Stefan Zwieg, Beware of Pity

I have neither the skill nor the inclination to analyze fiction, so there isn’t much that I could say about Stefan Zwieg’s Beware of Pity that wouldn’t be trite. My friend C.S., whose copy I borrowed, claimed that it was the best novel he has ever read, though he has since disowned that claim. I did not think much of the book for most of its duration, delighting in the details more than the overall theme, which I thought was spoon-fed to the reader to a disappointing degree. The characters, too, with the possible exception of Dr. Condor, were not portrayed with particular distinction or vivid color. Imagine my pleasant surprise, then, when the story, as it neared its denouement, steadily gathered steam and, in the last thirty or so pages, became almost overwhelming in its power and the palpable sense of inner torture Hoffmiller experiences. And that’s to say nothing of the fact that what I thought was going to be the climax (given away by the introduction I had made the mistake of reading), was not it at all, or only a small part of it. Hoffmiller is an anti-hero that the best (worst?) in literature will need to reckon with.

For some reason, I was imagining the novel as a movie the entire time I was reading it, preferably a high-budget period melodrama, with thoroughly researched and exquisitely rendered detail. True, a film of Beware of Pity would likely be British, despite the story taking place in Austro-Hungary on the eve of WWI, but for some reason I was picturing Paul Giamatti as Condor. I could also imagine someone like Ian McEwan writing the novel today – same setting, same characters, just a little more evenly rendered without sacrificing any of the power of the ending.