Bizarre, wacky, comical, offbeat, eccentric, quizzical, weird are among the ways reviewers have described Wolfgang Herrndorf’s stunning, highly entertaining crime thriller that has been baffling readers ever since its original publication in 2011.
That being said, I’m here to report good news – this New York Review Books (NYRB) edition contains an illuminating Afterward by German literary scholar Michael Maar. Afterward rather than Introduction is most apt since Mr. Maar provides clues to a number of the novel’s puzzles after mentioning that Wolfgang Herrndorf found book reviews written with spoilers highly distasteful.
As a way of respecting the author’s sentiments pertaining to book reviews, other than noting the action takes place in 1972 in and around a North African port city near an oasis where European and American hippies have founded a commune, I will attempt to avoid any spoilers by linking my own comments to quotes taken from Michael Maar’s Afterward.
“Sand has a romanticism of its own, the cool, dark Romanticism of the Gothic tale, but is as sharply contoured as a work by Poe.”
There’s a TV news report of the massacre of athletes from Israel at the Munich Olympics perpetrated by Palestinian terrorists on the heels of the murder of four hippies in a local oasis commune. A sense of danger at every turn contributes to the novel’s tension and suspense. I can picture fans of such authors as Edgar Allan Poe or Heinrich von Kleist relishing each spinning, gyrating twist in Herrndorf’s innovative novel.
“Even the simple question of the identity of the book’s hero turns out to be a knotty one”
A handsome European educated man has completely lost his memory. He takes the name of Carl Gross since a tall, striking blonde by the name of Helen sees Carl Gross is the maker of the suit jacket he’s wearing. But who is he really? In two somewhat humorous scenes we find Carl attempting to determine his past self by walking the streets in a yellow blazer and salmon-colored Bermuda shorts (this is North Africa!) and paying a visit to a psychiatrist on the strength of a flyer promising state-of-the-arts methods and introductory rates. If this sound like a far-out existential tale – bulls-eye.
“Readers of Sand miss something equally important by overlooking the novel’s basic construction, which is as discreet as it is compelling.”
The novel is comprised of sixty-eight short chapters that snap back and forth between various players and locales. I initially planned to take my time reading since there are multiple murders and I didn’t want to miss any clues. But the storytelling is totally captivating; I found myself pressing on page after page deep into the night. There’s good reason Sand is called a thriller.
“Herrndorf provides information in a way that is staggered, rhythmicized, slightly delayed, quasi slantwise. But he provides everything we need.”
Each chapter can be viewed as a dot in a connect the dots picture. It might not be apparent on a first reading but every single paragraph is given a distinct purpose. Wolfgang Herrndorf offered any reviewer of his novel one hundred euros for each loose end that reviewer could find. It was a safe bet since the author knew very well there were no loose ends.
“Anyone with a weakness for artfully constructed plots is in for a feast here."
By way of example, the manner in which the character of Helen is presented is remarkable. Before this lady enters the story’s action we learn many things of her background that will ultimately influence unfolding events – as a child she could deal effectively with a dead pet while those around her, even adults, sobbed or became hysterical; she studied theater at Princeton; if she strolled across campus in a tight T-shirt she would have at least three invitations to dinner; she maintained a lifelong friendship with Michelle, a dizzy, idealistic hippie who would eventually join a commune in a North African oasis.
“Herrndorf started off as a painter and carried his ingenuity over into this other discipline: in the shimmering heat of the desert, everything is seen, not merely asserted, and there is nothing without color, sharply drawn shadows, texture.”
How true! Here’s a description from the first chapter: “The eastern walls of the huts blazed pale orange. The hollow, dull rhythm died down as it receded into the alleyways. Shrouded figures, lying in the cool ditches like mummies, awoke, and cracked lips formed words of praise and offering to the one true God. Three dogs dipped their tongues into a dirty puddle. The whole night through the temperature hadn’t sunk below thirty degrees.”
“Epigraphs light the way into each chapter, elusive and misanthropic”
Epigraphs from Herodotus, Nabokov and Basho to Richard Nixon and Scrooge McDuck. One of the fascinating parts of reading each chapter is to go back and reread the epigraph to see how it sets the tone and fits into the unfurling episode almost as if it were a piece in a jigsaw puzzle.
“All bad novels are alike; each great novel is great in its own way.”
There’s no question Michael Maar judges Sand a great novel. The tragedy for the literary world is Wolfgang Herrndorf was diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2010 and took his own life at the young age of forty-eight in 2013. What future great novels we would have had if he was still with us.
Especial thanks goes out to translator Tim Mohr who did a marvelous job rendering Wolfgang Herrndorf’s German into a very readable, vibrant English.
Sand will take its place on my bookshelf in a prominent place awaiting my next reread. I urge you to treat yourself to this New York Review Books edition.
German artist and novelist Wolfgang Herrndorf (1965-2013)
"He tried to remember what he could still remember. It wasn't as if he couldn't remember anything at all. He remembered how the men had talked, how they attacked each other. He remembered a rattan suitcase full of money. And that one man, whom they referred to as Cetrois, had fled into the desert on a moped." - Wolfgang Herrndorf, Sand
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