano come le pale di un elicottero e d'un tratto la storia del via! ci sembra mostruosa, ingiusta, disumana (sì, si tende sempre un po' alla commiserazione, per ritrovare la strada per il via!).Ecco, queste sono cose che tutti fanno e che tutti si auto-condonano. Ragion per cui, posso dire con certezza che Fallada in questo romanzo si comporta proprio da virtuoso farabutto.Prima di tutto, compone un inno alla piccolezza. Per raccontare la sua Germania di Weimar, scombussolata dalla crisi economica e politica, sceglie di legarci a una giovane coppia di sposini che cercano di costruirsi una vita dignitosa. Ci dà un occhio per vedere con Lammchen, uno per vedere con Pinneberg, e ciaf!, uno sculaccione per partire, circolare. Fa la figura di quello che vuole fare lo spaccone, il sensibile che mostra agli altri ciò che non vogliono vedere, la lacrima del vicino che piange mentre noi fingiamo di studiare il moto dell'orologio appeso al muro. Nella vita reale uno così dopo un po' dà noia. Sei tentato pure di scocciarti, non mi vorrà mica far seguire questi due per farmi impietosire, per quello basta la televisione italiana. E invece, proprio mentre lo stai pensando, quel virtuoso di Fallada fa il farabutto, e dopo averti fatto vedere Pinneberg disperato ti mostra un Pinneberg gonfio di contraddizioni. Quelle sono le contraddizioni che tutti si condonano, o che magari non vedono, ma che hanno delle conseguenze sul piano politico, e sappiamo tutti come è andata a finire con la Germania di Weimar. Ma Pinneberg non le vede, Pinneberg è come te quando Fallada non c'è, tu ora per fortuna puoi vedere. Poi c'è l'altro fatto, il peggiore della piccolezza, e cioè il dramma della consapevolezza: tu per gli altri sei niente. Sei uno tra altri milioni di milioni, il fatto che tu possa vivere solo dentro te stesso ti dà certo l'illusione di essere sempre il protagonista, ma con rammarico devi prendere atto del fatto di non esserlo (anche se magari spesso ci provi lo stesso, tanto per sentire com'è). E pensa che crudeltà, nel mondo esisti un po' di più se hai più denaro. Anche se è uno stratagemma molto fragile per esistere, in tempi di crisi. Però, ecco, Fallada non è solo un virtuoso, spaccone, farabutto. È un farabutto gentiluomo, perché se ti lasciasse così, o meglio, se avesse lasciato così i suoi contemporanei con la testa immersa quasi del tutto nella crisi, sarebbe stato linciato per la strada. Tra la fiumana di gente che sgomita e cerca di pestarsi i piedi, prende due persone e le mette insieme. Poi altre due, o magari tre, a volte quattro, e forma tanti piccoli atomi, fatti di nulla, comuni, invisibili ai più. E fa una cosa semplicissima ma in un certo senso rivoluzionaria: lascia che abbiano qualcuno da cui tornare. Lascia che tornare significhi essere qualcuno, per qualcuno, in qualche posto. I più fortunati, poi, avranno persino qualcuno a cui raccontarsi. Farabutto gentiluomo. Ci ha messo in braccio Lammchen e Pinneberg per farci sentire meglio quanto pesiamo.
What do You think about Little Man, What Now? (2005)?
"Co dalej, szary człowieku?" to słusznie nagradzana powieść obyczajowa o młodym małżeństwie z Niemiec czasu kryzysu. Dwudziestoparolatkowie muszą zmierzyć się z dorosłym życiem bez większych perspektyw - walczyć o źle opłacaną pracę, najmować kolejne najtańsze mieszkania, zmierzyć się z wychowywaniem dziecka i planowaniem budżetu na skraju nędzy. Książka pomimo ponurego tematu pokazuje, że mimo wszystko nadal daje się żyć przez wiele miesięcy, nawet jeśli jutro wydaje się być absolutnym końcem. Pokazuje, jak hartuje się ich dojrzała miłość, w bólu, który jest konsekwencją początkowej niedojrzałości i beztroski młodych. Dialogi pomiędzy młodymi małżonkami oraz cała paleta emocjonalna im towarzysząca to mocna strona powieści - dla nich samych warto zapoznać się bliżej z Falladą. Kolejny atut to spojrzenie wstecz na realia codziennego życia, pracy sprzedawcy, wychowywania dzieci sto lat wcześniej.
—Madziar
My 3-star rating is an indication, as per the Goodreads prompt, that 'I liked it'; it's not an indication of what I think of its literary worth.As a writer I think Fallada is very skilled and able; he creates a great amount of pathos, and one is easily able to believe in his characters and empathise with them, and feel for them in their troubles in what seem to be very tough economic times. Pinneberg and Lammchen are quite sympathetic and realistic characters, good without being saccharine; I found it easy to identify with the anxiety as a married person, a bread-winner and parent. Fallada successfully puts us in the shoes of the 'little man', helplessly at the mercy of forces much greater than himself, as deep down we all know we are -- not so much trying to understand his world, as just to survive it.So while I enjoyed the writing and the characterisations, of narcissistic Mia Pinneberg, free-thinking Heillbutt, etc. I personally wasn't compellingly drawn into the story as such. My own failing perhaps.I am interested to read Every Man Dies Alone by the same author, set during the Nazi period.
—Seamus Mcduff
Little Man, What Now? tells the story of a couple so ordinary they are immediately recognizeable to today's reader, even though the book was written in 1932, during the chaotic days of the Weimer Republic on the threshold of the Nazis' rise to power. Nazis are around, but are regarding and portrayed as thugs with the overriding concerns for the newly married couple in the center of the story being mere survival. As with Every Man Dies Alone,many minor characters are so well fleshed out rendering an epic quality to the book. This is one of those books that carries with it a history as intriguing as the storyline it contains. Hans Fallada's own biography reads like a fiction, and it is difficult to believe it wasn't made up. Each of his newly translated books has a subtext. this one being particularly poignant. Its success led to its being filmed in Hollywood by Jewish producers, which provoked the Nazis to closely scrutinize Fallada, causing him to give in to alcoholism and interment in an asylum during the course of the war.
—Kasa Cotugno
