[In the following excerpt, Evans examines the character Dallow in Der Tangospieler as a victim of his own apathy, who has remained unchanged despite his imprisonment.]

Christoph Hein's Der Tangospieler¹ provides further insight into social stagnation in the GDR and in the process reveals certain parallels with Neue Herrlichkeit. Published in 1989, the text focuses on Hans-Peter Dallow, like Viktor very much an anti-hero; but whereas Kösling's family background is privileged, Dallow comes from farming stock. At the novel's outset, Dallow has just been released from prison, having served a twenty-one-month sentence. He played the piano at a student cabaret, and the text of the tango that was performed had poked fun at Ulbricht. On his release, Dallow cuts a sad figure; his fingers are stiff, symbolising his inner stasis, and it appears as if prison has drained him physically and mentally. But the initial impression is misleading, as gradually becomes clear. Dallow remains detached and aloof throughout the novel, seldom becomes agitated and is indifferent to almost everything around him. We learn that as a child he entertained dreams and desires ‘die ihn auf den Flügeln seiner Tagträumerein, angeregt von den aus der Gemeindebibliothek entliehenen Büchern, immer wieder aus dem kleinen Nest trugen in versunkene Zeiten und reiche glückliche Welten’ (DT, 64), but as soon as he had left home he adopted a more pragmatic approach to his life. He was content to carry out his work mechanically. As a university lecturer in history he had discharged his seminars with ‘müde Herablassung’ and ‘Verachtung’ and endured ‘die sich jedes Jahr wiederholenden Fragen der Studenten’ (DT, 32). When he recalls the students' ‘gläubige Bekundungen einer noch ungekränkten Hoffnung’ (DT, 32), it is evident that Dallow had been suffering from cynicism long before his arrest. Indeed, it is on account of his complete indifference that he had ended up in prison: he could have read the controversial text of the tango but opted not to. In this way he is as much a victim of his own attitude as of the State, a fact which militates against our extending him much sympathy.

Dallow's release could offer him the opportunity to take stock of his situation and to make a new beginning. In reality though, Dallow has changed little, if at all, in much the same way that Leipzig seems not to have altered during his imprisonment:

[Dallow] suchte nach Veränderungen, er wollte nach der langen Zeit seiner Abwesenheit das Bild der ihm vertrauten Wohngegend korrigieren, wo es notwendig war. Es fiel ihm jedoch nichts Ungewöhnliches auf, alles schien unverändert.

(DT, 9)

The lethargy which characterised his life before prison continues. Seemingly, he has only missed his car and women. On his return to Leipzig, therefore, he lovingly tends to his car and regularly spends evenings in bars and sleeps with women he meets there. His refusal to cooperate with the Stasi men, wonderfully named Müller and Schulze, might be deemed exemplary, were it not for his total lack of interest in cooperating with anyone—he opts instead to wallow in self-pity. Although Sebastian in Neue Herrlichkeit ought not to be seen as a model nonconformist, his decision was the product of much consideration and he does indeed offer a degree of resistance. Dallow's attitude, by contrast, is essentially negative and unproductive. Initially, he refuses even to entertain the thought of working at all, then tries to get himself hired as a lorry driver. The idea of assuming responsibility for his parents' farm is rejected outright, as is a return to his former university position. When he finally takes a job as a waiter on Hiddensee, it is only in response to threats from the State. Generally, Dallow seems happy to endure a boring life despite a growing sense of unease—a harsh assessment, perhaps, of a victim of the system, yet Dallow's lack of direction and refusal to assume responsibility for his life are presented to us as inexcusable. Juxtaposed with the dynamic events in Prague, which constitute a true rebellion, Dallow's behaviour suffers by comparison and cannot be interpreted as meaningful resistance.

Just as in Neue Herrlichkeit, the readers encounter a bleak portrayal of human relationships in Hein's novel. Dallow treats everyone with the same mixture of cynicism and disinterest with which he appraises his own position. He professes to favour ‘flüchtige Frauenbekanntschaften’ free of any talk of further rendezvous:

Es ist einfach wegzugehen … wenn man nur auf Worte verzichtet. Worte komplizieren den einfachsten Sachverhalt und erklären letztlich auch nichts. Und [Dallow] war zufrieden, auf eine ihm so angenehme und angemessene Weise die Probleme lösen zu können oder vielmehr, nicht auf sie eingehen zu müssen.

(DT, 57)

It is precisely this attitude that renders Dallow so unsympathetic. He wishes to remain aloof and is unwilling to expend time and effort on developing meaningful relationships:

Dallow haβte Komplikationen. Ein Verhältnis zu einem Mädchen sollte ohne lange Erklärungen und ständige, sich wiederholende Beteuerungen auskommen, doch eben auf diese endlos rotierenden Gespräche wollte nach Dallows Erfahrungen keine Frau verzichten.

… Dallow empfand seine Haltung Frauen gegenüber von einer ihn selbst erschreckenden Vernunft geprägt.

(DT, 156)

He may be disturbed by his detachment on occasion, but it does not alter his behaviour. On Hiddensee he is amused to be considered as a ‘möbliertes Zimmer mit Herrn,’ as numerous girls seeking accommodation on the small island find a bed with Dallow. Apart from such hollow arrangements, Dallow avoids making friends. Indeed, he has no close friends to speak of in the novel. Harry, the waiter who helps him land the job on Hiddensee, is merely someone he chats to in the bar. His dealings with Roessler, a former colleague at the university, are underpinned by mutual antipathy, and the evening spent with his acquaintances, the Stämmlers, is excruciating for all concerned. His relationship with his parents, especially his father, is equally strained. It does not even occur to him to inform his parents of his release, and the indications are that the relationship has always been rather awkward, hence his proclivity as a child to daydream and the desire to escape his rural background. Once more, the evidence corroborates the suggestion that his imprisonment has effected no change of heart in Dallow, despite having given him ample opportunity to re-evaluate his lot.

The most closely scrutinised relationship in the text is that between Dallow and Elke, the single mother, and the examination intimates the extent to which it was hard for people in the GDR to establish trust. Elke, like Dallow, is careful to avoid complications, and even though she is a little less cynical in general than her lover, she remains cautious of him throughout. In this regard, their liaison is much more tense than that between Viktor and Thilde. In Der Tangospieler, the lovers meet in a pub, where both had gone in search of a sexual partner. When Elke and Dallow sleep together, the description is brutal, and the sexual act is chiefly a matter of self-gratification:

Er drehte ihren Körper, griff nach ihren Brüsten und Füβen, preβte seine Brust zwischen ihre Schenkel und seinem Kopf an ihren Hintern, drückte mit seinen Beinen ihren Kopf und Oberkörper fest gegen die Matratze, um ihre Bewegungen deutlicher und kräftiger zu spüren. Er warf sie, ohne es wahrzunehmen, gegen die Wand und den Schrank, und er hörte weder das dumpfe und nachhallende Geräusch noch ihr leises Aufstöhnen. … Als sie von ihm ablieβ, warf er sich auf den Rücken. Sie atmete heftig und mit geschlossenen Augen. Dann öffnete sie die Augen, stützte sich auf, sah ihn an und sagte: ‘Jessesmaria, ich glaube, du hast mir eine Rippe gebrochen.’ Dallow rieb sich die schnell verfärbende Biβstelle an seiner Hand und erwiderte: ‘Ich hoffe es, mein Mädchen, denn zu dir ins Bett kann man nur mit einem Beiβring kommen.’

(DT, 103)

It becomes clear subsequently that Elke would be prepared to establish a more stable relationship if the circumstances were right, but she values her independence and has long been used to supporting herself and her daughter. When Dallow finally suggests cohabitation, she turns him down on the grounds that she has already experienced ‘wie schwer es ist, miteinander zu leben’ (DT, 147). On this occasion, then, it is Elke who wishes to keep her distance from Dallow, where previously in the novel it is he who has remained aloof. She never tells Dallow about Rudolf, the man who sends her the telegram which Dallow steams open and reads; the attitude of both here typifies the lack of trust which exists between them. Although a degree of stability is attained in the relationship, intimacy and trust are conspicuous by their absence. That Elke should gradually become irritated with Dallow's refusal to rebuild his career is only to be expected when one considers her social situation and the self-sufficiency she values. The nadir is reached at a party when Elke finds Dallow's denial of any interest in news from Prague ‘unverschämt’:

‘Du bist rücksichtslos und selbstgerecht … Keiner von denen hier hat dich ins Gefängnis gebracht. Auch ich nicht.’

[Elke] sprach so leise, daβ Dallow den Eindruck hatte, sie spreche mit sich selbst.

‘Das habe ich nie gesagt,’ widersprach ihr Dallow heftig.

‘Aber du benimmst dich so. Und nicht nur heute abend.’

(DT, 161)

Dallow's relocation to Hiddensee results in the eventual collapse of their relationship. Elke pointedly rejects invitations to visit him, and at the conclusion of the novel, once Dallow's life has resumed its former course, it seems unlikely that Elke will play any further role in it.

Whereas de Bruyn was concerned in Neue Herrlichkeit with historical parallels between the GDR of the 1980s and Prussia, Hein adopts an equally telling contrastive perspective by choosing the events of the ‘Prague Spring’ as his background to Der Tangospieler. While Viktor, the supposed Prussian expert, is constantly surrounded by things Prussian, Dallow, a specialist in the origins of the workers' movement in the nineteenth century, with especial interest in developments in Prague at that time, cannot escape news reports of Dubãek's efforts to introduce reforms, or discussions about the events unfolding in Prague. He avers that he has no opinion on the matter, to the surprise of some and the scepticism of others:

Einer der Männer erkundigte sich nach Dallows Ansichten und fragte, ob er Dubãek Chancen einräume, politisch zu überleben. ‘Ich habe keine Ahnung,’ antwortete ihm Dallow, ‘und es interessiert mich nicht.’

Er sagte es freundlich und betont liebenswürdig, aber das Gespräch verstummte, und alle sahen zu ihm.

‘Das kann nicht Ihr Ernst sein,’ sagte der Mann, der ihn angesprochen hatte. ‘In diesem Fall wären Sie der einzige Mensch in diesem Land, den die Ereignisse in Prag nicht beschäftigen. So oder so ist doch da jeder engagiert.’

(DT, 158–9)

Although both texts in the present survey exploit contrasting historical material to expose the social weaknesses of the contemporary GDR, Hein's more direct allusion to an awkward, and not too far-removed, historical phenomenon is without doubt the more effective; one can scarcely dispute that the ‘Prague Spring’ occurred, nor that the GDR regime supported the resultant military suppression in Czechoslovakia in 1968. Moreover, Der Tangospieler gained additional resonance following its publication in 1989, when Leipzig became the ‘Heldenstadt’ of the GDR, according to Hein, in the autumn of that same year and was the scene of demonstrations in support of democratic reform strongly reminiscent of Prague.² With hindsight, Der Tangospieler appears especially prescient.

An assertion frequently advanced in the novel is that the GDR is ‘ein Stück weitergekommen’ (DT, 36–7) since Dallow's arrest. The once contentious tango is now acceptable, but this would appear to be the only evidence of a more liberal social climate. That Dallow should return to his old job, without apparently having learnt anything meaningful from his experiences, indicates that business will continue as usual in GDR. After a brief derailment ‘[würde] die Spielzeuglokomotive, die kleine Modelleisenbahn mit dem Namen Hans-Peter Dallow unaufhörlich ihr geradliniges und dennoch kreisförmiges Gleis abfahren’ (DT, 111). Moreover, that the GDR played a role in the suppression of a more humane socialism in Prague undermines the validity of any claim to social progress made by the likes of Roessler or Müller and Schulze. On the contrary, the State is prepared to maintain its reactionary course. With his gaze focused firmly on the GDR present, Hein asks rhetorically in Der Tangospieler whether the GDR has actually made any progress in the interim, since 1968 that is, and whether the lessons from history have been truly digested.

Günter de Bruyn readily concedes in the second volume of his autobiography, Vierzig Jahre, that he had abandoned all hope of reform in the GDR by the 1980s. The ban imposed on Neue Herrlichkeit merely offered further confirmation of the GDR's parlous condition and did not upset the author unduly:

Kompromisse wollte ich mir fortan nichr mehr gestatten. Als mir ein DDR-Leser wenig später vorwurfsvoll sagte, er habe die Neue Herrlichkeit wie das Buch eines Autors gelesen, der der DDR schon Ade gesagt habe und ihr keine Chancen mehr gebe, stimmte ich ihm erfreut zu.³

It is little wonder, therefore, that the search for hopeful signs in the novel proves fruitless. The narrator intrudes continually and exerts an inescapably strong influence on the readers to view the GDR from his pessimistic vantage point. The sole figure to defend the cause of hope is the minor character, Frau Bahr, who advises Thilde, ‘man dürfe die Hoffnung nicht aufgeben, man müsse sie immer bewahren; denn sei es mit der Hoffnung erst aus, sei alles schon aus’ (NH, 214). Unfortunately the lonely old woman in no way serves as a reliable or convincing champion of optimism, nor should she be seen as a porte-parole of the author; she waves at every aeroplane that flies over her house, hoping desperately that it might be piloted by her husband, a Luftwaffe officer who went missing during the Second World War. The irony is unmissable, and there is no trace of hope for a happy resolution to this particular story.⁴

The narrator in Der Tangospieler, by contrast, is rather reserved and manipulates his material like a dramatist without direct mediation or disruptive rhetorical devices. He does not pass judgement on his characters, least of all Dallow. Everyday life in the GDR is presented more directly in Der Tangospieler. …

With its concrete temporal and geographical setting, Der Tangospieler cannot be dismissed as easily as de Bruyn's novel, and it lends the novel a much more incisive critical perspective than Neue Herrlichkeit. And yet, significantly, there is hope to be gleaned from within the text. On 4 November 1989, full of hopes of a new beginning, Hein gave a speech which called above all for activity in order to rupture the ‘verkrusteten Strukturen’ in the GDR. He stressed that it had been the ‘Vernunft der Straβe’ which ‘stets wach blieb’ and had finally ended the ‘Schlaf der Vernunft’ in 1989.⁵ This psychological condition of ‘the sleep of reason’ pervades Der Tangospieler and characterises the behaviour of citizens in a society of niches. On closer inspection, however, there is evidence of some who are not always so reserved or tame: the children on the tram, for example, who attack Dallow without provocation. If only such disgruntlement with the cowed existence in this subdued country could be channelled more positively, Hein seems to be saying. Yet the female student who is so disturbed by the radio reports from Prague arguably embodies true hope for the future amidst the bleakness:

Das Mädchen wollte umgehend nach Berlin fahren, um sich dort mit Freunden zu treffen. Dallow versuchte, sie davon abzubringen. Für einen Tag sollte sie noch auf der Insel bleiben, ihr Tränenausbruch hatte ihn gerührt, und er wollte eine weitere Nacht mit ihr schlafen, aber sie wiederholte nur immer, daβ man irgend etwas unternehmen müsse.

(DT, 199)

If only there were more young people like her! At least there were a few, who constantly remained vigilant, to borrow Hein's neat formulation. Whereas Neue Herrlichkeit offers a bleak ending, Hein's novel contains this significant, albeit small, grain of optimism. It may only be a grain, but at least it is there. It is easy to imagine that many who were as perturbed as this student by events in Prague in 1968, congregated on the streets in 1989. These people gradually came together and found their voice. In spite of everything, Der Tangospieler suggests that Hein refused to abandon hope, and his optimism was duly rewarded, even if the ‘Wende’ ultimately did not bring about the developments he had wished for in his speech on Alexanderplatz.

Notes

1. Christoph Hein, Der Tangospieler (Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1999). All page references to this work in the text will be in the form (DT, 24).

2. Christoph Hein, ‘Der alte Mann und die Straβe. Ansprache zur Demonstration der Berliner Kulturschaffenden,’ in Als Kind habe ich Stalin gesehen (Berlin/Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag, 1992), pp. 175–77 (p. 177).

3. Vierzig Jahre, p. 250. For a recent and most informative account of the ban imposed on Neue Herrlichkeit, see Detlev Gwosc, ‘Das raunende Unperfekt der Gesellschaft zur Sprache bringen: Günter de Bruyns Roman Neue Herrlichkeit,’ in Günter de Bruyn in Perspective (German Monitor 44), ed. Dennis Tate (Amsterdam/Atlanta: Rodopi, 1999), pp. 101–17.

4. It is striking that the conclusions to de Bruyn's later works are more bleak than in his earlier ones. Although Buridans Esel and Preisverleihung do not have happy endings in any conventional sense, neither denouement can be called tragic. The opposite is the case in Märkische Forschungen, where Pötsch is driven to the edge of madness, and in Neue Herrlichkeit, as we have seen, the lovers appear to be irrevocably parted.

5. ‘Der alte Mann und die Straβe,’ p. 177.