62 pages 2-hour read

The Magician

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2021

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Themes

Content Warning: This section of the guide discusses gay sexual orientation.

The Complex Relationship Between Sexuality, Self, and Family

Shortly after Thomas realizes that his return to Munich is impossible, his gravest preoccupation becomes the diaries he left behind in Germany. If seized by the Nazis and published, the diaries would reveal his innermost truth: “Who he was and what he dreamed about” (180). A record of his attraction to men, the diaries would show that “[h]is distant, bookish tone, his personal stiffness, his interest in being honored and attended to, were masks designed to disguise base sexual desires” (180). Thomas’s anxious thoughts about the possible discovery of his diaries illustrate the complex relationship between his sexuality, his notion of self, and his dynamics with his family. Unlike Ernst Bertram and some other openly gay writers of his time, Thomas never made his sexual orientation known, though it’s present in his works of fiction. Thomas, who likes the power that his secret infuses in his writing, doesn’t want to upset the delicate balance between desire, art, and public image.


The diaries are eventually returned to Thomas, which (in his mind) averts a great crisis. In the anxious period of waiting for the diaries, Thomas imagines meeting the fate of writer Oscar Wilde, who was tried for his admission of relationships with men. It isn’t the trials Thomas fears but “[t]he move from famous writer to disgraced public figure” (182). Since he’s intrinsically a character for whom public image is important, the fear of disgrace is a significant deterrent to making his sexuality known. Thomas’s fear of disclosing his sexuality isn’t irrational, since he lived in a time when reconciling the twin desires of having a family and being openly gay was extremely difficult.


Even Katia and Erika want Thomas to be “seen” as a family man. Early in their marriage, Katia indicates to him that she’s comfortable with his sexuality, as long as he does “nothing to put their domestic happiness in jeopardy” (102). Erika, too, likes her father’s front of respectability, as is obvious when she scolds him for openly admiring Franzl: “‘You cannot flirt with a waiter in the lobby of a hotel with the whole world watching” (422). It isn’t the flirting to which Erika objects, but that her father indulges in it with the world’s watchful eyes on him.


The narrative suggests another reason for the secrecy: Thomas’s powerful, passionate gay eroticism manifests in interesting ways in his art. Thomas loves how he both hides and reveals his secret in works of fiction, like Death in Venice, Magic Mountain, and The Confessions of Felix Krull. He often visualizes himself as a trickster, magician, or con man who uses the raw material of life to make magic for his audiences. By presenting it via fiction, Thomas gives his sexuality new power, creating layers of meaning.

Identity Amid Displacement

Structured as a series of progressing exiles from the center of Lübeck, the novel explores the difficulty of finding an identity when facing displacement. Accompanying each of Thomas’s major physical exiles is the loss of a culture and an identity, leaving him feeling unmoored. For instance, in Lübeck, Thomas has his life mapped out in a sure, comforting way. He dreams of inheriting his father’s business and his grandparents’ graceful house. He imagines stocking the house with books and consolidating the business, “[e]nough for it to be merely a way to fund his other concerns” and marrying “A French wife […] She would add luster to their lives” (8). His father’s betrayal knocks Thomas off this trajectory, ending in an exile not just from Lübeck but from his imagined future.


The second great exile of his life is the move from Germany. For Thomas, leaving his homeland isn’t just a physical distancing but the loss of his idea of Germany. This feeling of loss precedes his exile. In the novel’s early chapters, Thomas is seized by love for his country’s artistic, liberal spirit, but in Chapters 7-9, Germany swiftly breaks his heart. An example of this heartbreak is the sequence in which Thomas delivers a speech on the perniciousness of Nazi ideology. He’s confident that the audience in the Beethovensaal will receive his speech well because they’re thoughtful people who read books, people who “[w]ould deplore, as he [does], the turning away from the principles that made a civilized society” (169). When sections of the audience erupt against Thomas, he realizes that his ideal audience doesn’t exist anymore.


Thomas now must reinvent himself in the absence of this Germany and its audience. The move to America shows him and Katia how far they are from their language and their roots. As his car travels to his house in Princeton, Thomas fervently wishes for a moment out of a portal fantasy, wishes that the car would glide into a street square in Germany, “[a] space enriched by the work of Gutenberg or the writings of Luther or the images made by Dürer. Enriched by a thousand years of trade” (228). As the tone of this passage suggests, his hankering for a lost land is childlike. Thomas’s growth as a character involves understanding that the past can’t be reentered and that identity is multivariate and shifting.


The move to a deeper understanding of identity occurs in the novel’s last three chapters, when Thomas and Katia willingly leave the US because the nation’s new values no longer resonate with them. During the same period, Thomas visits Germany and finally accepts what Katia accepted a long time ago: that they can never recover the Germany they knew. As the novel ends, Thomas glimpses some beauty, amid Germany’s devastation, in the enduring songs of Buxtehude. He realizes that he may be exiled from the land, but he isn’t exiled from himself. Just like he spontaneously recalled the story of Buxtehude, “[m]aybe there were other stories that he would remember, long-forgotten ones that he had heard in the company of the others who had also lived in this house” (434).

The Role of the Artist in Society

The novel addresses the social responsibility of artists by examining the opposing views of Thomas and Heinrich and by exploring the development of Thomas’s independent stance on the issue. Whereas Heinrich sees writers as vocal social critics and reformers from the outset, Thomas’s views are more guarded. For Thomas, writing is a separate, private, and immersive activity that retreats from the public sphere. The concerns of his writing are private lives, inner dilemmas, and family dynamics.


Thomas’s first novel, Buddenbrooks, is about the downfall of a family. Conversely, Heinrich’s early novel, Berlin: In the Land of Cockaigne (1900), is a sweeping social satire. While Thomas focuses exclusively on writing stories, poems, and novels at first, Heinrich is a prolific essay writer as well as a novelist from the beginning of his career, making his left-leaning, “internationalist” political stance well-known. While Thomas acknowledges that writers have a social and political responsibility, he feels that fiction is the best vehicle for it, as in the case of Gustav Flaubert, whose Madame Bovary, while not an outright political novel, critiques social evils and mores. However, the great war seems inevitable, so the narrative forces Thomas to consider whether writers can indeed stay quiet about the political developments around them.


Characteristically, the demands of his reading audience catalyze Thomas’s first foray into political commentary. When journalists seem more interested in his politics than his books, Thomas begins to inform himself on current affairs. Soon, he “[finds] that he enjoy[s] his role as a novelist who [keeps] a sharp eye on a changing world” (113). From this point on, Thomas understands that, whether he likes it or not, he has a social responsibility as an artist. He even realizes that part of his artistic responsibility is to reexamine his worldview. Thus, when the Nazi party gains popularity on a hyper-nationalistic plank, Thomas introspectively understands that his valorization of a mythical past was dangerous. Despite his love for Germany, or because of it, Thomas turns critical of his homeland.


The greatest acts of Thomas’s political responsibility are his public broadcasts to Germans on their complicity—via silence and obedience—in the Nazi party’s crimes. Through these broadcasts, Thomas wishes to “appeal to a common sense of decency” (348) to inspire ordinary Germans to resist their government. Even though Heinrich, Klaus, and Erika may believe that Thomas is too reticent with his opinions, he speaks out in his best capacity. Thomas’s reticence—filtered through his self-critical narration—is also a symptom of his sense of being a fraud. For instance, he tells Toller that he can do little to save Muhsam from the Nazis but later wonders if his decision to do nothing was “[p]ure or not, if he had decided not to act to avoid trouble for himself, or for better reasons” (206). The novel often describes such second thoughts and dilemmas, as well as instances of other characters like Heinrich, Klaus, and Erika calling Thomas too meek, to depict the pressures on him. The narrative doesn’t judge Thomas for his position; rather, it suggests that the writer does the best he can to meet the demands of his private self, his writing, and his political responsibility as an artist.

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