Another light-hearted romp with Salzburg's very own answer to Hans Castorp...

At the end of the previous part of his memoirs, Bernhard discovered that he had become infected with tuberculosis during a spell in a convalescent home recovering from pneumonia. His beloved grandfather has died, his mother is seriously ill, and he is sent off to a sanatorium where it becomes clear that patients are expected to leave feet first. So, don't expect too many jokes, even if the tone is a bit more optimistic than in Der Atem. There's a lot of reflection about the business of being ill, the way we link the idea of health with control over our own bodies, and a kind of epiphany of self-determination, if that makes sense. Beautifully written, but perhaps not quite with the same energy and originality as Der Atem or Der Keller. I got the feeling that he was a little hampered in this book by not being quite ready to put down on paper what he felt about his mother: something he makes good in Ein Kind.

Being Bernhard, a good deal of enjoyable abuse is flung at Austrian "Katholisch-Nationalsozialistisch" respectability, institutional stupidity, and the arrogance and incompetence of the medical profession. Definitely not a book to give a friend who's going into hospital, but ideal if you want to irritate a few medics. ( )