Out of the village, past the tree where the Cold Woman waits, into the forest where things unspeakable lurk in the darkness, young Tyll Ulenspiegel waits through the night with the wagon and his fear. Come morning he will never be the same.
Escaping the ordinary village life laid out for him, Tyll will become legend, outrunning cannonballs on the battlefield, outwitting the wise in the courts of Europe, even outfoxing death in the depths of the earth. With his jester’s costume and his crooked smile he will see us all and make us laugh – but it’s he who will laugh longest.
Daniel Kehlmann’s Tyll (translated by Ross Benjamin) is exquisite. From the get-go Kehlmann sets a febrile tone. We get an eye-witness account of Tyll’s arrival at a village, the masterful performance he gives as the villagers are swept up in excitement and fear, and the carnage he leaves in his wake. It’s the quiet dread that lingers though, the thought that he might turn his gaze on you.
Tyll is a dream of a character, irresistible and irrepressible and Daniel Kehlmann’s writing carries him superbly. Where much of the supporting cast could easily have become caricatures it’s in their words, beliefs, actions that the author reveals the folly of their various stances. Just as Tyll’s juggling is a triumph of him imagining himself doing it, so we see scholars, politicians, even royalty finding proof of their station by believing the evidence to be there, of having written their futures before they’ve even arrived. And there’s a small wonder in the midst of all this, that Tyll isn’t a likeable character – if anything he should be the complete opposite of likeable – yet you can’t help but root for him, can’t help but want his always to be the upper hand. There’s humanity in his portrayal that is unexpected, and consequently all the more profound, and in amongst all the cold and darkness and horror it’s the thing that shines brightest.
It seems entirely fitting that reading Daniel Kehlmann’s Tyll feels a little like being part of a performance, that the reader picking out the very tidy little ‘in-jokes’, working to place this peculiar history, place the people in it, becomes one of the players. Or perhaps it’s that history itself is somehow reduced (or one might say elevated) to a series of scenes within acts, and that we’re part of a play within a play. Or maybe it’s simply that Tyll is laughing at me now, fallen as I have for his little ruse, and that what you’ll learn is that life, dear reader, is something akin to a jester’s wicked prank, that Tyll’s closing words are all the wisdom you’ll need.
Daniel Kehlmann’s Tyll (Translated by Ross Benjamin) was published by riverrun on 6th February 2020 ISBN:9781529403657
My especial thanks to Corinna Zifko at riverrun for allowing me to review this extraordinary book.
vanisreading 