Studies of the prose fiction of Siegfried Lenz have offered in the main an overall view of the writer's work, concentrating primarily upon recurrent thematic motifs, with some comment on language and style. Such studies have praised Lenz in general terms for the originality of his wit, and for the restrained nature of his social satire: Lenz's social criticism—and it is visible most clearly, perhaps, in the short stories—takes the form not of "angriffslustige Satire", but rather of "leise Komik". The precise nature—and originality—of Lenz's achievement in the field of the satirical short story must be evaluated, however, through detailed analysis of narrative technique based upon concrete examples from his work: generality is in any case dangerous with a writer such as Lenz, whose short stories are varied in initial intent, and indeed not uniformly effective.

There is, of course, a well-established tradition in recent German literature of the short story as a vehicle of social criticism through satire. One thinks of writers as diverse as Tucholsky, Kästner, and somewhat later Böll, Gaiser, Risse and so on. Lenz's debt to Böll is well-known as is his acknowledgement of the influence of Borchert with regard both to style and to content. Elements of style and individual themes in the short stories of Lenz may frequently be traced to these two writers in particular, and Lenz's actual originality lies in structure and handling, rather than theme as such.

The notion of a sudden ironic reversal at the end of a narrative (or drama) may be found in a wide range of contexts and literary modes. Its best-known form is possibly the tragic form implied in the Aristotelean anagnorisis and peripeteia, although it might equally well be comic—as in, for example, Le mariage de Figaro. In his short stories Lenz makes frequent use of the final irony in a serious sense to underline one of his favorite themes, that of the "loser". "Das Wrack", "Lukas, sanftmütiger Knecht" (both in Jäger des Spotts) and "Stimmungen der See" (in Das Feuerschiff) might be cited as examples of this. These stories all deal, however, with the universal theme of man against fate. In the stories whose aim is the satirizing of aspects of contemporary (German) society, the ironic reversal is also frequent, although it is at once less tragic, less predictable, one might even say less hackneyed—although Lenz is open to this criticism both in his "universal" and his social-satirical short stories. At its best, however, the ironic reversal in the latter type of story, while still sudden, remains closely connected with what has gone before. The irony of the whole story prepares the reader for the final irony and lends a structural unity to the whole piece while underlining the final point. The present note seeks to illustrate this aspect of Lenz's narrative technique with reference to two particularly effective examples, short stories which do not contain the tragic implications of "Lukas", but which are nevertheless comic only in the ambiguous sense of much of Dürrenmatt's drama. The stories in question are "Mein verdrossenes Gesicht" (from Jäger des Spotts) and "Der Amüsierdoktor" (from Das Feuerschiff).

"Mein verdrossenes Gesicht" may be linked on a superficial level with a story with a similar title by Böll: "Mein trauriges Gesicht" (1950). Intentional or not, Lenz's title provides an interesting intensification in the adjective which might betray a difference of attitude on the part of the two writers to the society that each describes. There is, however, no sustained parallelism between the two works, although the starting-point is similar, and both stories exploit in logical terms an absurd initial situation. The overall symbolism of both stories is, of course, the same: the face standing for the whole person. This pars pro toto is familar too, incidentally, from Borchert's "Draussen vor der Tür", in the scene between Beckmann and the theater director, and Beckmann's spectacles are, of course, a recurrent symbolic motif in that play.

The face of Böll's narrator (both stories are told in the first person) leads him into trouble. Lenz's narrator, on the other hand, finds that his equally disturbed face is, initially at least, his fortune. We are not told why his face is so verdrossen: but we assume in the course of the narrative that the dissatisfaction is a general reaction to the times, specifically to the postwar materialist society in which the narrator does not fit. He has tried various jobs, and has when we meet him "Verschiedenes in Aussicht". The war itself had been forgotten, and even such positive effects as the war could have had—the closeness of comradeship—have been lost. Bunsen, a war-time associate of the narrator, cannot even remember the narrator's name, in spite of his "schulterklopfende Fröhlichkeit". The opening words of the story are significant, and imply a universal acceptance of the brave new world:

Auch er ist hier hängengeblieben, auch Bunsen, mein Bootsmannsmaat aus dem Krieg . . .

The repeated auch is both striking and effective.

The narrator, incidentally, remains nameless (as does Böll's), and this lends a certain universality to the narrative (although not in the same sense as with "Lukas" or even "Das Wrack"). The figure of the narrator combines, in fact, the same elements of individual interest and quasi-expressionist anonymity as Borchert's anti-hero in "Draussen vor der Tür".

Although the narrator's Verdrossenheit arises from a dissatisfaction with the materialist world, the basic irony of the story is that he obtains, on the strength of his looks, a job as a photographer's model for advertisements in which he directs his displeasure at people who do not participate to the fullest extent in the materialism. "Die Verdrossenheit in deinem Gesicht", he is told, "ist Kritik und Anklage". It is, but not in the sense that the photographer means when he says so. The idea of klagen, ambiguous as it has become, recurs in the story. The face becomes "ein stiller, anklagender Mond" rising over the materialist society—and here the nature of the condemnation is especially ambiguous. The general irony is compounded, incidentally, through the idea of the camera as such: the camera does not lie, but these photographs are as much a lie as the motivation behind them. The practices of advertising are secondary targets of the satire in the story, however.

The materialist nature of the advertisements are carefully chosen, and comic in their own right:

Ich durfte meinen natürlichen Kummer einsetzen, um den Zeitgenossen zu minimaler Pflicht anzuhalten, dem Haarausfall überlegen zu begegnen, Sekt ständig bereit zu halten . . .

The term Zeitgenosse recurs frequently, and underlines the aim of the story in that respect.

The narrator seems to take a pride in his job, futile as it is. The cause of the original Verdrossenheit is fortgotten. The ironic reversal comes about, however, when the narrator has to turn his opprobious look towards a fellow-model, "ein kleiner, vergrämter Mann" who is to represent the man without humor, refusing to buy "das Goldene Hausbuch des Humors". But the narrator involuntarily feels sympathy for the man, and his face loses its lucrative quality. The ending of the piece is ironic in that the cause for Verdrossenheit has returned, the material exploitation of the little man—the partner is several times referred to as klein. As an additional irony, of course, the entire situation that has provoked the sympathy on the narrator's part is as unreal as the rest of the advertizing sessions.

For the narrator, however, the reversal is a recognition, and his reaction is simple: "jetzt kann ich nicht mehr". The general tone of the statement—the last words of the story—is perhaps deliberately ambiguous. The ending of the story may be positive: the man, for all that he has lost his livelihood, has gained in humanity. On the other hand, however, he has perhaps only confirmed his original discontent, losing in the process even the outward expression of it. He ends as a more complete loser than he began, the final reversal confirming the original situation rather than taking it to a logical conclusion.

"Der Amüsierdoktor" calls to mind even more clearly the comment by Schwarz on Böll's departing from an absurd premise. It also recalls Böll's own equally futilely occupied doctor, Dr. Murke. If Dr. Murke's Ph.D. qualifies him to spend time cutting Gott from a pretentious speech, this is at least a slightly more intellectual pastime than that of Lenz's (again anonymous) doctor. His job is not in a radio-station, but in a factory whose concern is with machines for the processing of fish. The situation recalls not only that of many of Böll's characters, but also that of Dürrenmatt's Archilochos in Grieche sucht Griechin, although where Dürenmatt's tale is deliberately ludicrous, Lenz's combines—as does Böll—exaggerated seriousness with quasi-reportage. Thus we are introduced to the products of the factory in some detail, particularly the magnificent "Robespierre", "ein Modell, das einen zwei Meter langen Thunfish in vier Sekunden zu Fischkarbonade machte . . .".

But the narrator's job has, in fact, nothing to do with the machinery. His task is to entertain the customers after the completion of their transactions. The nature of the customers that one might expect to be interested in fish-processing machinery forms a basis for a number of incidental witticisms (as in the case of the "seelisch vermummter Mensch aus Spitzbergen"), and the incidental humor persists throughout the work. One example may serve to illustrate this: Wanda, a showgirl whose forte is appearing in a "glass of champagne" act, is known to the narrator because "ihre Kinder und meine Kinder gehen zusammen zur Schule". In her act Wanda makes provocative gestures, "was man ihr als Flüchtling nicht zugetraut hätte".

The story centers on one incident, however: the attempts to divert one Pachulka-Sbirr, a giant Naturmensch from the Aleutian Islands. The job itself is sufficiently ridiculous, and the character of Pachulka-Sbirr underlines this. The reactions of the Aleutian islander to the various entertainments offered him are in themselves comical, but they are at the same time an expression of social criticism. Thus Pachulka-Sbirr is taken to a "Lokal, in dem sich, von Zeit zu Zeit, drei Damen künstlerisch entkleideten". In fact, the three strippers perform a parody on the familiar classical "Judgement of Paris", and invite a member of the audience to play Paris. Pachulka-Sbirr, placed into this role, responds by eating the apple.

There are various implications. Apart from the intrinsic humor, the scene is an implied criticism aimed at the devaluation of potentially serious, religious or intellectual matters that is encountered so often in Böll—in Nicht nur zur Weihnachtszeit, for example. But as far as Pachulka-Sbirr goes, the scene can only be painful. The Naturmensch is being placed into an artificial and ridiculous situation for his own amusement. It is to the distress of the Amüsierdoktor that he does not show pleasure, neither here, nor when faced with similar scenes. Pachulka-Sbirr is forced by the idea of pleasure to make a fool of himself.

The ironic reversal in "Der Amüsierdoktor" forms a nice play on the title, for the narrator comes close to requiring a medical doctor. The aim has been to take Pachulka-Sbirr's mind off the world of fish-processing machinery: but the only thing that amuses him is, ironically connected precisely with it. The narrator, showing the customer the machine "Robespierre" climbs into it and is almost chopped up—we recall the fate of Robespierre himself on his own guillotine. The tables are turned—the Amüsierdoktor is placed in a ludicrous situation just as has happened to Pachulka-Sbirr. We laugh with the Aleutian fish-dealer at the man whose job it is to produce laughter, and the social criticism is underlined at the same time. It is the pettyvulgar and futile society that produces a job for an Amüsierdoktor that is the butt of the satire, and it is even significant that the narrator is not chopped up: there is certainly no room here for the importance of death. The satirist does not seek to annihilate, rather to ridicule, and we are not in Kafka's Strafkolonie, either.

The narrator learns something here too. The knives of "Robespierre" stay in his mind:

". . . wenn ich heutzutage an Heiterkeit denke, sehe ich über mir lustig blinkende Messer schweben, extra gehärtet . . . "

The choice of the term lustig is a nice one. Thus here and in the earlier short story, the point is brought home by the realisation of the reversal on the part of the first-person narrator.

Böll, and indeed Dürrenmatt, take the absurd premise to its conclusion, and it is that logical development that is offered to the reader or audience so that a decision may be made. Lenz's starting point here can be equally absurd. But instead of developing the situation fully, he gives it a sudden twist, a secondary irony which threws into relief the irony that is there throughout the entire story. It is the showing of the two sides if an ironical situation—one, that is, in which things are other than what they seem—with which Lenz achieves his satire, his underlining of human foibles in general terms.